This is me in London many years ago. You may be wondering, what on earth is this lady doing in that (rather tacky) red dress?
Well, I bought it in a toy shop on Oxford Street many moons ago. One Saturday, in what sometimes felt like a very lonely city, a friend of mine who was a photographer at the time came over and took some photographs of me.They were taken in Old Street, back then a place where youngsters used to hang out.
The city could be harsh. I was trying to find a job in the media, but the industry at the time was narrow-minded, and I didn’t have the RP accent they wanted. That didn’t make me any less valid, capable or interesting. The problem was that the people judging me couldn’t see it — or didn’t know how to value it.
Looking back now, I think: their loss.
Losers!
But lets go back to these pictures, when I look at them now, though, I think: gosh, I look pretty.
And it makes me wonder why I sometimes felt I wasn’t enough back then. I was young, healthy, full of energy and, actually, quite beautiful. I just couldn’t always see it.
It was around this time that I came across Lord Byron’s She Walks in Beauty. I don’t remember exactly when I first read it, but looking at these photographs again all these years later, it feels strangely fitting.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
“She Walks In Beauty” by Lord Byron (George Gordon)
