To Annette: A Bit Of Idol Worship!

I secured the vow to myself long ago that if the camera was indeed to be my accomplice in life, in tow with the pen, that I would deploy this magical piece of gizmo to celebrate the stories of the people who inhabit or, by happenstance, enter my universe. Never to promote or popularise my own face, in time my humble camera soon became the teacher of selfless action, a non-intrusive means to perform the spiritual exercise of abstaining from at least one of the indulgences of the ego. What followed was a double sense of blessing as it soon came upon me that I levitated with immeasurable joy whenever the opportunity arose to recite and archive, in pictures and words, the story of those dear to me, and, of course, not in any degree less so for those souls that, by fated force, crossed my path in the journey.

A most treasured, dearest friend and Fairy Godmother, Annette, is one such soul whom my camera has defiantly promised to always seek, for Annette is a goldmine for painting the sort of portraiture that overthrows the slightest slivers of despair or sadness away from the mind of the viewer. Annette never ceases to amaze me with her infectious sense of humour, firework charisma and incandescent optimism. In short, and to my pride and joy, she is my idol, a figure that awes and inspires and I pray that even when I reach her golden age I am able to carry that same magnitude of citrusy zest for life and share it with others, as she has done so for me.

If You ever feel the need to shake hands with the person responsible for putting the edge into my cheeky eccentricity and who sealed my Destiny as the 5ft 1 hobbitina that happily suffers from an irreversible bout of eternal optimism then, here is your saintly culprit: Ladies, Gentlemen and Children, please give a round of an applause to my Star Idol, Annette… :)) :)) :))


LINK TO PAST ARTICLE:
http://www.saatchiart.com/art/Photography-A-Portrait-Of-A-Star-Meet-My-Friend-Annette/511979/2051432/view

"... Annette never ceases to amaze me with her infectious sense of humour, firework charisma and incandescent optimism..."

“… Annette never ceases to amaze me with her infectious sense of humour, firework charisma and incandescent optimism…”

"... she is my idol, a figure that awes and inspires and I pray that even when I reach her golden age I am able to carry that same magnitude of citrusy zest for life and share it with others, as she has done so for me..."

“… she is my idol, a figure that awes and inspires and I pray that even when I reach her golden age I am able to carry that same magnitude of citrusy zest for life and share it with others, as she has done so for me…”

"... I secured the vow to myself long ago that if the camera was indeed to be my accomplice in life, in tow with the pen, that I would deploy this magical piece of gizmo to celebrate the stories of the people who inhabit or, by happenstance, enter my universe..."

“… I secured the vow to myself long ago that if the camera was indeed to be my accomplice in life, in tow with the pen, that I would deploy this magical piece of gizmo to celebrate the stories of the people who inhabit or, by happenstance, enter my universe…”

 

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

 

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Reaching The Light Bulb Moment – An Extremely Cheeky Quip!

Ah, You are still unable to see me with Your eyes! Oh my, You ought to have grasped the reality of the situation by now which is that my concealability is not down to the fact that I am hidden inside the Mystery Box and You are not. Far from it my devoted Reader! The singular reason for my apparent invisibility is of a rather trivial stock if ever there was one and that is that You are in here with me too, but, to my great amusement, the knowledge has yet to reach You that You need to, ahem ahem, reach a little higher to press the Light Switch… :)) :)) :))

“… You are in here with me too, but, to my great amusement, the knowledge has yet to reach You that You need to, ahem ahem, reach a little higher to press the Light Switch…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Everyman Cinema | Winchester | UK 2015

The White Rabbit And The Dubious Case Of The Coronet Box Camera

Dear Puddle-Soaked Soggy-Socked Fisherman & Other Curious Readers – including flatulent foxes!

I do hope You will be accommodating enough in heart to accept my apologies for the sparse buttering of posts from me in recent times, I am skipping and hopping in between holiday activities and creative projects that have proved to be quite fine effectors of completely removing me from the virtual world whilst I get my grubby fingers stuck into the theatrical business of the real world! I had no sought-out intention to sit by the computer at this moment but perhaps it was You who has made an impassionate call for my services as a disperser and dispenser of Good Magic that finds me in front of this glaring big old screen! Giggle, giggle! I do promise to return at a more consistent and regular rate once I have tied up what needs finishing – please quit rolling those squishy eyeballs, a passer-by may construe it as a first sign of irreversible lunacy! What did You say? You are in Love with me and my pen and that this sweet illness of lunacy had struck You so far way back that it has now come to the point where any external expletive charged against You by third parties is as afflicting as a speck of dust on skin?! Oh my, steady, steady my dear fellow! 

Before I return to my adventurous taskettes and leave the virtual platform once more – a short while I promise – I have once again received a blessing from Destiny in which I shall present to You a story of stupendously magical proportions. Whilst I was traipsing from one place to another today I heard the distinct sound of SLEIGH BELLS in the air. I know many of You will in an instant assume that I am making this up but that does not bother me the slightest, the day I asserted that one of my spiritual vocations would be to don the cloak of the Writer I knew that I would always write not because I was haunted by an obsession to appease others, rather, it came down to the fact that I HAD to write, on par in force with the natural instinct of breathing.  

Ahem ahem, where was I?

Ah, yes, I was walking along when suddenly the pure and sacred music of sleigh bells trilled into my ears. I stood on the street and looked about but could not locate the source of this exquisite and invisible treat. Who had played it to me and for reasons why? The Winchester Christmas season had not yet taken effect and I was at quite a distance away from the cacophony of the city centre so the MYSTERY of it all firmly latched onto my lungs and I soon turned into a mobile vessel of internal monologue, legs walking in auto-pilot, however, the brain completely seized and captivated by what it had just experienced. I prayed to Allah that He would help me to solve the case of the curious bells and it was upon reaching home just now and switching on the computer that it all became as gloriously clear as a relieved blackboard taking in the peace and quiet during the school holidays! Stop laughing! 

Do You remember the a-MAZ-ing gift of magical synchronicity I sent You in my last missive where my earlier poetical words came to spectacular life on the bustling streets of NYC and to everyone’s astonishment? Disney’s Aladdin hovering over fast lanes, shoving out of the way all those fancy ‘boxes with circles’ – I mean to say fast cars but to me they appear like polygons on the rampage!

Guess what?

I have the pleasure of gifting You once again the fabulous eye-opening convergence between my WORDS and real-world events!

A ‘LONG-LOST FRIEND’ of mine in the joyful grip of a winter wonderland, thought to have died into the cold shadows of perpetual forgetfulness, has been found and shall return to the big screen in a premier here in London! His stone statue lives in the treasure troves of my garden, he is the time-keeper in a book that shall never be tossed into the fires of callous extinction, a tea-coaster paints a Paradisiacal portrait of his visage that sits on my bookshelf and I do think I am right when I say that the Tanner’s Magic Shop chose him as their proud mascot! I sincerely hope You have not endangered Yourself into my calling You an utter muttonhead if You happen to be at this moment confounded by these clues as to the identity of my LONG-LOST FRIEND! Yes yes, it’s MR RABBIT! Pfffshhht!!

WATCH how inside an ordinary tin can, a mystery box of sorts, sat in a film library in London, sweeps You off Your feet to a place as OLDEN-AS-THE HILLS, A VAST SNOWY LANDSCAPE, where Oz-World – so sorry – Oswald the Rabbit, Disney’s first ever creation, WHIZZES around with the essence of a free spirit on his heels!

Ah, what was that You muttered? He is not white, You say? Seriously my Dear Watson, Your frivolities of the mind are indeed most disappointing! In the temperate climate of Hampshire where I live there really is no need for a rabbit to be wearing a black JUMPER!

With my knuckles tucked under my chin, I am lost in reverie as light as marshmallows and I ask out to Destiny: Could it have been Oz-World the Rabbit, the Lucky & Magical, who aired the first ever balloon to sit on my rosy ALTAR OF RED BALLOONS… ♥ 

Please take care of each other and, to a few I can see out there, cut out the bog-standard swearing and, to immediate effect, conjure cleaner but more inventive forms of language. If anything it will prevent a premature onset of dementia! 

Your Eternal Entanglement Of The Quantum Kid – sorry – Kind! 
Mazzy xxx

LINK TO ANOTHER A-MAZ-ING VIDEO: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-34711495

White Rabbit, White Rabbit what olden, old-as-the-hills secret thou keep in thy Coronet Box?
Pray tell me not of the commonplace, answer me with the cunning of the sly fox!
I, Alice, felt at this point my arbitration was urged and necessary
Hereby, my Beloved Reader, I distil a riddles apothecary:

Shrewdness no prerequisite, the young are the wise yet with age there is no guarantee
Those of worldly chores suffer, lukewarm never is the Eccentric’s tea
Puddles are as souls who reach heaven by the steps of my apple tree
Poetry tastes like Mother’s ghee, us Visionaries will unanimously agree
This thing, a bonfire of Aliveness, like fireflies whizzes within but is most certainly free
Can You guess what it is, do not hide, come closer and tell me what You see… 

White Rabbit, White Rabbit what olden, old-as-the-hills secret thou keep in thy Coronet Box?
Pray tell me not of the commonplace, answer me with the cunning of the sly fox!

The White Rabbit And The Dubious Case Of The Coronet Box Camera 1

“White Rabbit, White Rabbit what olden, old-as-the-hills secret thou keep in thy Coronet Box?
Pray tell me not of the commonplace, answer me with the cunning of the sly fox…”

The White Rabbit And The Dubious Case Of The Coronet Box Camera 2

“… Puddles are as souls who reach heaven by the steps of my apple tree…”

 

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

On Winged Hands, Henna Is My Name

My Dearest and Most Beloved Reader, 

As part of the wonderful and vibrant Eid festivities taking place at my house today, my Mumsy and sister had their hands decorated in the dye of the henna plant. None of us are expert appliers of the ink but that did not matter the least, the deep colour that came through was a magnificent testament in ink of the unbroken Love that existed between us. I had left my hands unpainted as I was the chief photographer of the day however to have seen everyone else awashed and blessed in the Orange poetry of henna was more than enough to have my heart grow beyond the earthly cage of my body.

Eid Mubarak, Eid Mubarak, Eid Mubarak… :)) :)) :))
Your Mazzy xxx


Unfulfilled in Life I am when left to idle flutter on some garden shrub or tree
Desire is mine that I be crushed, pestle pounded and set me free
I pray by day, pray by night to become the daybreak to skin, the Orange Pilgrim of Stain
O ‘tis not death, People: I am the Bride of Change, the butterfly released to kiss the sugar cane… :))

Henna Is My Name 1

“… Desire is mine that I be crushed, pestle pounded and set me free…”

My Name Is Henna 2

“… I pray by day, pray by night to become the daybreak to skin, the Orange Pilgrim of Stain…”

"... I am the Bride of Change, the butterfly that emerges to kiss the sugar cane…"

“… I am the Bride of Change, the butterfly released to kiss the sugar cane…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

The End Is Only The Beginning…

‘Surya Namashkar’ is an ancient Indian yogic posture, consisting of the pressing of the palms of both hands together in celebratory salutation to the Sun, the symbol of a new day awakening with promise and renewal. In this final photograph extracted from the chronicles of my adventures in Paris, my baby sister, quite unexpectedly, performed the gesture just before I pressed down the shutter button. I was certainly taken aback at the time but, back in the comforts and contemplative atmosphere of the drawing room in England, it dawned on me that I could decipher a timeless piece of wisdom that had elegantly formulated itself into the composition thanks to my sister’s sudden flight of fancy. Opposing disappearance into the abyss of oblivion, some things in this world of ours triumph over mortality, consistently strive to rebirth themselves under new suns… :))

Eternally Yours,
Mazzy xxx

No hint did she, small sister of mine, give me before my taking the shot
That after shutter button to go down she’d have my brains in a square knot
For little did I know that her devious ingenuity was at premium-grade play
Fusing two ancient cultures together to have me send You on a tea tray:
A glass soul had been raised to the sky, yesteryear’s brick Pyramid sang of eternal afterlife
And Jen’s Surya Namaskar, palm ballet of new morn, tearing darkness with a knife… :))

“… A glass soul had been raised to the sky, yesteryear’s brick Pyramid sang of eternal afterlife
And Jen’s Surya Namaskar, palm ballet of new morn, tearing darkness with a knife…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Louvre Pyramid | Louvre Museum | Paris | France 2015

Autumn Rain Was Made For Books!

Date: 22-10-15, One month since original post

An Editor’s Note To My ‘Dear Friend’ !

Do You know what the definition of the word ‘enantiodromia’ is?  I strongly suspect that the chances are that You are a novice here, never having heard of it and will certainly not have encountered it even in Your most wildest dreams. Allow me to relieve Your frictioned nerves at this point with the application of the cooling balm of the enlightening answer. Exotic and mysterious to the ears and lips, the word refers to those things that steer in opposite directions, where it becomes so that clockwise is entrancingly paired with the counter-clockwise. I shall further clarify this gift of a new word by citing iconic instances that exemplify it, with necessary succinctness, and these include the Forces of Light and Dark, Good and Bad, Masculine and Feminine, Fortune and Misfortune, Ice and Fire.

And of what significance do my words carry here, Dear Detective?

There is much. You and I propagate two Visions of the world, whose umbilical mission is to depict the great dichotomy of the human condition, its perplexing extremes and astonishing polarities but whose unifying commitment is always the soul-driven quest to ignite the flame of Hope once more into the hearts of our readers so that they may be inspired to become stewards of Good Magic; looking after the world one person at a time, starting with that greatest of barriers – themselves.

While You utilise Your brave and noble moral foundation to primarily present the darker, shadier and tragic stories, it is in the flash of a proton dance the gears of Destiny come to life to propel my pen to take on the role as Your enantiodromia, fulfilling completion by counterbalancing what has been laid down by You with my contribution of tales and poetry from the lighter, brighter and triumphant layer extracted from my own plethora of experiences.

I have one such extremely significant example of enantiodromia and it occurred today. One of the reasons why I am an infrequent visitor to the virtual world is that I prefer, more than words could encapsulate, to dedicate my time to writing letters to my friends rather than tapping away at keys, for the ink seems to be a most faithful conduit for the inner musings of my Soul. As per routine, I wrote one such letter to my mate, Jan, two days ago, accompanied with a printing of an article from the Brainpickings website, edited by Maria Popova, a faceless Russian genius of the pen. There was, however, one special difference to be observed in my postal habit this time insofar that I gave Jan strict instructions to use her Smartypants phone to photo-archive my offerings and post it on FB today.

Why?

A gut instinct, an intuition, a sixth sense, a premonition. Study closely and carefully:

LINK TO LETTER: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10206246775946661&set=a.1349103125974.2044798.1183222940&type=3&theater

 

  1. I write of a heavenly place, the solace and beauty that I feel when I am in the embrace of my garden. You hint of the same place, though You speak of loss leading to Heaven.
  2. In the letter I am wrapped in warm and comforting attire, You mention of a place on earth that is classically thought of as a freezing tundra.
  3. Maria Popova, a Russian Editor – I do not think it necessary to tease out the connection there!
  4. The written word acts as an amplifier of my thoughts of the beauty of the present moment in my letter, You refer to it as a repository of the Past.
  5. I allude to the wild, roaming child of the forest who is a happy wanderer of the earth, Your child is lost to the ether.
  6. Your characters are sooted in darkness with sparse grains of Light tapping down on them, others stripped of flesh, seared by the blazing shadows of hellish curses; that is why not BRAIN but RAIN PICKINGS appears in the photograph, it is what I send You, like elixir-filled berries, may it soothe, cool and cure any doubts You may have of the sustainability of Your Vision. Never lose sight of it!
  7. ‘X’-cessive flammable activity proves to be an IRRITANT in Your story whereas ‘X’ marks the ‘Treasure’ in Jan’s caption.
  8. Jan has chosen to lay my mail against a backdrop of pretty hand-sewn embroidery, on the contrary Your story pleads for restorative stitches in time and on skin.
  9. You refer to ‘15’ time and time again as a number associated with hardship and tragedy, whereas it is symbolic of Victory and Freedom under the wings of my penmanship.
  10. If a SNAIL were to view its intended destination it may very well utter under its breath: “ Me-Far…”
  11. And that is WHY I wrote the poem below, a month ago, because Autumn Rain Was Made For Books – care to imagine how blessed EDITORS must feel when the heavens release their watery flocks!
  12. Do You CATCH my drift or do I, like the 12 hours of CLOCKWORK, elude Your Logic yet again… :)) 


Whoever You may be, may it be under the healing auspices of rain
Your Mazzy xxx

Wrapped warm in furry teal poncho, motherly amber cave of armchair, though toying with dilemma
Should these eyes walk into Dickens’ ‘Pickwick Papers’ or stray towards Austen’s ‘Emma’?
No doubt one will be chosen, but blessed for these tiny crownless jewels, Tiffany stars on my glass pane
Our desire to read precedes a heavenly emissary: This beautiful, beautiful, beautiful – O so beautiful – autumnal rain… :))

Autumn Rain Was Made For Books

“…No doubt one will be chosen, but blessed for these tiny crownless jewels, Tiffany stars on my glass pane
Our desire to read precedes a heavenly emissary: This beautiful, beautiful, beautiful – O so beautiful – autumnal rain…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

The White Rabbit And The Dubious Case Of The Treasure Box

White Rabbit, White Rabbit what olden, old-as-the-hills secret thou keep in thy Treasure Box?
Pray tell me not of bric-a-brac and soggy fishermen’s socks!
I, Alice, felt at this point my arbitration was urged and necessary
Hereby, my Beloved Reader, I distil a riddles apothecary:

An object undefiled by the jugular smog of the CT
On Your wall it would bode well, a thing positively RT
Not frightful or of threat, appraised as a delectable QT
To not solve this puzzle this Sunday, ah a bugging PT
Hidden to eyes mundane and yet this box is never MT…

White Rabbit, White Rabbit what olden, old-as-the-hills secret thou keep in thy Treasure Box?
Pray tell me not of bric-a-brac and soggy fishermen’s socks… :))

The White Rabbit And The Dubious Case Of The Treasure Box

“… White Rabbit, White Rabbit what olden, old-as-the-hills secret thou keep in thy Treasure Box?
Pray tell me not of bric-a-brac and soggy fishermen’s socks… “

An Arcane Afterword For My ‘Facebook Students’: I am quite respected in these parts for my rare brand of teaching style, I do not spoon feed answers to those that walk in through my doors, preferring instead to make the Learner think for themselves, my part in their journey is to simply cattle prod them in the right direction. Giggle, giggle!  I strive to do the same in the virtual world, although it can prove to be an enormously complicated undertaking since I am not even afoot here for more than ten minutes a day, sometimes even less. I am infinitely more comfortable sat under a tree with my books and my steely sincerity that is my camera! HOWEVER, for You, I am drawn to make visitations so that I can extend a helping hand in prodding You into the right direction. When my work is done and my mission complete I shall, as like morning dew, disappear from Your sight. It is not a callous gesture of abandonment, but the highest accolade I could ever extend out to You that encompasses my belief that the path has been LIT and all that remains is for You to now walk forward, towards Your dreams! HURRAH….!!! :)) :)) :)) 

“When You need me but do not want me then I must stay, but when You want me but no longer need me then I have to go…” – Nanny McPhee

LINK:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TioxrYazL4s

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

My Mumsy’s Veil Catches & Lifts Up All Hearts!

If Your powers of remembrance and observation serve You well then You may succeed in recalling that in my post entitled, ‘Garden Party With Alice’, I took the liberty of utilising the phrase ‘triangulation of elements’ to refer to the handsome bounties ripe and shimmering inside my garden – including the fruit trees and a certain White Rabbit – and whose availability led them to be literally picked on the occasion to enhance the storytelling rationale of the shoot. I proceeded to assert that the eccentricity of my methods and style of photography was always underscored by an atmosphere of fun, the ‘very, merry, berry’ sort!  In euphoric leaps that would drive a bunny rabbit back into its puny hole I am thrilled to tell You that today yet another garden party vivaciously took centre stage at our Home and this time my good friend, Sachi, was also present, whom I do fear might have left the house in an unfashionably drunken state after I lost count in my servings of the newest tea that is making headlines in my pantry – a coconut, lychee and green tea mixture! Giggle, giggle!

Anyway, my anticipatory Reader, while my friend and I engrossed ourselves with a healthy catch-up of news, my Mumsy sneaked out towards the back of the garden and using her Veil she began to pick the bulbously and juicy green pears, each yearning to reach the platter of a table so that they may feel their untapped sweetness on the tongue of the merrymaker. As she did so it dawned on me that my Mumsy was the epitome of the Soul of the Giver, to share whatever fell in her lap was the singular feed by which she could ever hope to touch the bright sensation of happiness.

After Mumsy had picked the choicest berries, pears and the heart and affections of yet another friend entering into her aura of Motherly Love – which is very lucidly blatant in the purest bliss that so gorgeously blossoms on Sachi’s face – I soon came across another extraordinary ‘triangulation of elements’. Posted by an astronomy page on Facebook today, there it was, beautifully resonating the cosmic universality of the message that a Mother’s Veil forever seeks to pick happiness and lift up the spirits of all those whom she devotes her heart to… :)) :)) :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/AstronomyPictureOfTheDay/photos/a.149744531727683.22546.147511511950985/878072975561498/?type=1&theater

“… my Mumsy was the epitome of the Soul of the Giver, to share whatever fell in her lap was the singular feed by which she could ever hope to touch the bright sensation of happiness…”

“… Mumsy had picked the choicest berries, pears and the heart and affections of yet another friend entering into her aura of Motherly Love – which is very lucidly blatant in the purest bliss that so gorgeously blossoms on Sachi’s face….”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

The Leisurely Chronicles of Two Ladies, High Tea And Other Childish Miscellany At Lainston House!

My Dearest & Treasured Reader,

In jubilant celebration of what has been one of the most memorably exciting summer holidays for me I am keen to present to You the spectacularly amusing but no less touching photo-diary of my fantabulous girly getaway with one of my closest and dearest friends, Samka! Nestled in picturesque rolling green acres of English countryside, where lime trees, oaks, elms and beeches lushly abound, a stately 17th Century manor house – the sort Austen, Bronte and even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would gladly make accommodation for a weekend of quality writing, away from those prying eyes of the madcap city – two girls in their middle age decidedly made it their bespoke sanctuary!

A breath-taking labyrinthine castle steeped in aristocratic aesthetics, the luxurious gardens and high classical columns grandly erected on the outside of the building were enough to impress on us that we were about to be thoroughly pampered and quite justifiably so, it was about high time that our feet indulged in a restful break from the countless adventures the both of us had accrued over the summer!

Each room felt that it had been authenticated by the distinguishable air of a royal presence. Paintings and wall murals gilded in aged gold, armchairs made of the finest upholstery, and walls plastered in the most attractive of decorative designs inspired from the botanica of the natural world besieged our breaths. Oh and do not get me started on the business of the etiquette of serving tea!! Dapper waiters in pristine white shirts and black waistcoats, glided across the room with the most adorable of smiley faces, bending down to take our orders and, my goodness me, I cannot tell You precisely the number of times we sent the chaps to fetch us tea! It would be madness to declare a number for I fear You may never want to read my works again! And when the high tea arrived, in a decorous arrangement of a silver teapot and a merry-go-round of fine bone china cups, saucers and milk jugs, I was literally over the moon to discover that my tea had come to me in loose leaf form – a far more superior incarnation when the matter of taste is concerned! As the seductive fumes of Lapsang Souchang tea languidly rose from our cups, gunpowder and smoky and golden, Samka and I sat back in our comfortable armchairs in the the palatial lounge room and let out deep long sighs in unison! Ah, what joy it is when after the turbulence of activity, rest finally comes, in soothing, lulling waves…

ENOUGH OF THE LADYSHIP ACT! We did not rest, how could we do so when I had my electronic steed at my heels!? GIGGLE, GIGGLE! After guzzling down several doses of the jolly brew, we jumped up and nearly scared the circle of businessmen out of their wits who were stationed at the back of the room! My research had equipped me with the privileged knowledge that the building had oodles of rooms to explore and since the day outside was as grim as the grim reaper’s cloak, the bucketing of downpours never wanting to stop, I suggested to Samka that we venture into all the rooms and hidden corners and harness the different qualities and textures of ambient light and that she be my model! Samka never shies away from my lens, she is well-resourced with a natural flair for wanting to strut her beautiful face whenever the orders are despatched from me! How immensely convenient that I should have such a pliable friend in my circle! Giggle, giggle!

In my instance, Photography and the art of Visual Storytelling are not chores or the exacting of a business deal, it is a passion that has made acquaintance with my life pulse and for which there is no rest. I sincerely pray that as You scroll through the Lainston House photo-diary You, too, will be satisfactorily appeased when I say that, despite what appearances may suggest as one sees me rushing about with my equipment at a time when leisure and rest is prescribed and expected of, to click away like a Mad Hatter is a most pleasurable habit that serves to renew my spirits time and time again.

As is my modus operandi, I request that You have as Your accomplice the finest brew of tea at Your side before proceeding to view my gallery of visual treats! A caption as short as me is provided under each image and should Your eyes be of a lazy constitution then may I suggest that You click on the picture of interest for a size tantamount to a blue whale’s bottom! Giggle, giggle!

I raise my teacup in salutary style to You, my most beloved Reader, for though You remain hidden to my mortal eyes the sustenance of Your Faith and Love in my Vision is the reason why I am blessed to wake up to not one but two sets of dawns every morning… :)) :)) :))


You know I am eternally Yours,

Mazzy xxx

Samka Librarian

“I dare say, have You ever laid eyes on a more beautiful librarian in Your life?! I was tempted to pull the spines of each book forward because I fancied that by doing so one of them would activate a hidden mechanism and a secret door would slide open…”

 

Samka Bar

“Samka stylishly walked across the lounge towards the warmly lit bar and effortlessly perched herself on the high stool, casually letting her eyes glide around the room as if she owned the entire place! I would have required an abseiling crew to reach the summit of those stools so I made peace with my fate and continued to click away from afar…!”

   

Samka's Man

“Samka has just spotted her knight in shining armour galloping towards the window, a Mr Gerard Butler I am told! What remarkable similarity in her frame to that of the sentinel watchers of the meerkat community…!”

Samka Problem-Solving

“Why is a raven like a writing desk? A trademark addiction, I cannot help but to deploy this wriggling riddle onto my loved ones and, as You can gather quite clearly, Samka’s loss of an answer caused her to resign to chewing on her spectacles…!”

Samka Stomper

“We were stomping up and down the stairs with the tread pressure of an angry rhino! In a bid to hide from the Manager we lay low for a bit which also proffered us valuable time to have out breaths return to normal…!”

Samka's Shoes

“Samka considers a potential upgrade! You can never go wrong with a sturdy pair of British Wellingtons…!”

Samka's Smartphone

“Unlike my unconventional abstinence from the noisy world of the Smartphone, Samka relishes hers like it was her own baby! Her we can see her checking us in on Facebook which I always find to be the most strangest thing one can ever do! I asked her with cheeky retort whether Facebook requires us to check out as well and does it overcharge if we were to stay a little longer…?!”

Samka's Light

“I was obviously too preoccupied with fiddling with the settings on my camera because the next time I looked up, to my astonishment, my friend was bathed in the most exquisite afternoon light that had at last poured itself free out of the entanglements of rain and leaden clouds…”

Samka & Chess

“Samka was fierce in her insistence that she ought to revise my understanding of how that game of games, Chess, is truly played! I gulped hard and long, suddenly her shoes had become as imposing and domineering as the gaze of the blackest raven…”

Pillars Of Friendship

“The Pillars of Friendship, my claims may not be of modest proportions and apologies if they taste of flamboyant grandiosity but, as she reached her arm round to hug the pillar, its warm and supportive effect was felt in my own heart…”

Samka At It Again!

“Oh my dearest Samka, abandon thy efforts to solve the riddle on ravens and writing desks and take stock of that Gerard Butler coming at you from across the lawn…!”

Samka's Collars

“Samka, I can explain a great many things but on the pressing issue of why your anorak was born of short collars, I must step down in defeat and beg that you seek an alternative counsel to help rid you of your burning puzzlement…!”

Beauty In Unexpected Places

“It was a feast for my senses to know that irrespective of the mundane or dull or uninspiring corners of the estate, in concerted effort my friend and the ambient light preyed upon such atmospheres and in their place could instil a renewed focal point of interest such as to give rise to the impression that in an old place a new tale was about to be told…!”

Samka's Steed

“You are well acclimatized to the fact that I fancy the smoking dragon of the tracks – steam trains to be precise – but my Samka is bred with the more popular passion for ‘boxes with circles’! I simply adore the pride she wears on her face and body for her moving polygonal baby, it would be a gross injustice if I had foregone this opportunity to document this relationship on camera. Do not ask me where my head came up to when I sat in the front passenger seat, I do believe Samka at one point grab held my head thinking it was the gear stick…!”


Photography & Words:  © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Sparsholt | Hampshire | UK 2015

A Garden Party With Alice: Wonderland Revisited!

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

The paragon of riddles, deceptively simple and simply deceptive, posed within the innocent pages of what the uninitiated eye would more than likely regard as just a children’s book, has had many a great scholar afflicted with nightly tosses and turns in their bed as their mind fails to deduce a satisfactory and logical answer to Mr Carroll’s crowning jewel of a sentence from his masterpiece, Alice In Wonderland.

A fellow Oxfordian, Carroll and I share more than just a love for the nonsense, eccentric, bohemian and the outrageous, for we are both comprehensive mirror images of each other by virtue of our comfortable and parallel dabbling with both literature and the visual arts, and it is in this very honour of the 125th anniversary of his illustrated text that I am proud to present to You a reworking and re-visitation of an adventure first penned on page and that was as swift as a hawk’s wing in its enrapturing of my imagination and senses as a little girl. I am quite prepared to concede that no better conjecture, as to the origins of my fanatical taste for tea, is there than that of the moment when Alice stumbled upon that famous Tea Party hosted by the Mad Hatter and his band of endearing misfits!

Now who could play my Alice, I wistfully pondered away to myself and to what part of the tale would my photographs allude to?  Well, I shan’t infuse any further bags of tension into Your teapot as You appear to have far too many of those floating away in there, anyone looking in would believe in an instant that they were peering into a grotty pond that is in desperate need of professional cleansing! Giggle, giggle!

Alright alright, I might have exaggerated on the point of the strenuousness endured in the scouting and search for a potential Alice because, well, if the truth be told, my Alice actually came to me! Just as the real Carroll based his Alice on his friend’s daughter, so it is so with my case and should You be of a persevering countenance – someone who has followed and read my tales so far without, ahem ahem, falling asleep – then You may recognise with a wham-bam that You have indeed met my little cheeky sprite before. In a previous piece I exposited to You that Little Miss A is designed with an insuppressibly excellent theatrical predisposition which would explain with crystal clarity why the both of us get along so very well!

A late summer garden party at my house was to take place and even the apples on the myriad trees that casually line our wooden fences rejoiced at the prospect, glowing in deep ambers, pale greens and flirtatious pinks, and it would be a terrible sin to not to mention specifically of the burst of flowers here and there – a veritable applause of soft petals that were only too happy to display their farewell song of the summer that had been and now is in the past. Perhaps I brag but I do not wished to be atoned for it but the truth is, my garden could quite easily have been that beautiful garden which Carroll’s Alice, with burning curiosity, gnawing anguish and hopeless despair, spied on through a keyhole after tumbling down the rabbit hole. Oh how to open that door?! Giggle, giggle!

When Little Miss A arrived on the scene a giant lightbulb flashed and kept flashing and would not stop – and indeed I let it flash on and on as I knew someone from another planet would benefit from my photonic activities,  for I would surely appear to them as a giggling twinkle in their night-sky! So sorry, I have deviated at the expense of Your limited patience! Ah yes, I had found my Alice! I shall not say anymore but do have a peek Yourself at the short photo-diary I submit below and You will most certainly agree that a phenomenal triangulation of elements – a MAGICAL stroke of Destiny – made it strongly conducive to treat this as THE opportunity to revisit a masterful tale, paying humble tribute to my literary idol, Carroll, whilst lending comical and loving legitimacy to why being an Eccentric in life is unanimously very, merry, berry FUN…!!!

As You have done for me so I do for You, my Good Reader… :)) :)) :))
Look after Yourself, extend a helping hand whenever You can and know that Your 5ft 1 Alice shall return to her class and to You very shortly!

Your Greatest Puzzle,
Mazzy xxx

To Solve A Riddle

“No matter where I go I seem to have acquired a peculiar but noble habit of plunging children’s minds into the most twisted and frolicsome fountain of conundrums whose problems defy solutions! As a teacher I believe it is paramount that my little ones should come to learn that it is quite acceptable to be, at times in life, deficient of straight answers. We should honour the Mystery for its own sake – and of course, in exchange, my camera always gets to be blessed with the brilliance of the overworked brain, its resultant tableaux of adorable and contorted expressions…!”


The White Rabbit Minus A Pocket Watch

“Alice works her way through the overgrowth and maze of footpaths and finally steals upon The White Rabbit! But, alas, his silver pocket watch is absent from his possessions! Whatever became of it…?”

Some Things Are Not What They Seem!

“I forgot to tell Alice that here, in my garden, nothing is what it seems. The obvious is an extinct concept in Mazzy’s Wonderland, driven out by its own burgeoning regularity and consistency. The passionate frills of this red flower contain the soul of an ancient flamenco gypsy and whomsoever nears towards her scent is soon overwhelmed, followed by blissful drowsiness and whose final consequence is to afflict the nosy child with constant bouts of daydreaming in class…”

Muddy Shoes Means Happy Girl!

“Alice, Little Miss A and I are of the same ilk: Should we be asked to don the attire of a lady we will gladly agree but our hearts are made of the stuff of adventures and no where is there a more fitting place to express this trait with diligent continuity than our feet and so, we hail in unison, to the sturdy and robust armoury proffered by the power of sneakers who promise to forever and faithfully carry us forward…!”

The Doorway To My Home

“In the footsteps of Alice, Little Miss A, too, enjoys the singular Victorious moment when the key is found and the door to my Home is finally opened! I wonder, dear Reader, are You wild, courageous and chaotically passionate enough to solve my puzzles and find me beyond this very ordinary but indubitably SPECIAL door…?”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Garden Party | Winchester | UK 2015