Baubles, baronetcies and MBEs

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Today the UK newspapers carry the annual new year list of those who have received "honours" (medals, knighthoods and the like) for their contributions to national life. A few years ago the government tinkered with this system of awards to make it more "inclusive". In fact, they were reacting to the increasing ridicule and anger that the awards - the establishment's slap on its own back, ranked according to class and social position - have received in recent years, and so now ensure that a few more of the lesser accolades go to poorer people. I am one of those who despair that this antiquated nonsense is allowed to continue.

Consequently, today I pay homage to all those upstanding people who, when offered or nominated for an "honour" had the strength of character to tell the government where to put its bauble. A list of those who refused the offer can be found on Wikipedia. Note the pathetic measures the establishment has introduced to try to ensure that people's rejection of these trinkets does not come to light. Anyone having a look at the list should note, in particular, the number of refusals made by the painter L.S. Lowry! He did well to hold-out against the establishment's repeated temptations.

This balloon full of hot air drifting aimlessly across the sky seemed an appropriate accompaniment to today's reflection. I've taken only a couple of shots of a balloon before, and found it helpful that it was flying low so that I could include elements on the ground. There's not a lot you can do, photographically speaking, with a balloon high above you, but fortunately there was a fairly well-placed cloud that I could use to make a composition.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

High windows

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"Rather than words comes the thought of high windows;

The sun- comprehending glass,

And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows

Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless."

Philip Larkin (1922-1985), English poet, novelist, jazz critic and librarian

As I looked at my photograph of No 1 London Bridge, a monolithic office block pierced by large apertures, Larkin's final words from the title poem of his 1974 collection, "High Windows", came to mind. This powerful, characteristically dour work is, after "The Whitsun Weddings", Larkin's best known poem. It starts with a viscerally shocking observation that appalled many at the time, leads into a reflection on religion and life, and ends with the feeling that death is perhaps a welcome release from temporal concerns. I remember reading at the time of its publication that the poem was inspired by the ranks of faceless high windows he saw when he visited the Royal Infirmary at Hull, the city in which he lived and worked.

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) is reported by his biographer, Boswell, to have said, "Depend upon it, sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully." Many people find that a visit to a hospital has a similar effect. Poets are no exception to this feeling, and use the thoughts such a visit provokes about their own mortality very effectively in their verse. One of the well-known poems of John Betjeman (1906-1984), "Before the Anaesthetic or A Real Fright", was inspired by a stay in the Radcliffe Infirmary, Oxford. It dwells on themes similar to those found in Larkin's poem, but revolves around the anguish of the poet's belief in Christianity.

The image above, one of several I have taken of this building, is cropped square, and is essentially symmetrical. I liked the overlapping reflections, the contrast of light and shade, the angularity, and the clouds glimpsed through the hole in the structure. When I looked up to take the shot I had no thoughts about life, death or religion. However, in a photograph of this building posted a while ago I did say it reminded me of a deeply boring Channel 4 (UK) station ident!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm (80mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A signpost in the sky

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A couple of weeks ago I was Christmas shopping with my wife in Boston, Lincolnshire. I'd taken my camera along on the off chance of a suitable subject presenting itself. I frequently do this when shopping, but only occasionally do I snap something that I like. The fact is that securing good images requires more concentration than is possible when shopping is the main activity. That's not to say that I readily give my attention to scouring the shops. Quite the opposite in fact: I glaze over and sink into a trance-like state for much of the time.

On this particular expedition I was waiting outside a store in the market place, looking around, optimistically framing subjects then rejecting them. I pointed my camera at the lantern at the top of the 272 feet (83m) tall tower of St Botolph's church, and as I did so a flurry of pigeons flew out and around before settling again on the battlements and pinnacles. They did this a couple of times and I fired off a few shots trying to make them a visual counterweight to the architecture placed to one side of the frame. As I was waiting for the pigeons' next circuit I heard the distinctive sound of geese. Looking away to the right I saw two chevrons of pink-footed geese that appeared to be flying towards the tower but were some way beyond it.

The possibility of a shot with the geese and tower occurred to me, but the track of the geese was too low. Then something happened that never seems to happen in these situations - they changed course slightly, passed the top of the tower at just the right position, and gave me the opportunity to make a few shots. This is the best of the bunch, the first, with the leading "V" acting as a signpost that seems designed to draw the attention of the shoppers below to the beautiful Gothic open-work carving and tracery of the summit of this marvellous church. Not a great shot, but one that isn't going to be available too often.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 1o6mm (212mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Yellow wagtails and eucalyptus trees

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At the age of eleven I developed an interest in birds that continues to this day. I don't remember too much about my first year's birdwatching apart from what I now call the "yellow wagtail effect". I must have seen this species before I took a deeper interest in birds, but I hadn't known it for what it was. However, after I'd recognised my first bird I seemed to see them everywhere. That initial proper sighting seemed to lift a filter from my eyes and the bird was revealed as fairly common alongside the Yorkshire Dales river and its nearby pastures. Sadly, the species is much less common today. A while ago I had an experience that reminded me of the yellow wagtail effect.

In the garden of a nearby house are a couple of very tall, broad-leaved evergreen trees. They carry their leaves quite distinctively on clusters of branches at the end of sturdy limbs. Ever since I moved to my present home I've admired them, but haven't known what they are. Then, the other day, I saw the tree in today's photograph with its lower bark hanging in strips and loops, looking quite forlorn. On closer inspection it was clear that the tree was deliberately shedding the bark, and the new wood underneath was quite healthy. I was attracted by the purple and bluish tinges that accompanied the new green wood, and took a few shots.

It was only after I'd done this that I looked higher up the tree and realised it was another example of the species that I'd been admiring. So, back at my study I did some research in my books and on the web. After a bit of digging I discovered that the tree was a variety of eucalyptus. Now I've seen eucalyptus many times before, but usually they've been younger and smaller, and perhaps not this variety. But, ever since I've taken an interest in this tree I've seen more and more examples as I've travelled about. Once more a filter has been lifted from my eyes. It seems that the rich Lincolnshire soil, and the climate that's relatively warm in summer, and colder in winter, suits the eucalyptus so it is reasonably commonly grown for ornamental purposes.

Prior to my research I knew as much about the eucalyptus as the average person. That is to say I knew only two things: that the leaves are the main food of the koala (you don't see many of those in Lincolnshire!), and eucalyptus oil is added to a number of sore throat remedies. My research increased my knowledge of the tree, but didn't tell me why it seems to be fairly popular in this part of England, but less so (at least to my untrained eye) farther north and west. Perhaps when I next venture into those areas I'll now see what was previously hidden from me.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Christmas Greetings

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Christmas greetings to everyone. There will be no posts during the Christmas period. I'll resume blogging towards the new year. Have a good time wherever you are and whatever you're doing!

Tony

Merry Christmas, Gezur Krislinjden, Feliz Navidad, Vesele Vanoce, Sretan Bozic, Glædelig Jul, Zalig Kerstfeast, Gajan Kristnaskon, Rõõmsaid Jõulupühi, Hyvaa joulua, Zalig Kerstfeest en Gelukkig nieuw jaar, Joyeux Noel, Fröhliche Weihnachten, Kala Christouyenna! Kellemes Karacsonyi unnepeket, Gledileg Jol, Nollaig Shona Dhuit, Buone Feste Natalizie, Linksmu Kaledu, God Jul, Wesolych Swiat Bozego Narodzenia, Feliz Natal, Sarbatori vesele, Pozdrevlyayu s prazdnikom Rozhdestva is Novim Godom, Hristos se rodi, Hristos se rodi, Vesele Vianoce, God Jul and (Och) Ett Gott Nytt År, Noeliniz Ve Yeni Yiliniz Kutlu Olsun, Nadolig Llawen

P.S. If any of these phrases say anything other than Merry Christmas (and a Happy New Year), please accept my apologies!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f16
Shutter Speed: 4 seconds
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: +3 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

The Acme Vehicle Eraser

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If you're a photographer you're always finding stuff getting in your way. If it's not pesky pedestrians sauntering across your scene it's repulsive refuse bins violating your view. Photographing in town or country you frequently find wires, antennae, aerials and poles wending their way through the vista. My particular aversion is vapour trails (contrails to some). Their white scribble, scrawled across the sky scar many of my landscapes and only rarely do I find that they contribute to the composition. Anyway, enough of this alliterative abuse of people and inanimate objects, because there is, apparently, a more convenient answer to the removal of at least one of these intrusions than the painstaking processes currently available: a piece of software promises the painless removal of wires.

The other day I came across an advert for a program called Wire Pilot, a Photoshop plugin that makes the digital removal of telephone and electrical wires - in fact any thin object - an easier task. You might think, given the diatribe above, that I immediately went online and ordered my copy. But no. Wires are relatively easy to remove should you wish to do so. In fact, what I did do was look at the Wire Pilot website to see if they sold a software removal solution for the object that is a bigger pain than pedestrians, bins, wires and vapour trails combined. I mean of course, the car (that's "auto" if you say "contrail"!) and its associated wheeled accomplices, the van, the lorry, etc. Alas, I was disappointed. The "Acme Vehicle Eraser" is yet to be developed. But, when it is, my money will be joyfully despatched with great haste.

I have been known to say that I don't mind vehicles in a shot; that they give an image a sense of the period in which it was taken, and that today's photographic intrusions are tomorrow's historic vehicles over which future viewers will pore with interest. I do believe that. But not all the time! On other occasions, as when I was photographing this view of Barn Hill at Stamford, Lincolnshire, with its houses of every century from the sixteenth to the nineteenth, I want to sweep away the vehicles and reveal the history that they obscure. In the absence of any power to physically do that, the ability to remove them using software would be handy. Now I appreciate that there are certain minor technical difficulties in what I am proposing, but they're surely not insurmountable at the start of the 21st century, a time of Large Hadron Colliders, space missions to distant planets, and mp3 players the size of your fingernail. However, on deeper reflection, perhaps I'm searching for a solution to a problem that will soon disappear anyway. The current economic problems and the dwindling oil supplies may well be the magic wands that make those cars disappear without the need for expensive software!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (36mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Knowledge and power

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"Knowledge is power"
Sir Francis Bacon (1561-1626), English philosopher and author

In his book, "Powershift", Alvin Toffler maintains that there are three routes to power - violence, wealth and knowledge. He argues that in the distant past violence was used to achieve power and amass wealth, that the Industrial Revolution saw the middle classes produce wealth and use it to take power from the nobility, and that today power increasingly flows from the acquisition and use of knowledge.

And he may well be right (though plenty of governments and the wealthy find that bombs and dollars still do the trick.) But, here's the paradox. Whilst countries and companies might benefit from a knowledge economy, the extent to which the individual can become more powerful through knowledge is highly questionable. Many will disagree with that statement citing the internet, broadcasting and publishing as the means by which more knowledge than ever before is available. But therein lies the problem. Whatever your point of view you can find support for it somewhere; and today people are increasingly encouraged to consume the knowledge that they choose or that is sold to them. Consequently, despite the plethora of information, many are less exposed to a wide range of subjects and viewpoints than formerly, when information was less widely available. The post-modern idea that truth depends on context is also rampant. It's not that there isn't objectivity in the fund of available knowledge, it's that it is so much harder to find and discern. If you want knowledge about global warming the arguments are there, for and against, equally vehemently expressed, with interest groups lining up on either side. Try to find knowledge about, say, crime in society, and you'll find different versions massaged by the media, politicians and the police to support their respective agendas. Many newspapers bend the truth to sell copy, and increasingly report as news mindless trivia about television, celebrities and the like. I'm sure that if Karl Marx was alive today he would change his famous dictum to "Celebrity is the opium of the people." Some may not see a problem with this sort of "fun" reportage, but it displaces the kind of important and democratically useful news that the media traditionally purveyed, and without that knowledge we are less free and more easily manipulated - we have less power.

This photograph, that inspired today's ramblings, shows the blue on/off button (and the red hard drive activity LED) on my computer case. I decided to capture the electric blue and glowing red with a hand-held shot where I deliberately moved the camera during the long exposure in order to produce blur. The shot was taken in the evening in my study so the exposure was slightly longer than I envisaged - 8 seconds! Still, I quite liked the 3D effects that were produced.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 8 seconds
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Sunset thoughts

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"The sky is the daily bread of the imagination."
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), U.S. poet and essayist

I've said elsewhere in this blog that sunsets are undoubtedly one of the most photographed subjects. But it's not just photographers who are seduced by the blaze of fire in the sky at the end of the day: poets and painters frequently press the sunset into service as metaphor. When, in 1839, Turner painted his picture of the old warship, "The Fighting Temeraire," being towed by a steam tug to be broken up at the end of its life, he depicted the scene against a fiery sunset to emphasise that its days were ended. Shakespeare uses the sunset in a similar way in these lines, "In me thou see'st the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away".

The challenge for the photographer, the painter and the poet is to use this well-worn idea of the sunset as representing an end, in a fresh and revealing way. And, as far as photography goes, that is a major aim in photographing any subject. The past 170 years have seen so many photographers capture most subjects in myriad ways that it's a real challenge to present a shot that steps outside a genre, and a way of seeing, that hasn't been done before.

Today's photograph makes no claims in that department. It's a shot of the sky after the sun has set. A particularly lovely combination of clouds and colours caused me to take yet another sunset image. The one thing I very consciously did in my capture was to move so the trees at the bottom right became silhouettes on the horizon. Their insignificance, when seen in this way, seemed to magnify the majesty of this very conventional subject.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 29mm (58mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The oldest parts of a church

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Over the years, knowing my interest in ecclesiastical architecture, many people have asked me which part of a church is usually the oldest. It's a question with several answers. In most instances it's the chancel, the nave arcades, the font, the tower or fragments of sculpture that provide the most ancient material. But there are always (and many) exceptions.

The chancel is often the oldest part because that is where the builders of a church often started - with the place that holds the high altar. However, most of England's churches were enlarged as the country's population grew. So, chancels were sometimes renewed, aisles added, and the height of the nave increased. When this happened the nave arcades of the earlier building were often kept and the extensions were built around them. In some parts of England, particularly the north-west, where a lack of wealth had meant medieval parish churches were often small and poorly constructed, the tower is often the oldest remaining part. This is because when the Industrial Revolution that flourished there in the nineteenth century produced its enormous riches, wealthy individuals and congregations frequently replaced all except the tower with new work. Very often the church font carried on being used through all these upheavals, and in many buildings it is the oldest part. Sometimes, however, it was replaced and the original became a receptacle for flowers in someone's garden! In the village where I live fragments of Saxon carving, presumably from the building that pre-dates the present Norman structure are the oldest evidence to be seen. So, the answer the question has a number of answers.

Today's photograph shows the interior of the church of St John the Baptist at Barnack, Cambridgeshire. Beyond the pierced wooden screen is the chancel that was built around 1300, replacing the original Saxon structure. The columns of the nave arcade on the left have capitals with crockets and volutes of the late 1100s, whilst those on the right are in the fully-fledged stiff-leaf style of twenty or thirty years later. The fine font also looks thirteenth century, though some have suggested the deep bowl may be earlier. However these are not the oldest parts in this building: the strong Saxon tower dates from about 1020, and a sculpture and pieces of carved stone may be of a similar age. So, Barnack church fits the pattern I outlined above, with the oldest elements being those that are usually the oldest in most churches. The one idiosyncracy here is the unique south porch with its steeply pitched stone roof that dates from about 1200. Frequently these porches are later medieval, Georgian or even Victorian additions.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/5
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off (Tripod used)

Glasshouse patterns

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It's great fun to search for repeating patterns that you feel will make successful photographs. Man-made objects, especially buildings, involve a lot of repetition, so if you live in a city or a relatively urban area it's much easier to make photographs in this way. I've used columns and shadows, cafe chairs, rusty corrugated metal, industrial buildings, and other objects to make photographs of this sort that please me.

But, if you live in the countryside, such photographs are harder to find. The other day I posted a picture of a disc harrow that involved repeating elements. I've also photographed soil ridges in a newly planted potato field and new rural housing, but subjects with these qualities have been pretty difficult find. However, the other day, whilst walking near Quadring I came upon a very large glasshouse that seemed to offer patterns to exploit. I think if the repetition had merely been the verticals of the aluminium frame and the zig-zag roofline I'd have passed it by. I find that shots involving repetition generally have to have a degree of complexity, or a detail that breaks the pattern, otherwise they can be boring. The part that really drew my eye here was the shadows that produced diagonals slanting across the verticals. These, combined with the contrasty bright colours that the day and the structure produced, caused me to fire off a few shots. This one is the pick of my glasshouse crop!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 110mm (220mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Prospecting for views

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Look through any art gallery showing paintings from the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and you are bound to come across many "prospects". These are paintings or drawings that show a view of a town, city, harbour, building, or any place that the artist or illustrator wanted to describe pictorially. This engraving of "A Prospect of the University and City of Oxford", dating from 1705 and attributed to Johannes Kip, is typical of the genre.

The earliest recorded use of the word "prospect" to describe the pictorial representation of what we would now call a "view" dates from 1649 when John Evelyn (1620-1706) wrote in his diary, "I went to Putney and other places on the Thames to take prospects in crayon to carry with me to France, where I thought to have them engrav'd." Today "prospects" are rarely painted or drawn, but the making of such images is one of the most common uses of the camera. However, we now use the word "view", "landscape", "scene" or some such word, and "prospect" has pretty much dropped out of use. Which is a shame because the the verb form of the word links very nicely with the noun to describe how we search out the particular point from which to make a representation of the scene.

I did quite a bit of searching to find this "prospect" of the church at Quadring, Lincolnshire. I tramped back and forth through the rough grass of this field until I found a composition that made the building the focal point but still kept it quite small. I wanted to include some of the tall brown grasses, and decided to use the interesting but ragged hedge as mid-ground interest and as a means of reducing the expanse of boring blue sky!

Here is a closer look at this church in an earlier blog post.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Sculpture for our times

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The global recession and the decline in the UK's finances is likely to put paid to the plans for further gargantuan public sculptures. It's a brave (or foolhardy) government or local authority that lets itself be seen spending millions on big lumps of metal whilst people are selling the family silver to keep a roof over their heads or put food on the table. And on the whole I think I'll be pleased to see a halt called to these sculptures.

In May the newspapers were full of pictures and articles about the five short-listed sculptures for a proposed "Angel of the South" at Ebbsfleet, Kent. Developers decided that this rail terminal that is to be developed into a New Town needed to be put on the map, and a massive sculpture taller than the Statue of Liberty was the way to do it. The short-listed candidates were a steel latticework, a giant white horse 33X life size, 5 stacked cubes with a laser beam shining up at the sky, an artificial earth mount topped with a cast of the inside of a Victorian house, and a concrete disc and detached wing forming a sort of amphitheatre. In October the list was shortened to the first three, and the winner will be announced in January. Or not? Apparently the horse is the favourite because chalk white horses, made on hillsides by cutting off the turf, are "English" (this one is three-dimensional), and Kent's symbol is a rampant white horse (this one's just standing there looking bored). I hope sense and financial prudence will scotch the whole thing. I have nothing against public sculpture, and have on more than one occasion, in this blog, described it as a public good. But I prefer pieces that impress themselves on you through their art, not force themselves on you by their size.

Walking past a parked disc harrow the other day I took this shot of part of the machine that was folded into the vertical position. As I looked at it on my computer, and particularly when I converted it to black and white, it occurred to me that the stacked, scalloped discs would make a good sculpture at very little cost. Perhaps if the Ebbsfleet developers ditch the white horse and re-canvas for a cheaper option I'll enter the competition. After all, what could be more appropriate for the County of Kent, "The Garden of England", than an agricultural machine!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 70mm (140mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

What's in a name?

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I've always found the sources of personal names interesting, particularly those chosen for girls. Flowers have produced Rose, Violet, Heather (and Erica), Daisy, Briony, Iris and many more. Biblical names like Rachel, Rebecca and Sharon have proved popular. So too have three consecutive months of the year - April, May and June - though none of the others are favoured: I wonder why? Jewels and semi-precious stones have been pressed into service - Pearl, Ruby, Beryl, Coral, Amber, Jade etc - though they don't appear to be in fashion at the moment. Colours have sometimes made an appearance as in Blanche (white), Electra and Amber (amber), Flavia (yellow), Aurelia (gold) and Melanie (black).

Names that derive from stars (the outer space variety - Hollywood's effect is too well-known) include Estelle, Stella, Astra and Esther. However, only one time of day is widely used for a girl's name, and that, strangely, is Dawn (and its variations - Aurora, Oriana and Roxana). Now there's nothing wrong with naming a girl after the dawn: it's a fine and special time of day. But is it really better than sunrise and sunset, neither of which get a look in as far as names go despite being the most spectacular times of day? And what about midday (or noon), midnight and twilight? What precludes them from being used for this purpose? And if dawn is OK, why isn't dusk?

All these questions bounced around my head as I processed this shot taken from the bottom of the garden the other morning. Should I caption it "dawn" or "sunrise" I wondered? It was cold and frosty when I took the photograph, but the not-quite-yet-revealed sun's fiery colours gave an illusion of warmth. I was tempted to leave the sky clear to show off the rose-tinted clouds, but eventually decided that I preferred the shot with the silhouette of the branch at the top of the frame. And, as you see, I settled on "sunrise"!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Reeds, ripples and reflections

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I sometimes wonder if I should get a Holga. Given some of the images I'm starting to produce, where colour fidelity, sharpness, clarity and depth are of little consequence, the features offered by a DSLR sometimes seem like overkill. A small, cheap, black box, with a simple, fixed-focus lens, producing images that are all imbued with the same characteristics has its attractions. Of course a Holga uses film, and digital is much more convenient.

I've used an SLR since the early 1970s, but for most of that time I've also owned a smaller, fixed lens camera to carry when something larger is inconvenient or inappropriate. Of all such cameras that I've had the one I look back on with most affection is the Ricoh 500RF - a 35mm rangefinder with a fixed 40mm f2.8 lens that I used for about 15 years. This produced images far better than it had any right to, and served me well shooting slide film and black and white for architecture, and colour film for family snapshots. The discipline of the fixed lens was good - zooming involved walking - and the rangefinder focussing was very easy and convenient. It was a camera that forced me back to photography's basics, and helped me see images where previously I hadn't. I was sorry when it died. Today I have a Fuji E900 that I picked up a few years ago, fairly cheaply, after it had been superseded by other models. It has a 32-128mm (35mm equiv.) f2.8-f5.6 lens, offers RAW, and is capable of producing some pretty good images. I use it less than I might, but perhaps winter shots of the sort posted above are within its range. My self-imposed Olympus burden that accompanies each walk is probably due for some time off.

Today's semi-abstract photographs show more reflected reeds shot with deliberately slow shutter speeds to introduce blur. Not everyone's cup of tea I suppose, especially those die-hard DSLR users who seem to value sharpness in an image above most other qualities. But I like them!

photographs & text (c) T. Boughen

Top Image
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/25
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Bottom Image
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 110mm (220mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f14
Shutter Speed: 1/3
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The end of the pier

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2008 was a bad year for Britain's piers. In July the end of the 104 year old Grand Pier at Weston-super-Mare was devastated by fire. Then in September the landward buildings of the pier at Fleetwood, Lancashire, a slightly younger structure dating from 1910, was burnt out. Of the two piers Weston's older structure is a great loss that certainly warrants repairing and renovating. Fleetwood's pier, which I know very well, was not however, a thing of beauty, and the remains should be cleared away. The promontory on which it stands will be improved by its removal.

It seems ironic that structures resting on metal over boundless water should so often be consumed by fire, but it has been a reasonably regular occurrence down the years. When I was a child the Lancashire resort of Morecambe was my frequent seaside destination. The town had a pier at that time. In earlier times it had two, but the West End Pier had lost its pavilion to fire in 1915, and subsequent storms slowly destroyed the rest. The Central Pier, that I remember, had pavilions known as "The Taj Mahal of the North". They burned down in 1933, so when I saw it the structure was truncated and had newer, less grand buildings. However, these too succumbed to fire and storms and the pier is no more.

The story of St Anne's pier farther down the Lancashire coast is depressingly similar. When it opened in 1885 it was 914 feet long with a "Moorish" pavilion. However, fires of 1974 and 1982 resulted in the seaward end being demolished and its length reduced to the present 600 feet. Thankfully it still has its Tudor-style buildings at the landward end, and a stretch of new building extends seaward from that. Today's photograph shows part of the old wooden tip of the pier with ornate, openwork, tapering metal columns with balls on top. Were they lights I wonder? I photographed them on a December day with the low sun throwing shadows across the sand, and the sky a mixture of deep blue, turquoise and grey.

Here is another of my photographs of this structure.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 19mm (38mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Upland sheep

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The Fens of Lincolnshire used to be a land of sheep, but no longer. Today vegetables are much more profitable. However, sheep are still to be found in small numbers, and in larger numbers when they are brought in from more distant pastures to eat the left-overs when fields of cauliflowers and other brassicas have been harvested. Recently as I've travelled around, the breeds I've seen include Lincoln Longwool, Blue-faced Leicester, Blackface, and what appear to be Hebridean (though they may be black Soay sheep). These are in small resident herds, and are nothing like the sheep I've been used to for much of my life.

When I lived in the Yorkshire Dales the Swaledale (pronounced "Swaddle" locally) was ubiquitous. However, I also saw Dalesbred, Lonks, Rough Fell, Masham, and various other breeds. If I went to the Lake District it was the Herdwicks that I noticed roaming the fell sides. However, the foot and mouth disease outbreak of 2001 wiped out many herds in the North of England, and today some farmers are trying different breeds. As a child I was used to seeing Swaledale sheep in the Craven hills around Settle in North Yorkshire. But, in recent years, though this breed is still common, I've come across quite a lot of what appear to be North of England Mules. This breed is a cross between the Blue-faced Leicester and either the Swaledale or the Northumberland-type Blackface.

As I strode over the limestone hills near Attermire a while ago it was this breed that I came upon. The Swaledales coped with the fescues and nardus grasses, the high rainfall and bleak winters of the Pennines, and presumably there's enough of their hardiness in this cross-bred variety to do so too. A shaft of sunlight illuminated this group on the hillside, so I split the frame in half diagonally with the top of the slope, and selected a group that straggled along this line.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 118mm (236mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

New tops on old bottoms

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My desk is the same size as many internal doors - 6 feet 6 inches (1.98m) long and 2 feet 6 inches (0.76m) wide. I know this because it is an internal door resting on some small, old, vertical, chests of drawers.

A few years ago I decided I needed a bigger work surface to accommodate my computer and printer that would still leave space to write. Looking around I found plenty of cheap and cheerful small desks, quite a few small and expensive desks, and some large and extremely expensive desks. So, I went back to first principles, decided that I neeed a big flat surface with storage below, and cast around for the materials to supply that need. When I decided I already had the storage a door immediately came to mind. Sapele-faced internal doors were relatively inexpensive, well made, perfectly flat, and ready-varnished. So now I have a big desk that perfectly meets my needs with the added advantage that it can be easily taken apart when required!

What has my tale of a new top on old foundations got to do with today's photograph? Well, my main subject, the font at the west end of the nave of Peterborough Cathedral, is similarly arranged. When the Victorians came to restore the font they wanted to keep the thirteenth century bowl with its sensuous undulations and stiff-leaf carving, but felt it needed better support. So they designed new columns that drew their inspiration from the period of the upper part, and put the whole together. It looks marvellous. A couple of years ago the font was moved into its present position and the flower-like paving was designed to give it emphasis. That was an excellent decision: not only does it draw attention to this delightful object, but it provides wonderful foreground interest for a shot down the length of the nave with its Norman arcades and nave ceiling of c.1220!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The water's edge

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When the Pre-Raphaelite painters turned their attention to nature they produced work that rejoiced in the minutiae of leaves, flowers, branches, rocks and water. They saw this verdant world like a child does, and examined it closely, marvelling at the nooks and crannies, insects and dark places. Paint was richly worked to show the detail of their subjects. Works such as "A Study, in March" (1855) by John William Inchbold (1830-1888), or the better-known "Ophelia" (1852 ) by John Everett Millais(1829-1896) exemplify these characteristics.

Critics of the Pre-Raphaelites - and there are many - see a lack of focus in this approach. They complain that the compositions do not direct the eye to a main subject (if one even exists). Camille Paglia talks about the "Keatsian ardor" with which the painting of nature was pursued, and compares it unfavourably with "High Romance energy" and "dynamic process", suggesting that it is only one step removed from the Symbolist decadence of Gustave Moreau. But, like many critics, she lets her preferences get in the way of seeing this aspect of Pre-Raphaelite work for what it is - a different and straightforward way of looking at nature, a reaction to "Sir Sloshua Reynolds" and what had gone before in English painting. And, whilst she is right to say that "part triumphs over whole", there is pleasure to be had in the simple revelation of nature and the decorative effect that this can produce. This is largely art for the eye and the emotional response: it isn't as completely cerebral as some painting. Critics of this aspect of the Pre-Raphaelites' work are like those who decry the unaccompanied folk song but praise the conservatoire setting of the tune, denying themselves the different enjoyment that each offers.

I was reflecting on this as I processed my image. Did it suffer from a lack of focus? It was taken on a walk that I regularly undertake from my house, part of which follows a stream that is reed-lined in summer. The other day only a few reeds were left standing, and the water was reflecting the nearby trees and the blue sky. I took a shot of the water's edge, to capture both the sharp foliage, and the softer reflections that were being distorted by the ripples and eddies. Does the image lack a main subject? Yes, but I think it offers distinct and the indistinct interest for the searching eye.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 98mm (196mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Facades, fanlights and foliage

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The house shown in this photograph, a detached building on the High Street of the village of Billingborough, Lincolnshire, has puzzled me for a while. It has a symmetrical facade with a centrally placed, panelled front door flanked by a fluted doorcase, traceried fanlight with a semi-circular head above, single glazing-bar sash windows (with extra margin lights) either side, and three similar windows at the first floor level. A parapet hides the double ridge roof. There are gable-end chimney stacks, and the front of the house is finished in light-coloured stock brick, whilst the remainder is red brick. Two things have baffled me about the building: its date, and whether or not the fanlight is original.

Everything about the unembellished front of the house says early 1800s - the plainness of door and windows combined with symmetry, the spare-looking parapet, the colour of the facing brick, the absence of surface ornament. It looks to belong to the period when Georgian proper was giving way to the Regency-style: that is to say, about 1815. My researches show that it is indeed early nineteenth century. But what about the fanlight? My guess was that the almost Art Nouveau curves were late nineteenth century - that it replaced an earlier, more fan-like fanlight. But I appear to have been wrong. I find that designs in both cast-iron and wood, incorporating tear drops, curves and circles of the type seen here, were not uncommon in the early 1800s. And, on subsequent trips, I have come across more examples exactly like this one, and others that are similar, in houses of the same date.

So, that explains my interest in this facade as architecture. However, I probably wouldn't have photographed it for blog-posting purposes had it not been for the sensitive symmetrical planting of Pyracantha, Senecio greyii and potted dwarf conifers around the door. Combined with the restrained architecture they produce a very appealing combination of colours and textures. Even the more recent use of tiles for the steps adds to the charm of this attractive composition.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/25
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Queen's Terrace, Fleetwood, Lancashire

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John Wood the Elder (1704-1754) was the first English architect to bring to England the Renaissance idea of a terrace of houses designed in the form of a symmetrical facade composed to suggest a single, palatial building. His works at Queen's Square, Bath, were on a grand scale, and provided fine houses for the well-to-do of the city. Other architects in England took up the idea which continued into the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Queen's Terrace at Fleetwood, Lancashire is an example that was completed in 1844. It was built by the architect, Decimus Burton (1800-1881) as part of the design for the newly created town. Along with the North Euston Hotel, other imposing buildings, impressive lighthouses, a radial street plan, public parks, a railway station and a docks estate, the Queen's Terrace was designed to add substance and style to the bold venture. It was to be the first building that visitors would see after disembarking from the train. However, the money ran out and only parts of the grand vision were built.

The three-storey, ashlar facade of Queen's Terrace has a projecting, pedimented centre with pedimented windows, and pavilion-style wings that are also pedimented, though here the windows are less emphasised. The ground floor is slightly elevated above a basement level, and is reached by steps that lead to the doors. Iron railings form a perimeter at pavement level, and ornate metal-work forms a balcony along the length of the first floor of the building. Money was spent to make the main elevation impressive, though interestingly no columns were used. Inferior materials were used elsewhere. The final result is a building that is undoubtedly impressive in terms of size and style. It has adapted to many uses over the years and currently houses flats and offices.

The scale of the building makes it a challenge to photograph. This is my best effort. It required quite a bit of work correcting converging verticals. I liked the way the raking morning light was illuminating the facade, and how the strong perspective was emphasised by the windows and metal-work of the building.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Every picture includes two people

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Here's my third and final 1960s-themed image. I've wanted to do a photograph that included eggs for a while because I find them such beautiful objects. From the "eggshell" lustre of their outer surface to the elegant shape and unlikely method of "manufacture", they are a fascinating piece of nature's handiwork that has been appropriated by designers for thousands of years. The earliest such example that I know is the Ancient Greeks' use of "egg and dart" ornament in architecture. This moulding, found on entablatures, columns and elsewhere, symbolises life (the egg) and death (the dart i.e. spear).

No such elemental symbolism can be ascribed to the eggs in this photograph. I conceived it as a semi-abstract composition, and simply used them as an irregular pattern to break the symmetry of the black and white background. I liked the soft colour, the three-dimensional qualities, and the pale shadows that they brought to the starkness of the background.

Someone looking over my shoulder at this photograph said it was reminiscent of the buttons on a clown's or harlequin's suit. Which just goes to prove the truth of the observation by the American photographer, Anselm Adams, that "There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer". And, I suppose, that every viewer brings along something different when they engage with an image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen


Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f16
Shutter Speed: 2 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Op, Pop and The Avengers

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Here's the second of my 1960s-inspired images. The other week I bought a couple of inexpensive decorative pots for plants. One is black with white circles, the other white with black circles. My intention was to fill them with the "right" plants and display them side by side. I haven't decided what the right plants are yet - any suggestions welcome - so they are sitting in a cupboard waiting for inspiration to strike. When I was wondering what I could put into my 1960s still life these pots immediately came to mind.

I used the same pieces of black and white vinyl as in yesterday's shot, butted edge to edge, and placed one pot the right way up and the other upside down next to it. I moved them around with reference to the line in the surface they were on, and tried to get a good, asymmetrical, angular, semi-abstract composition that used the light to model the objects.

This is the best of my efforts. I've tried to achieve interest and balance. Unlike yesterday's image this one is in full colour! The image reminds me a little of the set designs that featured in the 1960s TV series, "The Avengers", with Diana Rigg (Mrs Peel) and Patrick McNee (Steed), that ran from 1965-1968. That series was particularly innovative in the way it incorporated ideas from Op Art and Pop Art into its design. The best episodes were like nothing else on TV at the time. This shot might be like nothing else you've seen on a photoblog for a while.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f16
Shutter Speed: 0.8 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Thinking about the 1960s

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The other evening I came over all 1960s! I'd been listening to the Beatles' "Rubber Soul" album, after which I moved on to "Magical Mystery Tour". Then, with the echoes of "If I needed someone" and "The fool on the hill" still reverberating, I settled down to read a chapter of Reyner Banham's "Theory and Design in the First Machine Age" (published in 1960). Despite its rather forbidding title this is a very readable account of the rise of the International Style. I needed to look again at his review of the Expressionist architecture of Amsterdam and Berlin in the period between 1914 and 1923, a development that ran counter to the emergent and increasingly dominant work of the early modern masters. I wanted to place this style of architecture, and the motivation behind it, against the Post-Modern and so-called "iconic" styles of recent years. Well, it's something to do on a cold winter evening!

However, my mind wandered off at a tangent, and I began to think again about the reasons why, in the pre-WW2 and post-WW2 years the International Style was so successful in continental Europe and the United States, but barely registered in Britain. And from that I started to speculate on whether the revolution in society, architecture, style and music that erupted in England in the 1960s was, in part, a reaction to being so far behind in art, architecture and design. Perhaps the creative people of our country raised their collective gaze from parochial concerns, looked abroad, and the move into modernity that had been achieved elsewhere finally registered. Maybe, at some level, the sudden flowering of Carnaby Street, "Swinging London", the Beatles etc., that in turn gave rise to British art, architecture and design that is now acknowledged as amongst the best in the world, can be linked to the slowness with which the modern age was accepted here.

Which brings me to today's photograph. The thoughts outlined above gave me the idea of doing a few shots that harked back to the 1960s - to Mary Quant and all that. Given my photographic track record there's no chance that I'll be photographing people a la David Bailey, but I did think I'd try a few still life shots and compositions that use that decade as the jumping off point. Perhaps you'll indulge me! Here's the first, of a white mortar and pestle on black and white vinyl, converted to black and white. Mortars and pestles, in my mind, made a return to wider use in the late 1960s, perhaps because, as well as people looking forwards, there was a backwards glance and a plundering of the past going on at the same time - think the satin uniforms on the cover of Sgt Pepper's. Why the conversion given the colour of the items in the shot? Well, the shadows had an orange tinge that detracted from my intention for the image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f16
Shutter Speed: 1.6
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Time for tea

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"Tea to the English is really a picnic indoors"
Alice Walker, U.S. writer (b.1944)

Alice Walker clearly knows something about the importance of tea to the English, but perhaps not quite as much as she imagines. What she was referring to is more correctly described as "afternoon tea", and that is only one of the ways in which the people of these islands imbibe this essential liquid.

When I think of afternoon tea I think of Betty's Tea Rooms in Harrogate, a place to take tea from a cup and saucer with bread or cakes as I once did in the late 1960s. Or I think back to being taken to an aunt's to drink tea and eat buns or pastries from a tiered cake stand whilst the gossip of the day was circulated between the adults. Today, when I am at home, and sometimes when out, I still observe the tradition of afternoon tea, but in deference to my waistline the drink is often unaccompanied!

As a child I took my tea with milk (as most English people still do) and sugar. Today the milk continues, but the sugar is long gone. And today I drink more of it -usually four, and sometimes five, cups (actually mugs) a day. In recent years I've felt myself slipping into the habits of older English folk and using the drink as a treat, a focus for a small social gathering, and as psychological as well as physical sustenance. I imagine that is what this traction engine enthusiast was doing when I photographed him one morning earlier this year at a gathering of these venerable machines. After hard work with a spanner, shovelling coal, getting up steam, and oiling that which needs lubricating, I imagine he felt the need for a little warm lubrication of his own in the form of some tea from a nearby stall; just the thing to stoke up your boiler for the rest of the morning!

I took this shot from the seat of my car as I drove past on an errand: not my usual photographic practice! The enthusiast obligingly directed his gaze my way and thought nothing of me firing off a few shots as he took his break. I left with his and and a couple of his friends' words in my ears - something about how lazy I was photographing from a car I think!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 58mm (116mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Customs House, King's Lynn, Norfolk

click photo to enlarge
"When we build let us think that we build for ever"
John Ruskin (1819-1900) English art critic, social critic, artist, etc

Looking at some of the flimsy, banal, or downright ugly buildings that are thrown up today there are times when I think Ruskin was right: all buildings should be well-designed, beautiful, and durable. But then the more rational side of me comes to the fore and I acknowledge that a building should be designed to meet a specific purpose, and that purpose may disappear leaving a structure that can't be used for something else. However, when you see a power station turned into an art gallery (Tate Modern), churches become houses, bars, antique shops and more, and disused warehouses transformed into desirable apartments, then you think that perhaps Ruskin was right after all, and that every buildings should incorporate an element of flexibility so that it can have a life beyond its initial purpose.

The building shown reflected in the dock at King's Lynn, Norfolk, is the old Customs House. It was built in 1683 by the gentleman-architect, Henry Bell, who was also a merchant of the town. Its original purpose was a Merchants' Exchange. However, the first floor was let to the Collector of Customs who subsequently, in 1718, bought the entire building. Today it is a museum and houses the Tourist Information offices of the town. It seems to me to be a building that embraces Ruskin's injunction, and whilst it may not last "for ever", the durable, carefully cut stone, elegant proportions and refined beauty of the structure will ensure its longevity. The architectural historian, Nikolaus Pevsner, called it "one of the finest late C17 public buildings in provincial England." That endorsement, too, should guarantee that it lives on to meet future needs.

A while ago I posted a shot of this building with the statue of Captain George Vancouver in the foreground. Here I used the reflection and the water of the dock to fill the near space.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 25mm (50mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Looking for beauty

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Visitors to photography forums will have heard people bemoaning the fact that the area in which they live isn't photogenic, and that they have to travel miles to get good images. It's hard to have sympathy with this view, or the mindset of someone who wants to take photographs of conventionally beautiful places, but is unwilling to recognise, or look for, the different kind of beauty that will undoubtedly exist where they live.

When I lived in Lancashire I regularly walked along both banks of the River Wyre where it widens into an estuary that flows into the Irish Sea at Fleetwood. It's a flat location that, on one side, has the debris of 150 years spread along its banks - the rotting hulks of wooden ships, old sea walls and their newer replacements, industrial sites that have closed, the wrecked remains of a once thriving fishing industry, newer chemical manufacturing plants and a municipal dump. The other side is more rural, with saltmarsh, pastures, cereal fields, a golf course and nature reserve. As I walked the area I found plenty of subjects at which I could point my camera. Many weren't beautiful in the usual sense, but did offer a harder sort of attractiveness, as well as undoubted fascination. In this sometimes bleak area I usually got my best landscape shots when there was an interesting sky. A photography lesson that it took me a while to learn is that just as a sunset can make any subject look wonderful, a sky with cloud and light can add drama, beauty and contrast to the most unpromising scene, even an expanse of cold, flat winter water and a factory with a tall chimney.

This contre jour shot looking upstream from Knott End uses the factory on the left as balance for the sun on the right. The distant blocks of flats and Blackpool Tower add a few more details to the flat horizon.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 62mm (124mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -2.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

John Ruskin and the peacock

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"Remember that the most beautiful things in the world are the most useless; peacocks and lilies for instance."
John Ruskin (1819-1900) English art critic, social critic, artist, etc,
from "The Stones of Venice" (1851)

Many years ago I read "The Stones of Venice" and "The Seven Lamps of Architecture" one after the other and ended up with "Ruskindigestion"! Both books are fascinating and important documents in the history of art and architecture, but as you read them you feel that you are being so stuffed full of the author's "moral truths" that you'll burst.

John Ruskin was a man of decided opinions about painting (direct observation was vital), architecture (Classical bad, Gothic - especially the Venetian variety - good), society (he extolled the virtues of the medieval period and decried the values of the industrial revolution), and much else too. I took away from the books much interesting information about art and architecture, but also amazement that a man could be so utterly convinced of his own rightness. Not a single doubt seemed to exist in Ruskin's head. Every opinion was held with absolute conviction.

I suppose that comes through in the quotation at the head of this piece. It's an absurd statement, ridiculously dogmatic, and easily disproved. Yet, I was delighted to read it! Because what made Ruskin great, for me, were his powerful insights that he couldn't have had without being so strongly convinced of his own point of view. For every statement that we can disagree with - "I do not believe that ever any building was truly great, unless it had mighty masses, vigorous and deep, of shadow mingled with its surface" is another such - there is also an abundance that are felicitously expressed and contain deep truths. So, when I read, "Fine art is that in which the hand, the head and the heart of man go together" I can only agree. As an educator I was impressed by his statement about education: "The entire object of true education is to make people not merely do the right things, but enjoy them; not merely be industrious, but love industry; not merely learn, but love knowledge; not merely be pure, but love purity; not merely be just, but hunger and thirst after justice". And when I came across, "Quality is never an accident, it is always the result of intelligent effort", I could only say "Amen!" Ruskin is still worth reading today. If you haven't the time or inclination for a book (or two) look up some of his quotations: they are frequently perceptive, often opinionated, and sometimes plain wrong! But they're always interesting.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/2
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Housing, tradition and innovation

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The current economic recession has put a damper on the UK housing market, and not before time. Prices were grossly inflated, and people had begun to see houses firstly as investments and only secondly as somewhere to live. But it's not that aspect of housing that concerns me here. Rather, it's the nature of the homes to which many aspire.

It seems to me that the British are infatuated with old houses. Original thatched cottages, stone-built eighteenth century terraces, half-timbered dwellings, Victorian villas, converted barns - all are seen as so desirable that in recent years new versions of these traditional forms have been erected across the country to meet the demand. Sad, but true! And where more obviously modern houses have been erected, too often these have been tricked out with tile-hanging, roof cresting, faux timber, artisan-mannerist brickwork, or other decorative additions to give a hint of the past to the structure. Modern mass-market housing that lacks these embellishments and that unashamedly proclaims its date as the early twenty-first century is regrettably difficult to find, and generally only exists in cities and at the top of the price scale in architect-designed individual buildings.

However, now and again, an enterprising developer tries something different. These houses at Bicker, Lincolnshire, were designed in the UK and manufactured in Sweden. They are a system-built, modular, low-energy design. As far as the UK goes they are quite innovative in terms of their wooden frame and the energy requirements (though these elements are becoming more common). However, they are very innovative in terms of colour, especially in a rural location! Most UK housing is brick coloured. White or cream render is found, and the occasional maverick individual uses a brighter colour. Sometimes very old buildings display a range of tints. It's not common, however, to find a group of new buildings displaying colours such as these. Some don't like it, but I'd like to see more bright, bold new designs being erected - buildings for today that are of today!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On