Ella Rose: the story: August 2009

Friday, 28 August 2009

Bleinheim

I had a very quick shoot in the lovely grounds of Bleinheim Palace recently with Michael (Voyages2004). He very kindly sent me a few images:

Hope you like them :)

Thursday, 27 August 2009

A Few More...

... From River Studio. Keeping with the commercial theme:

Tea and lingerie:

Piano and lingerie (I'm so glad we did these - I play the piano and had wanted to do a shoot like this for a while!)

Some zen on the beach...

Playing in the dunes...

Wednesday, 26 August 2009

I had a wonderful shoot recently with River Studio down in Southampton. This post is premature, as I've only received the first batch, but (as the photographer knows) I am really excited about these and just couldn't wait! Why? Simply because they're so unlike anything I've already got - more commercial and showing a different side of myself. I wanted to show some versatility and create a more diverse portfolio.

The light on the beach was so bright that it required sheer will power to open my eyes at times(!), but overall we had a great shoot and I look forward to working with Dave again; and I do like to be beside the sea side.

I hope you like them, and watch this space for many more! :)

Monday, 10 August 2009

Boats and Trains

It's not often I stand on the edge of a train platform wearing nothing but white gloves, hat and hold-ups, wistfully waiting for the train which will never come, but it seems I did, just the other day. The station is hardly used - other than for the fast trains which rush straight through, and I was facing away from the poor train drivers, which may have helped matters, but the deafening beep of the horns inches from my face made me jump like crazy each and every time!! I expect Malcolm got a couple of comedy shots. It was an eerie place though - no one there but still a lady's voice on the speaker every few minutes recommending that passengers stand back from approaching trains. Good job too; when they came, they came fast! Also, in related news, I broke the floor. My heels fell through part of the tarmac; danger zone.

Anyway, here is the evidence, as Malcolm has kindly passed these on! (Photographer Malcolm Journeaux, MUA Maggie):

For the other part of the shoot, we hired two punts and drifted around the Oxford river. All very English and civilised.

I will let you know when the transport-themed calender is out.

Friday, 7 August 2009

Rosamund Clifford

Did you know that in the twelfth century, it's thought that nunneries sometimes supplied brothels with girls? Bizarre and disturbing fact of the day.

Anyway, I'm currently working with Mark Bigelow on a project to do with Rosamund Clifford, mistress of Henry II. These photos are from our first shoot, in which we tried to imagine her story and begin to embody her character. Mark is a great photographer and has captured the light beautifully, so there are lots of photos to choose from - here is a selection. Thanks Mark!

Tuesday, 4 August 2009

Rural

I recently did a shoot with Karen Jones and Tony Nutley (both wonderful), which, amongst other things, involved a horse, a country house and a non-rider (me)! It was an amazing experience for me and totally new (as could be expected). I think we managed to entertain the residents of the house, one of whom appeared near the end, glass of wine in hand, and mentioned the opportunity to be in the local hunting weekly. I THINK he was joking, but thought it best to jump down his throat with my anti-hunting horror just in case. I love animals - Je suis une végetarienne. Hunting, no thank you. (I apologise for the occasional french phrases which seem to be popping up in this blog - it's completely inexplicable and unnecessary.)

Anyway, here are some images. Let's start with a log. (Photos by Karen)

Back at the stables:

Enter Otis, the horse (one more of Karen's, then some from Tony Nutley):

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

About Me

(For full information, including interviews and publications, see my website.)

Based in Oxfordshire/London, UK (and travelling anywhere and everywhere; click on the 'travel plans' tab near the top!), I'm a dance-trained model and writer. I began modelling for a painter while completing my Masters degree and accidentally carried on. Whether traditional or experimental, from artistic nudes to fashion shots, I strive to work with artists and photographers to help create images which are memorable, beautiful, intriguing or celebratory of the female form.

I am primarily an 'art model', taking bookings directly and independently, but am also represented by commercial agencies. I enjoy versatility and take on work across the spectrum: dance/movement, lingerie, fitness, commercial, lifestyle, wedding, fashion, beauty and portraits.

I've been lucky enough to have worked with some world-renowned photographers and artists, in many different countries and locations, yet some of my favourite images were taken by enthusiastic beginners. I am available for work with photographers, painters and artists of various media, whether amateur hobbiests or experienced industry professionals, for exhibitions, commercial publication or just portfolio building. (I'm never interested in anything remotely 'adult' or degrading.) If you'd like to consider hiring me for your project, please email me at: ellarosemuse@live.co.uk.

My life-long love of dance (I have trained in various/most styles from the age of 3) allows me to use my body awareness to add creativity, expressive lines, grace, character and emotion to images I'm involved with.

This blog is a little diary of my adventures and a fun way for me to share my latest images week by week (and help myself keep track of what I get up to!). Thanks for dropping by! Don't forget to say hi in the comments area, or by email (ellarosemuse@live.co.uk)... Often I struggle to decide which images out of a collection are my favourites; feel free to let me know yours!

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 called
a 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 hand
smells like the feel of an old school desk,
the deep carved names worn sleek with sweat;

that beneath the spray of my expensive scent
my armpits sound a bass note strong
as the boom of a palm on a kettle drum;

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

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

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

Pages