Through the Lens of Madness:

A Flu-Stricken Photographer’s Tale...

Selfie taken while silently suffering

They say artists must suffer for their craft.

What they don’t tell you is that the suffering might involve 39degree fevers, tissues piled higher than camera tripods, and the vague suspicion that your cat is silently judging your messy, incompetent, indolence.

I have the flu.

My husband’s Man Flu to be precise. And let me tell you, it’s not the glamorous, Victorian “fainting on a chaise lounge” type of illness. No. It’s the “sweating through your pyjama shirt while hallucinating that your blanket is a textured backdrop” type.

Here’s how being a photographer with the flu has completely unhinged me:

And who doesn't take their cough meds in a wine glass?

Every Object is a Potential Model

The tissue box? Gorgeous symmetry.
The thermometer? Honestly, this is serving angles better than most influencers.
The cup of honey lemon tea? Smouldering in soft morning light like it’s about to land a Vogue cover.

My mind’s camera roll is now 80% household items that have no business looking this editorial.
I now see myself for the model I always was.

The Model I always was.

Fever Dreams Are Just Weird Photoshoots

At 3am, in a haze of Ibuprofen, I genuinely believed my cat, Bjork whispered, “Shoot me like one of your French girls.”
I obliged. The photos are… concerning.

Bjork - looking a little …lewd.

Self-Portraits Become a Horror Series

I thought, “I’ll take a few sick-day self-portraits, raw and artistic, show my humanity.”
The result? A collection of images where I look like Gollum auditioning for a drug commercial.

Pulitzer Prize material. I'm featuring them here, you be the judge.

A Beauty in disguise....very heavy disguise.

Editing Makes No Sense Anymore

I opened Lightroom, sneezed mid-preset, and somehow gave the dog with model, a neon-green glow.
Instead of fixing it, I decided it was avant-garde.
Art Galleries will be lining up to feature my work, I thought smugly, to myself.

The Battle of the Tripod

In a flu-induced rage, I tried to set up my tripod. It collapsed twice.
I yelled at it like it was a treacherous ex. “It’s not as if YOU are the sick one here”, I raged.

I may or may not have threatened to replace it with a broomstick but the forecast made me reconsider.

The forecast

My Brain is Just Camera Settings Now

Colour Temperature? 38°C.
ISO? Also too high.
Shutter speed? Barely moving.
F Stop? Stopped right down and refusing to get up again.
White balance? Somewhere between “deathly pale” and “overcooked lobster.”

Moral of the Story:

Photographers with the flu should not be trusted near cameras. Or editing software. Or other humans, frankly.
Until further notice, I’ll be in bed, photographing the pet spider posing coyly on the ceiling like it’s my life’s magnum opus and it's his time in the influencer spotlight.

If you need me, please leave soup at the door. And maybe some flowers that I can photograph - or at least eat.