Patty Beecham Productions

Patty Beecham Productions Patty Beecham Productions has evolved through my love of photography, people, events and technology. Call me on 0417 88 7316 and let's chat.

Funeral Photography,Personal DVD's, YouTube Clips, Photo Books and so much more! http://pattybeechamproductions.com/

That time I organised the very first private party for my client's 50th at Brisbane's GoMA. Special permission from the...
29/05/2020

That time I organised the very first private party for my client's 50th at Brisbane's GoMA. Special permission from the Board, and only took 3 months to organise, lol. Russell Morris was great btw - hired him a proper stage and lighting, a fabulous night.

30/01/2018

I'll be filming tomorrow for one of my favourite clients! I'm so excited! Huge job with lots of responsibility, bring it on, I'm ready! đŸ˜˜đŸ€—

28/12/2017

It's not turning sixty that I mind,
It's the sixty turning memories in my mind.
It's the wrinkles, it's the moments passed,
It's not my life before me,
It's my life after this.
That hug.
That look.
That special kiss.
That knowing reality and being worthy
Of a conversation,
A discussion,
Valuing my opinion.
It's not turning sixty that I mind
It's the sixty years of life I've left behind.

(C) Patty BeechamThe geography of JoyWhen you follow the soft flesh,Ridge line. Mounded dunes,Tracing footprintsLike Bur...
01/07/2017

(C) Patty Beecham
The geography of Joy
When you follow the soft flesh,
Ridge line. Mounded dunes,
Tracing footprints
Like Burke and Wills
Into the unknown,
Precious new life,
A universe created from
Mist. Clouds. Fog.
Arching feet grasping air
Counting the isthmus of toes
Peninsulars of fingers
Feel the summer's warmth
Hold your child like mercury,
Quicksand!
For the first time.

23/02/2017

THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE (love, grief, loss)
© Patty Beecham

And I hug my son so deeply that I press him into my chest

Until his bones are squeezed in between my ribs

Until his skin and his pores become my flesh.
I wrap both of my arms around him, and hold him, and breathe him in

When your son leaves you, it’s like a part of your heart breaks off,
And carves into the ocean, and you know you can never stick it back.
He becomes an island, and your heart becomes a broken jigsaw of isthmuses
And estuaries, and jaggedness
Where once was smooth.
***
When your parent dies, gravity ceases to exist, and you float, weightlessly without direction,
Like that party balloon drifting across the roofs and houses of strangers,
And you have no one to ground you, no one to pull you back to earth.
No one to hold you: the weight of all those memories binding you together

***
When you find that person who loves you, it crushes everything, like a thousand volcanoes erupting, to the point where you can’t breathe: to the point where you can’t think, and his breath becomes your breath, and his thoughts become your thoughts, and neither of you can move, and you don’t want to move, because the weight of mountainous love is too much to bear. Such alps and valleys of life.
***
When you lose a child, you lose everything.
You lose the future. You lose the life you would have had together.
You lose hope. You lose love.
There is only blackness and stillness and deep, dark waters that make you dog-paddle in oceans of grief; until your arms are so tired, and your legs have no kick.
There is no other option but to sink to the bottom without a sound.
***
When you lose a friend, you leave the door open for loneliness to come in and make itself at home.
You lose your laugh, and it’s replaced by the sound of a wine bottle being twisted open and poured; and it’s a desert. It’s a nullarbor of our lives, flat and featureless, without rhythm, or bumps. Every day is an effort to step one foot in front of the other, and walk that desert and to walk that road, and to find what’s around the corner, when there are no corners, just straight lines, leading to the horizon.

15/12/2016

Me to 21st client who really REALLY wanted Hamish & Andy to give son a 21st message: And did he like the clips?
Client: OH yes! He kept saying "How did she do that? How did she make happen?"
Me: Hilarious!

14/12/2016

Outrageous that 612 ABC Brisbane are giggling over an upcoming talk about "The demise of Holden *giggle giggle. My husband, and my son, and their staff, work their asses off, EVERY SINGLE DAY, 6 days a week, 12 hours a day. They employ local families and have been in our family-business for 30 years.
No one gives a s**t if Ford leaves, no one cares if Toyota and Mitsubishi also stop manufacturing, but Holden follows in not manufacturing in Australia anymore and the whole world loses its mind. Yes, we are equally disappointed in many ways BUT we also know what's behind the curtain with future models, and what we are asking is to be given a chance. You will love the new models coming out, and the all-new Commodore has won European Car of the Year 2016, it will be awesome! Who gives a toss what's it's called, it's an amazing car! Your local Holden dealer has spent millions of dollars creating state-of-the-art dealerships, and carrying stock for you to test-drive, and I will not sit by and watch some wa**er pull us down, talk us down, with negative, churlish crap.

13/12/2016

Dear Patty

The video presentation was awesome. Could I trouble you for three more DVD copies.

Thanks Patty you made a young mans night.

08/12/2016

Thanks for reading my short Christmas story. Here's another one. Read it aloud to your grandkids! ;)

The Little Christmas Tree

In the dappled valleys that drape and fringe the inland communities of the Glasshouse Mountains, a forest grew.

Beside that forest, near to the road that swathed through, a little tree nodded and smiled to the commuters in cars as they wove their way back to the city.
“Don’t you wander too far!” Mother Tree would rouse.
“Oh mum, I just want to wave, and see the families, and their children, and their shared happiness.”

Little Tree was happy enough, but deep down he knew there was a bigger world out there, beckoning, and he dreamt of a new life full of laughter and children. He wriggled his toes in the soft forest floor that was carpeted in pine needles and shadow.

One day a forestry worker ambled along.

“Look sharp!” barked Father Tree, and they all stood stock still, and gazed their eyes upwards to the soaring birds. The forestry worker whistled as the roar of the chainsaw gently trimmed stray lower branches.
“I needed a shave” joked Father Tree, “I was beginning to feel a bit bushy down there. In fact, I feel TREE-mendous!” and he laughed and shivered in the breeze.
Every tree groaned at his jokes. Branches creaked and swayed with mirth.
One day, a Friday, as commuters began the long conga line of cars to the coast for Christmas, a car stopped. A door slammed.
“What’s going on?” the other trees all called from the canopy, “Be careful!”

Little Tree became frightened as a shovel dug around his base.
“Oh Dad!” he trembled.

“Be still son, be brave” Father Tree commanded him. “You’ll be okay.”

In one smooth motion, Little Tree was lifted higher than he had ever been before, and placed in the back of a vehicle. His roots felt cold, hard plastic. The next moment, he was travelling faster than the fresh wind that danced past his young branches, faster than the crows that would dart and flap within the deep forest. Little Tree closed his eyes; his body bent and whipped with the wind.

Finally, an adventure! It felt so good.

When Little Tree opened his eyes again, he smelt perfume, and mangos.
“Darling, a real tree! So beautiful!”

He was inside a house! He had never known the sky to be hidden, and he missed the openness and breeze, and the wilful rain that fell like diamonds. He had only known sunsets, with the stars that guarded them, and the moon that guided them; in that tall, silent forest of friends and family.

He gazed at the room. The Father of the Household watered him in the sturdy pot. He drank deeply, he was thirsty after the unexpected journey.
Children gathered around and sang, draped his young branches with shiny metallic tinsel. The strands made him itch. Lengths of glitter hung about, draped tenderly.

He was bedazzled. How handsome I must look, he thought. I even have a star!

“That little tree,” said a warm voice, “is going to join our Christmas every year. We’ll pop him out in the garden afterwards, and he will be our very special family Christmas Tradition.”

Little Tree raised his branches, and beamed. Then he felt it. That warm glow from the inside that spread, reaching every little, tiny pine needle.

Happiness.

07/12/2016

Thought you might enjoy my short Christmas story!

Jesus, under the car.

Shifter.
Shifter.
Wrench.
Wrench.
My husband passed each tool to our new mechanic with great authority and care. The truth is, it was midnight Christmas Eve, and it was out first year in business as a car dealer, and we were learning fast that our time was not our own.
We had to get this customers used car completed so he could drive to his distant family on Boxing Day. Our Mexican mechanic’s legs stuck out awkwardly from under the car, in our Brisbane home’s garage. His feet were the size of a small boat. I stared in awe.
“How tall are you?” I joked, in a lame attempt to foster a conversation. No doubt he was missing his own young family who were at home waiting in Caboolture, a 40 minute drive away.
“Ah’m six foot 9 inches, an I don' wan' to work on no small cars! I jist can’t fit in them!”
I exchanged glances with my husband and looked on in wonder at our newest mechanic. I hadn’t even formally met him yet. His long legs changed position.
“Poot dee tools bahck on dee chelf. Ah’m almost dun!” We stopped our questions, not wishing to disturb him. Frustration settled in; swear words we didn’t recognise flew around the room, as he extracted himself from under the car. Glumly I imagined that every Christmas Eve would be like this in the future. Quietly my hubby and I held hands.
"Ahm going now, back to dee mohss bew-ti-fall woo-mahn ai hahv e-varr met", and with a final wipe of his hands on his overalls, he emerged and stood up.
It would be fair to say that a towering mechanic, standing at his great height, at midnight, can put the fear of God into a tired woman. “How do you do, I’m Patty” I chirped, and I offered my tiny hand, waiting to be crushed in his giant paw.
“Gewd to meet you, Ahm Hey zus” and he shook my hand, arm and body with a thumping happy welcome. We both smiled.
Feeling relieved he didn’t quite knock me over, I persisted.
“Oh, what a lovely name. Hey zus. And how do you spell that?”
Looking at me, with my neck straining upwards to hold his gaze, he wiped each finger on the rag.
J -E- S-U-S.
“Ahh,” I smiled. “We’d pronounce that Jesus! Merry Christmas Jesus, and thank you.”
He drank the cold water I offered, turned to his new boss and said: “It’s pronounced Hey zus, an I don' wan' to work on no small cars.”
And we never asked him to, again. His giant, gentle frame held a special place in our hearts, and we delighted in introducing our enormous mechanic to our customers.
The ones not driving small cars!

28/10/2016

Who else would take the time to review your life, think about things, and create something that's memorable, entertaining in front of your peer group and family, pays respect to your past, and hopefully makes you burst out loud laugh, cry and feel happy and poignant at the same time. Me. That's who! *hands on hips. If you need a special, bespoke video created, I'm your girl.

Address

Paddington
Brisbane, QLD
4064

Telephone

0417 887316

Website

http://twitter.com/Pattycam, http://www.youtube.com/user/PattycamWatcher

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