Mind you, that was another issue with social media sites such as Galleria. How much of what you saw was true, or rather the whole picture? Helen had often asked that question and had become very aware of it when she posted her own photographs. The Helen she was presenting to her followers was the fun, free version, whose world was full of beauty and charm. Gone were the spreadsheets, databases, endless emails and conference calls. She had happily banished the photocopier, the filing cabinets, the board room meetings and the many other dull bits of her life. Galleria was most definitely a highlights reel of her and everybody else’s life, for who really wanted to take a photo of a sink full of dirty dishes or share that mouldy patch on the north-facing bedroom wall or the mountain of ironing waiting to be done? Oh, no. Galleria was a blissful escape from all of that. It presented the very best pieces of people – the beautiful bits, neatly edited into one perfect square, accompanied by a poetic sentence or two – and Helen had bought into it big time. Only, her photography was slowly becoming more than that. She didn’t always want to squeeze it into one perfect box per day. She wanted to experiment and explore. She wanted to flex her creative wings and see if she could fly.
She was thinking about all this as she got off the Tube and headed across the concourse of the train station to catch the 17:54 train home to her village in Kent after a particularly dull day at the office. It was early April and there was still a full hour of light left, which meant Helen could gaze dreamily out of the train window and enjoy the changing landscape. As much as she was addicted to Galleria, she never forgot the primitive pleasure of being able to just sit and stare. So many of her fellow commuters had forgotten the simple delight of doing that. Now, gazes were locked onto screens as work was no longer left at the office, but followed one home. Helen refused to allow her work to accompany her home. She switched off her phone. Or rather, she switched off her work phone. She had a personal one too, and she got that out now, quickly texting her husband, Luke, to tell him she was on the train. As was her habit, she took a quick accompanying photo out of the window as they sped through a crowded station.
It was on her personal phone that she connected to Galleria and with which she took the majority of her photographs. She had several very good cameras at home too, but she liked the portability of the phone and the camera on it was good quality. Now, she scrolled through her most recent images. There was their recent weekend walk through the woods when she’d caught the purest of spring light and the fresh foliage of the beech trees. There were a few shots of the grey and fuming sea from their visit to the coast, when they’d had to bend their heads into the buffeting wind in order to remain upright. And there were several shots of their garden, full of the colours of spring, with her beloved tulips in terracotta pots and the crocuses crowding around the foot of the apple tree.
There was always something magical about taking a photograph, Helen thought, of preserving that single moment, capturing the light, the feelings, the emotion behind a scene. She was addicted to that and had often wondered if, perhaps, she’d be able to make a living from her photography. But maybe it wouldn’t be so much of a joy if it became a job. There was always that concern, and yet Helen didn’t believe her photography could bring her anything but happiness.
She took a deep breath and then wished she hadn’t. Somebody was eating a meat and egg sandwich behind her. How wonderful it would be to live without the daily commute, she thought. How exciting to make a living from creating beautiful photographs. But could it be done?
She looked out of the window at the same view she had been looking at for ten years. Ten long years of travelling in and out of London. How many more did she have to go before she could retire? The thought paralysed her. Unless . . .
She scrolled through some of her photos and messages on Galleria, reading the comments as she went.
You’re such a gifted photographer!
Do you do this for a living? If not – you should!
Love your pics. They always brighten my day.
Helen smiled, buoyed up by the support she had, but was it enough to build a new career from? Luke’s business as a self-employed builder was doing well, but could they afford to take a drop in their combined income while she got a new business off the ground? And could she really run her own business? She had no idea how to be self-employed and solely reliant on herself for an income. The prospect was terrifying and yet exhilarating at the same time. If she didn’t do it now, then when? Nobody was going to come up to her and offer her a more fulfilling life, were they? She had to go out and find it for herself.
Without waiting a single second, because she’d waited and wasted far too many of those already, she quickly sent Luke a text.
Got a proposal for you. H x
A moment later, his reply came.
I love a proposal. L x
She smiled.
You might not like this one. H x
Tell me! L x
When I get
