Fifty-three years ago, these little butterflies were carefully collected, and their identifying labels were completed in tiny, meticulous handwriting.
A few weeks ago, I found them, dusty and broken in a glass jar in a Greyabbey antique shop. The writing is so small that I couldn't read it until I'd taken photographs of the little collection. On my laptop screen, the name of the writer was clear, and it rang a bell.
I texted my parents, who immediately remembered Gwyneth Gotto, my mum's inspirational biology teacher at Methody, and her husband Viv, zoology lecturer at Queen's and a world-class tennis player.
Viv's career was impressive and is well documented, but it was Gwyneth who interested me more.
Gwyneth was the sort of teacher that all of us in education would aspire to be - hugely enthusiastic, unconventional in her practical trousers, pushing her students to question and challenge accepted ideas, encouraging the strengths of every individual. She loved her subject so much that she spent her 1947 honeymoon running a holiday field course at the marine biology centre in Portaferry. But most of all she loved to communicate her enthusiasm for biology to each pupil she taught.
More than sixty years later, my mum can remember specific things Mrs Gotto said to her, word for word, encouraging, knowledgeable and humorous.
A legacy as excellent as this little collection is touching. Something to aim for.
One of my photographic aims for the next year is to improve my skills at making portraits.
They're difficult. When you're shooting an old car or a piece of Victorian architecture you can stand right in front of it, rudely snapping away with no regard for its feelings or self-esteem. You don't have to chat to keep it interested - you can be as boring as you like and it will almost certainly continue to pose attractively. It has no investment in the outcome, flattering or interestingly ugly.
None of those things are true for people, and I find the whole process a big challenge. So I started with some portraits of a dog, as a kind of in-between stage.
Vicky is a very beautiful dog, certainly, though not always elegant in her behaviour, as evidenced a few weeks after this shoot when she engaged too closely with a skunk. We all paid the price for that.
She did appear to enjoy having her picture taken, posing happily - but with an appealingly tragic cast of countenance - for ages on J's knee as he held up a black bathroom towel for the background. The set-up probably looked quite odd if anyone passing by had happened to look in the window, but I'm pleased with the results.
One time I read an article in Oprah magazine about how much people would be willing to pay to save the life of their pet. For many, the answer ran into the hundreds of thousands. I asked J how much he'd be prepared to stump up for Vicky's life, and he said he couldn't tell me, as I would not think that well of him once I heard the figure. Maybe he needs to revise that sum upwards now that she's turned out to be such an international-class model.
Summer holidays - a great time to pursue random fantastical photo projects. Like this one - a deer skull we found in the woods, with some Queen Anne's lace to prettify him. Actaeon was the guy from Greek mythology who was turned into a stag, as punishment for something he may or may not have done to annoy the goddess Artemis...
A slightly mouldy wooden tray, a tin and a nice wide aperture made him seem a bit more magical in camera than he looked to the naked eye.
For the last month I've been a bit of a fixture at the St George's Market fish stalls, searching for interesting fish and getting the stallholders to help me pick out the prettiest ones. I got some great cooking advice too, and, though I started out feeling quite squeamish about the whole thing, eventually I settled into a pattern of using the fish as models in the morning and making a delicious dinner in the evening. John Dory was my best discovery - it's quite a fearsome-looking creature, but fabulous pan-fried with butter, lemon and white wine.
But I'm not really here to dispense cooking advice: I wanted to show you a few of my favourite images as I finish this project. I know they're weird and maybe even a bit disturbing, but I think that they're beautiful too. Small fish have a jewel-like quality that's lovely to look at.
I was discussing the project with a goldsmith friend, who talked about the practice many cultures have of placing a coin over the eyes of a dead person, to "pay the ferryman", originally Charon, carrying the souls of the dead across the river Styx, in Greek mythology. The idea struck me that these were the fish of the Styx, paying their way to the other side with abandoned buttons from the river, fallen from the clothing of the other travellers. Styxfish....
I first noticed years ago that being on my own, with my camera, made me seem approachable to people who wanted someone to talk to. I take it as a compliment and just listen.
Yesterday I went out hoping to capture some old buildings/autumn leaves/sparkly Irish raindrop type photographs. Instead, as is often the case, I got diverted and ended up with a memory card full of abstract close-ups of a pretty white goat.
And I also had a long conversation with a woman walking on her own around the same roads as me. She stopped to talk about the goat, but almost immediately told me that she used to walk her dog here every day. The dog died two weeks ago, and this was the first time she'd come here on her own. Such a sad and brave thing. I was glad we were able to talk about the much-loved dog and how much it always enjoyed being in this lovely rural area. I hope it helped, even a little bit, to soften the pain of what must have been a difficult outing.
