Ladies and gentlemen, I propose a toast:
To all those kind souls who will offer to help over the next 12 months and have their offer kindly but firmly rebuffed.
To all the locations, carefully scouted and rejected for lack of time or good light.
To all the Sunday afternoon, last dash shots.
To a well-stocked chemical cupboard to fuel the weekly developing sessions.
To the misplaced focus, the overexposures and all the other shots that will have to do because with film and a weekly schedule to maintain there will be scant chance of going back for a second chance.
To the weeks of feast with three half-decent shots, and famine, when it’s hard enough to find one good idea.
To the first flush of enthusiasm.
To the three-month blues.
To a summer vacation bursting with photo opportunity.
And to the far-flung dash to the finish line in December.
Ladies and gentlemen, I propose a toast to the art of self portraits taken over 52 weeks.*
*This shot is not one of them — it was taken last year in an English vineyard. But this year I firmly intend to turn my casual self-portraits back into another 52 weeks project. My third so far. Wish me luck — I know from experience that I’m going to need it.