Let’s Connect: Mentorship, Prints & Collaborations
A brief and practical note.
After six years of writing here, I’m formalising something that has been happening informally for a while — people getting in touch to ask about prints, about learning, about working together. Which is lovely, and I’d like to make it easier.
So here’s where things stand:
Mentorship — I’m happy to work with photographers who want to develop their practice, whether that’s film, digital, or somewhere in between. One-to-one, remote or in person if you’re near the Vendée. We work on what you actually need, not a fixed curriculum.
Prints — A selection of black-and-white work from the Nantes series and elsewhere is available as archival prints. If something on the blog has caught your eye, get in touch and we’ll talk.
Collaborations — Photo walks, workshops, joint projects — I’m open to conversations. No guarantees, but I’m listening.
Article suggestions — If there’s something you’d like me to write about, say so. Reader questions have produced some of my better pieces.
The best way to reach me is ian@ijmphotography.net. I aim to reply within a couple of days. French is fine too — n’hésitez pas.
That’s it really. No agenda beyond making good work and occasionally sharing it with people who care about the same things.
(Or: How I Became a Human Pancake on a Tuesday Night)
For about a month now I have been off work after “un accident de travail.” I was leaving work on the 24th of September and tripped over some uneven flooring. I’m not a small man or a light man and I landed flat on my face like a guardsman fainting. I think my arms must have been tucked along my rib cage, and my nose hit the ground. The resulting nosebleed left a bit of my DNA on the floor and I looked miserable, furious with myself — and in pain in my ribs.
We went to casualty that night at about 20h as I was in pain, which is not something I’m overly fond of. None of this pain is weakness leaving the body codswallop for me matey. Casualty was shut for the evening and we dialed 15 for the SAMU who declared that since my breathing was fine I must only have fractured ribs, go home, see your doctor, take a paracetamol and try not to move.
No shit Sherlock! However, that’s exactly what I did. Surprisingly enough I didn’t move very much that first night, and the next day my doctor confirmed what we thought and I was given the good stuff. Tramadol! Tramadol didn’t make me high. It made me numb. And for the first time since falling, that felt like mercy.
Over the last month my car has died, I have rested, still have pain when I turn over in my sleep, yet feel rested, and I have been eating a lot healthier with more veg and protein. My wife took over driving me from my appointments and shouting when I yelled out in pain. Do I feel better for the time off? I suppose so. But like a 68, you feel there’s just one thing missing, much the same as 70 but with the one extra thing.
Would I recommend it to a friend, not at all… 1 star out of 5 because of the rest and time off work…
My Dear Reader, I have neglected you for too long. For the last two weeks, I have been on tour in China of all places.
Therefore, you have only been able to read the Photography Philosophy series, and whilst being in China, I may have taken the odd photo both in colour and black and white. I look forward to sharing them with you and telling you some tall tales and giving you a glimpse of life on tour.
I will take the opportunity to wish each and every one of you, a very Happy New Year.
I will leave you with a small taste of things to come with this image…
Yesterday, I lost one of my colleagues. Not “lost” in the usual sense—we knew exactly where she was. She was lying on the ground outside the workshop, her heart having simply stopped.
In France, when something like this happens, we don’t call an ambulance. We call the fire brigade. One of the men at her side was a volunteer firefighter who had already started performing CPR. The fire brigade arrived in just 13 minutes, but in such moments, time stretches and feels endless.
I kept my distance, observing my colleagues gathered around her. Despite being trained as a first aider, I felt it was better to step back. Sometimes, you just know when your presence might add to the confusion rather than be of help.
Returning to the office, the atmosphere was thick with concern and unanswered questions. Who was it? What had happened? Was it serious? Had the fire brigade arrived?
About ten minutes later, my manager called us into the workshop. His face was grave, and the room felt heavy, as if we already knew something terrible had occurred. We waited in silence as he told us that our colleague was still receiving CPR from the fire brigade.
“Any questions?” he asked.
“Who is it?” someone asked, though we all held our breath.
“Nathalie. She works on the end of the ‘ligne standard.’”
The news hit like a punch to the chest. Nathalie wasn’t just a colleague; she was one of the kindest people I’ve had the pleasure to work with. Always smiling, always with a kind word, even on the roughest of days.
I returned to my duties, trying to keep busy as a way to cope. I had some timber to inspect, so I focused on that. As a Catholic, I always say a Hail Mary whenever I see an ambulance. So, I did just that, entrusting her to Our Lady. What else could I do?
After my inspection, I went into the workshop for a coffee. When I greeted a colleague, our conversation inevitably turned to Nathalie. He mentioned, almost casually, “Didn’t they tell you? She died on the way to the hospital.” My reaction was a stunned “Bugger!”
It struck me that when I was praying for her, it must have been at the moment of her death. That thought brought me some comfort. At the moment, however, I feel nothing. Not sad. Not grieving and wailing. Just nothing. The therapist came in this morning to listen to anyone who wanted to talk. I don’t even know if anyone turned up.
Fair play to upper management, though. The Directeur Général and the owner of the firm were there that afternoon. It was a gesture of respect, if I’m honest. I still wonder what more I could have done. Nothing. Is it normal to feel? …Nothing?
Françaises, Français, Belges, Belges, Mon président, Mon chien, Monsieur l’avocat le plus bas d’Inter, mesdames et messieurs les jurés, public chéri mon amour. The manner in which that French genius Pierre Desproges greeted his audience in the infamous radio show Le Tribunal des Flagrants Délires.
It was something I heard repeated on Rire et Chansons when I used to listen to French Radio trying to learn how to become more French than the French in the vain idea that I had to learn all about French culture to be accepted by them. Now I realise my erreur! All I had to do to be like them was to talk French incorrectly, smoke, drink wine, feel as if I am the light of the world, and judge people. A damning indictment possibly, but how true!
Am I here to slag off the French once again? Not really, but it’s always something so satisfying… They think they know everything, and yet… But I’m just going to leave that there today and not develop, because it is not the done thing, however fun it might be!
The quote by Pierre Desproges is quite revealing in the way he addresses his public, chéri, mon amour. Do I write for others uniquely, or is it part of my therapy and a means to expedite my inner daemons? Do I write only to leave a trace on this world before I die? Is this my legacy for my children? As a writer, not that I class myself as a “writer” in the way a French intellectual might, I do write the articles on this blog, and I hope, in some small way, to either amuse you, to help you pass some time in public transport and depending on my subject of choice, help you realise that there might just be a different way of looking at the world. Possibly. Who knows? Who really cares? You, Dear Reader I hope, in some small way. Sharing is caring, after all.
According to the statistics that I get back since I started this weird and wonderful project, there have been 8 826 of you that have visited my site. There have been 33 994 views of my pages. The French have viewed my site 17 810 times, followed by the British with 5029, and our Colonials across the pond with 4157 views. This amazes me firstly, because I write in English for the French apparently, and they seem to lap it up, and secondly by the views from my home country, the United Kingdom. Thanks Mum and Dad!! As I look over the history of IJM Photography, I would like to thank the guy in Ireland who often has a look in. Buy that man a pint of Guinness!
Not a map of the British Empire despite the pink…
When I see all the countries in pink on this map, I keep telling myself that this is not the British empire but people from the countries who have taken a moment and have visited this blog. I still find this amazing. I’m just one person, among 7bn on this planet. It’s as if I have had over 8 thousand people visit my home and have a look inside my mind.
The most popular article was about the X100F camera that has a place in my heart and camera bag. 586 views that one!! In 2019, it was an article about Humber Street with 169 views. In 2020, Don’t Panic with 112 views. 2021 with the X100F article, and this year 2022, it was the Parisian Nights Part I. Please have a look through the archives and maybe discover things you never knew existed!
When I declared to my mother that I was going to start a website, she declared it would never last. For once, you were wrong mother, and I apologise for this exception to the rule. I tend to have no filter concerning what I write about and how I write it, which can lead to interesting insights into the functioning of my dysfunctional brain. I’ll let the head shrinkers have a field day with that one. You get me, a rather large English-Irish gentleman, and my heart goes into each page and word that I write for myself and for you, Dear Reader. Thank you for being part of this strange adventure.
Yesterday I looked death in the face. Whilst at work, yesterday at around 10 am, crossing from one building to another, I suddenly looked up and saw a big flash of yellow in front of me. A forklift truck was just 3 feet away from me. I was between the two forks. Three feet between me and potential death, and a prison term for the driver.
The driver has a certain “reputation,” and the guys from the workshop where he can be found the most say it’s just a matter of time until he actually kills someone.
When it actually happens to you, it makes you think how much you would actually enjoy living a tad more. Not necessarily an epiphany, but (going for the understatement of the year prize, 2022) definitely a bit of a shock. Three feet, that were the difference between my wife with whom my first date took place 30 years ago to the day, becoming my widow!!! My children were three feet from losing their father.
Fortunately, my plus 2 saw the whole thing and came storming out of his office saying that it was unacceptable that I should have to suffer being in such danger, and that the colleague would be suitably bollocked by plus 2 and the 2 plus 1’s that he frequently comes into contact during the day. My plus 1 and the driver came to my stores, to say sorry, with smiles on their faces. It was like being told by the teacher to see the child that they had just bullied and apologise. I said that I would send them the cleaning bill for my underpants that I had just soiled. There’s no point in going full frontal and yelling at them. Be the better man and all that… Also, I’m English in France, I’m fifty, I have a gammy knee, and despite everything, this job pays the rent!
Clocking in this morning, I saw the driver who had nearly taken me out and asked him if he wouldn’t mind not trying to kill me today. When Plus 1 said good morning to me, I said that I was just glad to be alive and that I was hoping not to be killed today either. I also reminded them that had I been killed, then there would have been prison not only for the driver but for the driver’s boss. Strangely enough, the driver has stopped driving so fast and seems, for the moment at least, to take his responsibilities on board.
I will be the better man, I will be the better man, I will be the better man, and with the help of God, remain glad to be alive for a little longer.
