Those are Dylan’s feet, he must have been days old when I took that photo. It has been fantastically popular with family and friends and fairly popular with the internet as a whole. I like it a lot, it’s “baby” without being “horribly cute”. It also reminds me of the hours my wife and I spent staring into the moses basket at the child the doctors said we would never have.
Which brings me to baby photography as a whole: why is it so bloody weird? It’s not just recent baby photography either. Even before people decided that sticking a naked baby in a rattan wastebasket makes a great and memorable photo there was a very creepy Victorian style of photography where the child’s mother was hidden behind a drape, look here . Now it seems the fashion is for naked babies garnished with crochet head bands and stuffed into jam baskets, plant pots, buckets, toy boxes and so on. It stinks of production line photography to me, “£45 for a shoot, and one print”, get ’em in, get the shot, get ’em out.
I really don’t understand it. I want Dylan’s baby photographs to remind me of him growing up: the newborn wrinkles and the hospital tag on his leg remind me of his first days at home. The photo of him in the strobe photography article reminds me of sunday morning breakfasts, radio 6 playing, fresh coffee, boiled eggs, watching the garden together out of the patio door.