art, dublin, ireland, parenting, photography, portrait

Victorian tragedy



No, actually, this time the tears were real and there was a valid reason. In so far as diving from a sofa straight into a radiator is a valid reason. 
I want to make it clear that I was the first one to reach him and comfort him. 

But when the cavalry arrived I thought that maybe I could grab a quick shot. 

I saw something that reminded me of some Victorian paintings of painfully dramatic scenes, when I saw the positioning of the hands, and the folds in the cushions and his top, and his little face contorted with pain. 

And tried to calculate if I had enough time to reach for the big camera, but decided against it as there was too much of a risk that the balance in the tableau might change.

I am a monster.


5 thoughts on “Victorian tragedy

  1. You aren’t the only monster. My son was asked to cut the end off the Christmas tree, with a rather nasty looking pruning hand saw. I told him to be careful and not cut himself. Dang Mom jinxed him. Next thing I see as I am snapping photos, is him dancing around cussing and holding his hand. My hubby thought perhaps I should get him something rather than snap pictures. Great Motherly instincts I have!

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