Have you ever moved into an old house? I've only done it twice in my life having spent most of my adult life in (once) oh so easy to buy new builds. The first time I was a teenager. It was brilliant. Musty old rooms and, best of all, two sheds. It was so exciting, mooching around, seeing what treasure I could find: old tins, tools and enamel advertising signs (the house used to be a shop). Foraging is in my blood.
It wasn't until we moved to NI (just a few years ago now) that I felt the thrill of opening up an ancient loft hatch again. After we bought our current house, built in 1950 with just one careful owner, I couldn't wait to get up there.
That's where I found the old wooden box I use for a backdrop for most Ace Jet photos and in it was a miscellany: drawing equipment, dressmaking paraphernalia and, best of all, a cardboard box full of old, discarded photos.
Clearly the rejects; the wonky ones; badly exposed, poorly composed and sometimes wonderfully dull; their imperfections are brilliant, beautiful even.