Ye Olde Naked Man Cafe (1663 etc)

click photo to enlarge

This is the second photograph of Ye Olde Naked Man Cafe in Settle, North Yorkshire, that I have posted on PhotoReflect. But, whereas the earlier one was a detail taken well after sunset, this one was photographed as I walked by with some evening light still illuminating the clouds. It's a building I've known all my life, and one that has intrigued me ever since I studied architectural history.

The building has been a cafe and bakery for many years. I seem to recall that part of it was once a flower shop. I imagine that today the upper rooms are either storage or flats, but, it clearly wasn't always so. The taller, leftmost section was obviously built as a house, and from its symmetry and quoins is either of eighteenth or early nineteenth century century vintage, or is a refacing of an earlier building: probably not the latter due to its height. The lower range on the right was, no doubt, two houses of the date (1663) carved on the figurative datestone that gives the building its name. Also on the datestone are the letters "I C". These are probably the initials of the first owner who had the house/s built. The lower height of the buildings and the stone mullions in two of the upstairs windows (as well as the datestone itself) all point to a structure of the seventeenth century. However, it has clearly been "modernised" in the eighteenth and/or nineteenth centuries. The upper windows have been regularised and probably admit more light than they originally did. Both shop windows are likely to be nineteenth century additions that replaced smaller openings, and the rendering and black and white paint will also be a finish that supplanted the original rubbed mortar over stone.

The charm of this particular building is not only its memorable name, one that draws the eyes of all who pass it by, but also its colour and the architectural contribution that it makes to the small town's market place. The fact that the subdued facade doesn't feature garish modern advertising is both surprising and pleasing. I took this photograph as a record of the building, but also for the fine sky and the atmosphere and blue-tinged shadow that the low light of the fast disappearing day gave to the scene.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ramsons

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In a post the other day I mentioned that I find it harder to get to a bluebell wood in Lincolnshire than I did when I lived in both Yorkshire and Lancashire. I recently spent a few days in the Yorkshire Dales, and came across a number of woods with good displays of these flowers. During my stay I managed to grab a couple of photographs, and anticipated including one in the blog. But that was before I came upon the subject of today's photograph.

Ramsons (Allium ursinum), also known to me as stinking onions and wild garlic, is a plant I've blogged about before. The star-like white flowers and broad green leaves, together with their distinctive onion-like aroma often accompany bluebells in damp woodland in May. However, this particular wood by the River Ribble near Stackhouse, North Yorkshire, was carpeted with ramsons to the almost total exclusion of bluebells, and was a quite wonderful sight. The wood itself was predominantly beech, with a few sycamore intruders, and looked to be managed. High above the leafy floor the light green leaf canopy was thickening up. But ramsons, like their bluebell brethren, are plants that take advantage of the period before the trees' leaves block the light that they need for growth and flowering, and they were at their peak as I passed by with my camera.

The leaves and bulbs of ramsons have long been used for culinary purposes. Moreover, as their name suggests, they are also a delicacy appreciated by brown bears, a species that hasn't been found in the wild in Britain for several centuries. Floral displays of massed wild flowers are not uncommon in the British Isles: on the same trip I came across rhododendrons that were beginning to fill their woods with banks of purple blossom. But it was the ramsons that really caught my eye on this trip, and I used the 16:9 aspect ratio of the camera to capture something of their extent across the wooded slope.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Seeing the world in black and white

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When I was young I remember being told that some animals see in black and white. Bulls, it was said, weren't enraged by flapping a red cloth at them as matadors do because their eyes could not see colour: it was the movement alone that caused them to charge at people. Dogs, cats, and many other mammals, I was given to understand, saw in monochrome, though it didn't handicap them very much. At the time I can remember thinking there could be worse things than seeing the world like a newspaper photograph or a B movie, in only two "colours". Today the more widely held view is that mammals do see colour, but that their experience of the range of colour in the world nowhere near matches ours. A dog's vision has been likened to the world as seen by a red-green deficient person. However, scientists say that fish and birds have a much better perception of colour than we do.

When I was starting out in photography black and white prints were still very common, and were the medium of choice in "art photography". I began by shooting black and white alongside colour, and always found the monochrome images quite hard to visualise. Eventually, through experience, I learned to see those aspects of a shot that would be de-accentuated in black and white, and thereafter I found composition easier. I didn't always get it right, but I did more often than not. That knowledge has stayed with me through into the age of digital, and I continue to rely on it. Consequently, when I'm framing a shot that I know I want to be seen in black and white I never switch the camera so that it displays the image in monochrome, and I never take a shot in black and white, only in colour. It's not just that I can often "see" the final outcome reasonably well, its also because I may want to change my mind and have the shot in colour (and I'm too lazy to take one of each)!

Today's image is one that I knew would make a shot that I'd definitely prefer in black and white. The sunlit paving and the shadows were pretty much that already, but the illuminated green chair and the visible part of the table really stood out. However, I could see that their shadows, highlights and shapes would merge into the composition when I converted it to black and white. And so it proved. I'm fairly happy with the result.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Things that bug me No. 137

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Each time I go into the town of Boston in Lincolnshire, and cross the Town Bridge over the River Witham, I gaze upstream at the very tall tower of the medieval church of St Botolph. The view from this location is one of the classic views of this building, and I usually take the opportunity to add to my stock of images. The prospect from the bridge changes with the seasons, the weather, the clouds, the state of the tide, etc., so I often come away with a photograph that is in some way different from all the others I've taken. Compare this example, with today's post.

Of course, a shot of the same scene from the same position has much that is the same too. And this particular view has one detail that really bugs me, a feature that only causes me concern when the sun is shining. Can you guess what it is? In fact, it's the writing on the side of the Britannia pub that advertises beer. "Batemans Good Honest Ales" is what it says, though it isn't always legible. That's because all the letters are mounted slightly away from the wall surface and each throws a shadow so that in a photograph it causes the words to appear blurred. And yes, it bugs me. My eyes are drawn to it. And now that I've mentioned it yours will be too! Perhaps I should have kept quiet.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 6.8mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The pleasure of the familiar

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I recently got rid of an old winter shirt. It wasn't just any shirt, it was my favourite shirt, a checked garment that I'd worn with pleasure for more years than I can remember. I was so fond of it that I found it a real wrench to give it up. But, the cuffs were falling apart and were beyond repair. Four or five years ago I'd come close to dispensing with it. On that occasion the collar had become threadbare to the point where it was quite noticeable. However, my talented wife, after a bout of heavy persuasion from me, took the collar off and sewed it on the other way round, with the offending section hidden under the fold. After I got it back an air of contentment settled on me once more. From this you might think that I'm a skinflint - I'm not (well not that much!), or that I don't like to buy new clothes - I do (but not that much!) No, they weren't the issue. There was something much more fundamental to the human psyche at work here, something to do with our liking for that which is familiar, and that which has given us good service. It's often the case that we don't like to change or get rid of such things.

Take the porch in today's photograph. It is on the south side of Walcot church in Lincolnshire, a building that has featured in this blog in two other photographs here and here. The structure dates from the fourteenth century, though some twelfth century stonework has been incorporated. The door that is just visible is early eighteenth century, and the outer gate is older than such things usually are. However, whilst most of these details can be dated by their stylistic peculiarities, the cracked stone floor can't. It was the way the light fell on this old surface that prompted my photograph. Like most old churches this one has been restored down the centuries. Walcot church's foundations were renewed in 1889, and general restoration took place in 1907 and 1926. Does the stone floor of the porch date from any of these make-overs? I'd guess not. In 1889 they'd certainly have laid a floor that would not have sunk and cracked, and probably would have used some decorative tiles. It can't be later than that date. So, why wasn't it restored? Why is this old surface still in use? My guess is that the parishioners liked its character, enjoyed the step that is worn down by the footfall of successive generations of worshippers, and wanted to retain that with which they were familiar. Maybe they didn't want to spend their money on shiny, fashionable tiles of unproven worth. A new floor (like a new shirt) just isn't the same as a tried and trusted old favourite!

Incidentally this photograph was taken with the LX3 set to the aspect ratio of 16:9, and has a small amount cropped off the bottom. I've taken a few subjects in portrait format using this ratio where it seems the most suitable option.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Co-existence

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Co-existence has been one of mankind's greatest challenges ever since he stepped out of the cave: co-existence with nature, co-existence with other tribes, races, religions and nationalities. Then there's co-existence between the rural and the urban. I was pondering these things as I photographed a tractor planting brassicas in a field next to a Fenland wind farm and electricity sub-station.

The vehicle was slowly travelling up and down, a canvas planter behind filled with half a dozen workers rapidly putting small cabbages into the machine that set them in the ground in ruler-straight rows. Behind walked a man, occasionally stooping as he put right any seedling that was imperfectly placed in the soil. There was a certain incongruity between this task of basic food production, a job that despite the modern tractor and planter, was in most respects just the same process that has been undertaken for centuries, and the modernity of the towering turbines, pylons and wires of electricity generation. "Co-existence", I thought, "Each activity admits the continuation of the other."

A little earlier I'd watched a tree sparrow flying to and fro with food for its nestlings that were hidden behind the tile-hung side of a small pumping station. It too was co-existing with the intensive agriculture of this lowland area. As were the two pairs of lapwings that had found a field that was growing a root crop and had managed to fit their nesting and chick rearing into the period of time when the field surface most closely resembled their favoured pasture. And then there was the cuckoo flying across the nature reserve that had been created around the sub-station in the middle of the wind farm. It must have found a host for its eggs, and it seemed to be finding plenty of food as it "hawked"over some scrub and a small pond.

Co-existence requires give and take, and a recognition of the rights and needs of everyone and everything that shares our planet. It's vital to our continued survival, and it produces some odd bedfellows like these farm workers and their giant companions. But, unless we learn to live side-by-side with each other, in new and evolving ways, then our future is not assured.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 50mm (100mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Paul Hamlyn, books and opera

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Anyone who bought books in the 1960s will recognise the name Paul Hamlyn. It appeared on a range of volumes that were characterised by their good value for money and the fact that they used many more colour illustrations than was usual at the time.

Looking at my bookshelves today I find I still have four books, bought when I was in my late teens, that were published by the company that he founded. They are The Hamlyn Guide to Birds of Britain and Europe, The Hamlyn Guide to Minerals, Rocks and Fossils, Pop Art, and Art Nouveau. Interestingly my wife has a large book - a prize awarded by her school - that is also a Hamlyn imprint, The Golden History of Art. If I cared to look at the graveyard that is our collection of vinyl records I would find a few classical albums recorded on his good-value "Music for Pleasure" label.

Until I first came upon this building in London, what I have written above was the sum total of my knowledge of Paul Hamlyn. However, after a quick look at Wikipedia I find that he was a German emigre, born in 1926, who settled in England in 1933. In 1949 he began what was to become something of a publishing empire. Later, in 1987 he established a charitable foundation which funded, amongst other things, the reference library in the British Museum Reading Room. Then, in 2007 the Royal Opera House renamed the Floral Hall atrium the Paul Hamlyn Hall in recognition of his generous donation to support its educational and community activities.

Passing this building a couple of weeks ago I noticed how the tracery of dark branches was overlaying the structural members of the glazed building and felt that it might offer a photographic subject.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.2
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Eyes and sun

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The temperatures seem all over the place this year. After the prolonged ice and snow of winter we had a brief warm spell in April followed by May frosts that nipped potato leaves and bedding plants - the latter an unusual occurence in recent years. Now the temperatures are hitting highs that are more usually experienced in July and August, with 27 Celsius recorded in recent days. The cloudless blue sky was enough for me to apply sun screen and a cap, and for my wife to don a straw hat.

Today's photograph is a shot I took of her on a visit to Barnsdale Gardens in Rutland during the hot weather. What caught my eye was the pattern of spots of light that were finding their way through the weave of her hat. It gave an odd but interesting effect, and I decided that a shot of part of the hat and the eyes below would make the most of it. The use of a macro lens is not for any photographic reason - it just happened to be on the camera at the time.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bluebells

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This year seems to have been a good one for Hyacinthoides non-scripta - otherwise known as the common bluebell. I say that solely on the number and rude health of those that grow in my garden under the trees and in the borders. Since my re-location to Lincolnshire I find it a little harder to pop out to a bluebell wood in May and imbibe the shimmering blue under the thin tree canopy of fresh green leaves. In Lancashire this was an easy task, as it was when I lived in the Yorkshire Dales.

In 2006 I posted a couple of images of the Lancashire bluebell woods at Barnacre and Calder Vale. And, every year since that time, this particular image has been hit upon by people searchingthe web in early May for such a place to visit. For the past few days it has been the most popular page on this blog, and it is likely to remain so until the bluebells have faded or people have had their fill of this lovely spring spectacle.

Today's photograph shows the blooms of a clump of bluebells under an apple tree. I used a long focal length to throw the background of glossy leaves and sun-dappled bushes out of focus.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 119mm (238mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Royal Arcade, Norwich

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In a recent post I suggested that the buildings that survive the bulldozer are those built in the right place to high standards. I could have added that structures exhibiting qualities before their time also have a chance of a long life. In that group of buildings stands the arcade, the forerunner of today's shopping malls.

Victorian shopping arcades can be found across the UK. Glass roofed, with rows of small shops, each with an entrance door and window, sometimes single storey, often with two levels, cross-shaped or simply linear, these arcades have seen their ups and downs over the decades, but have sufficient charms and economic attractions that they still exist today.

One of my early posts shows the Leyland Arcade at Southport, Lancashire, a fine example from 1898. Today's photograph shows the Royal Arcade, Norwich, built the following year. What makes this example special is the entrance front at Back of the Inns, and the decorative scheme, which is the closest that English Arts and Crafts gets to the Art Nouveau of Continental Europe. It is by George Skipper, a gifted provincial architect, who went on to design in the Edwardian Baroque style. In this building the arcade's plan is a "T" shape, with a single transept branching off the main thoroughfare. The entrance is a scheme in Doulton-made coloured glazed tiles (faience) by W. J. Neatby. The stylized, inverted heart-shaped flowers, the stained glass flowers/trees and the characteristic lettering are all Art Nouveau in style. So too is the female head framed by elongated wings at the apex of the concave gable. Inside the building are bow-fronted shop windows and a colourful frieze that includes peacocks and flowers. The striking lamp shades and the floor details date from a sympathetic restoration of 1986-91.

The Royal Arcade is a building I have been familiar with through books and photographs for many years. I was pleased to have the opportunity to see it and photograph it even though the dull, damp day wasn't quite what I would have wished for. I was also delighted to find it busy with shoppers, a confirmation of its continuing attraction.

photographs & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 7.4mm (35mm/35mm equiv.) (5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f5.6 (f4)
Shutter Speed: 1/800 (1/1000)
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Enigmatic people and the 1960s

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I've always had a liking for cinema, and being British that has meant that most of the films I've seen have been English-language movies originating in the UK or the USA. Perhaps that's why I've also had a fondness for the cinema of other countries - as an antidote to the way the Anglophone world constructs film, and for a glimpse of the wider possibilities that exist within the medium.

The other evening I watched "La Antena", a 2007 black and white film from Argentina about a dystopian city ruled by Mr TV. It was a kind of homage to German Expressionist cinema (think Fritz Lang's "Metropolis" (1927)), and had a mixture of live actors, paper sets and cartoon-like action. Its themes were totalitarianism and media power through monopoly. There was little spoken dialogue (Mr TV had stolen everyone's voices!), but plenty of Spanish subtitles (with English translations below). It was a film quite unlike any I'd ever seen before, visually rivetting, and one that probably couldn't have been made in the UK or the USA. A few weeks earlier I'd watched a Lebanese film set in Beirut, "Caramel" (2007), originally titled "Sukkar banat". This romantic comedy set in a hairdressing salon was wonderful - touching, funny, finely acted and directed, an insight into another culture, and a film that, for me, demonstrated how the conventions of English-speaking cinema could be adopted and adapted.

My introduction to foreign films came about in the 1960s when BBC2 TV regularly broadcast such things. I recall seeing several Eisensteins, many French films, and some fascinating work by Italian directors. In particular I remember a selection by Michelangelo Antonioni featuring Monica Vitti: films such as "L'avventura" (1960) and "L'eclisse" (1962), that take alienation in modern society as their theme, and have scenes that are carefully composed in a painterly way, with figures standing enigmatically in sparse surroundings. This sort of cold, detached style has its appeal, though you wouldn't want a diet that consists solely of it. However, it was these films (and the British TV series, "The Avengers") that came to mind when I composed this shot in a brightly lit room in Southwell Workhouse. This 1824 building is open to the public and is the most complete remaining example of a type of building that was once found across England. The three figures, each listening to an audio commentary about the room in which they found themselves, have that enigmatic feel of those 1960s films, and I just had to convert the image to black and white to emphasise the effect.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Enduring buildings

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I've always thought it odd that in the distant past, when people had a less sure grasp of history and time, that many buildings were built to last "for ever", whereas today, a time when we can map previous centuries in great detail, and look forwards in a way that our ancestors never could, we often build with no thought about tomorrow. Go to any trading estate and look at the brick and steel "sheds" that are being thrown up to house a business that might occupy it for ten or twenty years (if they're lucky). Or observe what has happened in central London, and many other cities, where Victorian buildings were torn down in the 1960s, replaced by concrete office blocks, which were themselves replaced in the 1990s by taller, glossier structures. This isn't the whole story, of course, but it does happen very often, and one has to ask why.

Perhaps it is associated with the free maket short-termism that was responsible for the financial turmoil of the past couple of years. Certainly the building booms of the City of London have mirrored the periods of financial growth. But there is something else at work too. Our society hasn't been sufficiently concerned with producing quality in the built environment. That's as true with commercial structures as it is with factories and private housing. If the past teaches us anything it is that the buildings that survive the bulldozers are the ones built in the right place to high standards. Many argue that old buildings are difficult to adapt to new uses. That is true in some cases, but it's surely overstated.

I was mulling this over on a recent visit to Somerset House in London. It was built in 1776-1796 by the architect, Sir William Chambers, and further extended in the nineteenth century. It is generally regarded as the first purpose-built offices in the capital. In its early days it housed the Admiralty and a variety of other public bodies. In the nineteenth century much of it was taken up with the Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths, as well as the Government School of Design. Then, in the twentieth century the forerunners of the Inland Revenue occupied a large part of the site. Today the Courtauld Institute of Art is a major tenant, including the Courtauld Gallery (which I had gone to see). The changing use of this large building is testament to its quality and location, two factors that have ensured its survival and enduring use. Long may it continue.

My photograph is a shot taken looking over the ornate hand rail and iron balusters of a stair-well in the Courtauld Gallery. The blue paint and cold, natural light made a good complementary contrast with the orange/yellow of the artificial lighting, and the receding stairs and curves, with the people below supplied the composition.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Acer, Amazon, ambiguity and trees

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Say the word "Acer" to the average young person and they are likely to bring to mind a shiny notebook computer, the product of Acer Inc., a Taiwan-based multinational electronics company. It's surprising how quickly such associations take hold. Consider "Amazon". Once it referred only to the South American river of that name. However, today, for many people, it is firstly the internet retailer, and only secondly a geographical feature.

That said, the word acer means more than one thing for people like me who see it as the name of a variety of tree. It is actually descriptive of the species known as the maple. But, whilst gardeners think of the ornamental tree with copper, green, red, orange or yellow leaves (a variety represented in today's photograph), others know it as the maple that produces the North American syrup, yet others as the Norway Maple of Europe whose wood has commercial uses, whilst some foresters (including those in Britain) see it as the sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus), an invasive tree that is something of a woodland weed.

My garden has two ornamental acers: one with light green leaves that is thriving, and another with copper leaves that was hit so hard by the long, deep freeze of last winter that I had to cut dead parts off it, and it now grows as a squat, mis-shapen thing, not much of an asset to its rockery location. A sycamore grows just over my garden boundary, and true to its type it is prolific. Every autumn its "helicopter" seeds whirl down onto my vegetable garden, lawn and borders. Then, in spring, it seems that every single one takes root in an attempt to grow a forest around its parent. The mower deals with those in the lawn, but the rest need hoeing. And, try as we might to get each seedling, there are always a few that elude us and become established.

I took today's photograph when the leaves of this ornamental tree were at their best under a bright but cloudy sky. The fresh yellow/green really stands out in the garden, but over the next couple of months it will tone down to a deeper green until, in autumn, it changes hue once more. The word "acer" comes from the Latin and means "sharp" (as well as keen, eager, severe and fierce): in this case referring to the pointed shape of the genus' leaves.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Sunlit church interiors

click photo to enlarge
In the days when I took photographs inside churches using a 35mm camera I almost always used a tripod. The older medieval churches and many Victorian buildings, through a combination of small windows and stained glass, have low levels of light, and so a stability aid was often necessary. In churches of the fifteenth and sixteenth century, and in certain later churches, larger windows and less (or more translucent) stained glass sometimes meant that the tripod could be dispensed with. There is a big difference in all churches between a sunny summer day and an overcast winter day, but the general principles outlined above still hold.

When I transferred to digital in 2000 the situation didn't change: a tripod accompanied my church photography. Anyone who has photographed in this way knows that carrying a heavy lump of metal around, and erecting and disassembling it on a regular basis detracts from the pleasure of photography. So, when Olympus introduced in-body image stabilisation in a camera that I was prepared to pay for (the E510), then I gratefully bought one. And I've never looked back. Today I don't often use a tripod. The image above was taken with my compact camera (the LX3). This too has image stabilisation (and a fast f2 lens), so it rarely requires a tripod. The smaller sensor means that it has good depth of field, even when wide open, and its high ISO capabilities are fairly acceptable, so it manages dark interiors quite well: in some respects better than the Olympus.

If I'm photographing church interiors with the architecture in mind I much prefer a bright but sunless day. When there is sunlight throwing shafts and pools of light in a predominantly dark interior the dynamic range of the subject is enormous, and getting detail in the shadows without the sunlit patches turing to white is next to impossible. However, when I'm looking to capture the light and mood of a church interior I often welcome a beam of sunlight through a traceried or leaded window: it makes the old stonework glow, adds an interesting focal point, and sharpens the carved details. It was these qualities that prompted today's photograph of the west corner of the south aisle that holds the font in the church of St Nicholas at Walcot in Lincolnshire. For another of my blog photographs of this church interior see here, and for a full-size version, here (click the image for maximum dimensions).

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Crab apples and forbidden fruit

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"Forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest", or so they say, but that certainly wasn't my experience as a child. In the small market town where I grew up there were abandoned and neglected apple trees, probably the property of someone somewhere, but which seemed fair game for young boys. On more than one occasion I gave myself stomach ache by eating the sour cooking apples and crab apples that hung heavily from the drooping boughs. Elsewhere there were tempting gooseberry bushes, and, even though we knew they were tart to the point of being inedible, still we ate them, and always we regretted it. Then there was the rhubarb. In a few places this grew on the grass verge by a roadside garden: in other words off private property, but probably deliberately planted there by the householder. A stick of this was palatable if eaten raw after each mouthful had been dipped in sugar, but the after-effects were uncomfortable to say the least. So no, I never found that forbidden fruit was the sweetest.

At the front of my house is a crab apple tree. It has become more than a little wayward over the years, and in the time since I have lived with it, I've started to bring it under some sort of control, cutting crossing branches, revealing more of the lower trunk, etc. Each spring it produces fine blossom, and each autumn a copious amount of fruit. Thus far the latter has been left for the blackbirds or has been composted. Perhaps my reluctance to do anything useful with the crab apples stems back to my childhood experiences with the fruit. However, this year, as I photographed the delicate blossom, I thought that perhaps we should look into using it for making jam, jelly, wine or something of that nature.

Today's image shows the end of one of the lower branches of the tree. I chose this one for a shot using the macro lens because it allowed me to have a large petal as the focal point towards the bottom right of the frame, the rest of the nearby leaves and blossom framing it and filling the upper left (the latter out of focus and therefore emphasising the foreground). And it gave me the opportunity to include some dark areas to give a little more contrast across the image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Yellow - again

click photo to enlarge
The other day I wrote about my liking for the sight of oilseed rape fields in the spring, and noted that many didn't share my view. I ascribed this to the transformation they have brought about in our very green landscape. On reflection, however, it occurs to me that another factor may be at work, namely the relative unpopularity of the colour yellow.

When people are asked to describe this colour they invariably choose words that have positive connotations: happy, warm, bright, etc. Yet, yellow is a colour whose popularity declines with age, to the extent that it usually has only black, brown, grey, and orange placed below it. There are deep-seated, often cultural reasons why this is so, and these may be factors that weigh more heavily with those who dislike both the colour and the increasing acreage of yellow oil-seed rape. On the other hand such people may all be hay-fever and asthma sufferers who resent the discomfort that the pollen brings each spring!

Today's photograph of the crop was taken into the sun - contre jour, as it is sometimes called. The effect that this kind of light has on clouds can be quite attractive, and I like it here. Of course, the almost-complementary of the blue sky also enhances the yellow of the flowers. I tried to make something of a composition with this shot and moved my position so that the line of the track through the yellow entered the frame near the right corner and led the eye across the scene, first to the lone, leafless tree, then on to the horizon.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1600
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

the scoop

click photo to enlarge
A while ago I devised and delivered a quiz for an organisation to which I belong. It comprised 100 questions, twenty of which were pictures of company logos that the participants were asked to identify. When the quiz was completed, scores had been counted and winners identified, it became clear to me that something I thought would be part of the visual vocabulary of the audience clearly wasn't, with quite a few teams getting less than half marks on the logos.

Logotypes have always interested me. I see them as modern day heraldry. A good logo is visually appealing, clever even, as well as memorable and open to being updated over the years. The Shell emblem is a good example of this, as is Woolmark's. Many neatly encapsulate what the organisation is all about. The best bring to mind the company they represent without the need for the company's name to be written. But, after that quiz I realise that logos are something I notice, think about and appreciate, but many others don't. There's nothing wrong with that of course: I'm sure that I'm blissfully ignorant of much that others notice and value.

I've always had an interest in graphic design, and find it fun to spot new ideas that spread across the field. In the 1990s and the "Noughties" one of the really obvious ones was the script underline/overline as seen in, for example, Europcar, Disney Entertainment, Pizza Hut, Henley (rowing), the UK government Home Office. Another trend, and one that I find somewhat annoying, is the use of company names written in lower case in an attempt to look friendly and modern. An example is the energy company e-on. A sentence that begins with that company's name looks very awkward, and it's hardly better when it appears in the middle. The same can be said of the name of the open-air amphitheatre on London's South Bank that features in today's photograph - "the scoop". In fact, as a title for this blog entry it looks plain wrong, and I just couldn't bring myself to write it that way on the image's title. What possible good reason could the owners have for choosing lowercase rather than capitals or title case? As a subject, however, the location offers a lot to the photographer. I'm not someone whose photographs feature people very much, so I thought I'd compensate for that in a single shot! The shadows that supply a kind of "natural vignette" also appealed to me in this one.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 6.8mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Yellow

click photo to enlarge
It struck me as somewhat odd that the Conservative Party's slogan in the recent election campaign was "Vote for Change!" Isn't conservatism about resisting change, about lamenting the disappearance of the "good old days" when the Great in Great Britain was an adjective as well as a noun, the streets were a safe place to park your Bentley, and the poor tugged their forelocks and raised their flat caps to their Tory-voting betters?

That imagined past, of course, was a time when oilseed rape wasn't the feature of the English landscape that it is today. There are many - mainly conservatives with a small "c" - who deplore the yellowing of England's "green and pleasant land" and see the crop as an alien intruder. However, anyone who thinks that Britain's landscape always looked as it did fifty or even a hundred years ago - the usual time frame when gazing fondly backwards - doesn't appreciate that our farmland is constantly evolving. In the past two hundred years Lincolnshire has increased its arable acreage and reduced its pasture: animals are much less in evidence than formerly. Fields have, on the whole, increased in size, and thousands of miles of hedges have disappeared, with those that remain being much more manicured than previously. Farms have increased in size too, so fewer farmsteads are to be seen. Some crops - hemp, woad, flax for example - have either disappeared or feature in greatly reduced acreages. On the Fens the growing of flowers commercially is a relatively recent phenomenon, as is the use of plastic on vegetables to hastening growth in spring. A farmer of seventy five years ago, surveying Lincolnshire's landscape today would notice enormous changes. But, if he were sent back seventy five years before his time he would see similarly great differences.

I like to see the yellow fields that are currently in full bloom. I find them uplifting in the same way that I do a field of poppies. Moreover, as a photographer I find their bright glow extends the palette that I have to work with. In a couple of weeks the oilseed rape will have faded to green, but while the fields are here in their day-glo brightness I'm taking advantage of them. I hope you like yellow! Today's shot is a detail of a few oilseed fields in a gently rolling piece of countryside where they abut hedges and land that is given over to winter wheat. I liked the contribution that the tracks through the crop made to this image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A pleasant lane

click photo to enlarge
Householders vary in how they present their property to the world. A few seem oblivious of the state of their fences, gardens, paintwork, etc, the whole appearance being barely a step up from the municipal tip. Most take a pride in making something that is pleasing to the eye, tidy, and easily managed. Then there are a few where you suspect the owner is at some point on the autistic spectrum: houses that are obsessively pristine, regimented, with not a blade of grass out of place, alyssum and lobelia alternating alongside the path, and concrete that has been repeatedly power-washed until it is as clean as the day it was laid.

So it is with farmers too. Wherever I've lived I've seen the odd farm that is a complete eyesore, with redundant vehicles rusting behind dilapidated barns, pot-holed tracks, gap-toothed hedges and scruffy famhouses. One wonders whether someone who takes so little care over such things manages to farm with anything approaching efficiency or profitability. Most farms, of course, are tidy and efficient. Where there is an owner who places a value on environmental management, as well as crops and livestock, it is often apparent in hedges that are allowed to grow in a more natural way, or in carefully managed, uncultivated field border strips. And quite a few farms are very well-presented, with pleasant entrances, care taken over the planting around the farmhouse, farm buildings that are well-maintained, and fields that show the mark of regular attention. I may be wrong, but where I come across these I often suspect the influential hand of a woman.

I was reflecting on such things the other afternoon when I went out to take a few landscape photographs. I drove to this particular lane because I'd seen it on a couple of previous occasions and felt that in the right circumstances it might offer an image. What had struck me was the pleasing line of trees by the road-side. They are mixed species and relatively recent. It's not unusual to find roads and lanes lined with trees, but in England these are usually in the vicinity of towns, villages and hamlets. The example in the photograph put me in mind of France where this is a more common sight in open country of the kind found around Folkingham in Lincolnshire. Whoever planted the trees is to be commended because they enhance this lane. I was pleased to come upon it with yellow oilseed rape adding a touch of vibrant colour and a cloudy sky with fast-moving clouds revealing the sun and throwing shadows on the fields. It allowed me to gather a photograph that I - and maybe you - find a welcome change from my recent output.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm (80mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Power, politics and PR

click photo to enlarge
A long time ago I heard Tony Benn, a Labour MP, remark that in politics it should be policies, not personalities, that are important. As the UK's general election campaign has followed its course over the past few weeks that thought has resounded in my head more than once.

The US-style TV "debates" featuring the leaders of the three largest parties have, in my view, been an unmitigated disaster for British politics. They have trivialised it in an entirely predictable way. The news media's headlines after each of the three events were all the same,"Who won last night's debate?" Why any rational, intelligent person should think that a matter of any importance is beyond me. The qualities necessary to make a presentation and to answer questions on TV are not those required by people whose job it is to formulate and implement policies that will take a country forward. There are those who believe that the character of the person leading a country is important. It is, but we are never going to know very much at all about the true character of our leaders. On TV and elsewhere we will only see that which the PR people, "handlers", managers and others show us (gaffes excepted). One would think that the example of Winston Churchill would resonate for the British. He has been variously described by biographers and historians as a drunkard, a mysoginist, a racist and much more. He was excellent with a prepared speech, but would have found a TV debate much more difficult. Yet, for all his failings, he clearly had the personal and political qualities necessary to steer the country in its darkest hour.

It seems to me that too many of the voting and non-voting public come to their decisions on the basis of flim-flam - "it's time for a change", "I don't like what this government has done for the last 5 years", " I like the sound of him". How many, one wonders, have read the election manifestos of the contending parties? How many have compared the policy proposals? How many realise that the best we can ever do is cast our vote for the least worst option! Perhaps my condemnation of these debates is excessive. As I write this piece most of the votes have been counted, and the party of the person widely judged to have done best on TV hasn't improved its standing. Maybe the British public treated them like "The X Factor" except that they didn't flock to the stores and buy the records!

What has any of this to do with my photograph of a London office block? The answer is "power." Looking at the image it reminded me of the cinematic cliche whereby a director wishing to emphasise the powerful, aloof nature of characters in business or politics, has the camera swing upwards to a gleaming, sun-lit office block with a grid of faceless windows. "But", you might be saying, "this block is in shadows". Yes it is, but that reflects my downcast demeanour at the probable outcome of the election. They say that people get the government they deserve. Well, I'm not aware of having done anything so awful that I deserve a government led by an ex-PR man who appears to be a political naif, and so lightweight as to be in danger of floating away in a cloud of his own hot air.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

View from Stave Hill, Rotherhithe

click photo to enlarge
A while ago I posted a photograph of Stave Hill, the man-made mound situated in the former docks across the Thames from Canary Wharf. Here's a shot from the top looking over at the gleaming towers, with the trees of the park below. The metal model/plan in the foreground shows what was here before the area was turned over to housing.

For the past two days much of my time has been spent fabricating a cage to cover my newly established strawberry bed. This year I'm determined that I'll eat more strawberries from my garden than will the local blackbirds. I'd like to say that the finished article is both functional and a joy to behold. It certainly isn't the latter, and only time will tell if it's the former. Anyway, my DIY endeavours account for the brief nature of this post.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Norwich Cathedral - the exterior

click photo to enlarge
In a recent post I hinted that on my first viewing of the exterior of Norwich Cathedral I was a touch disappointed. This post is an attempt to articulate why.

The first thing to say is that many visitors to Norwich are likely to think that either the Cathedral Church of John the Baptist (R.C.) (1884-1910), or the town's market church, St Peter Mancroft (begun 1430), is the Anglican cathedral. This is due to its low position near the river. Most provincial medieval cathedrals, even today when high rise flats and offices abound, still dominate their cityscape. Despite a spire of 315 feet (96m), the country's second highest after Salisbury, Norwich does not tower over its surroundings except from nearby and a few particular angles.

Then there's the west front. For many cathedrals, both Gothic and Romanesque, this is a richly decorated, tall, wide, imposing "front" that is frequently the first elevation that a visitor sees. It is often the west front that distinguishes a cathedral from a church. Norwich does not have an elevation to compare with Peterborough, Ely, Lincoln, Durham or any of the classic English cathedrals. There are no west transepts or towers. Consequently the feel is more of a major town church than a cathedral. I'm aware that it did have bigger towers, and that post-Norman architects have diminished its size and power, but what remains can only be described as underwhelming.

There's also the problem of the nave. It looks too long for the rest of the structure. The relatively narrow dimensions of the tower do not "anchor" it, the tall spire notwithstanding. As for the tower itself, the odd, geometric decoration is unique to Norwich. When I first saw it I thought it might have been a seventeenth or eighteenth century elaboration, but apparently it is twelfth century. I'm not keen. And finally there's the rather repetitious arrangement of windows on the sides of the nave: a touch mechanical for my taste.

Now that's not to say there aren't things I like about the exterior. The apsidal east end with its chapels and flying buttresses is good. The composition reminds me of some French cathedrals. And the view across the school playing fields from near the river is a fine one where the spire really comes into its own. Perhaps I'm being a little judgemental after only one viewing. However, I have visited most of England's cathedrals, have a long standing interest in church architecture, and these are the things that immediately hit me when I saw Norwich. I haven't been so taken aback by a cathedral since I first laid eyes on Ely!

One thing I will say is that I found the interior very impressive, and my thoughts on that will feature in a blog post soon.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 7.4mm (35mm/35mm equiv.) (5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f5.6 (f4)
Shutter Speed: 1/800 (1/1000)
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Wide angle tulips

click photo to enlarge
Last week, with a group of people, I visited a number of Lincolnshire churches. One of those on our intinerary was St Mary at Long Sutton. This marvellous medieval building is known by architectural historians for its lovely, almost detached tower that has one of the earliest well-preserved lead spires in the country, as well as its fine Norman, three-tier nave arcades. People who don't have an interest in eccesiastical architecture are more likely to know St Mary's for the fine flower festival displays that fill the church every year at this time, and for its beautiful collection of tulips that grace the churchyard.

It was in connection with flowers rather than architecture that I made my visit the other day. I'd been to Long Sutton last year for the first time, and on that occasion took my DSLR, a collection of lenses, and shot the building as well as the flowers: regular viewers of the blog may remember this image. However, this time I decided to restrict myself to the compact LX3, and work within its limitations: today's photographs are the two best images to result from my endeavours.

This year I caught the tulips in pretty much perfect condition, with drifts of different colours and varieties positively glowing under the trees' canopy of freshly opened green leaves. Anyone who looks at the camera details that I include with the photographs that are posted may have noticed that when it comes to the LX3 I use it at the widest point of its zoom (24mm/35mm equiv.) much more often than at any other setting. That is the case with both of today's images. In fact, I do wonder whether I'd be happiest with a compact that had a wide fixed focus lens such as Olympus and Panasonic are offering in Micro Four Thirds because it seems to suit me down to the ground.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/200 (1/250)
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Mudlarking

click photo to enlarge
On a couple of recent visits to London I've done a bit of "mudlarking". For centuries the banks of River Thames, when they are revealed by the tide, have attracted "mud larks"; people who have scavenged in the mud, sand and shingle for whatever they could find. In Victorian times it might have been scrap metal, stone, bricks, timber for re-use or for the fire, lost money - in fact anything of interest or that could be sold. Today people look for historical artefacts as well as more recent items of use or value. In 1980 the Society of Thames Mudlarks was founded with the express purpose of unearthing archaeological objects and making them known to the Museum of London. Over 200 items have been given to the Museum so far including jewellery, Tudor bricks, clay pipes and coins.

My mudlarking was much more casual - no metal detector or other high-tech aid - only my eyes and a spare half hour or so. Nonetheless we have found quite a few pieces of Victorian clay pipes (the smoker's variety) and a brick marked with the Star of David not unlike this one. The design on the brick marked it out as one made by P. & S. Wood of the Pump House Brickworks, West Bromwich, a firm active in the nineteenth century, who sold their wares over a wide area of the country.

One of the difficulties in mudlarking is the constituent materials of the bed of the Thames. The mud is very sticky, with regular areas of firm (but also sticky) clay. Banks of sand and pebble are easier, and it's these we searched. However, the ducks of the river have no problems with the mud, or with the modern detritus that finds its way into the water. Near the area where we had been looking I came upon these mallards - a male and female - going about their business regardless of the fact that their immediate habitat was a topless 40 gallon drum, a discarded and discoloured plastic road cone, and a piece of driftwood. In fact the female's head regularly disappeared under the water in the expectation that she would find food there. And who knows, perhaps she did!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/2000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Reflecting the streets

click photo to enlarge
I've said elsewhere in this blog that I think mirror wall buildings can be an architectural "cop out": an easy way of dealing with the exterior elevations of a building. One can see why they became popular. Once modernism had got rid of external decoration applied like icing on a cake, then architects either de-emphassed their elevations or confronted the more difficult task of using the structure's massing and functional elements in a way that offered pleasing qualities to the world.

The architecture of the twentieth century offers countless examples of buildings where architects failed in this regard, as well as many fine and successful works that have stood the test of time. So, it seems to me that some architects eagerly seized the mirror wall as a way of avoiding the harder task. Having said that, I generally find that a plain, unimaginative, mirrored exterior is usually better than a routine exterior using more traditional methods to achieve its effect. Of course, the interest of what is reflected comes into play with mirror walls, and can make or break its success. One of my earlier blog posts shows a medieval church reflected in an early (for the UK) essay with this approach. Moreover, I have to admit that my photography contains more than a few images that use reflections in one way or another, so there is a tendency for me to be drawn to mirror wall buildings for images even if I'm often unenthusiastic about the actual example that is depicted.

Today's photograph of a building on one of the streets behind London's South Bank is a case in point. Its all over grid of thin frames, each filled with identical mirror glass, could hardly be more repetitive, and the mirrored entrance, while it breaks the grid, hardly stands out from its surrounds. And yet, and yet... on a spring afternoon, with a clear blue sky, deeply shadowed buildings, trees, passing people, and advertising hoardings reflected in it, the structure offers something I find attractive; a sort of collage of the local environment, writ large and constantly changing. Whether it would look as interesting on a dull, damp day in December is quite another matter of course.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 7.4mm (35mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On