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Tuesday, 12 January 2016

Hello all! It's true, my blog is moving. It seemed quite silly of me not to integrate it into my official website, and so that's exactly what I've done. All the old blog posts are still intact over there, so nothing is lost, but it does mean the URL for my blog (for any future updates, including the one I published there this morning!) is going to be different, so if you need to update a bookmark to stay in the loop, now is a wonderful time to do that.

Sunday, 20 December 2015

Manchester yesterday, Brighton tomorrow... Horribly behind on emails at the moment but doing my best (and also doing my usual thing of trying to go in two directions at once - both speeding up and winding down for Christmas... I'm sure many of you can relate!). Here's a quick update of some slightly Christmassy portraits from Paul Lock, who I had the pleasure of modelling for again recently.

Wishing you all a wonderful time full of love and joy, and only minimal crass and over-electric flashing neon. I'm off to a Christmas carol service with my family tonight in a tiny, tiny village church which was bedecked beautifully this time last year for my older brother's wonderland wedding. :-) Can't believe how time zooms!

Merry Christmas and I am looking forward to seeing many of you next year, all over the world!

Sunday, 13 December 2015

Friday, 11 December 2015

You can read all about my recent trip to Brussels in the wake of the terror threat over here on my other blog, which I enjoy updating with various thoughts and pieces of writing now and then (and which you should definitely be following..! :-)), but over here, I thought I'd add some images taken while I was there by Luc Bollen. He took us to the same beautiful house as last time (some previous images here), but this time we used different rooms. I loved shooting there again. I should be able to show you more soon (this is just one set, really), but it's very kind of him to send me some already.

Monday, 23 November 2015

Terribly, terribly behind on things over here.... Sorry sorry sorry! (In my defence I have been rather busy...) But here are two things:

1. An image you haven't seen yet:

2. A travel schedule:

I am not publishing exact dates (apart from mentioning that I will be in Belgium next week!), but you are very welcome to contact me for dates/details on the trips listed below, in between which I will of course be available here in the UK. Email: ellarosemuse@live.co.uk.
Website: www.ellarosemuse.co.uk
Testimonials here.

Tuesday, 6 October 2015

From one long-standing shooting tradition to another, how lucky I am to have worked again recently with Jeremy Howitt on another little adventure - this time in the north of England, around Northumberland!

It was the usual (finely) organised chaos of early starts and day-time cat-naps, so that I lost track of what day was what, where I'd been, who I was... etc... by the end of the fleeting trip, but we had such a lovely time! I love the results - dramatic beach scenes with castles and vistas as the sun winds up or down - and we even managed to squeeze in a trip to Alnwick Castle to see where some of the scenes in Downton Abbey (and Harry Potter) were filmed (and by the way, I hope you're all glued to your screens this season in case I make a fleeting appearance in a couple of scenes; I'm going to miss it while I'm away and am making my Mum record it all for me!); and for me to be utterly beaten by the world's biggest ice cream, which covered me in delicious chocolate and had me rooting around for tissues to clean up me/my clothes/the bench. I was such an embarrassment; clearly out of ice-cream-eating practise (I don't normally 'do' ice creams, but had a sudden craving. It was all very ungraceful.).

Anyway, I'm off to Indonesia for a month now, so things here may get a little slow, but will be back and raring to go in mid-November and am (by the way) taking bookings now for November, December and January; and from April onwards. Things are getting all a bit inter-continental again, and I like it! :-) I will be snapping away while away on this trip, I'm sure, so my instagram will floweth over in all likelihood, since I am clearly addicted to it these days. (and oh, I am going to miss Sir Fluffalot terribly while I'm away; I hope I survive without his enormous fluffy face looking alarmed at me. I know, I'm ridiculous, but LOOK AT HIS MAGNIFICENT FACE!!!)

OK, those mermaid scenes and so forth, forthwith (thank you so much again Jeremy!):

You can also read Jeremy's version of events here. (I'm so glad he posts these threads, not least so I can remember where exactly I've been. He knows me well enough to know how terrible I am at knowing my way around places (and knowing whether to turn left or right out of a hotel, despite having been there for three days, for example), so it will come as no surprise that the place names became a slight blur after the early morning starts, even if the places themselves are spectactular; it really is a miracle that I can travel solo as well as I do. Nevermind. If I was the sort of person who would end a blog post with a hashtag, it would be #cantbegoodateverything (but I wouldn't do that, because then where does the full stop at the end of the blog post go?) - I'll put it here: .

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N E W S ! ! !

NEW 'FAERIE GARDEN' PRINT BOOK ! ! !

A print book is now available for purchase, thanks to the kindness and generosity of the artists involved! If you agree that physical prints are far better to look at than online, virtual ones, do read all about it. Each purchase includes a donation to Amnesty. Treat yourself! Thank you.

Please email me directly at ellarosemuse@live.co.uk with any enquiries, to make a booking or if you'd like me to get in touch when travelling to your area.

Visitors since 13th July 2010

Bouguereau, 'Evening Mood'

Velasquez - The Rokeby Venus

J. W. Waterhouse, 'The Lady of Shalott'

Rossetti, 'Venus Verticordia'

John Grimshaw, 'Iris'

J. W. Waterhouse, 'My Sweet Rose'

Guerin, 'L'aurore et Cephale'

Botticelli, 'The Birth of Venus'

J. W. Waterhouse, 'Psyche Opening the Golden Box'

Pamela Hanson, 'Bis'

Walter De La Mare, 'The Listeners'

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses

Of the forest’s ferny floor:

And a bird flew up out of the turret,

Above the Traveller’s head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;

‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;

No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners

That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,

That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken

By the lonely Traveller’s call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

’Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even

Louder, and lifted his head:—

‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,

That I kept my word,’ he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,

Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house

From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Natasha Khan/Bat for Lashes, 'Horse and I'

Got woken in the night,by a mystic golden light.My head soaked in river water.I had been dressed in a coat of armor. They calleda horse out of the woodland."Take her there, through the desert shores."They sang to me, "This is yours to wear.You're the chosen one, there's no turning back now."

The smell of redwood giants.The banquet for the shadows.Horse and I, we're dancers in the dark.Came upon the headdress.It was gilded, dark and golden.The children sang.I was so afraid I took it to my head and prayed.They sang to me, "This is yours to wear. You're the chosen one, there's no turning back."They sang to me, "This is yours to wear. You're the chosen one, there's no turning back."

Mark Doty, 'A Display of Mackerel'

They lie in parallel rows,

on ice, head to tail,

each a foot of luminosity

barred with black bands,

which divide the scales’

radiant sections

like seams of lead

in a Tiffany window.

Iridescent, watery

prismatics: think abalone,

the wildly rainbowed

mirror of a soapbubble sphere,

think sun on gasoline.

Splendor, and splendor,

and not a one in any way

distinguished from the other

—nothing about them

of individuality. Instead

they’re all exact expressions

of the one soul,

each a perfect fulfilment

of heaven’s template,

mackerel essence. As if,

after a lifetime arriving

at this enameling, the jeweler’s

made uncountable examples,

each as intricate

in its oily fabulation

as the one before

Suppose we could iridesce,

like these, and lose ourselves

entirely in the universe

of shimmer—would you want

to be yourself only,

unduplicatable, doomed

to be lost? They’d prefer,

plainly, to be flashing participants,

multitudinous. Even now

they seem to be bolting

forward, heedless of stasis.

They don’t care they’re dead

and nearly frozen,

just as, presumably,

they didn’t care that they were living:

all, all for all,

the rainbowed school

and its acres of brilliant classrooms,

in which no verb is singular,

or every one is. How happy they seem,

even on ice, to be together, selfless,

which is the price of gleaming.

Kate Clanchy, 'Poem for a Man with No Sense of Smell'

This is simply to inform you:

that the thickest line in the kink of my handsmells like the feel of an old school desk,the deep carved names worn sleek with sweat;

that beneath the spray of my expensive scentmy armpits sound a bass note strongas the boom of a palm on a kettle drum;

that the wet flush of my fear is sharpas the taste of an iron pipe, midwinter,on a child's hot tongue; and that sometimes,

in a breeze, the delicate hairs on the napeof my neck, just where you might bendyour head, might hesitate and brush your lips,

hold a scent frail and precise as a fleetof tiny origami ships, just setting out to sea.