When we were out yesterday, i took some lovely photos (well,Â i like them) of the girls. I was thinking as i did it, that it seems to be much harder to get a ‘bad’ photo of a child; something about the flesh depth on their faces, the mobility and the general lack of saggy or tired places seems to mean that they look charming more often than not. Whereas, a decent photo of me is harder to come by than a single hens tooth and the same seems to apply to a good number of other adults too. People rarely seem to like photos of themselves as adults, whereas i never hear that reaction from my children.
Then i took this one of Fran, which i really like by the way, but i think it sums up for me the change and how it might get harder. She’s losing her baby innocence, her skin is more finely chiseled than it used to be, her bone structure and tendons are more pronounced. She’s starting to get a glimmer of the teenage and adult Frances, one who will no doubt start to disklike photographs of herself in the future. Her expression is more knowing, with more thought and decision written on it and that seems to be a change; she is no longer living for the absolute moment, she’s beginning to plan and brood and consider.
But that said, i still think this photo is worthy of a film still; she makes me think of one of the more feisty Jane Austen girls.