Spicing up the weather

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Several years ago the British press reported that a television weather presenter, Sian Lloyd, had studied Thai dancers in order to make her own hand movements more expressive. Once you knew that fact it was no longer possible to remember anything she said about the weather because you spent the whole time watching her hands tracing arabesques and curlycues, fingers moving almost individually, as they gracefully indicated the sweep of the rain and the path of the wind as it passed over our islands.

At the time I remember wondering whether the other presenters should take a leaf out of her book and search around for inspiration to enliven their own presentations. Maybe one could base his approach on Kung Fu, alternating slow-motion swipes to show the passage of cloud across the country with fast, head-high kicks to indicate the areas of Scotland that would be subject to sub-zero temperatures. Another might inject a dull forecast that spoke about low-level stratus and fog by singing her script in the gospel-style, her body swaying from side to side to illustrate a gentle breeze, punctuating her exposition with alleluyahs and hands thrust high to heaven, at any indication of a sunny day to come.

I was thinking about this as I sat in my study looking at my window. It is flanked by gathered curtains (inherited when I bought the house) and has vertical blinds to keep glare off my computer monitor. Looking at it the other day, it reminded me of a theatre stage, though more Punch and Judy than Old Vic. My wife, outside, however, added a hint of that other Thai art, shadow puppetry, though the sun from the side made her outline more than a little contorted.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The marvellous mundane

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In life, as in photography, there is a great temptation to seek out the new, the sensational, the eyecatching, the exotic. Take food. In the UK we have embraced the cuisine of all nations to such an extent that the culinary delights that originated in England - black pudding, game pie, Bath buns, onion and apple pie, pork dumplings, brawn, Goosnargh cakes and the rest - have to be actively sought out, and frequently can't be found. The same is true of the British and holidays. I have worked with individuals who are more familiar with the Spanish coast, the Dominican Republic and the Italian Lakes than they are with the area within fifty miles of their home town, even when that area was one frequented by foreign tourists who marvelled at its beauty!

It seems to me that this sort of thing comes about because food and holidays are aspects of the conspicuous consumption that is a feature of western society. People choose the exotic over the familiar because it says something about them to others. The trouble with this attitude is that it can blind you to the simple joys that are part of everyday life. A glass of cold water on a hot day is often spurned for an expensive manufactured drink, yet "Adam's Ale" takes some beating as a thirst quencher.

Looking at my photograph of a very ordinary track across a not very scenic part of the Lincolnshire Fens prompted this train of thought. It was the beauty of the clouds in the clear sky, and the reflection of one in a newly formed puddle that caused me to take the photograph. The growing crops, the poles and wires, and the flat horizon are not obvious photographic fodder: in fact they are all very mundane. But the cloud and its reflection lifted the scene and made it appeal to me at the time, and it appeals still.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Blue with yellow

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I've been thinking for a while of extending my series of still life flower photographs by using a couple of our "blue and white ware" vases. These aren't, I hasten to say, the classical Chinese pottery, but nineteenth or twentieth century copies, unmarked, probably made in Britain, but possibly imported from a Far Eastern manufactory.

When you decide to use a basically blue vase, the question arises of what colour flowers to place in it. The complementary of blue is orange, but that pairing always seems a touch lurid to me, unless the shades are carefully selected. I do like to see dark blue with a rich cream, though if it veers towards the white it tends to look a bit nautical. Dusky pink can look well with dark blue, and some greens please me when paired with it too, though I recognise that's not a combination that appeals to everyone. In the end I went for yellow, mainly because the Heliopsis in the garden are producing blooms in abundance, but also because it makes a good pairing with blue.

On this occasion I decided go for an all white background, but try as I might, I couldn't produce anything that I liked. The arrangement seemed washed out, with no "bite". I added a red/pink carnation or two thinking to give it a lift, but it just looked gaudy. So, I went back to my tried and tested black background and it all came together immediately. The outlines of the vases were just as clear as with a white background, but, more imporantly, the patterns in the white of the vases stood out: against the white background they had been outshone. The yellow of the flowers was also richer against black, and the green looked lighter. So here it is. I've lost count of how many of these I've done now, but, if you like this sort of thing, I can say I think I've got a couple more of them in me. If you're not keen on them - ah, well!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/5
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

All Saints, Holbeach

click photo to enlarge
There's an old story about a man going round a museum and one of the attendants proudly pointing out to him the very axe that was used to behead Mary, Queen of Scots. "Of course," said the attendant, "being so ancient, the wooden shaft and the axe head have had to be replaced at various times."

A few days ago the wooden shaft of my felling axe broke as I was chopping the base and roots out of a large bush. I'd only had it thirty three years, and was expecting it to "see me out." I immediately thought of replacing the shaft, but then remembered the difficulty I'd had fixing the head of my sledge hammer on to a new shaft, consequently I thought I'd buy a new one. So, off I went to Holbeach to an old-fashioned hardware store where I'd seen a selection of axes a few months ago. I selected my axe which was much cheaper than I imagined it would be, but then wished I'd brought my old axe head because wooden axe shafts were on sale as well. Then I'd be a two-axe man - affluent or what!

For me a trip to Holbeach isn't complete without visiting the medieval church of All Saints, a much bigger building than might be expected in this small town. The unique feature of this building is the pair of drum towers that flank the porch. These are presumed to have been added at a later date, perhaps from a derelict structure, possibly a castle. Whatever their source, they have been there a long time, and give an odd appearance to the church. On the day of my visit the sun was shining brightly, and the normally dark interior was lit by shafts of light falling into the nave aisle from each clerestory window. The brilliance of these multiple spots was making the interior glow. I decided that the fourteenth century columns in the nave would rarely be seen as well as on this day, and so I composed an asymmetrical shot with the fifteenth century font in the right foreground, a stepping off point for the eye before it fastens on to the distant east window towards which the lines of columns lead. I took my photograph without a tripod.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.2
Shutter Speed: 1/20 seconds
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fuss and Feathers

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The brouhaha over English Members' of Parliament (MPs) expenses claims has consumed much of the time and energy of Britain's media reporters and commentators over the past month. That a very few were on the fiddle is undoubtedly true, and it's good that they have been exposed. That many others, quite legitimately, were milking a fairly lax system is also true, and if the recent fuss results in a tighter rein on allowable claims we should all be happy. But, there was a group of people who got lost in all of this, namely those MPs of integrity who made very modest and reasonable claims. Unfortunately, a large mass of the public (and press) in England is only interested in politics when it involves tittle tattle, and so for many our politicians are now "all the same", and "only out to feather their own nests." This widely held view simply isn't true. Of course, the focus on this scandal is like manna from heaven for bankers and financiers who have had the spotlight taken off their much greater greed and incompetence, and they are quietly trying to slip back into their bad old ways of paying themselves far too much, for doing too little, badly.

The system of MPs' expenses is currently under review, and into this discussion has been thrown the issue of MPs having a job at the same time that they sit as a representative of the people. There are those who say it's a good thing that MPs know about the "real world" through a second job. But, for many of our politicians that involves earning a lot for advising a financial institution that inhabits a world that few people would recognise as anything approaching "real." Others say that MPs should earn their pay by devoting all their energies to Parliament and their constituents. My view is that if you say that the duties of an MP allow time to do a second job, then you're accepting that it's a part time job and the remuneration should be downwardly adjusted accordingly. Moreover, those who are drawing two salaries are unlikely to be representing the people well, and would seem to be undeserving of their pay from the state. However, if MPs salaries were reduced substantially to take account of the "part-time" nature of their work it would penalise those who scrupulously devote all their energies to their parliamentary work. Consequently, here's a suggestion. Firstly, all those putting themselves forward for election to Parliament should have to declare whether they will hold a second job if elected: that would concentrate a few minds and also be a consideration that peope could take into account when deciding who should receive their vote. Secondly, an MP's salary and expenses from the state should be withdrawn if they have a second job. That would send a clear message of disapproval of the practice, and reinforce the message that constituents deserve all their representative's time and attention.

All of which has not a thing to do with the subject of today's photograph. It shows The Feathers Hotel in Ludlow, Shropshire, a very ornate, timber-framed building of 1603. The whole facade has been constructed with an eye to decorative effect; even the asymmetry caused by positioning the entrance slightly off-centre, with two projecting bays to the left and one to the right. The Feathers began life as a private house, but was converted to an inn around 1670. It's one of a number of "black and white" buildings in this market town in the Welsh Marches, but the most embellished by far, and is considered an exemplar of its architectural style.

I didn't catch this building at the best time for a photograph, with the sun just brushing the facade and most of it in shadow, so exposure and processing proved "challenging".

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm (110mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Country music, photographic genres and hoverflies

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Q. What happens when you play country music backwards?
A. You sober up, your wife comes home and your dog comes back to life.
Anon.

As far as music goes I like to think I've got an open mind. I enjoy rock, blues, folk, jazz and classical. Even a well-constructed pop song will attract my attention. But I do struggle with British brass band music, even though I have a Percy Grainger CD with his music played in this way, which I enjoy very much. I'm also not a big fan of country and western, partly for the reasons alluded to in the joke above, but also because it seems like the pulp fiction end of the musical spectrum. That said, there are a few individual songs by the likes of Hank Williams and Johnny Cash that I quite like. And, when it comes to song titles, country and western has the appealing ability of being able to mock itself. Many people will have heard If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body, Would You Hold It Against Me, but how about She Used My Tears To Wash Her Socks, or I Gave Her A Ring, She Gave Me The Finger. And what about the slightly surreal If The Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me?

As far as photography goes I am, broadly speaking, a generalist: I like to try my hand at most genres, though I favour landscape, architecture, semi-abstract, still-life, flora, black and white and candid. However, as with music, there are a few specialisms that don't interest me. My indifference to motorsports photography is probably linked to my disdain for fast cars. "Street photography" is something that leaves me cold: many practitioners seem to engage in indiscriminate machine-gunning with the camera in the hope of producing something of the quality of Henri Cartier-Bresson. That's not to say that candid photography of deliberately chosen people, situations and compositions doesn't appeal to me - it does - but street photography as it seems to be practised appears to be so much less than that. It's a genre that I associate with the rise of digital, though it must have existed in the days of film. The same seems to be true of insect photography. If you visit the forums you can hear people almost salivating at the onset of spring when the "bugs" start to appear and they can mount their macro lenses and hunt out the little blighters. This is another type of photography that holds no particular fascination for me.

However, that's not to say that if an obliging hoverfly comes my way when I'm photographing Heliopsis flowers that I won't take his (or her) picture. I will. And I did! As you can see above.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Thinking about the Zenit E

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The first SLR I owned was a Zenit-E known as the Zenith E in English-speaking markets. This Russian camera was manufactured in vast numbers - over 12,000,000 were made. My copy was bought in 1972, when I was an impecunious student, and I found it a great introduction to more "serious" photography, serving me well until I bought an Olympus OM1n a few years later.

The Zenit was a very solid camera with a selenium light meter mounted above the lens. The shutter speeds were B and 1/30 to 1/500. Film settings were 16 ASA to 500ASA, though I only used Ilford black and white rated at either 125 or 400. The lens mount was M42 thread, and the standard lens with this camera was an f2 58mm offering. All camera manufacturers have a name for their lenses - Olympus/Zuiko, Nikon/Nikkor, etc, and Zenit were no exception. This lens had the name Helios engraved near the filter threads. I often wondered why they chose the Greek word for the sun. Whatever the reason, I cannot hear that word without thinking of that particular lens.

Today I decided to produce a photograph that said, "summer", so I went into the garden and took a few shots of some perennial yellow daisies that fill a border. I didn't know the name of these particular plants, but a bit of research leads me to think they are a variety of Heliopsis. Noticing that the name, very fittingly, borrowed that Greek word for "sun" I was immediately put in mind of my old camera. Interestingly I can't remember what became of it. I still have the Olympus, but the Zenit is long gone. Perhaps I gave it away or sold it. One thing I know is I won't have thrown it away because it failed - it was built like a T62 tank and seemed capable of going on for ever.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tower vaulting compared - Louth and Ludlow

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During my primary school years, in any spare moments that the teacher allowed, I loved to draw and doodle. And, as I progressed through my education, painting and drawing became subjects that I pursued academically in greater depth. However, picking up my theme of a couple of weeks ago, that everything important in my education happened in the primary years (age 5-11), I want to dwell on doodling. At one stage, when I was 7 or 8 years old, I had a penchant for making symmetrical patterns with a pencil and ruler. I'd start with a square, connect the corners with diagonals, find the centre of each side of the square, connect those, then build a pattern that developed from that basic "Union Flag" shape.

The other day, when I was processing these two images of tower vaulting, it suddenly struck me that my fascination with this aspect of medieval Gothic architecture may well derive from those childhood doodles. Look at the patterns here and you'll see those same diagonals and cross shape underpinning the basic structure in each instance. The central circle is there by necessity, and usually lifts out to allow access to the bells. The Ludlow design has cusping incorporated into the geometry, giving it a less regular feel, but the Louth vaulting is strictly rectilinear when seen from below.

Anyone who has explored this blog will have come across other examples of tower vaulting photographed from below, and all those other designs are individual. With today's images I decided that I'd use my widest lens which is 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.) and make the columned piers that support the tower part of the composition. So, each picture has a centre illuminated by tower windows, and has four arches. Why does Louth have windows filling three of its arches? Well, that tower is at the west end of the church, whereas Ludlow's is a crossing tower, in the centre of the building, off which are the nave, the chancel and a pair of transepts. You can tell which is the chancel because it has the most elaborately decorated roof.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Top (Bottom), where different
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11(22mm), 11(22mm)/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6, (3.5)
Shutter Speed: 1/80, (1/200) seconds
ISO: 400, (200)
Exposure Compensation: -2.7, (-0.7) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The knight and the carnations

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One of the basic themes found in all forms of art is the pairing of unlikely bedfellows. The story of Beauty and The Beast exemplifies this very well, so much so that its basic idea was plundered, and subtle changes introduced, in stories such as The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Cyrano de Bergerac.

Fashion photographers are particularly drawn to this theme, placing their model and the the clothes they are showing off in the most unlikely of contexts. The English photographer, Cecil Beaton (1904-1980), renowned for his photographs of Audrey Hepburn and other film stars, as well as for photoshoots for the big fashion houses, is generally remembered for the images of elegance that he produced. However, one photograph that sticks in my mind is of a refined woman, coat casually draped around her shoulders, reading a newspaper that she holds in her white-gloved hands, whilst sitting on a concrete splattered saw-horse among grimy buckets, spades and the like. The contrast between the subject and setting was what drew the viewer into the shot.

Today's photograph is also an unlikely pairing, but one which I think works really well. It shows a tomb of a Knight of the Order of St John, dating from the 1400s, in the church of St Botolph's, Boston, Lincolnshire. I posted an image of this knight on the blog a while ago, and it depicts the tomb as one is used to seeing such things. However, when I visited the flower festival at St Botolph's (see yesterday's post), I found that someone had surrounded this fine piece of sculpture with pink carnations (and a few orange daisies). That simple act transformed the cold, dead stone, injecting life where there was none, lightening the mood surrounding the effigy, and introducing a colour that complemented the bluish tones. It was a photographic opportunity not to be missed, so I composed this shot using the out-of-focus blooms on the left to balance the head on the right.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm (34mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.2
Shutter Speed: 1/50 seconds
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Flowers, festivals and photographs

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Today's photograph shows a small part of a flower display in the church of St Botolph, Boston. This great church, begun in 1309, is celebrating its 700th anniversary, and one of the many activities it has arranged for this significant year is a large flower festival that is currently open to the public. The idea of flower festivals is that members of the church erect a series of themed displays around the interior of the building, using mainly fresh flowers and foliage, but also dried flowers and objects that support the theme. St Botolph's seventy six displays have been conceived by members of the church, but also by groups in the town and from across Lincolnshire. This has resulted in the standard of displays being better than I've ever seen before.

The themes are very varied: "John Cotton", "The Pilgrim Fathers", and "John Taverner" are representative of famous people associated with the church, whilst "The Slodgers", " The Fishing Industry", "Boston Landscape", "700 Years of Church Music" and "Local Commerce - Vegetable Growers" are typical of those that illustrate local life. I found the most eyecatching display to be "Agriculture - The Lincolnshire Way of Life", built around an old tractor that was positioned in the nave. However, the most artistically satisfying - and this kind of work can be considered decorative art of a kind - were "Fogarty's Feathers", a display in black, white and silver illustrating the industry devoted to pillows and duvets that is still found locally, and the very original "History of the Fire Service". The latter display was about a subject I've seen covered before by flower festivals, but never so well. It included artefacts - old firemen's helmets etc., and large displays that suggested the flames of fires. However, the part that caught my eye was this small composition on the aisle floor, using a picture frame, burnt photographs, fiery, smoke-blackened tulips and pieces of net.

It was, to my eye, the best detail of the much larger piece, in terms of both colour and conception, so I decided to isolate it, and try to make something of the composition against the lighter floorboards with their interesting grain. The final image has had the digital equivalent of selective "dodging" and "burning" (quite appropriate you might say!) to increase the contrast between the lighter and darker parts of the image. I've taken photographs at a few flower festivals, but as far as I can recall, have never used any in this blog. However, my visit to St Botolph produced two, so another will follow tomorrow.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.5
Shutter Speed: 1/4 seconds
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A matter of life and death

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"It's a funny old world - a man's lucky if he can get out of it alive."
W.C. Fields (1880-1946), U.S. actor, in film "You're Telling Me", 1934

"Eternity is a terrible thought. I mean, where's it going to end?"
Tom Stoppard (1937- ), English playwright, from "Rosencranz and Guildenstern Are Dead", 1967

"Death is nature's way of telling you to slow down." Graffito, London, 1978

Death happens very day - to individuals and to groups of people. The modern media overflows with reports and images of death. Yet, despite its ubiquity, and even though it is something that will happen to us all, modern society isn't particularly good at dealing with the subject in a straightforward way. We are good at incorporating multiple deaths in a cartoonish way in an "action" movie. And we're very good at alluding to the subject through humour, as the quotations above illustrate. But, when it comes to a funeral, or talking about our own death or that of those we know well, we're sometimes lost for words. Perhaps that's because, where we can, we shuffle the everday act of dying out of our sight, into hospitals and hospices. The past was more open about these things. Death commonly happened at home, involved young people more than it does now, and was attended by a more prescribed ceremony.

A few days ago I was trying to decode this memorial, in the church of St Laurence, Ludlow, in Shropshire. It records the death of Theophilus Salwey in 1760, and comprises a panel filled with sculpture, above which is a pediment topped by an urn, with an inscribed tablet detailing the deceased placed at the base. It is a fairly run-of-the-mill piece in the Classical style, with a concept and sculpture that doesn't rise above the average. However, it typifies some of the things that the eighteenth century had to say about death. The rather podgy putto (cherub) sits on a pedestal praying for the soul of Theophilus. To its left is an open book signifying that he was an open, honest man of learning during his lifetime. Next to it is his coat of arms, a reminder of his high status in society. Linking these two are acanthus leaves, a symbol of immortality in Classical civilization. To the right of the pedestal is a prominent skull, marked as aged by its scattered teeth, along with a few large bones. These, of course, signify death. They are balanced on a pile of closed books - a metaphor, surely, for a life that has ended. Then there is a snake with a bird-like head about to bite some fruit. The serpent's body is wound into a circle. Does it allude to the story of Adam and Eve? More likely the circle signifies eternity once more, because the items to the left of the cherub are concerned with life, while those to the right are about the afterlife. Interestingly the acanthus leaves cross from one side to the other perhaps suggesting that death is conquered through faith, and that after we leave our earthly existence life continues in heaven.

Whatever one makes of this Christian iconography sprinkled with Classical details, it can't be denied that it results in a memorial that confronts physical death more directly than is the case with the gravestones of the last hundred years. I decided to photograph it in a way that captures the main details of the central sculpture, but emphasises the, to our modern sensibilities, rather disturbing skull, so went for this diagonal composition.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (36mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.5
Shutter Speed: 1/125 seconds
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Poppy revival

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It has been my misfortune, in recent years, to come upon fields of poppies only when I've been travelling somewhere by road. And, when you pass a scarlet field that smacks you in the eye like these fields do, you've just got to stop and get snapping. Consequently I've had to park, get out, secure the best shot I could manage in a short time with whatever light is available, and then carry on my way. So it was a couple of days ago when I was heading west along the main road near Haceby, Lincolnshire. And so it was last year too, when travelling to Stamford.

That Stamford image shows poppies in a field of oilseed rape. Prior to that particular photograph I've been used to snapping these beautiful red flowers when they appear in cereal fields - usually wheat or barley. And, because they are interlopers that the farmer has usually tried to eradicate in one way or another, the poppies that I come across are scattered in various densities around field margins or throughout the crops. So, when I strode into this field, where the density was much more uniform, making the field appear an almost unbroken blanket of red, I was interested to see which commercial crop they'd invaded and virtually taken over. To my surprise the field was entirely poppies interspersed with a few wild flowers. Anxious to learn why farmers are planting poppies (which clearly weren't the opium variety!) I came upon a news article that might hold the answer. Apparently some farmers are letting the poppy seeds that have been suppressed for decades by chemicals spring up and come into flower in selected fields where they want to increase nitrate levels in the soil. It seems that a red field full of beautiful, naturally occurring poppies, like this one, can be a step on the way to the production of wheat by organic methods. All I can say is I hope to see more farmers following this system, not only for the benefits that organic farming confers on the land and wildlife, but because of the spectacular colour that it introduces into the countryside.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Motorbikin'

click photo to enlarge
I do so want to see motorcycles as the eminently sensible form of transport that they can be, but it's hard. Why? Well, I get the impression that many motorcyclists see their mounts principally as something other than a useful form of transport. And therein lies the problem. Once you choose a motorcycle for its speed, its noise, its machismo, or the exhilaration that it offers, then certain other consequences follow, some positive, but mainly negative.

Firstly you're going to be tempted to ride it very quickly - either within the speed limits in terms of acceleration, or fast in absolute terms, beyond the legal limit. That will, sadly, result in a disproportionate number of deaths amongst motorcyclists, either by their own hand or by the hand of other road users. Secondly, you're often going to make the machine noisier than it needs to be, so it'll either sound like a demented mosquito, a grass strimmer on steroids or an amplified steam tug-boat, chugging, thumping, and crackling along. And in so doing you're going to disturb enormous numbers of your fellow citizens for wholly selfish reasons, and ratchet up the stress of modern life one more notch. Thirdly, you'll be likely to buy the best machine you can afford and cosset it. There's nothing wrong with that - it seems to be a human trait. But it leads to the purchase of machines that aren't especially good for the purpose of transport, and to the employment of them as hobby vehicles. So, your riding will be concentrated into weekends and holidays, and you'll congregate with like-minded people to discuss and admire your respective steeds. And there's nothing at all wrong with that either. However, it's also possible you'll see yourselves as distinctive, on the edge of society, and some will feel part of a persecuted minority.

So where does that leave the apparently small number who use motorcycles as a form of transport that is quick, economic, efficient, environmentally better, less hindered by traffic congestion. As a genuine minority, genuinely distinctive, definitely on the edge of society, that's where! When I was growing up in the 1950s and 1960s utilitarian motorcycling was commonplace. On one occasion when I went on holiday with a friend to his uncle's and aunt's house he came to collect us on his Vincent Black Shadow with sidecar. We thought nothing of it, and, though he was proud of his motorcycle he saw it primarily as a transport choice that he adjusted to purr along because that was best for him and for everyone else. Perhaps a few more motorcyclists of that sort on the roads would help me to see motorbikin' in a more positive light.

Today's photograph was taken a couple of days ago in Ludlow, Shropshire, at what must have been a meet-up of Harley-Davidson owners. They were mainly genial older riders who looked to be having a fine time, basking in the summer sun, viewing each other's hardware, and enjoying an ice-cream. When I saw the odd machine gliding around the ancient town there seemed to be those who wanted to make the bike as noisy as possible, and others who aimed for that subdued purr. I know which my old ears preferred.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm (90mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Colonel Cheney at Waterloo

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I first came across the church of St Luke at Gaddesby, Leicestershire, a few years ago when holidaying in the area. The other day, when I was returning home from a trip to Worcestershire, I called in again. This church is full of interest: the architecture, the opulent decoration of its south aisle, the ancient woodwork - even the rustic floors - are all fascinating. So too are the memorials, many of them slate, which date from the medieval period through to the twentieth century. However, one nineteenth century memorial is unique among those found in English churches. My description of it below is based on the small guide in the church that visitors can read.

The almost life-size equestrian statue of Colonel Edward Hawkins Cheney of the Royal Scots Greys was carved in 1848 by Joseph Gott. The Colonel fought at the Battle of Waterloo on June 18th, 1815. He had four horses killed from under him on that day, and the command of the regiment fell upon him when he was mounted on his fifth steed. Here he is shown on a collapsing horse that is dying from a bullet that has entered the front of its body below the bottom of the neck. The panel on the base of the memorial shows Sergeant Ewart in hand-to-hand combat with a French cavalry officer, trying to recapture a lost Napoleonic eagle standard.

Colonel Cheney married Eliza Ayre whose father owned Gaddesby Hall, and he inherited the property on the death of his father-in-law. This memorial was carved three years after the Colonel's death in 1845 and stood in the conservatory of the Hall. However, when the estate was sold in 1917 it was moved, on tree rollers, to St Luke's, where it was placed in the chancel, becoming the only equestrian statue to be found in an English church. There is a story, probably apocryphal, that the sculptor, after completing the statue, realised he'd forgotten the horse's tongue, and in despair, committed suicide! The horse's teeth have been stained by the apple placed in its mouth each year at the time of the Harvest Festival.

My photograph was taken using available light from the chancel windows. Thanks to Image Stabilisation I was able to hand-hold the shot at 1/13 second and still produced an acceptably sharp image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/44mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/13 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Lament for our disappearing pubs

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The evening shadows slowly enveloping the Red Lion pub at Bicker, Lincolnshire, could be a metaphor for the gloom that is snuffing out pub after pub in villages across Britain.

Those running village inns have been hit by the "double whammy" of the ban on smoking in public buildings and work places, followed by the recession. There were those, and I count myself among them, who welcomed the restrictions on smoking, thinking it would make places like pubs more customer friendly as well as healthier places to be. There was the feeling that whilst the new legislation would be a disincentive to smokers to continue to visit pubs (though many would, using the alternative arrangements that enabled them to smoke outside), this reduction in customers would be made up by the non-smokers who would now find the pubs more acceptable. Well, that doesn't seem to have happened: the number of smokers in pubs did decline, but the increase in non-smokers didn't compensate, and so landlords' incomes fell. That started the closures which hit pubs in cities and towns, but particularly those in villages with their smaller customer base and their reliance on the "passing trade." But it was the tightening of consumer spending brought on by the recession that accelerated the number of pubs permanently closing their doors. There are those who think this doesn't matter, and even some who celebrate the closures. However, the pub is a traditional and welcome feature of British life, offering not just drinks, but food and a meeting place. They inject life into their communities, and many are sorry to see them go.

It won't be all village pubs that close of course: many will find a way to struggle along until an upturn in the economy eases their situation. However, pubs in very small villages, like the one in the photograph, that has seen a turnover of three or four landlords in the past year or so, may well cease trading. This particular pub dates from the seventeenth century (a datestone at the top of the central gable says, "John Drury 1665"), and is built in what is described as a Fen Artisan Mannerist Style. It would be a shame if permanent closure prevented it celebrating, in 2065, four hundred years of serving beer to the village!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (36mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Chintzy

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"Automatically adjusts the image using Auto Color, Auto Contrast and Auto Levels." That's what a piece of software I sometimes use says the "Auto Adjust" control does; and it's really unpredictable. Sometimes it works on the unprocessed image to give it a touch more "snap", other times it takes the camera's flat-looking output and renders it to look much more like what the eye saw. But then there are times when it goes all psychedelic on you - as it did with this shot of the pink rose that I presented in black and white the other day.

What Auto Adjust appears to have done in this instance is to take what the human eye sees as a monotone flower, measure the slight differences in colour where the sky, leaves and nearby flowers have subtley changed the hue, and then emphasise those areas whilst increasing the contrast. When I saw its output I thought it would look good as a chintz, or perhaps as a composite image with the flower repeated after being rotated through 90 degrees. I've tried this sort of thing before here and here, so I decided to give it another go! It's not everyone's idea of what photography is about, but it pleases me to try this stuff now and then.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f9
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Lilies and Euphorbia

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"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow:
they toil not, neither do they spin.
Yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."
Matthew 6: 28-69

There are plenty of people who would agree with this verse from Matthew's Gospel, and place the lilies among the most beautiful of flowers, but I'm not one of them. There are legions of flowers that I would place before the lily - the dog daisy, the cranesbill, honeysuckle and the poppy to name but four. Mind you, I can't see what all the fuss is over orchids either, so perhaps my taste in flowers isn't particularly mainstream and I'm very much out of step in this area.

One of the pleasures of a garden is the cut flowers that it can provide for much of the year. Spring, summer and autumn are the times of plenty, but even winter can offer a few flowers, berries and interesting leaves. And, if you are so minded, you can dry flowers, such as michaelmas daisies and honesty, for winter display.

Today's photograph is another in my series of still life photographs involving a vase of flowers. Regular readers will remember the previous one, with its link to earlier examples. Once again this is a collection put together by my wife and purloined by me. It's a variation on my usual theme, but with a slightly different background colour.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/4
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Who visits PhotoReflect?

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At the very bottom of this page is a hit counter icon/link from Site Meter. By using a piece of their code in the Blogger template I can gather a few useful statistics about the hits I get. As well as the number of visitors, how many pages they view, how long they spend here, which country they're from and so on, it also tells me some basic information about their computer - screen resolution, OS, browser, colour depth and other bits and pieces. Lest anyone should see this as Big Brotherish, let me emphasise that NONE of this is personal information, just generic stuff that's useful in terms of deciding how to present web pages to potential viewers and readers.

About half of the people I get each day are returning visitors who usually click a browser bookmark of the blog address or come through, for example, Google Reader, or the Atom feed, though now and again I get a flurry from an email link. The other half arrive here through either a text or an image search. One of the other useful pieces of information that the hit counter offers is details of the search that a person makes - the search engine and search terms are listed. If that's news to anyone, or if some people find it a bit scary, get used to it: all this information has always been available from internet users. However, only your ISP, or perhaps some shadowy government agency with your ISP's connivance, can track that information back to you.

But, that's not the main point of today's "reflection" which is to comment on how surprising it can be to discover which blog images and articles attract the most search engine hits. In recent weeks, topping the text searches has been Why black and white photography? and The corrugated chair, whilst Beautiful feathers and A Victorian Garden have been the most popular image searches. Why those? Well it's my guess that they perhaps deal with subjects that are less widely covered on the web, so come nearer the top of a search. But, I can't acount for my all-time winner in terms of searches, both text and image - Blue glass, with clouds. What is it about that post that regularly brings visitors to PhotoReflect? I'm at a loss to answer my own question.

One thing I can say with a fair degree of certainty is that today's black and white rendering of a pink rose, a conversion I did for the lovely soft grey tones that it produced, will generate few search-based hits!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f9
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Brant Broughton's angel roof

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When Canon Frederick Heathcote Sutton was appointed to the church of St Helen, Brant Broughton, Lincolnshire, in 1873, he became rector of one of the county's finest medieval churches. Its elegant 198 feet tall tower and spire date from the fourteenth century and is a landmark for many miles around, a perfectly proportioned testament to the aesthetic sensibilities of the medieval masons. Elsewhere the church is richly and thoughtfully constructed with vaulted porches to the north and south, fine carvings including green men and very individual gargoyles, elaborate window tracery, and ball-flower ornament decorating edges and surfaces across the building.

Many newly appointed churchmen of the last quarter of the nineteenth century would have set about making essential repairs to the building, concentrating on conserving the beauty of what was there. Others would have seen it as an opportunity to impose a Victorian aesthetic on the structure. Canon Sutton, being of the Anglo-Catholic persuasion, took it upon himself to do both! And, in general, he did a very good job too. He was helped in this by having the good sense to appoint Bodley & Garner as architects to help formulate and execute his vision. To that end they took down the Georgian chancel and rebuilt it in a Victorian Gothic that fits well with the original medieval work. The church furnishings were replaced and renovated, and stained glass designed by the Rector himself was made for the windows. Bodley was busy with one of his masterpieces, Hoar Cross, at the same time as he worked on Brant Broughton, and something of the opulence of the Staffordshire building is seen in St Helen's.

Today's photograph shows the fifteenth century angel roof at Brant Broughton. Bodley restored it and then had it repainted using the colour scheme that was still detectable through fragments of paint in the wood. To our modern eyes the rich colours go well with the stone of the window tracery and walls. However, there are those who regret that some of the older limewash and render was removed from the walls by Bodley and Sutton to give the walls the scraped, more austere, "natural" feel that was felt to be suitable at the time. I have two methods of taking photographs of church roofs from directly below. One is to lie on my back with the camera pressed tightly to my face; the other is to use a tripod. This image was secured using the second approach!

See another of my images of an angel roof, with a quite different architectural treatment, here.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/44mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/50 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Still life with aphorisms

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If I wasn't interested in quotations it is unlikely that I'd have come across Malcolm de Chazal (1902-1981), but I did just that the other day, and I haven't yet decided whether he was a charlatan or an interesting oddity. A Frenchman who spent most of his life working in Mauritius as an agronomist and civil servant, he is best known for his several volumes of numbered thoughts and ideas, in particular Pensees and Sens-Plastique, which he began publishing in 1940. At George Braques' prompting he took up painting in the 1950s.

The quotation that brought de Chazal to my notice has a bearing on today's photograph: "The flower in the vase smiles, but no longer laughs." It reminds me of a cod-Confucian saying that might have been slipped into a bad* 1970s Kung-Fu movie. In fact, a lot of his "aphorisms" have that quality: try these - "accidents happen only when roads change their minds", "the rock needs no burial when it dies", "our expression and our words never coincide, which is why the animals don't understand us." But then he comes up with a few that, while still having that pseudo-mystical feel, also have a quality that by-passes our conscious mind and seems to stir something deeper: for example - "art is nature speeded up and God slowed down", or how about, "monkeys are superior to men in this: when a monkey looks into a mirror, he sees a monkey." But perhaps I'm trying too hard to find something in the writer's words that just isn't there! Look him up, read what he has to say, and make up your own mind.

Today's image is one of an ongoing series of still life photographs that borrow their subject and composition from painting. This one is an arrangement that my wife assembled from our garden and put on a chest in the hall. The combination of colours, particularly the red/pinks of the flowers with the greens of the leaves and vase, appealed to me, so I grabbed it and photographed it against a very dark background in strongly directional natural light to show off the blooms. The final image has had the contrast increased to emphasise the flowers further.

Here are links to other photographs in this series - 1, 2, 3, 4

* Afterthought: isn't the phrase "a good Kung Fu movie" an oxymoron?

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/2
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Pink and the poppy

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Pink is a colour we associate with girls. Look at Barbie, My Little Pony, the clothes made for girls (small, big, young and old!) and you see it in profusion. However, it wasn't always so.

It seems that, from about the 1920s until the 1940s, in western societies, pink was deemed a suitable colour for boys. Yes, I know that it is favoured by some boys and men today, but we're talking in general terms here! During those decades it was seen as a colour close to red which was thought a strong and assertive hue, masculine in character, perhaps by association with blood and military uniforms. Interestingly, at this time blue was considered a more delicate colour (despite the uniforms of that colour!) and felt to be perfectly appropriate for girls. As far as I'm aware no one has come up with a cogent reason for pink's gender shift, and it is still, in the main, considered a "feminine" colour that is light, frothy, frivolous, playful and showy.

A group of pink poppies have recently been blooming in one of the borders of my garden. Collectively they have exuded that showy lightness that we associate with the colour, and have been a useful companion colour for the blue and purple cornflowers, irises, and clematis that are nearby. However, when I took this close-up photograph of the centre of one of the flower heads, giving emphasis to the black centre and black radial markings, the colour seemed to lose its cheery connotations. In fact I was reminded of some Victorian funerary designs I've seen that combine black with dark purple and dusky pink. You'd think that black alongside pink might bring to mind Liquorice Allsorts, humbugs, or 1950s women's polka dot fashion, but no. Perhaps it's the association of the poppy with opium, and that Victorian cure-all, laudanum. Whatever this colour combination and flower triggers in my mind it's certainly nothing to do with frivolity.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Windows on The Deep

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Will the day come when we lament the passing of the right angle in architecture? The answer to that will surely be, "No, there is too much that is right about the right angle, and too little that is wrong!" I ask the question because for the past couple of decades we've seen an increasing number of buildings whose aesthetic depends on acute and oblique angles (as well as curves.) Architects such as Frank Gehry and Daniel Libeskind through their various cultural buildings have been influential in this trend, a development about which I have very mixed feelings.

It seems to me that buildings such as Gehry's Walt Disney Concert Hall, Foster's 30 St Mary Axe, Libeskind's Imperial War Museum North, or Future Systems' Selfridges Department Store are expressionistic designs that have arisen for reasons other than being the best solution to the needs of the client. They are "landmark" buildings, structures that are designed to catch the eye, to promote the locality, intended to say "modern" or "the future" to all who look at them. They seem to be buildings whose forms are as they are because they can be: the product of architects who have fully grasped the change that computers and new materials have brought to the profession. They also give the impression of being the work of frustrated sculptors! I won't, however, deny that these buildings can bring focus to a location, can act as a regenerative force, and have great visual appeal. I would say, though, that those qualities should be secondary to the functional purpose of a building, and therein lies my equivocation about such structures: I'm not sure that many of them fulfill that principal objective.

I recently visited The Deep in Kingston upon Hull. This deep water aquarium by Terry Farrell sits at the confluence of the River Hull with theRiver Humber. Its angular, thrusting shape is very eye-catching, and includes few right-angles. Its raison d'etre is to assist with the regeneration and development of the river front of this part of the city. As such it was funded by the National Lottery's Millennium Commission project. It has been successful in achieving its stated aims. However, one has to ask whether the building is this shape, and made of these materials, because it's the most effective way to house the aquariums and the attendant facilities. But, my quibbles aside, there's no denying its "presence" and the use a photographer can make of its origami shape. My photograph shows a detail of the wall and windows on the River Humber elevation. I composed it with a thought to balance, line and colour, and deliberately left a sliver of sky at the top right.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 19mm (38mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Semi-abstract blinds

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A while ago I was taken to task by someone when I suggested that photographs don't have to depend on their subject to be effective. My point was that a good photograph of a mundane subject can be as worthwhile as a good photograph of an interesting subject, and is always* a better image than a mundane or bad photograph of an interesting subject. If you follow my drift!

Today's shot is a case in point, though I'll add the disclaimer that I don't attach very great merit to it. The subject presented itself to me as I was undertaking my ablutions in a bathroom other than my own. It shows the morning light coming through a patterned glass window and falling on the slats of some wooden Venetian blinds and the nearby wall that is lined with textured paper. The varying thicknesses of the glass, as well as the multiple slats of the blinds, are responsible for the light and dark, and for the repeating patterns, which are the nominal subjects of the shot.

As I say, it isn't my greatest shot, but it is one that I think was worth taking. Any good qualities that it has come from it being a familiar subject given a a little dignity by being photographed in an unfamiliar way (or at all!), as well as from its semi-abstract nature. In retrospect I've taken better shots that make my point more effectively than this one does, but I think this will do!

Looking back I see that I've taken photographs of Venetian blinds before, including one that shares some similarities with today's. You can see them here and here.

* Unless it's an essential record or a family snapshot!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

History and The Fens

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Historians, like many people, often look for the easy life. When they come to write about a subject they tend to favour those that are well documented by contemporary primary sources and extensively covered by subsequent secondary sources. You might think that there is nothing wrong with that providing it produces useful additions to our understanding of the past. But, there is a danger, particularly when looking at a subject over a period of several centuries, that the later phases, where extensive written documentation survives, are given an emphasis and importance that isn't always warranted.

Take the draining of the Fens. Many people's knowledge of this undertaking begins with the "adventurers" who, in the seventeenth century raised money and made use of Dutch and English engineers to build large drains, such as the one in today's photograph, and ends with the conversion of the marshes, meres and seasonal pasture into some of England's most productive arable land. What is less widely appreciated is the fact that this was the third phase of drainage and "improvement". The Romans began the project, but their causeways and the Carr Dyke constitute the few remains of their work in this area, and there is no contemporary documentary evidence. The medieval monasteries undertook the building of extensive embankments and drains, the scope of which we don't fully appreciate. There are those who believe that their contribution to the conversion of this "waste" into farmland was at least as significant as the work of the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries, and possibly more so. Rather more of the medieval work can be seen in the form of, for example, old sea banks and the Midfen Dyke, but little documentary evidence remains, and so it is given much less emphasis than the later works.

The South Forty Foot drain was begun in the 1630s and extended and enlarged in subsequent centuries. It is a conduit that takes the water from subsidiary drains and deposits it in The Haven at Boston, where it joins the flow of the River Witham out into The Wash and the North Sea. My photograph shows the Drain at a point next to Neslam Bridge, half way between Billingborough and Gosberton. The inlet on the left is the waterway, called Billingborough Lode, feeding into the canal-like watercourse. I stopped to take a photograph from the bridge, but noticing a track to the water's edge, perhaps made by an angler, I went down into the vigorously growing reeds. The quality of light there was different, vivid and wonderful, and intensified by the yellow flowers of oilseed-rape growing along the top of the bank. I returned to the car happy to have secured this shot.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Razor wire arabesques

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When I took up bird watching at the age of eleven I didn't realise that for the rest of my life I was going to see the world in a slightly different way from most people. The filter that everyone has that stops them noticing every bird and bird-like movement that comes their way was removed from my eyes, and to this day it remains absent: I still, over four decades later, note, identify (where possible), and often comment on, the birds that I see as I go about my everyday business.

Seeing the world in a different way is also a trait that amateur and professional photographers share. Once the photography bug has bitten, views, objects and situations are scanned and considered for their photographic potential. A group of people standing against the light will be sized up for the silhouette that they make, for the way the light forms a halo of their hair, and for how the background interacts with them as a main subject. An angry sky with clouds of different hues forming and reforming in the wind, will be appraised not for the likelihood of it drenching everyone within the next few minutes, but for the contribution it could make to a shot of the landscape below. Some graffiti under a concrete fly-over will be seen not as a place to avoid for fear of being mugged, but as a potential source of gritty, graphic, and colourful images. And a temporary hoarding made of re-used plywood topped with razor wire, seen on a sunny day, will be photographed for the arabesques that the sharp wire and its equally sharp shadows throw across the flat surface.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 20mm (40mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

People as scale, focus and compositional element

click photo to enlarge
I've said elsewhere in this blog that people are rarely the main subject in my photo- graphs, family snaps excepted. However, I do value the contrib- ution that the human figure can make to an image. Moreover, in one area of photography I search for people where others would make every effort to remove them.

Perhaps it's my interest in painting that makes me include people in landscapes wherever it's possible. Look at landscape paintings from the Italian Renaissance through to the twentieth century and you'll usually see figures somewhere. Titian has them, Breughel too, the English landscape painters of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries invariably include them, as do the Impressionists. But, from Cezanne onwards, and particularly where an element of abstraction is introduced, landscapes start to appear that are devoid of the human form.

On the other hand, perhaps it's because I don't compose images around people that I include them in landscapes. I think not however, preferring to see my reasons for their inclusion as three-fold. Firstly, people can give scale to those scenes that aren't always easy to read in terms of the size of the objects on view. Secondly, our eye instantly recognises and is drawn towards the human form, so it immediately confers a point of interest or focus to an image. The third point arises from the second: given the visual importance that we attach to a person in a photograph, a figure can be a useful compositional device. Moreover, even if the figure is quite small it still has a lot of visual "weight". So, a relatively insignificant, distant figure on the left of a scene can quite easily balance a large and prominent object on the right.

Today's photograph exemplifies my first two reasons for the inclusion of people. I took several shots of the Humber-facing point of this aquarium in Kingston upon Hull called "The Deep". The thrusting, prow-like shape and the aggressive architecture (by Terry Farrell & Co.), alongside the navigation lights and markers, make for an interesting photograph, even when taken against the light. But, when a family came into view at the base of the building I knew that their inclusion would add scale and a point of interest that would add significantly to the image.

photographs & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 61mm (122mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

In praise of marching bands

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"There's a band coming!" shouted my wife. We were in Kingston upon Hull and she was at the King Street end of Holy Trinity church whilst I was at the opposite end, the Market Place, taking photographs of the building's reflection in the glass curtain wall of some offices, a shot I've done before. Judging by the loudness of the skirling pipes and booming drum, and given that Holy Trinity is claimed to be the largest medieval parish church (by area) in Britain, I calculated that by the time I got to her the band would be gone, and all I'd get was the swinging kilts and rear ends of the bandsmen as they disappeared towards Fish Street.

I wondered, as I finished my architectural photography and walked swiftly towards where the band would pass, whether it's just we "older folk" (and perhaps young children) who are stirred by the sight and sound of a marching band. Then, sure enough, the band passed across my path a hundred yards or so away, followed by grey haired men in dark blazers and slacks, some with sashes laden with badges: perhaps veterans (though no caps), a friendly society, or some such group. By the time I got to King Street the marchers were filing into Holy Trinity by the west door. However, the bandsmen (and women) were standing under the statue of Andrew Marvell, in the shade of the trees in front of the old Grammar School of 1583, chatting. I took a few shots of the informal group from a distance, and reflected further that such bands bring welcome sounds, colour and tradition to our towns and cities, and are well worth a short dash to enjoy their musical offering. Long may they continue to march.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 94mm (186mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/160 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

One Humber Quays

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What is it about Prince Charles that leads him to comment on architecture? Sure, he spends a large amount of his time living in notable examples of the architect's craft, and much of the rest of his days involves visiting important buildings or staying in them. But as a qualification for pontification of the sort that he engages in that's the equivalent of everyone being an expert on education because they once went to school! Our present heir to the throne has clearly been too influenced by his ancestor, Victoria's consort, Prince Albert, and feels that he's got the duty (and right) to influence the built environment of Britain.

Now you might think that someone like me who approves of quite a bit of modern architecture, who much prefers to see buildings of our time being erected rather than pastiches of the past, would obviously disapprove of someone who could come up with a venture like Poundbury. But even if Prince Charles were such that he saw Quinlan Terry as a baleful influence, and agitated for the "Glass Shard" to be built in London, I'd still prefer him to spend his days slaughtering pheasants and cutting ribbons. Fortunately, however, his influence on architectural development is limited, and most practitioners and professional bodies seem treat him with polite disdain.

The other day I visited the rather grandly named "Humber Quays" in Kingston upon Hull. I say "grandly named" because the business sector consists of two office blocks, a desert of paving and a few spindly trees. However, mighty oaks from acorns grow, and I'm sure the city will extend this development in the coming years. Of the two structures that have gone up, this one caught my eye. It's a fairly mainstream building that quotes from the history of twentieth century Modernism - Le Corbusier would recognise the pilotis, Mies Van der Rohe the graphic surface grid, and Walter Gropius the glass curtain walls. It is, of course, embellished by the currently favoured sun-shade slats to reduce solar gain. It's not a building that shouts "innovation", but it is quite an elegant, even classical, construction - the sort that Prince Charles would doubtless deplore.

In the UK I don't often find myself photographing modern architecture under a clear blue sky, so the opportunity to do so, and thereby emphasise the sharp, angular, graphic qualities of this building, was not to be missed.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On