Photography.

Ireland

Dublin, My Dublin.

I opened my memories and something echoes from way back.
The image of a weak-sunned winter morning appears.
There I was, shivering, stood up high on the roof with my camera.
Before going to school, I wanted to capture on film the edgy wonder of my rooftop city,
Stretching as far as the dreamy, grey horizon.

Ireland.

Such a big road of memory
Power to draw you back instantly to its fold.

As a kid in the early 1960s, I discovered the joy of photographs not only in themselves but also in books, magazines and newspapers.
I wondered, β€œCan I take photos?”
I was over the moon when my beloved Scottish grandmother gave me her antique leather bellows camera. I was seven years old at the time and have been on a creative journey ever since. More than sixty years have sped by. Still learning.

Etched into tiny rectangles of celluloid are recorded momentary fragments over a lifetime and, from these negatives, pictures with stories emerge. So many stories.

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Greece