I’ve meandered through this set of photos like a wi-fi enabled hobo in a new alley. Shuffling back and forth between each image trying to recall the running order of the evening and using the shots as benchmarks to navigate the spaces in between. You would think that a post pre-assumed adult-adolescent non-drinker such as myself would have no problems in this regard, but I believe the overwhelming amount of orange juice I consumed may have stirred from within some early onset dementia and short circuited my memory log. It’s a bit of a blur and I woke up bearing all the hallmarks of a hangover to further concrete the confusion.
Below is a set of photos from my friends 30th birthday party. Regardless of the celebrations at hand, there is one sure enough constant at every polish gathering which you could probably bet your (landlords) house on. There will be drink, and there will be food. This occasion was no exception and to those involved in the preparations, I applaud you!
In their penthouse apartment on the out-skirts of Galway City, Marta Krol and her many close friends celebrated in great style and comfort a coming of age. As the oversized helium digits dictated, Marta’s 30th birthday had arrived and celebrations were certain!
The pictures speak for themselves, but I think it’s important to impart particular nodes from my learning curve as a means to better understanding exactly what the hell it is I think I’m doing. A repeat lesson from the art show I covered a couple of weeks back, seems not to have fully seeded my workflow and has once again echoed itself almost immediately upon my initial review of the images I shot. I need to take more pictures. A lot more. I glance over the thumbnails in my windows explorer and see no more than perhaps ten or fifteen rows of 5 images a piece. This is the red flag that I’ve done it again. Enjoying events and getting some work done are running in tandem and often become muddled and one sided. It’s unfortunate that the discriminating passenger here is my blabber mouth. Too much talking and eating and not enough shooting.
There were several guests present who I spent lengthy periods with but missed the opportunity to take their picture. This wouldn’t irritate me quite as much had I not been nervously gripping my camera all night anyway, ready to shoot. The compact I know and love has evolved itself to being like my plus one at such events. Rather than providing it a nice seat and some finger food, I find myself negotiating surfaces to rest it upon. Critically favouring warmer softer wooden surfaces over cold hard marble and granite work tops, but still evaluating the possibility that the elected wooden plateau may have already absorbed the dank residual condensation which the bottoms of chilled bottles and drinks containers characteristically leave behind. This may seem overtly pedantic, and it is, as a glance to my left shows that my prestigious partner is rested upon my desks solitary coaster, negating entirely the lengths I go to when I’m away from home to ensure it never has to share table top real estate with a fucking coffee ring.
It’s bloody late and I’m talking shite. Note to self, take more pictures and worry less about where my camera is set down.