The Briar Rose

‘The Briar Rose’

It was November 9th 2009 when I first discovered the tiny bridge hidden deep in the woods and one year to the day since I lost my mother.

I had been inconsolable all morning and had gone to my favourite place to try and calm myself down. As I walked along the familiar track I came across an overgrown trench that led down into the mouth of a small archway with slanting stone walls. It was only about the width of two people and around five meters long. I remember dragging my fingers across the cold wet stone, slowly walking backwards and forwards from one end to the other, my jaw slack with excitement. It was like she had led me there and my sadness slowly gave way to complete wonder as I stood in the shadow of that enchanted place. At the time I was completely unprepared but I knew whatever picture I took there in the future would have to be special. As each season passed I would return and photograph the changes: the mist in winter, the first leaves in spring, through to the overhanging moss in the summer. There were occasions when I’d planned to take a large team and attempt something grand, but circumstances always stopped me and it wasn’t until two whole years later that the time finally came.

It was a dark January morning on the Friday of the shoot. It had been raining for days and I had just lied and called in sick at work. It was the only date our little team could be together for some time so I had no choice, and now the weather was horrendous. Elbie and I had worked till two o’clock the night before and were up with the dawn. I had made the costume out of every last scrap of antique lace I had left, and sat up most nights with Georgie, my giant cat, laying on top of it all, while I tried to hand sew it together. The largest piece of the costume was a huge lace wall hanging from a stately home
in Paris. It was over 100 years old and had found its way into my hands at a vintage fair in London about eighteen months before. It was one of the most precious things I owned, and I was terrified of taking it out into the woods, but it felt like this was its moment and looking back now I’m so glad I risked it. Katie’s costume was enormous: there were three tutu skirts, and four layers to the dress. The kitchen was bursting with red fabric, as I was planning on taking the motif of the red trail from the previous scenes and pushing it to an entirely new level by wrapping it around and through the bridge. It was meant to slip though the picture like the scene in ‘The Voyage’ but this time it was to gain momentum, and become a far larger aspect.

By eleven thirty that morning, everything was packed and we filled two cars with bin sacks of cloth, a stepladder, toolboxes, and endless extras before setting off into the rain. Outside the roads were grim; the skies were dark and swollen with clouds. Katie’s legs would be warm with all the giant skirts, but her top half was just a tiny piece of lace and a small red bodice. I was so worried, as she was still recovering from tonsillitis, and here I was about to put her on the top of a ladder in the rain for the next few hours. I quietly begged my mother to change the weather under my breath as I watched the houses give way to trees and the roads churn to mud…we were nearly there.

On arrival we loaded ourselves up with kit bags, and started walking towards the forest. It was absolutely beautiful – silent, vast and dark, with the shimmer of emerald green moss everywhere. No matter how many times I visit this place I always feel the same: my heart quickens, my breath changes, I feel more alive and true to myself than anywhere else. It is hard to explain but it’s a love affair I have with it all, and is the reason I will never be a studio photographer.

It was still raining when we reached the bridge, so we placed everything underneath it for shelter, while I started tests for the right framing, lens and exposure. I often inwardly panic a little when we are finally on the location and everyone is ready to start. It sounds ridiculous, but I don’t like to hold things up by endlessly fluffing around with what angle I need. This was another reason why on this day I was so grateful for it just being the four of us again. It was a difficult situation, cold, wet, extremely muddy and slippery. Setting up was very stressful as Katie was helplessly marooned up her ladder, while the three of us scrambled around in the mud, pulling lengths of cloth over our heads from one side to another. We had to physically nail Katie’s hair extensions to the outer stone wall, but in places it just fell out where the rocks broke to dust. There were lengths of invisible wire everywhere holding hair and fabric in place, which resulted in the location turning into one enormous booby trap for us all. The fabrics left on the ground had begun soaking up the mud and Katie’s beautiful curls were already falling out of shape. The light was so strange as it was incredibly dark, but on camera Katie’s pale skin was still bleaching out against the mottled browns of the bridge. I ended up having to underexpose the image far more than I usually would, and it was making me nervous. I had to take the picture on a tripod as anything hand-held was useless, which added to my stress as I only own fixed lenses. I spent the entire shoot shunting backwards and forwards, constantly swearing, until I was finally satisfied with my position.

It took almost three hours to get everything perfect; the whole time my heart weighed heavy in my chest. I knew we needed more people to help and it was all becoming too much. Had I ruined this shoot because I was too stubborn to cancel due to the weather? I’d been staring at the floor feeling so cross with myself, until I looked up with fresh eyes and suddenly took things in with a whole new clarity. There were no words to describe what I saw. In the gloom Katie was curled into the side of the bridge, her hair tumbling around her face and shoulders, clutching the little red galleon ship to her shivering body. The rain had finally stopped and the red cloth billowed gently in the breeze, dancing around her waist, slowly slipping away through the scene until it curled out through the corner of the frame. Somehow it seemed royal – it must have been the colours and the grand antique lace. I’m not entirely sure, but I felt like I was in the presence of a real sleeping beauty. It was without doubt one of the most magical scenes I have ever produced.

I began to shoot and almost filled the entire memory card I was so excited. It was only when I reached the final frames that I remembered we had some small red smoke bombs in the kit box, and I decided to light them all in one go for the last remaining pictures. I thought it would look like an over- kill and ruin what already appeared to be the perfect shot, but as their initial clouds dispersed, the colour simply hung in the damp air like a strange ghostly red fog. It was utterly heart stopping.I rushed to shoot as many frames as I could before the card ran out and the smoke melted away. I couldn’t catch my breath as I called to the others to come and see, while I replayed the images repeatedly, checking they were there and real. It was so strange and beautiful. I couldn’t get my words out, we had created something truly, truly extraordinary.

By now it was an hour off sunset and the cold had crept into our bones. We packed up as much as we could carry and headed for the cars. Matt and I returned to the bridge one last time to collect the remaining kit and check there was nothing left that could hurt any wildlife. I’d only had four hours of sleep and had been surviving on adrenaline all day, but as we staggered back that final time I will never forget the rush of the wind in my hair, and the specks of rain on my face. I felt so alive, so free, so truly myself, and so in love with the landscape. I was wearing my old parka covered in mud and the bright purple wellington boots that Elbie had bought me for Christmas. I was thirty-four, dressed like a six-year-old, and I didn’t give a damn. I found my feet quickening, and then I was skipping, and then I was just running towards the trees laughing. If I could have put my arms around that forest and hugged it for all it gave me, I would. I honestly wish I could have done.

I now know where I belong, and it is not spending hours commuting on trains to my day job in the city, permanently feeling miserable and empty. This is my heart, the woods are my place, and I just pray that one day I will be able to be there always, and do what I love so very much. I ache writing these words as it means so much to me. Shooting ‘The Briar Rose’ was an extraordinary day that challenged me more than most. Looking back, I now know I need to give serious thought to leaving my job, which scares me and excites me all at once. I learnt to put my trust in nature, even when I thought it was raging against me. Without the rain this picture would never have achieved the same level of emotion and poignancy that I now feel it has. So I am incredibly proud of it, and will love it always.