The love of a dog named Paddy

Paddy the wanderer who stopped into Ballinagoth and made himself at home and not an objection was raised. Now Ballinagoth is not a major thoroughfare, it’s down in a valley and sits cosily between the river, hills and a small preserved woodland and I used to joke that even the rabbits get lost down there. So how he came to be there no one knows and no one in the area knew him so my guess is that he was abandoned. His facility to adapt to a very quiet life in the small country cottage where only my late father hid out most of the time suggests that he wasn’t ever a city slicker. It was an old cottage with a smoky open fire and only 20 yards from the river Nore, a river that was once renowned for its fine salmon which have sadly been poached out of existence by the locals greed for money today with no forethought for tomorrow. Paddy watched the fishermen come and go and never stirred unless they were accompanied by their own dogs and then Paddy spontaneously exploded into a vicious terrier tornado. He’s seen a lot of life as would be normal for any member of the Hayden family. I’m open to correction on his exact history but from what I know he’s been in the care of my mother after the death of my father and then he willingly took off on a grand adventure with my late niece Ciara, she had the wanderlust bug and a courageous curiosity that had her traveling far and wide until her sad and untimely death. And then another new chapter began for Paddy. He had been living in the mountains of Orgiva in Spain with Ciara and her daughter Lily but when Ciara became unwell she came home to Ireland. And Paddy was brought home later on in the camping car by boat from Santander to Cork. He made the voyage without a growl except when he wanted to pee or when he met another dog on the deck. He was put off his food by the anti rabies medication and I guess the long drive and boat journey didn’t help but he bounced back and today is living in Co Kilkenny with my sister Deirdre. Now that I think of it he may have lived with my other sister Maria, but I need that confirmed? We’re not certain of how old Paddy is but he’s surely more than 20 years old and like us all with age his sight is not what it used to be nor are his legs but he looks well, he eats well and has been much loved by all who came to know him. We’ve had several dogs in the family but for me Paddy is one of a kind, a kind of angel. His presence has enhanced the life of us all, his nonverbal way of communication has entertained us and his old man charms coupled with his roguish eye has seduced everyone that's been priviliged to meet him. As a photographer he's been my educator and tester and I can credit him with giving me a deeper appreciation for my profession. He's also a constant reminder of how important it is to be connected to your subject. You'll see in the images that I have more than a little affection for Paddy, there's a place in my heart for him that connects with my eyes and my soul, my chakras are equally alligned and for me that connection is essential in portraying the true personality of my subject no matter who or what it is. Connection is everything.

Paris bio ice cream

It’s a sunny day in Paris with temperatures hitting 14 degrees amazing for March 29th not! But with the sun in the sky and an ice cream shop in front of me Shaw’s quote comes to mind,”I can resist everything except temptation “. And so I entered Bachir’s ice cream shop and treated myself to 3 flavors the first was pétale de rose, next a classic vanilla and to finish a delightful almond ice cream. On entering the shop I was welcomed by a smiling and bubbly young lady who took my order and had me in ecstasy in no time. I’m an ice cream fanatic and it was a régale! I must add that she offered me a complimentary crème chantilly which I declined but the delightful lady wouldn’t have it and let me know that it was home made and very good so I crumbled and went for. I almost forgot that she said it was “good for the heart”. That’s good news to me how true it is remains to be discovered in later years by a bored scientist. It was however the best cream I can remember ever tasting. And I’m not a fan of cream Chantilly. So if you find yourself near the centre Pompidou and rue St Martin head to Bachir. I don’t usually blog about ice cream but this one is worth sharing. The price is nice to. I liked the fact that you can choose as many flavors as you want. See the photo for the prices and original flavors. I’m going to try and include this area into one of my photo tours.

Wedding with a twist

Without doubt the wettest wedding I’ve ever had the please of participating at but also the most interesting. It took place July 30th on Glastonbury Tor. For a little bit of background to this magical place...the town of Glastonbury has a history immense and intriguing, full of myths and legends they combine in such a way that you cannot but feel the “vibes” and powerful energy of the town. Glastonbury is the cradle of Christianity in England but is also reputed to be the burial place of King Arthur. Glastonbury is believed to have been a site for pre-Christian worship. It’s creation dates back five thousand years. All that remains of the medieval church at the top of the Tor is the tower. The legend of Avalon as told in Celtic folklore Avalon was an isle of enchantment, the meeting place of the dead. Legend has it that King Arthur, and his wife Guinevere, are buried in the grounds of Glastonbury Abbey. So what better spiritual center to celebrate your “marriage” in. Though when it rains there is no cover so it’s essential that you employ the mind over matter theory and feel the love. The groom in kilt is in fact Italian and his bride to be English and they were both delightful and positive while the rain came down in torrents. As a photographer trying to get images and at the same time trying to protect my equipment it was the most difficult shoot but as I mentioned earlier the most interesting and somewhat fun shoot I’ve ever done.

Final of the coupe de France in Réville

Coupe de France The normally sedate town of Réville in the Cotentin Normandy was a hive of activity this morning with the preparations of the coupe de France of pedal cars. From the atmosphere of excitement and tension one could get the sense that this was not just a Sunday afternoon of fun, the drivers and their vehicules were all under scrutiny from the gathering audience who had travelled from as far away as the UK for this big race. The cars were in all makes and shapes, some serious looking machines and many comical looking contraptions were getting last minutes tune ups and polishing. By 2pm the atmosphere was tense with anticipation for the starting gun to be fired, drivers stretched their muscles and limbered up in the hope to avoid the cramps that arrive after pedalling like hell in a tight space for 3 hours. The circuit was in the town and no more than a kilometer in distance which circumnavigated the church passing by the local baker, butcher and the only hotel in the sleepy village which today was alive with visitors. By 2.45pm the contestants starting squeezing into their respective "cars" many of them disguised as cartoon characters or traditional Normande dress. They are not only judged on speed but on their costume and the decoration of their "cars". Bang on 3pm the starters gun was fired and the "drivers" took off in earnest and with all their might in order to get poll position in the first lap. Spiderman was up to the task closely followed by the union jack. Tailgating was it seems obligatory, and when the first tense laps were passed some voiced their annoyance of being tailgated by saying 'you're giving me a pain in the arse!' But it was all good fun. People clapped and cheered as they zoomed past, though not all had the speed to zoom. The weather was perfect, no wind, some sunshine with lots of huge cumolo nimbus clouds creating a dramatic backdrop to this important sporting event held every year in Réville. I might just join in next year so watch this space...

Ireland and Photo tours

Are photo tours for you? Do you have an interest in the great outdoors and a desire to discover Ireland, and or France? Are you curious and enjoy getting lost and off the beaten track. My tours always end up off the beaten track! A photo workshop is where you get advice and instruction on how best to capture what’s in front of your camera. It’s important that before you book your tour/workshop that you make as sure as is possible that it suits your needs. And never hesitate to ask a question,more often than not it's a question others in the group hesitated to ask. If you're a beginner I strongly advise you to try and get some one on one tuition before going on a group tour. If you need more info feel free to reach out to me @ kevinhayden62@hotmail.com or Tel 06 71 93 72 81 If you’re interests are in architecture then a city based tour of Paris, Dublin or Rome for instance would satisfy your needs. Likewise if you’re a street photographer these cities are perfect. Make sure your tour organizer has inside knowledge and knows the area well. But don’t get stressed if or when they get lost, that is often the time when the magic happens. Everything happens for a reason and being able to recognize the opportunities that have been presented to you is a skill in itself and one that I talk about on my tours and workshops. Being centered, silent and in the moment. Taking your time to breathe, closing your eyes and connecting with the earth beneath your feet, making that connection and having a communion with your environment or subject will lead to creating images that the viewer can also connect with. Remember a piece of blank paper is just a piece of blank paper, as a photographer your aim is to put some feeling and emotion on that blank piece of paper. You want your image to touch and move people. Move them enough to buy the image and help pay for your next tour of Ireland or France with me Kevin Hayden as your guide and

teacher. One last tip, make sure you check out the images from previous tours that way you will see if the tour leader can take a photo and a photo style that appeals to you.

Hasselblad Analogue/argentique fun

I was going to say if you're over 30 years old you will remember the joy of turning the F-stop ring on the lens of your 36mm film camera or on a 645 medium format camera like the Hasselblad or Bronica. I never tested the 6X6 but always meant too. In the "old days" I used a tripod quite a lot and always had several backs for my MF cameras so that I could switch between colour & black & white or a higher ISO or ASA as it was once known. But now it seems fashionable or cool to use a rustic film camera. It turns heads and starts conversations... Today we can instantly switch from colour to black & white with the press of a button and the turning of a knob. And it's just as simple to change the ISO for shooting in near night time conditions. In the past 10 years the quality of digital cameras has gone beyond what many skeptics said it could or would. I was one of them! That is why today I have pulled out from under my bed boxes of old cameras I no longer use and believe will never use again. It makes me kinda sad but I'm also being pushed by my darlin wife to unclutter before we move homes. I've got 2 Bronica medium format cameras with backs and a polaroid back, also great lenses 75mm F2.8 and the 150mm Zenza F4 Kodak Land polaroid camera, Kodak A-116 camera in great condition and all working. Sekonic light meter, Zeiss light meters, Canon FD 40mm cable releases and to much more to bore you with here. I'm selling the lot and moving on. I may get up early tomorrow and go to the fridge where my Ilford film has been in storage for years now and stroll around frozen Paris streets. Paris without Parisians is always a pleasure. early morning light also always inspires me. So if you're in Paris and want to buy any rustic conversation starters email me alternatively call me in the morning for the walk along the seine.

Donegal's wild Atlantic way...then Paris

Coming back… After a week on the northwest coast of Ireland where the predominant sounds are of seagulls floating over crashing waves or a gale blowing through some oak or pine trees, and having nowhere to run to, no commitments to keep for a week, I now realise was like a meditation retreat. Donegal is a land of hills, hollows, bons, woods and the longent most majestés coastline in Ireland. As my mother rightly pointed out ‘you’re so taken with the landscape that you forget everything at home’. She’s often spot on my mother! And like all good things it had to end. Going back to Paris is never easy much as I appreciate the beauty of the city there’s no place like Donegal. I don’t like running. I tried jogging once, it just bored me. So now I’m back in Paris, I enter the metro ticket into the machine and it squeals a mechanical sound which makes me think it’s a used ticket, but no it’s a good one. Then I hear the metro approach, I catch myself starting to run like the others around me, we grab the handles of our rolling suitcases and run as if there won’t be another train until tomorrow, I even push the round shaped man who’s even slower than me into the metro as the doors make that terrifying, I’m about to cut you in two sound. Then a hissing sound starts just before the outer doors close all the while the warning sound of, I’m going to cut you in two if you chance it, is still screaming then thump the doors close. Tonight I also notice the light, it's much too strong after the soft ever changing light of Ireland. The metro scrapes and squeals, metal against metal sounds fill the tunnel, sparks fly from the tracks and electric blue darts around in the black of the tunnel as the metro leaves and gets swallowed by the black of the tunnel. I’m back in Paris. Everything seems violent to me. The metro doors open fast and noisily, the button I pushed to open them I had to push forcefully. I ascend the stairs with no enthusiasm, the doors that close swiftly behind me in order to keep the non paying out, open and close with even greater speed and noise than the doors of the metro. It's all noise. Everyone else is oblivious while engrossed in their telephone screens and tablettes. It’s midnight. I leave the stuffy polluted air of the metro and for once I’m surprised, and pleasantly so by what I would describe as fresh air in Paris. Now don’t lose the run of your imagination! It’s not Irish fresh air but it’s Paris fresh air. I hit the street with some hope. Paris is not so so bad. A feeling of "it’s ok" hits me, I say hello to an unknown man who’s lighting a cigarette, he looks at me quite surprised but then says ‘bonsoir’ It eventually occurs to me in my tired state that I need to be more accepting of "what is"

" and show some gratitude for being here. I stop, close my eyes, breathe and all is well.