notes on paper: January 2018

Hello you, and happy 2018!

As is now customary round these parts (this is the 5th year running), my first blog post of the new year is:

my factory reset for the ego;
my rejection of photo filters;
my antidote to all the tasteful, vetted, photos of myself I've shared unapologetically throughout the previous year; photos like these:

Because, after another year of carefully curating my selfies, today it's time to for me to share ...

My Year in Bad Portraits:

The 2017 Edition.

(If you’re new to the project then do treat yourself to the gurning, gawping and glaring of previous years here: 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016. I'll post links again at the end of this post so you can't possibly miss any of my ridiculous faces. You're welcome.)

Before I begin ...
... for some reason, this year there weren't so very many #BadPortraits for me to choose from. Not because I became miraculously more photogenic in 2017 - although, maybe I have learned more about which angles suit me! But for a few other reasons which I've narrowed down to:

It might, in part, be James's fault. (Yeah, why not, sounds like a likely cause). In previous years, some of the worst photos of me were taken by my beloved (although goodness knows what that says about how he sees me) but he doesn't seem to take as many photos these days, so my awful stock-photography levels have been depleted. BTW: he makes an appearance with a #BadPortrait of his own later in this post. It's not one for the faint-hearted. Don't say you weren't warned. And ...
My concept of what constitutes a 'bad' portrait has changed. Having done this for 5 years now, I'm getting used to seeing imperfect photos of me for longer than it would take for me to hit the 'delete' button. (Remember I even got to feature on Marie Claire UK with them?! They're hanging around out there.) And, in response, I'm becoming a bit immune! My ‘bad’ portraits bar has been raised so high that I have to look reeeaaallly bad for me to even notice.
Plus - this year - I've started talking/appearing on my Instagram Stories (short videos that only last 24 hrs) and around 90% of the time on those I'm not wearing make-up and am often in my 'working from home no one will see me' clothes. So, again, I'm losing a level of self-consciousness and accepting what I actually look and sound like as just part of the 'real' me behind the careful social media presentation.

Case in point:

All that aside ... there were plenty of perfectly imperfect portraits on my hard-drive so how about we dive in?

As ever, you are free to laugh at these! In fact, please do, because otherwise ... what am I even doing here?!

If you can see it - it's fair game: of course there are some shots throughout the year that don’t make me laugh, that make me feel awkward, weird, or unattractive. I don't share those ones, and so you're safe to laugh at the ones I do!
This project is never about body-shaming or self-critique. At worst it's self-deprecating ... at best, it's a healthy self-assessment, and I share mine in the hope that it'll make you feel better about yours!

So, let the guilt-free voyeurism commence ...

My Year in Bad Portraits:

The 2017 Edition.

The glamour of 'Champing*'

I can honestly say that, in my 40+ years, until the day this photo was taken, I had never undressed in a church before. I mean, I might have taken my coat off on occasions, but even then ... that would have felt a bit risque. But, when James and I spent a few days Champing (*camping in a church) last year, I learned just how quickly I can take off one item of clothing and replace it with a nightie (And a dressing gown. And a vest. And a hat. And bedsocks.) in order to mitigate the sheer unrelenting awkwardness of - I'm just going to say it - of having my boobs out - in front of saints and angels.

And wasn't the end result a glamorous one? Not for us an anniversary spent at a fancy hotel!

For the record:

Yes,the door was locked.
No, there was no congregation in at the time ...

If you'd like to see more photos (and a couple of videos) from Our Great Big Anniversary Champing Adventure then do visit the blog post I wrote all about it.

This next one was taken in MIMA gallery where I spent part of the summer writing, and co-hosted a Snipped Tales workshop for the dementia friendly craft group there, as part of my stint as Writer in Residence.

And don't I look professional?

That thing I'm doing there - the whole looking upwards and away thing - is not, sadly, an isolated incident. Whatever look it is I'm aiming for ... be it 'really engaged in my surroundings', 'dreamy', 'wistful' or whatever, it never works. So why am I a repeat offender?

Exhibit B:'First her eyes rolled up into her head ... then she started doing impersonations of a chicken' ...

No, I don't know what's happening here either. Let's blame James again shall we.

And, apparently, when my eyes aren't trying to escape my skull, they're glazing over instead ...

Here I am stumbling bravely over that fine line between the pose that says 'I'm a deeply pensive woman' ... and the one that says 'that evil witch made good on her threat to turn me into mannequin':

I mean, for someone who generally can't sit still for two minutes, in these photos I'm doing a pretty good impression of something made entirely from fibreglass.

And, when I wasn't playing the mannequin in 2017 ... I was in charge of making one speak ...

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me introduce to you: Little Fitz and his ventriloquist dummy Ziggy:

No, there isn't anything I'd like to reveal to you about my private life. And no, this isn't how I generally dress at the weekend, honest guv, but this long weekend away in a cottage with friends (yes Jean, that includes you! I know you'll be reading this!) had a Murder Mystery theme.

Jean had bought a mystery game in which we each had to take on a role and find a suitable costume to bring with us. I played 'Little Fitz' (and Ziggy, because my acting talent is nothing if not versatile), and managed to source everything except the trousers (a loud check pair I found in a charity shop) in my own regular wardrobe. My instructions stipulated a bow-tie ... and I even had a choice between two. (I opted for silver in the end, because, why wouldn't I?)

What exactly does it say about me that - at the drop of a hat - I can open my cupboards and dress like a 1900s Musical Hall performer should the whim arise?

And it''s all - literally - fun and games when you're trying to make people laugh with your appearance, but it's not such a joy when you're not ...

Sometimes you think you're rocking '60s Beat poet in smoky Parisian cafe' chic ... when you're actually more like 'toothless French poet gets door-stepped by paprazzi':

Ah, the gap between intention and outcome. That can really punch you where it hurts!

Similarly, judging by these next two, things go strangely awry when my intention is to convey how happy I am ... and yet, what gets captured instead is this ...

I call these my 'Wow, Julie looks thrilled' poses:

Because, the thing is, I was happy, on both those occasions. The left one was taken before we went to a comedy performance, and on the right I'm standing in front of the first Snipped Tale to feature in a public exhibition!

I genuinely was happy. It's just ... no one had told my face.

Same again here.

I'm purely trying to get a decent shot of myself.
I am not under duress.
No one is bothering me.
I'm entirely alone ...

So why do I look snotty, and disapproving, and all 'Errrm, excuse me? Can I help you?'

Surely there's someone out there working on an app that can talk to you while you're taking selfies ... one that drops gentle, friendly hints like 'Hey Julie, you might want to stop frowning at invisible people' ...

The next couple of shots are from a time when I wasn't alone, and when the other person with me definitely wasn't invisible. And while they're not strictly 'bad' portraits ... you'll be able to guess why neither made it on to my Instagram grid - @withjuliekirk - in 2017.

Part 1: The Photo Bomb:
To quote Sophia from the Golden Girls 'picture the scene' ... it's a Saturday morning, in our hallway, and - as is often the case - I'm trying to take decent 'Outfit of the Day' shots, to share on Instagram.

And then, with my camera propped up on the pew, and set on a timer, this happens ...

But ... two can play at that game Mr ...

Cut to a month later, same hallway, same day of the week, same posing for an outfit of the day shot, only this time, the tables are turned ...

Part 2: The Photo 'Bum':

Genuine conversation in our house last week:

Me: "I've been looking through photos for my Bad Portraits post and there's one of you, on the stairs, tying your shoe lace, and well, you're jeans are a bit low. Are you OK with me using the photo? ... It's not that bad ... my finger is covering most of your bum crack".

Reader, I showed him the photo and he agreed to let me share it with you all. Feel free to judge his exhibitionist qualities as you will.

And, while we're in the hallway, here are another few, taken in the same spot, that I took by accident. Obviously. Because who would deliberately pose like this?

There's something a bit creepy, voyeuristic, about that left hand side one. Like it was taken by someone hiding under a bed or something. *Shudders*. (It was actually my phone propped up in a shoe and my hoodie had slipped over it, which isn't so sinister after all.)

And from ones I didn't pose for , to one I kind of did ...

Here I was trying to capture the strange new hair growth that I've noticed in the last few years. Before you ask - no - it's not pregnancy related, I've had it for around two years now and, last time I looked I wasn't an elephant, so I think we can rule 'gestation' out as a cause.

It was almost like I turned 40, got lots of presents, a big cake ... and a second fringe.

I reckon it's 'hormones', because isn't it always? I might stop trying to photograph it though; that level of close-up does no one any favours.

As for these two near-identical poses ...

I'm calling these 'Oh Jesus, did I lock the back door?' and 'Mardy teenager gets asked to do the washing-up':

I honestly don't know what happens to my face once it becomes aware that I'm trying to capture it! Although - I should make it clear that with these I was capturing the shots in a public space and ... I don't know ... I know I share a lot of photos here, and a lot of people see them, but ... it doesn't make me any less self-conscious when snapping photos when I'm possibly being observed by strangers.

I mean, who wants to grin and pose all perfectly perky? I mean who would do such an annoying thing?? Who???

Oh yeah ... me:

Don't take this the wrong way but - when I look at the Julie in this photo - I could just give her a swift kick. Nothing too violent, but just enough to stop her being so painfully perky.

Of course, the difference between Perky Julie and Glazed-over-emotionless-android-Julie selfies is that no one can see me in my hallway! It's far easier to attempt to be human from the privacy of your own home. I'm a much less convincing human in public.

However, my true self can probably be found somewhere between the overly keen Julie above ... and the overly emotional Julie below ...

This pose is called 'Julie watches Billy Elliot the Musical for the first time - particularly the bit where boy-Billy dances with adult-Billy':

Oh man. That show. It drained me and filled me up at the same time.

I love the film version. Jamie Bell's performance in the Town Called Malice scene is a perfect 3 minutes of cinema. If he never performed another creative act that routine alone is lifetime's worth. And so ... I'd always - wrongly - expected a 'musical' version to be a bit, well, tacky.

Then I watched it. And I cried. And cried. And made everyone I know watch it too. Then they cried.

I've never been happier to have been proven wrong!

And now, after all that crying ... let's just check that there's nothing untoward happening in the nostril area ...

Because no year of #JuliesBadPortraits would be complete without an up-the-nose shot. You're welcome:

What was I thinking? Well ...

I was thinking: wouldn't it be nice to get a shot of me walking along the road, in the snow, beneath this clear blue sky.
But I was also thinking: yes, that would be nice but ... I don't want all the people going past in cars to think I'm a total narcissistic tit who takes selfies while walking down the highstreet in the snow. So I tried to be surreptitious and hold the phone low down. Which resulted in nostril central here. Mystery solved.

Of course, the irony is that - as much as I don't want people to catch me taking selfies in public - I do rather defeat the object of all that coyness by then collecting them altogether and broadcasting them online!

Even the bad ones!

***

So ... there you have it - my 2017 in Bad Portraits - I hope you enjoyed them. Let me know your best of my worst in the comments!

Now, this is where I usually set out the rules for if anyone wants to play along (only photos of yourself, no body-shaming, the photo MUST make YOU laugh first) but ... no one ever does join in. Not that I blame you. It's not for everyone.

But ... if you fancy giving it a go during 2018 here are my tips:

Ease yourself in by simply not immediately deleting the awful shots.
Let them hang around in your phone for a while.
If they make it that far ... save them to your laptop/harddrive/cloud.
Set up a 'Bad Portraits 2018' folder and start dragging them over into there.
Add to the folder throughout the year.
Delete any that make you feel bad about yourself.
Keep the ones that make you laugh, that free you up a little, that make you see the absurdity that is being human!
If you feel brave enough - drop them into a blog post sometime in January 2019!
OR if you share any on Instagram - no matter what time of year - use the hashtag #juliesbadportraits or #badportraits and let me know @withjuliekirk and will hop over to look/laugh along with you.