Unforeseen blemishes

click photo to enlarge

As we walked around Lincoln's Brayford Pool the other day we were discussing the unforeseen blemishes that frequently appear on new architecture.
The fashion of the last twenty years or so for patches of horizontal hardwood cladding on flats and offices has resulted in dark water stains on the timber. These are unsightly, entirely predictable, and often contrast strongly with the bleaching of the wood that also occurs after the original treatment has faded. Some of the buildings exhibited stains on the concrete where rain had flowed over a metal fixing, leaving a deposit below it. Then there was the building that had panels of stained and varnished wood that alternated with glass. The horizontal bands of the dark wood had light coloured, rather hazy looking patches all over them. At a distance we couldn't make out what they were. It was only when we got closer that we realised they were spiders' webs spun by the creatures that found the narrow grooves perfect for their homes and for erecting their places of entrapment. Then there was the Hayes Wharf Tower, one of the better buildings in this location. On a sunny day the louvres that punctuate the exterior throw sharp shadows on the surface. However, at the time we passed by the sky was bright but cloudy, and in those circumstances the shadows are soft edged and it looks like there are dirty stains behind the slats (see above).

It is clearly difficult for architects to predict some of these unintended consequences that appear on their buildings, but one does wonder whether such things are considered at all during their training. Moreover, with CAD (computer aided design) it isn't beyond the wit of man to model such things. Having said that, sometimes it is the unforeseen that is the one element elevating a building above the mundane, as with the stress effects on the glazing of this building at Canary Wharf, London (assuming the architect didn't intend it!)

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm (80mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Overgrown churchyards

click photo to enlarge

There's a lot to admire about an overgrown churchyard. To start with there's a certain harmony between a place of death, burial and return to the earth "from whence we came", and the luxuriant growth of grasses, bramble, cow parsley, poppies, dandelions and the like. Moreover, it tends to be the distant parts of the churchyard with the older gravestones, the ones that are infrequently, if ever, visited by the descendants of the deceased, that decline into an abandoned state. And, with that neglect the stone memorials become surfaces for mosses and lichens to cling to, for ivy to climb, and for thickets to envelop. The sight of the pointed tops and crosses peeping above the vegetation has a melancholic feel that has appeal for anyone of a romantic turn of mind.

Autumn is often the best time of year to experience this sight of benign neglect. At that season the plants are beginning to die back revealing more of the old stones. The browns and creams of dead grass and dying leaves blend better with the earth colours of the gravestones. And the thin, dry stalks and stems of dessicated umbellifers lay a delicate tracery across the flat, upright slabs.

However, this summer the heat and dryness has caused many of the plants in such places to die back much earlier than usual. On a visit to the church at Navenby, Lincolnshire, I came across such a sight and took the opportunity to capture it with my camera. A black and white conversion made better use of the delicate, dead foreground stems.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Architectural whimsy?

click photo to enlarge
A while ago I gave my views on the development that surrounds the ancient Brayford Pool in Lincoln. This is a wide area of the River Witham that has for centuries been the site of an inland port. In recent years its commercial shipping uses have given way to pleasure craft, and the warehouses have been replaced by hotels and the recently established University of Lincoln, a former college of higher education. The area leaves a lot to be desired architecturally. It is a mish mash of building types and styles, all seemingly thrown down at random, some new, some bad conversions of older buildings, others toy-town parodies of the former warehouses. Many are cheaply built and already, after less than twenty years, look shabby. Others are surrounded by acres of paving, concrete, tarmac, gravel, weeds and car parking. The main waterside footpath on the south side of the pool is badly worn, impassable when wet, and leads people through an underpass and over a bridge that carries a busy road. The opportunity to do something at Brayford Pool that complements and integrates with the older part of the city has been missed.

When I visited Lincoln today I came upon a building that is new to me. True to the form exhibited elsewhere in the vicinity it leaves a lot to be desired. Where to begin? Well let's start with its name - Enterprise@Lincoln. This attempt to sound new, snappy and relevant only succeeds in sounding cliched. The building has been given a name that will inevitably be changed when the world finally decides the "@" is passe. The website of this section of the University of Lincoln oozes opaque and tortured prose, and all too typically describes it as "the University's central department for employer engagement...", whatever that means. As for the building itself, I can't imagine how the architect who designed it would describe it. "Whimsical?" "Referential?" "Playing with form?" I've heard such words and phrases used to describe this type of construction. Clearly the building's external form is capricious: those colourful "legs" don't need to be crossed and probably aren't needed at all. Nor do the wrap-around metal oriel and the other window band need to be those particular shapes - or there in that form at all. It clearly is a building that wants to be noticed, and it succeeds in that regard. I'm sure there are many who would call it a "fun building". However, this passer-by didn't smile but simply sighed, and reflected on another missed opportunity to build a structure of quality and note in an area that badly needs one.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Gosberton, Lincolnshire

click photo to enlarge

The recent hot spell has given way to pleasant summer temperatures and the unremitting blue skies to soft broken clouds. Just the weather, we thought, for a morning cycle ride through the golden wheat and green vegetables of the late July Fenland landscape. Our route took us to Gosberton, a village whose medieval church has a prominent spire that acts as a lighthouse to cyclists navigating their way through the complex web of lanes north of the settlement.

We had no particular destination in mind as we cycled along, but the sight of the spire set me to thinking what I'd recently read about the name of the village. The Domesday Book of 1086 apparently calls it by two slight variations of the same name - Gosebertcherche and Gosebertchirche. In 1177 this had become Goseberdechirche, and in 1180 Goseberchirche. All these variations, it seems, derive from the joining together of the Germanic personal name Gosbert and the Old English word cirice, "a church". By the 1200s the Old Norse kirkja ( also meaning "a church") had replaced the second part of the name and Gosseberdkyrk, Goseberdkirke and Gosberkirke are found. Right through to the eighteenth century a name ending in the word "church" in one form or another was used to describe the village. Yet, in 1487 the first use of the suffix -ton is found in Gosburton. The ending -tun, with slightly different pronunciations, is Old English and Old Norse for enclosure, farmstead, village or estate.  The current spelling of the village name dates from around the seventeenth century. Such changes in the name of a settlement are not unusual in England. What I found interesting in this instance is that the "church" part of the name should disappear when the parish church of St Peter and St Paul has, for centuries, remained the largest and most prominent building in the village, and the one that still, to a large extent, defines it.

I took my photograph as we cycled in from the north east, and it captures the way the pinnacled tower with its elegant spire dominates the surrounding houses and trees.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm (90mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Stacked chairs

click photo to enlarge

One of what I consider to be my best photographs shows part of a stack of cafe chairs. In the past few years I've taken shots of other stacks of cafe chairs without improving on that first one, and without adding anything different or better to the image. It seems that, just as first time life experiences that you treasure can't be repeated, neither can photographs.

However, the success that I felt I'd achieved with that photograph did encourage me to take pictures of other chairs and benches, and some of these I have liked. In fact, I was recently reviewing my images and discovered I'd shot examples of this type every single year, with some years having multiple images.

The other day I was a Lincolnshire church and a pile of stacked chairs in the corner caught my eye. In the UK there has been a trend in recent years of removing some (and in more than a few instances all) wooden pews from churches. This has been done because of falling congregation numbers  - there isn't the requirement for all that seating. But other factors have been the demand for greater comfort (particularly from an ageing church membership) and the need for more flexibility in how much seating is put out, and where it is placed. Many churches now have a mixture of pews and individual, cushioned seats. Often these are stackable, especially where the church offers community activities such as musical concerts. That was the case with the seating in today's photograph. It was made of very thin, but seemingly strong, chrome tubular steel, and the cushions were either red or blue. The repetition and angles that they produced when placed together offered an interesting semi-abstract composition, so I left off photographing the architecture, took out my pocket camera and grabbed this shot.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Including the sun

click photo to enlarge

My earliest photographic tuition came in the form of a free booklet from Kodak that gave tips for securing better images. I must have been about sixteen years of age and had recently acquired my first camera when I read it. This slight tome, smaller than A5, with its yellow and red cover, listed the usual advice - photograph with the sun behind you, don't tilt the camera up or down if you want to avoid converging verticals, don't place a person in the dead centre but look for a balanced asymmetrical composition, etc. It was, by and large, sound advice for the beginner photographer. As I progressed with my photography, however, I came to see that these rules were best seen as useful guidance that should sometimes be ignored.

The piece of advice that I've most frequently disregarded was the injunction to "keep the sun out of the viewfinder (except at sunrise and sunset)". The advent of digital has found me frequently, deliberately, including the sun for the dramatic quality that it gives to the image. Why has digital encouraged me in this regard? Well, I can have immediate feedback on the camera's LCD of the effect that I've captured. And, the processing of digital images on a computer has given me much more control over the final output. Moreover, with the cost of each digital exposure being, essentially, "free" (certainly compared with film), there is much more scope for experimentation with a subject that produces more "duds" than many others.

Today's photograph was taken towards sunset over the Lincolnshire Fens. The sky, however, didn't have that red/orange sunset feel; the sun itself was still quite white. But, there were thin clouds veiling it, and the brightness was enough to illuminate the heads of the long grass alongside the lane we were walking down. I thought they would make good foreground interest in an image of the flat landscape with its wind turbines and electricity pylons, and I hoped that the inclusion of the sun would add its own drama too. And, with a little post-processing, so it proved.

This earlier blog post also considers deiberately including the sun in your photographs.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

In memoriam

click photo to enlarge
The rules regarding what is permissible in terms of a gravestone or other graveyard memorial seem to differ from church to church and cemetery to cemetery. When one looks at the earliest English churchyard
gravestones of the seventeenth and eighteenth century what strikes the observer is that the same decorative motifs, imagery, scripts, language and verses, or slight variations on them, tend to prevail. Some lean towards the macabre in their depiction of skulls and bones, others to the homely with their podgy putti. They are, in the main, sober memorials with nothing to which the average parishioner, or vicar, could take exception. Because the language follows widely used polite conventions they have a formal air. Only the odd humorous or idiosyncratic verse breaks through this civil veneer.

In the nineteenth century formality is, if anything, increased. The mechanical looking script, boldly carved urns, bibles, doves, ivy and flowers, ritual descriptions - "Fell asleep", "Carried Away" - and the full names of the departed, describe a society that took the recording of the particulars of the deceased very seriously. However, during the twentieth century a lighter note starts to creep in, with occupations and hobbies commonly mentioned through inscriptions and pictures, shortened names - "Bert" instead of "Albert" - and children's terms to describe family relationships - "Grandad" rather than "Grandfather". Some vicars and parishes took a stand against this increasing familiarity: shortened names, nicknames, etc were prohibited. Others specified that particular types of bright marble were forbidden lest they clash with the gravestones made of local stone, and in places the green or white glassy chips piled in the centre of graves were banned. I often see churchyard signs saying that artificial flowers must not be placed on graves, natural blooms being deemed environmental and more suitable.

No such prohibitions seemed to be in place in the Lincolnshire churchyard where I took today's photograph. This particular memorial was made of the whitest marble filled with green glass chippings Standing on them was an urn, an additional tribute from grandchildren, that described the deceased as "Grandad" and "Nan" ( a shortening of a truncation!) Moreover, in the urn was a bunch of faded artificial roses and carnations. I'm not one for applying too many photographic "effects" to the images I produce, but the faded nature of the flowers on this grave caused me to try fading them a little more and adding a touch of brown across the whole image. I quite like the result. It reminds me of an old postcard that is losing its colour.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm (34mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The challenge of mid-day photography

click photo to enlarge

In a recent post I talked about the difficulties and disatisfaction that can come from photography during the middle of the day in high summer. High contrast, short shadows, very bright light and desaturated colours resulting from reflections on leaves and grass were some of the issues I reflected on.

Yesterday I was in Market Deeping for lunch. We ate at a Georgian hotel, a former coaching inn, that backs on to the River Welland. After we'd eaten we went to have a look at the river which at that time of day was cloaked in deep areas of shade from the bankside trees. As we stood there looking at the ducks and fish in the clear water a rowing boat came into view and my friend and I raised our pocket cameras to take a photograph. It may have been the prospect of being snapped by strangers, or perhaps it was an unwillingness to run the gamut of the hotel's eaters and drinkers along the riverside terrace, but whatever the reason, the rower immediately turned the small craft and headed back downstream. But not before I'd managed to frame a shot that included an off-centre boat against shadow, a foreground of delicate grasses, and an over-hanging frame of trees.

Looking at the image on the computer later that day I was disappointed by the glossy reflections off the leaves above the boat. The foreground leaves also had a brightness that made for good shapes against the darker water, but they were a touch "blown". What to do? Well, I subdued the overhead leaves and did the same with the leaves at the bottom (though with less success). Then I thought I'd try a black and white conversion. It has qualities that appeal.  Both shots still reveal the time of day when they were taken, but perhaps less than they would have done before my "tinkering". An image taken at that time with an overcast sky, or earlier or later in the day would definitely have been easier to work with.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Aspect ratios and indoor photography

click photo to enlarge

I was speaking to someone the other day about the four aspect ratios that the Lumix LX3 camera offers. They are 3:2, 4:3, 16:9 and 1:1. This person used a Canon camera and said he favoured the 3:2 format. In fact, he said, he couldn't imagine using any other aspect ratio. When I probed for the reason he said he'd got used to it when shooting 35mm film cameras. I suppose we all look at these things from our own perspective, but I too was a long-time 35mm film photographer, and I love the choice of different aspect ratios that cameras such as the LX3 offer today. In fact, I prefer most of their offerings over 3:2, which I find too much towards square without actually getting there. The reason for cameras using that particular size (36mm X 24mm) goes back to the adoption of movie film for still cameras, so isn't particularly grounded in aesthetics so much as necessity.

Our conversation then turned to the 16:9 ratio. My colleague was of the view that it might have an application for landscape photographs. It does, and I've posted a few on this blog. However, I find that it is also an excellent aspect ratio for indoor shots. On  a visit a while ago to Southwell Workhouse, an early nineteenth century answer to those unable or unwilling to make provision for themselves, I took several shots in this format. One was the subject of an earlier post. Today I've posted two more 16:9 images from that location to demonstrate how it lends itself not only to the great outdoors, but to the confines of indoors. The first shows a reconstruction of one of the dormitories for the inmates. The other was taken in the basement at the bottom of one of the flights of stairs that led down into the low subterranean rooms where food was prepared.

Photographs and 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 (2.0)
Shutter Speed: 1/320 (1/125)
ISO: 80 (400)
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 (-0.66) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Industrial attractions

click photo to enlarge

I find it interesting how many structures that don't appeal in their totality, have details that are attractive, or if not attractive then interesting. Why should this be so? Regular visitors to this blog will know that I like to study the architecture of all periods and styles, and can always find something to admire in a well-designed building regardless of when it was built. I like good modern architecture, and even where I may take issue with a whole building, or the building in its context, I can usually find some part of it that I like. An example would be this detail of the great lump of concrete, steel and glass that is the "Sandcastle" leisure centre in Blackpool, Lancashire, or this detail of the facade of the Globe Theatre, also in Blackpool.

The same is true of industrial structures such as electricity pylons. These metal monsters always subtract something from the landscape that they march across. However, even they, in the right circumstances, can offer something that is worth a second look. Today I came across a fairly new metal water tank. Its paintwork was still pristine, and the strong sunlight was illuminating it in such a way that its details were sharply delineated. It was a strictly functional object that had no styling of any description applied: every part of it was designed and placed with utility in mind. That utilitarian quality was probably the underlying feature that attracted my attention, and the grid of panels overlaid by the ladder, pipes, overflow and circular entry made an interesting semi-abstract arrangement. So, with a blog photograph in mind I pushed my lens between the bars of the surrounding fence and took this shot.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/2000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Captain Matthew Flinders RN

click photo to enlarge

It's not unusual to find a town or a city honouring its sons and daughters with a memorial stone or a statue in a prominent place. It is said that London has more statues than any other city, and when I visit the capital I always come across a new one that I've never seen before.Given the size of London it's not surprising that there are so many. You would think it more unusual to come across such a thing in a rural village or town in an agricultural county such as Lincolnshire. And yet quite a few small settlements have statues to prominent people, often explorers. One such is Donington in the district of Holland.

The market place of this village has a slightly smaller than life size metal statue of Captain Matthew Flinders RN (1774-1814), the explorer who discovered and mapped parts of Australia. Alongside him is his cat, Trim. The house where he was born and raised (his father was the local doctor) was demolished in 1908. However, in the later twentieth century the village decided to commemorate its most famous son, and village signs were erected noting that Donington was his birthplace. The chancel of the church had long held memorial tablets to Flinders and his family, but in 1979 a memorial window was installed in a north east window of the north aisle. The design is by John Hayward, and it depicts Flinders in naval uniform. It also shows his friend (and fellow explorer) George Bass from Aswarby, his patron, Sir Joseph Banks, coats of arms, a map of part of the Australian coast, his sloop, "Investigator", various navigational instruments, and a picture of the house in which he was born. There is also a panel noting that the window was paid for by funds from Australia and the UK. Flinders' writings suggest that he had no doubt about the significance of himself and his discoveries, and he would no doubt have been pleased to see public acknowledgement of this in his home town as well as in several places in Australia.

I used the LX3, hand-held, for this shot. Fairly heavy negative EV was required to keep the colour of the lightest sections, and post processing was necessary to correct verticals as well as bring back the colour of the areas that became too dark in the original image. The duller colours of the lower third are the result of the background of bushes and trees outside in the churchyard - a common problem when photographing stained glass.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 7.4mm (35mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Gaillardia reflected

click photo to enlarge

Last year I noticed some Gaillardia flowers growing in my neighbour's garden. It was a type of flower that had never caught my eye before, but I was impressed by the multiple heads of well-figured, strongly coloured blooms. The plant is a perennial and so when, a while later, my neighbour decided to re-configure her border she asked us if we wanted the plants. Naturally we said "Yes, please!", dug them up and put them in the vegetable garden to over-winter. We hadn't reckoned, of course, on last winter being one of the coldest in recent years. It "did for" quite a few of our more tender garden plants, and it also saw off the Gaillardias, all that is except for one solitary, hardy specimen.

When spring arrived we moved the survivor into a border and bought some Gaillardia seeds to grow our own plants. These proved very successful and now, in July 2010 they are in bloom at various locations around the garden. And a fine sight they are too. The other day I was prompted by the colors and patterns of the flower heads to try a photograph of one placed on a mirror. I've done photographs of this sort before, and quite like the way it produces an image that reveals the underside and the top of the bloom in the same shot. The yellow and red/orange of the petals called for a black background so I stood a piece of black vinyl in a suitable position and took my photograph in natural light near a window.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Usefulness and beauty

click photo to enlarge

"Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful."
William Morris (1834-1896), English designer, artist, writer and socialist

William Morris's dictum is one that most people find it easy to agree with, but hard to put into practice. In theory, the objects that we buy come in so many designs, styles and fashions that it shouldn't be difficult to find one that fits his criteria. However, the depths of one's pockets, the fact that products often converge towards a form that sells, and the desire on the part of the manufacturers and the public for "novelty" in design, make it much harder than it should be.

Today's photograph is of a glass jug that we bought recently. We settled on this fairly inexpensive model after rejecting more than a few. It's functional - always a good start as far as beauty in product design goes - and has no applied ornament of any description. Nor does it have the swoops and swirls of form that had been inflicted on quite a few of the jugs we considered. I took my photograph after placing it on a sheet of finely textured black vinyl in some sunlight that was streaming through a window. And, as I did so, it occured to me that there is a third consideration that I often apply to the purchase of a new object - can I get a photograph or two out of it? In fact, if you act on Morris's wise words the answer is invariably, "Yes".

Incidentally, when I was preparing this blog entry I happened to notice that it is number 1,015. I've tried to make a point of noting milestones in the progress of PhotoReflect, but I somehow missed one of the most significant. Ah well!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Box hedges and cottage gardens

click photo to enlarge

The English cottage garden is a thing of beauty. It features a large variety of traditional flowers planted in beds and borders, against walls and next to fences and hedges: varieties such as hollyhocks, delphinium, rudbeckia, geranium, dianthus, euphorbia, yarrow and rambling roses. Tall species at the back of the border peep over lower plants at the front. Paths of brick, stone, gravel and grass meander through the garden, past the lawns, greenhouse, cold-frames and vegetable plot. Apple and plum trees, together with gooseberry and blackcurrant bushes provide the fruit for pies, bottling and jam. The appearance of this kind of garden is one of control being imposed on gentle disorder.

However, there is a regular addition to the cottage garden that sometimes seems at odds with the overall feel of this kind of planting, and that is the formal box hedge. It has its origins, I suppose, in the disciplined parterres and symmetry of the formal gardens of the sixteenth century, but how and why it found its way into the cottage garden is a mystery to me. Its straight, closely clipped lines and sharp shadows contrast strongly with the riotous drifts of pastel flowers and the anarchic growth of climbing roses. Perhaps that is the point of it in this context - to lend a little formality to the pleasing patchwork and to demonstrate that the gardener can and does exercise control, even though, in some areas it may not look like it!

Today's photograph was taken at Barnsdale Gardens in Rutland, and features in their cottage garden, one of thirty seven small garden layouts that inspire the many visitors who go there each year.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Sharpening marks and old churches

click photo to enlarge

On 30th June this year English Heritage published a report on the state of Britain's 14,500 places of worship that are officially "listed" as being of architectural and historical importance. It suggests that "about 90% are in good or fair condition but 10% are potentially in need of urgent major repairs." Given the dwindling congregations, the ever rising cost of maintaining historic buildings, and the tightening of the public purse strings, a lot of effort and ingenuity will have to go into raising the money that must surely be found to keep these important structures standing and open to the public.

On a recent visit to the church of St Mary and St Hardulph at Breedon on the Hill, Leicestershire, I was prompted to reflect on how we treat our churches today compared with the past. This building is famed for its prominent location on top of a hill of oolitic limestone and for its important Anglo-Saxon sculptures. I also like the contrast between the stone of the church and the plentiful eighteenth and nineteenth century slate gravestones. Like many medieval churches it has been knocked about a bit over the centuries, with parts taken down, new bits added, and restorations undertaken. The building as it stands today is a credit to all who have cared for it over the years.

So what prompted my reflection on the care and attitude of different generations to the fabric of the building? Well, the vertical grooves and holes in the stonework of the south porch look very much like those inflicted by people sharpening their metal tools on the side of the building. These may have been men who cut the graveyard grass, though the shapes make me think that it may have been people sharpening arrows when they were practising their archery skills, a not uncommon thing in English graveyards down the centuries. There seems to have been quite a bit of weathering after the holes and grooves were made, so one could reasonably assume that they were made a long time ago. Anyone today seen doing such a thing would be chastised with some force. But in past centuries, when people's perspective was not as long as ours, the church would have seemed a permanent, immutable object, that always had been and always would be, and scraping metal on its stones a small matter.

In the past I've said that clear blue skies are not what I wish for when out and about with my camera, and I was willing clouds to swing round behind the church before I took my photographs here. But it wasn't to be!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 13mmmm (22mm/44mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6 Shutter Speed: 1/800 (1/640)
ISO: 100 (100)
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV (-0.3EV)
Image Stabilisation: On

Damsels and dragons

click photos to enlarge

I'm naturally curious about the things that I photograph. Consequently I often find myself learning something about areas in which I am fairly ignorant, and into which, without the prompt of photography, I would hardly ever venture. Today's images are a case in point. I have no more interest in insects than the average layman, but these two were presenting themselves very conveniently and so I took a couple of shots. Here's something of what I learned when I decided to find out precisely what they were. The information comes from the very helpful British Dragonfly Society website.

Damselflies and dragonflies belong to the insect order Odonta. This name means "tooth jawed" after their serrated mouthparts. Odonta is subdivided into two sub-orders, Zygoptera (damselflies) and Anisoptera (dragonflies), and a number of distinctive features separate the former from the latter. Damselflies are most easily distinguished by their habit of holding their wings along their abdomen when at rest: dragonflies hold them out, often at right angles to their body. The more sharp-eyed observer can also note that the wings of the damselfly are almost equal in size and shape whereas the dragonfly has forewings that are obviously larger. Finally, the eyes of the damselfly are always separated: those of the dragonfly always touch even if only at a single point. Armed with that information it was clear that my two subjects were damselflies. In fact I knew that of the larger winged insect before my research began, though that was probably the sum of my knowledge of that sub-order.

The other information I sought was in connection with the name. Why dragonfly?  It seems that they used to be called "horse stingers" from the, probably mistaken, belief that they bit horses making them start. In fact it was probably the flies that were the dragonflies' prey that caused alarm in the horses, and the nearby presence of the larger insects led them to be blamed. Damselflies were sometimes called "Devil's Darning Needles" from the belief that if you fell asleep by a stream on a warm summer's day they would use their slender bodies to sew your eyelids closed! As to the origin of the "dragon" part of the name, I anticipated some piece of folklore involving a fair damsel and a wicked dragon, but alas, I could find nothing.

I have neither the lens nor the inclination to pursue insects as a regular photographic subject, so for these shots I used the Zuiko 40-150mm at its maximum extension and then cropped the images slightly.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mmmm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6 Shutter Speed: 1/500 (1/160)
ISO: 200 (100)
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Morris dancing and historical fiction

click photo to enlarge

One of the most pleasant ways to learn a little history is through good fictional writing. I'm not a particular fan of the historical novel. However, Patrick O'Brian's naval series about Captain Jack Aubrey and the surgeon/spy, Stephen Maturin, enthralled me and taught me a lot about the British navy of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Enough, in fact to prompt me to buy and read an authoritative history of the period, N. A. M. Rodger's "The Command of the Ocean: A Naval History of Britain 1649-1815".

Similarly, the novels of Thomas Hardy are a good source of the life of rural England in the nineteenth century - both of the poor and the middle classes. I will always remember being introduced, in "The Return of the Native", to the figure of Diggory Venn, the "reddle man", a lone, itinerant worker who mixed and supplied the dye that farmers used to mark the sheep of their flocks. In the same book Hardy remarks that the genuine survival of a tradition can be distinguished from a revival by the level of enthusiasm of the performers: those who carry on a tradition through obligation will not show the same enthusiasm and enjoyment as those who participate voluntarily in a revival of an ancient tradition. Whether Hardy was right or not it is interesting to apply his thinking to the two photographs above. They show the dancers and musicians of a Morris group from Kent performing at a gathering in Pershore, Worcestershire.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 13mmmm (26mm/35mm equiv.)(70mm (140mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/640 (1/250)
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Pershore Abbey vaulting

click photo to enlarge
I think that Gothic vaulting is one of mankind's most inspired creations. Down the ages people have sought to produce objects that combine the twin virtues of beauty and function; in fact designers and architects strive daily to achieve it. Yet despite our greater knowledge, our computers, universities and professional organisations, the work of medieval masons, people who learned from their peers, is the equal of, and often surpasses, anything that we produce today.

The vaulting in today's photograph was erected about 1290-1300. It is in what is known as the Early English style, and is an interesting and unique example. The architectural historian, Nikolaus Pevsner describes it thus: "It consists of transverse arches, diagonal ribs, ridge-ribs, one pair of tiercerons to N(orth) and S(outh), but in addition lierne-ribs forming a kind of scissors movement: open-closed, open-closed, all along." Look at vaulting anywhere else, and you won't see anything quite like it. Pershore has, to quote Pevsner again, "pleasant confusion." The purposes of the vaulting arches is, of course, to transfer the weight of the roof outwards to the columns, piers and walls. Pointed Gothic arches of the thirteenth and subsequent centuries do this better than the earlier, rounded arches of the Romanesque period, and consequently allow wider spaces to be roofed.

The carved stone bosses at the intersections of the vaulting ribs are ornamental (each is a different design), but also functional in that they cover the joins. What prompted me to take this shot (apart from the beauty of the vaulting) was the fact that the roof was lit whilst the lower part of the building wasn't. The orange warmth of the electric light contrasted with, but also complemented, the colder blue daylight shining through the windows, and added to the scene's attraction.

photograph and 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: 250
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

St John's Wort

click photo to enlarge

Hypericum is a common garden and wild flower. The species Hypericum perforatum is known as Common St John's Wort, a flower of grassland and open scrub. Hyper is from the Greek "over", and icum dervives from "ikon". Thus, the name recalls the old practice of placing the flower over religious picture on St John's Day (June 24th) in order to ward off evil spirits. The perforatum part of the name refers to the small transparent dots in the leaves which are oil-producing cells.

Hypericum has long been known for its medicinal uses. In ancient times St John's Wort was used as a diuretic, for wound healing and for menstrual disorders. Today its clinical effectiveness in treating mild depression is widely accepted, and most pharmacies carry pills that contain the plant's extract.

I came across this particular plant in a public garden. Perhaps it was the way the light was falling on it that prompted my photograph, because I've looked at Hypericum many times before without being motivated to point my camera at it. However, on this occasion I was struck by the cloud of anthers and filaments that looked like a small explosion with pieces of debris being flung outwards from a central point, and so I made that the subject of a detail of a single bloom.

* Looking at it again I'm sure the plant I photographed is a cultivated variant of Hypericum and not the wild version of the genus.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.5
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Up, up and away

click photo to enlarge
Gazing down Church Street in Bicker the other day a roaring sound attracted my attention, and then a great curve of red nylon slowly rose from behind the trees. It was a hot air balloon, very near, and the sound was the flames of the burner as it squirted a stream of hot air into the canopy. I quickly put my longest lens on the camera and, as the balloon with its basket of passengers came fully into view, I started to fire off shots, looking for a composition that included the ground and the brilliant red of the nylon against the morning blue of the sky.

As the balloon slowly rose over the top of the tower of St Swithin's church the Virgin logo became very obvious. What was going on I wondered? Was it Richard Branson on his latest balloon escapade, lost in deepest Lincolnshire? Perhaps he was undertaking a "retro adventure", in the manner of the Montgolfier Brothers, and in the absence of any high-tech communications equipment, the pigeon below the basket had been released carrying an urgent message, "Help, I'm somewhere over the Fens and drifting towards The Wash!" But then as the great craft floated on I read the banner on its side, "Balloon Flights" and a telephone number. Later, when I did a little research I discovered that this is one of the many arms of Virgin's aerial empire. Not content with jet airliners and spacecraft Branson also has a balloon division that offers rides from multiple locations across the UK. A much less harmful offering than 747s and mini-spaceshuttles I suppose.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 70mm (140mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1 Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The "Leafing Through History" sculpture

click photos to enlarge

I'm a fan of public sculpture. In fact, I am so in favour of it that I'd rather see mediocre public sculpture than none at all. At its best a good piece interests, challenges, excites and intrigues. It adds something positive to its location. At its worst it is an eyesore, a feature that degrades the place where it stands. This much I've said elsewhere in the blog. I've also added that street furniture - seating, railings, etc - that try to combine utility and the aesthetic qualities of sculpture rarely work. What I haven't articulated previously, however, is my general dislike of modern, public wood sculpture. This is often "environmentally" themed, featuring wild animals, birds, and plants, and frequently has a "rustic" finish. I've seen an example that combines the above with the function of a path-side seat; one that was uncomfortable at the best of times, and unusable when damp (i.e. for much of the year).

Consequently, when I come across a good example of the genre I often take a photograph of it. That happened during my recent visit to Pershore in Worcestershire. Today's photographs show the two sides of a sculpture of part of the trunk of a beech tree next to Pershore Abbey (enlarge the smaller of these two recent images to see the context). It is called, "Leafing Through History", and was carved in 2007 by Tom Harvey. This much I know from the accompanying plaque. It appears to represent the act of reading about the past, or is about the past itself, and has wildlife - a fox, butterflies, flowers - a tree, and the sun and moon as a backdrop to the figures. The piece is unusual, in my experience, by being carved from the upper part of a tree trunk that is still anchored in the ground. More than that though, the under-cutting is much deeper than is usually the case these days, and that gives much deeper shadows and better formed subjects. And the composition is more inventive: too often the sculpture retains the "lumpiness" of the original piece of wood and is more in the nature of a relief than a sculpture. That is certainly not the case here. Of the two faces I admire the complex composition, but prefer the single hooded figure. Is it meant to represent one of the monks of the adjacent abbey? Is it Robin Hood having a literary break from robbing the rich and giving to the poor? I don't know. But, I do like the way the figure seems to grow, organically, out of the tree, and that was what I aimed to capture in my photograph.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 33mm (66mm/35mm equiv.) (25mm (50mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/00 (1/250)
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 (-0.3) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cast iron and fountains

click photo to enlarge

Every now and then I get a flier through my letter-box soliciting unwanted metal items. They are delivered by a scrap metal dealer who collects anything that people want to throw away. These items go to UK recycling centres, or increasingly, for export to China which has an insatiable appetite for metal. When I lived in North-West England I often saw ships at Glasson Dock near Lancaster loading shredded waste metal for export. On a recent visit to Great Yarmouth in Norfolk I saw this again.

The Industrial Revolution brought a great increase in the amount of metal that Britain manufactured and used. It also saw the invention of different kinds of metal for specialist purposes, and iron and steel, in particular, started to usurp more traditional materials. Buildings started to employ structural steel in place of wood, stone and brick. In ship-building wood became confined to smaller craft as first iron, then steel took over. Even in everyday objects metal became the material of choice. Take ornamental and drinking fountains. These were traditionally made of stone, had very functional designs (except where marble was used) and lasted for centuries with regular, but basic, maintenance. However, the spread of cast-iron manufacture eventually changed this market, and every city and town, and many villages installed ornate fountains made of this relatively inexpensive and very malleable material. They continued being produced well into the twentieth century (see my earlier blog post about the Coronation Fountain at March, Cambridgeshire).

I recently came across another cast-iron fountain in The Circle garden at Wisbech, Cambridgeshire. It is, very typically, located at the center of an axial path, an eyecatcher and a thing of beauty at a focal point. The bowl has very attractive leaves, serpentine tendrils and paterae embellishing its surface. Regrettably, however, it is currently detached (broken) from its stem. It lays at the base of some bushes, rusting and gathering the odd shrivelled leaf that falls on it during our present dry spell. I hope the bowl is only temporarily parted from its stem, and is awaiting a suitably skilled craftsman who will make the fountain whole again: its quality, age and location demand no less. It would be a small tragedy if the pieces were shipped off to China to be returned in pieces of inexpensive, ephemeral junk.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Pershore Abbey

click photos to enlarge

We've entered the time of year when photography can be somewhat restricted by the brightness of the middle of the day. From about mid-June to somewhere approaching the end of August the period between about 11.00am and 3.30pm often presents difficulties when photographing landscapes. If the sun is out it is high and bright, the shadows are short and deep, and vegetation reflects the light, resulting in de-saturated colours. As a rule good images are easier to acquire when they are taken before and after these times. But, in photography, as in life, rules are for the guidance of wise men and the obedience of fools, and you have to use your photographic judgement because it is certainly possible to find an image in this "dead" period of the day and year.

Today's main photograph was taken at 3.00pm on 20th June. I was shooting pretty much against the very bright sunlight, so that considerably more of the building than I would normally want was in shadow: consequently the modelling wasn't too good. However, the sky was great! Feathery wisps of cloud were scattered about the deep blue, and I knew that a red filter would emphasise them when converted to black and white.

The church is the former abbey at Pershore in Worcestershire. This building, originally an Anglo-Saxon foundation, rebuilt c.1100, and extended in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, was severely reduced in size at the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1539. The monastic outbuildings were destroyed and the nave and Lady Chapel were taken down completely. The north transept subsequently collapsed and in 1686 the crossing tower had to have supports constructed on that side. An east apse (shown in the photograph) was built in 1847. There was a general restoration in 1862-5 and in the early twentieth century when two massive flying buttresses (dated 1913) were placed against the tower to help to hold it in position (see smaller photograph). The remaining building is, in the words of the church's website, "very much a broken building". However, it is not without interest and definitely has an "ugly duckling" charm.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Image
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On