Silly brand names and pier views

click photo to enlarge

The other day I was idly thinking of silly brand names for ranges of clothing and I came up with two short lists. The first group of names are deliberately brief and not so sweet - DIVOT, THUNK, GAWK, CRUD, and SWAT. The second set are quirky - SYNONYM, OFF THE WALL, LEFT FIELD, HIGH HEAVEN and FIG LEAF. I think some of these names could definitely make it out there in the market place: they're certainly no worse than some of the ludicrous examples I've seen printed across the bosoms, backs and rear ends of shoppers on the local high streets.

My current holder of the silliest clothing brand name is, I think, BENCH, although I'm no expert on this subject and there are doubtless dafter ones to be found. It took me a while to work out that this was a brand name at all, so large were the letters on some of the items of clothing, and initially I thought the wearers were employed by a company of that name. And in a way they were - to advertise on their behalf, but for zero wages, for which they're likely to have paid a price premium! It wasn't always like this. Brand names used to be discreet or completely invisible, and drew their inspiration from the manufacturer's name(s), the place they were made, or latterly by the use of a simple proper noun. Today names are "designed" by companies that specialise in branding, though ultimately they do little more than I did and simply pluck a few words from a thesaurus. Moreover, we've moved on from nouns into other parts of speech. In fact it was this that prompted today's reflection. I was wondering what title to give to this post and the phrase "view from" popped into my head. Then I remembered that I've seen sports wear (or at least sporty leisure wear) with that brand name. Who on earth thought up "VIEW FROM" as a brand name? And why did it get any farther than that person's first utterance of it? Perhaps because in a world where a book store can be called Amazon, a bank can be called Egg, a new video-on-demand platform can be called Qriocity (it deserves to fail for its name alone), and a re-arranged expletive (F.C.U.K.) can be used as a brand name to sell clothes, then clearly anything goes.

Today's photographs show Southwold Pier viewed from the beach, and Southwold and the area of beach from which I took the first shot, seen from the pier. The first photograph was taken around midday, and the second at about 10.00a.m. Piers are good vantage points for shots of seaside towns, and of course, make good subjects in themselves. Here, to illustrate that point, and for comparison, are two "views from" featuring Blackpool's Victorian North Pier - the Tower seen from the pier, and the pier seen from the promenade.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.) (36mm (72mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f5.6 (5.3)
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 100 (100)
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 (-1.0) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Walling and windows, Aldeburgh Moot Hall

click photo to enlarge

A book I was reading recently offered a reason I'd not come across before to explain the jettying out of the upper storeys of timber-built houses of the 1500s and 1600s. When architectural historians discuss this subject it is usually in terms of increasing the floor space of the storeys above ground level without impinging on the width of the street at ground level. However, the author of my book, an architect specialising in restoration rather than an academic, described it as a way of giving rigidity to the floors in the upper storeys. He noted that most floor joists were laid with their widest dimension fixed to the floorboards, rather than as is the case today, the narrowest dimensions at the top and bottom. As a consequence of this the floors were springy, and flexed downwards towards the middle. Making the joists project beyond the top of the ground floor walls and building the upper floor wall at the end of them, beyond the line of the lower wall, counteracted this and gave rigidity to the floor. Is this so? I don't know, but it does sound plausible.

Shortly after I'd read this, and while I was still cogitating on the matter, I visited the Moot Hall in Aldeburgh, Suffolk, a structure that illustrates the principle. Pevsner says this building "stands as incongruously as if it were an exhibit. It must once have been in a little town centre, before the sea pushed its relative position back." The Moot Hall was built c.1520-1540 as a meeting place for the town's council. It still serves that purpose, though today it also hosts a charming little museum. The upper floor is an addition of 1654, reached by some external steps. Presumably the brick noggin infill between the timbers is a later addition. In fact the Hall has been repaired and restored on a number of occasions down the centuries, though particularly in 1854 when the ornate chimneys were added.

I'd like to have taken a decent photograph of the whole of the building, but the weather and parked vehicles conspired against me. However, this section of the walling and windows appealed to me for its decorative value and the lovely mixture of materials so I grabbed a shot. I've always had a soft spot for a good section of wall and windows, and this image is just the latest in a steadily growing sequence on my blog - see here, here, here and here for further examples

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (36mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

All Saints, Crowfield, Suffolk

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As I've travelled about England I've periodically come across a medieval church with walls that are wholly or partly constructed of wood. Usually this has been in the west midlands, southern and south east England. Churches such as Greensted (Essex), Pembridge (Herefordshire), Melverley (Shropshire), Brookland (Kent), and Besford (Worcestershire), reflect a local tradition and skills in timber construction as well as an absence or paucity of good building stone. The furthest north I've found such construction is the church of Lower Peover in Cheshire, where a sixteenth century stone tower rises above a building that is entirely "black and white". There was a time when most churches displayed regional characteristics - Suffolk flushwork, Norfolk flint, Yorkshire gritstone, Lincolnshire oolitic limestone, etc. But, it has always been the case that materials and styles have been copied from areas where they didn't originate, ever since the Normans began importing Caen stone. As late as 1902-4 the architects Bucknall & Comper decided that half-timbering would be right for their church at Gosberton Clough, Lincolnshire, and Victorians examples of this method of construction are not too hard to find.

Why then was I surprised to come across the half-timbered chancel of All Saints at Crowfield in Suffolk? Perhaps because all the other medieval Suffolk churches that I've come across are stone-built (this is the only Suffolk example of this building style in a church). In this county stone is usually imported and mixed with the local flint, "clunch", "crag", or with the small amount of freestone that can be dug locally. There was probably a time (pre-Norman) when timber was much more widespread in Suffolk church construction, but then that is true for much of central and southern England.

The chancel at Crowfield is a fifteenth century addition to the fourteenth century nave. It looks quite "domestic", probably by association with the much more common half-timbered houses and farms: only the tracery of the wooden window frames hint at the religious nature of the building. The graveyard of the church has been rationalised with an eye to ease of grass cutting, an "avenue" of gravestones being arranged as a pathway to the priest's door in the chancel, and others largely re-positioned around the periphery of the site. This gives the building a neat, park-like setting that isn't altogether to my taste.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 13mm (26mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/320 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A Victorian memorial

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Memorials interest me for their design and what they say about the time in which they were erected. I also look at them with an eye to what they say about the person commemorated, and about those who had it made - sometimes the same person, often not.

I don't know who had the tomb in today's photograph erected in the modest chapel at Oxburgh Hall in Norfolk, but it dominates it, an enormous altarpiece with elaborate sixteenth century Flemish carving notwithstanding. This is partly because it is pretty much the first thing you see when you pass through the main entrance. The simple brick-built, rectangular church with an apsidal end was built in 1836 after the restrictions on worship by Catholics had been lifted in Britain. The stone-clad, projecting chapel that houses the tomb and effigy was built on to the existing structure after the death of the person who is commemorated in it, so I imagine it is a tribute from his family, rather than a self-aggrandising monument. The light from the nearby windows illuminates the white Carrara marble effigy in a way that makes it seem quite ethereal, almost as though it is floating on the ornate alabaster chest below.

I tried a few different approaches to photographing the tomb, positioning myself at an angle near the feet, shooting over the surrounding rails, and concentrating on the upper body of the effigy. However, I preferred this one that uses the ornamental metalwork and wooden bench ends as a pierced silhouette through which the brighter tomb is viewed.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.2mm (48mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Oh no, not another bench!

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"Another unsettling element in modern art is that common symptom of immaturity, the dread of doing what has been done before."
Edith Wharton (1862 - 1937) U.S. novelist

The title of this piece wasn't exactly the phrase that my wife used when she watched me get up from our dry bench and start to photograph this nearby wet one, but it is the gist of what I thought was her rather hurtful remark (I'm a sensitive soul you know :). I've commented before on my predilection for photographing public seating. Some might think this an obsession, others a harmless character trait, and there will be those who see it as a mark of the lack of imagination in the photographer. However, in my defence I offer the quotation at the head of this piece. It is by the famous U.S. author, Edith Wharton, who was the first female winner of the Pulitzer Prize, in 1921, with her book, "The Age of Innocence". I make no claims for art in my photography, but I do think that mining the seam of a defined subject is a good way for any photographer to proceed.

Thinking further about the quotation it seems to me it is truer today than it was when it was made. Certainly many UK artists of the last twenty years have skipped from one subject to another, using a variety of media ranging from paint to concrete to elephant dung to dead animals to...well, you name it. I've often thought the productions of the likes of Damien Hirst and Tracey Emin to be shallow, juvenile, the sort of work where what you see is all there is. Edith Wharton's "that common symptom of immaturity" strikes a chord with me.
I used to think that my photographic ouvre was rather wide ranging, and I recall blogging a piece to that end. However, when I stand back and look at my output I've come to realise that I do plough a fairly defined group of furrows. And yes, one of them is public benches!

I took a few shots of this rather uncomfortable bench, including this one that is deliberately slightly overexposed. I was looking to de-emphasise the ground and adjoining wall, and, even though it took the detail out of some of the highlights on the bench itself, it's the photograph I prefer. This sepia-tone finish on a black and white conversion also appealed to me.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A kaleidoscope of beach huts

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"Beach huts have become something of a photographic cliche for UK-based snappers." Or so I said in April 2009 when I posted a photograph of these brightly painted seaside cabins at Wells-next-the-Sea, Norfolk. Mind you, when I wrote that sentence I'd already posted photographs of beach huts at Fleetwood, Lancashire, and Mablethorpe, Lincolnshire. And I subsequently posted one from Cromer, Norfolk, and a different shot from Wells-next-the-Sea. Today I've got three shots of beach huts from Southwold, so I guess you could say that if they are a photographic cliche then it's one I'm happy to indulge in.

As I walked past these immaculate daytime residences in Suffolk (there are 300) I idly wondered whether there is a collective noun for them. I can't find one so I suggest "a spectrum of beach huts", "a variegation of beach huts", or better still perhaps, a kaleidoscope of beach huts". We came upon these long lines on promenade and sand fairly early in the day, so people weren't very numerous. Moreover the sky was bluer than we had any right to expect in mid-September, and these two facts together made my photography easier.

As well as being painted in each owners' chosen colour scheme most of the beach huts have names. Often they are humorous (Pete's Palace, Aunty Bong Bong, Jabba the Hut, OOZUTIZIT, ShoreThing), frequently they have a touch of the idyllic (Shangri-La, Sunny Retreat), and some just make you wonder (why "Shepherdess Rest")? However, the rightmost part of the group that are shown in the top and bottom images (the same set taken from different angles) were unusual in having names that follow a theme. In these collective action had triumphed over the rampant individualism that usually characterises these small dwellings. Here are some of the names - can you work out the theme? Victoria, Albert, Elizabeth, Queenie, Margaret Rose. It wasn't difficult was it!?

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

(Image 1)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Contre jour pier

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Contre jour means, literally, "against the day", but a better English translation is "against the light". Today's photograph is another of this kind of shot taken around the same time as yesterday's, further down the pier at Southwold. At one time in my photography of recent years I seemed to be taking these almost daily, perhaps seduced by the drama that is injected into an image when your lens moves near to the sun (see examples here, here, here and here). Today's photograph, however, whilst it has more impact than the same shot with the sun behind me would have had, is rather more subdued than the photographs I used to regularly turn out. Perhaps that's down to the clear sky, sharp details and shadows, calm sea and relatively few people.

Black and white is often used as a means of emphasising the powerful qualities of contre jour. Nineteenth century photographers noticed this effect almost immediately, and early cinema exploited it too, although in motion pictures it was the German Expressionists, such as Fritz Lang, and the Hollywood "film noir" of the 1940s and 1950s who took it to its heights. It's something I mean to do more of as autumn progresses and the sun is lower in the sky.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/2500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Southwold Pier

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As you point your camera nearer to the sun the dramatic quality of your image increases - and the colour drains away. That thought ocurred to me when I reviewed this photograph on my computer. But then I thought, hang on a moment, Southwold Pier is pretty devoid of colour anyway, so this image doesn't make that point very well.

I used to take more contre jour shots than I do now. I think it is my change of location to rural Lincolnshire: the subjects that work with this approach are now harder to find. However, on a recent visit to Suffolk I did take a few against the light, of which this is one. I kept the sun's brightness out of the shot - you can just see the edge of it at the top right of the frame.

I chose this shot for today because it happens to illustrate a few of the compositional devices I listed yesterday. Framing, using the posts and pier name; contrast by shooting contre jour; leading lines (the railings and pier itself); repetition of forms; balanced asymmetry (the sweep of the near pier to the left, the thrust of the main pier and pier name to the right); and a single subject. But, as I say above, it doesn't make my point about colours dying away as you point the lens closer to a strong light source.

Southwold Pier opened for business in 1900. That being the case you'd expect it to have large, ornate pavilions, substantial benches, decorative railings, and lashings of bright paint to emphasise that a pier is all about FUN. However there are a couple of reasons why the pier is a sober and studied essay in white, black and grey (the primrose yellow landward building excepted). The first is because, as with most piers, it has been knocked about a bit and very little remains from the early days. In 1934 a storm swept away the T-shaped landing stage at the end of its 810 feet (245m) length. Then, during the Second World War, like many east and south coast piers it was cut to prevent it being used by invasion ships. A further indignity was visited on it when it was struck by a drifting mine that exploded taking down another section. Repairs in 1948 proved to be insufficiently robust to prevent a 1955 storm cutting it in half, and in a storm of 1979 it was reduced to a stump a mere 150 feet (45.4m) long. However, in 1999 a fund raising campaign secured enough money to rebuild it, and in 2001 it was re-opened in the form we see today. That brings me to the second reason for its sober colours and undemonstrative architecture. Southwold is one of the English seaside towns without an "amusement" area. The place has a reputation as a middle-class playground, and I imagine that this is not unconnected with the pier's appearance and its difference from most other English piers.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/1600
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photographic composition - some thoughts and ideas

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There is a craving amongst photographers to "learn the rules of composition". This is quite understandable because composition is crucial to constructing a good image. However, composition isn't a list of tricks, it is a way of seeing. John Ruskin has a couple of memorable lines on the teaching of composition. He was speaking in relation to architecture and painting, but what he said clearly applies to photography too. His first remark that I recall is, "If a man can compose at all, he can compose at once, or rather he must compose in spite of himself." In other words, a trained eye or a someone who is driven to create art does it without thinking. He added, "It is impossible to give you rules that will enable you to compose. If it were possible to compose pictures by rule Titian and Veronese would be ordinary men." Alexander Pope, in his poem "Windsor Forest", described landscape composition most succinctly and what he said applies to photography too: "Where order in variety we see, And where, though all things differ, all agree."

Desirable though it may be, it is unrealistic to expect the average photographer to immerse himself in Venetian painting, art theory, and poetry in order to master composition. Consequently writers on photography frequently list compositional "dos and donts". Here are a few that I have come across over the years. Most of them are helpful, especially to someone starting out in photography. They are in no particular order, and clearly there is no suggestion that a composition should include all of these devices. Rather the list is an aide-memoire, or a menu from which to select.

• The rule of thirds (the only compositional tip that many photographers remember!), whereby the subject is "best" placed at an intersection of two vertical and two horizontal lines, that divide the picture into thirds.
• Give the image visual balance about an imaginary centre line, always remembering that it is not the size of an object that determines its visual weight. In a landscape, for example, a person can be as "heavy" as a tree, a red object invariably has more weight than one that is brown, etc.
• Choose a rigidly symmetrical composition only when the subject suggests it or is itself symmetrical.
• Balanced asymmetry should be the usual aim because it offers the viewer more interest.
• Have a single main subject, thereby telling only one story in the photograph.
• Introduce contrast (dark/light, rough/smooth, near/far, in focus/blurred etc.) to give variety and interest.
• Introduce repetition of forms to give a rhythm (a line of columns, a row of trees, fence posts etc.), and consider breaking it with a person or some other intervening device.
• Give the composition a focal point in the sense of a principal area or climax...
• ... towards which leading lines (for example a road, railway track, fence, buiding facade etc.) will sometimes point.
• Look for cohesion in the composition so that every part relates to each other and supports the narrative that you are illustrating. 
• Introduce calm and stability with horizontals and verticals, dynamism with diagonals.
• Some say avoid horizontals, such as the horizon, at the centre of the composition because of the tendency for it to split the image into two parts. 
• Avoid large, empty areas in an image unless it is a device to emphasise an object.
• Avoid distractingly bright or strongly coloured areas away from the main subject.
• Consider framing the main subject with a naturally occurring object such as a tree branch, an arch, etc.
• Separate subject and background by, for example, lighting, colour, focus, etc.
• As well as left/right balance aim to have the bottom of the image heavier than the top: this feels more "right" to most people.
• People facing or moving into the frame usually works better than people "leaving" it.
• Objects and people usually need "breathing room" around them in the frame otherwise they look constricted.
• Many find an odd number of objects in a photograph works better than an even number (when the number is below 7 or thereabouts)
• Linked to the above, some say that a third element can make a simple composition more satisfying e.g. a vase of flowers (two elements) plus a few fallen petals (third element).

I suppose I could add to this list, or illustrate it, but that will have to do for now. The most important thing to remember about any advice concerning composition is it is just that - advice - and can be ignored to very good effect. There are fine photographs that flout each of the suggestions above, and many are equally good because they, knowingly or unknowingly, include them. The best advice about composition is this - if it looks right to you then it is right, because it's your photograph.

I was prompted to venture into this subject because I (unconsciously) included a third element in today's photograph. The distant boat is the one on the right of yesterday's photograph (which also has three elements!) I moved my position to include it in this image because it seemed to make it work better. Put your finger over it to decide whether you agree or not!

To prove my final point about rules being made to be ignored, here's a photograph that has compositional similarities to today's but has only two elements.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Soft sky at Aldeburgh

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When, many years ago, I first started to take a deeper interest in photography I began to think more about the weather, and particularly about the sky. Until I put more thought and effort into my pictures the importance of these two things hadn't really struck me. I'd read about light being the key to good images, and had seen how light can transform the mundane into something special. But, in every example that illustrated this point in magazines and books (no web then) it was either sunlight or flash that was the light source working its magic. Contre jour lighting, a low sun, flash pointed at the camera, deliberate flare, deep shadows contrasted with illuminated areas, and other techniques were very alluring, and fixed in my mind the value of a bright light source as a way of achieving drama.

What was never said, or at least I never read, was that soft, natural light, the sort of light that is spread evenly across a scene by a thick covering of cloud, can also lend a scene a delightful quality that has an appealing, understated beauty. But, over the years, I came to appreciate this kind of light and the weather that produces it. However, not just any old clouds will do. Low, uniform, stratus offers little to the photographer: the clouds have to have shape and shadows or include thinner, brighter areas. When this happens the colours on the land below are muted and highlights are few; the landscape can appear to have been drawn on dark paper with pastel crayons. A couple of days ago I had one of these skies as I was photographing on the beach at Aldeburgh in Suffolk. The shot I secured could never be described as dramatic, but it does have that calm, subdued softness that I like.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 19mm (38mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Post windmill, Saxtead Green

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Records show that there has been a windmill at Saxtead Green in Suffolk since 1796. The Listed Building details for the present weatherboarded structure suggest that parts of it date back to that time. However, what is visible today is mainly the work of the nineteenth century, there having been at least three re-buildings during its lifetime.

Saxtead Green's mill is a post mill. That is to say the whole body of the mill and its machinery is mounted on a central vertical post. This is the earliest design of European windmill. There are quite a few remaining in Britain, but they are outnumbered by tower mills. Post mills are often turned to face the wind by manpower. This one has a fantail. Over the years the design of the post mill was improved. Here at Saxtead Green the base of the trestle (the brackets at the base of the post) is surrounded by a roundhouse that provides storage and protects the wooden post and trestle from the weather.The mill continued to work until 1947. In 1951 it passed into state care, and in 1957-60 was completely restored. Today it is managed by English Heritage and is open to the public.

The white woodwork, black and white buildings and overcast sky suggested at the point of taking the photograph that the final outcome for this shot might be a black and white image. It seems to work quite well.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Choosing a Jaguar

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Don't worry, I haven't taken leave of my senses, I'm not agonising over which Jaguar to buy. My views on sports cars (and 4X4s) remain as they always have done: I think they are silly forms of transport, that say something about their owners (and not what they think they say). No, today's piece is about choosing photographs to display.

Evidence that many find this a difficult task is well illustrated on virtually every photographic forum. People find it hard to select a single, best image to represent their labours, and end up posting too many. But it shouldn't be quite the problem that it seems. Once you've filtered your photographs for technical quality (sharpness, noise, light etc) you look at composition and the other "artistic" aspects of picture making. That, for most people (the odd photographic genius excepted), reduces the number down to a manageable few, and then it's a matter of taste. During my few hours spent at the Bicker Steam Threshing country fair I took several photographs of some of the veteran and vintage cars that were on display. This Jaguar 3.8 Mk II (helpfully labelled or I'd know little about it) presented a few interesting details for the passing photographer (yes, even one who has no time for sports cars can find visual interest in them), and I took several shots. The only two that I thought worth anything as pictures were these of the radiator, badge and mascot. I present them both because each has a different quality that appeals to me. The bigger image is the more conventional, showing off the colour and details best. I think its composition, though similar to the other, is slightly better. The smaller shot appeals because of the subdued reds, and the clouds and light that enliven the bonnet.

I've photographed Jaguars of this era before. See here and especially here for a very similar composition (and better photograph), though a different colour. And if you are remotely interested in my views on why I find sports cars and 4X4s risible and ridiculous, those posts say more.

photographs and texts (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 86mm (172mm/35mm equiv.) (79mm (158mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100 (100)
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tradition and old age

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My current book is a re-reading of one that I first read in 1977. George Ewart Evans' Where Beards Wag All: The Relevance of the Oral Tradition, sets out to add the voices and memories of old people to the documentary evidence of historians, and thereby humanize the recent past. It uses commentary by agricultural workers and others to explain the jobs of craftsmen, the system of agriculture, the village life and the lives of the migrant workers of East Anglia from the period towards the end of the nineteenth century to around 1930. His notes and recordings add to the historical record details that cannot be found in documents, artefacts and the landscape, and activities that are somewhat dry and theoretical in history books, for example steam-ploughing, making whitening, or operating a village foundry, come alive when described by the people who undertook the work.

Conincidentally I attended the Steam Threshing event at Bicker this weekend, and saw people re-creating some of the old crafts and farming methods that I had read about only days earlier. A traction engine was operating a large, wooden threshing machine, one was powering a saw that was cutting logs, and a third was linked to a flour mill that was producing bags for sale. Vintage tractors, of the sort that Evans describes beginning to replace horses during the 1930s were on display. So too were collections of old wood and metal working tools. And, in a mocked-up shed that included another small flour mill, I saw this man making lengths of ornamental wrought iron using a small forge, a vice and an anvil. He had dressed for the part in bowler hat, waist-coat and neckerchief, and made an interesting sight. I grabbed this shot as he worked his metal with his hammer.

As I watched I reflected on the greater interest that older people have for these types of traditional crafts and industries. Is it, I wondered, because their age gives them a greater perspective and they are able to list the activities and crafts of their youth that are now no more? Probably.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 110mm (220mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Is the world becoming more colourful?

click photo to enlarge

The world was sepia in the nineteenth century, black and white up to about 1950, coloured (in a contrasty sort of way) for the next fifty years, and since about 2000 and the more general take-up of digital cameras, colourful in a more saturated way. At least that's what visitors from another planet could be forgiven for concluding if they were to view Earth solely through the medium of photography.

It's never been true to say that "the camera never lies". In fact, it's more accurate to say that it ALWAYS lies. As far as colour fidelity in photography goes the interesting question is whether the departure from the truth as our eyes see it is as a result of technological deficiencies or deliberate manipulation. It's generally correct to say that the periods of sepia and black and white photography were a consequence of, initially, the absence of a colour process, and thereafter, the cost of it for the average photographer: only when it had become affordable did colour become widespread. The colours produced by prints and slides of the second half of the twentieth century varied enormously. The make of film, the type of processing, the condition of the chemicals used in processing, and several other factors affected the final output. A lot of the prints were contrasty, with sometimes lurid colours, whilst others were (by the design of the film as well as the desire of the photographer) nearer to reality. But then (as now), the tonal range captured by the cameras and produced by the printing methods available, was not as wide as that seen by the average eye.

Today it is common to see "serious" photographers lamenting the over-saturated colours in photographs produced by amateurs and many enthusiasts and professionals. I've done it myself. However, this phenomenon pre-dates the digital revolution. A photograph that has brighter, deeper colours than nature provides catches our eye, has more impact. And yes, I've sometimes tweaked colours for that reason. Consequently magazines, television, film and web images have used this fact to attract readers and viewers. Today we seem to have reached the point where some people question, or are disappointed by, an image that shows anything approahing the true colours of grass, trees, sky, etc. Camera manufacturers have seized on this by offering "saturated" colour mode alongside "natural". Some go a step further and sell their models with the colour of the "natural" setting already boosted in order to make it appeal to the buyer, and have the "saturated" setting should that not prove sufficuently intense. Many cameras also have a "sunset" mode that increases the reds and oranges when you take your shot as the sun slips over the horizon!

But there is another important reason why colours are often "wrong", and that is the difficulty in matching the the hues and saturation of the elements that produce today's photographs - the camera sensor, camera LCD, computer screen and printed image. It is just about possible to achieve a match, but is extremely difficult. Sometimes what looks like a deliberate over-saturated print is simply the result of someone finally calling an end to their labours and saying, "That's as close as I can get it!"

Today's reflection was prompted by my Evening photography blog piece of the other day, and the subdued colours of the horse chestnut tree and Cambridge colleges in the photograph above. The colours of the tree and buildings are as close to reality as I can make them. However, I know that if I printed the shot the colours would be slightly different, and probably more saturated than I'm seeing on screen. Of course, what YOU are seeing on your screen will be slightly different again. But that's a subject for a different (and slightly shorter!) post.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Spalding railway station

click photo to enlarge

Our modern obsession with "bigger is better" seems to impact on just about everything. Take railway stations. Our great London termini of St Pancras, King's Cross, Victoria, Waterloo and Euston are known across not only the UK, but the world (at least in the sphere of architecture and transport buffs). And our major town stations such as those at York, Bristol, Edinburgh or Manchester, are quite widely recognized. However, when it comes to the many stations in our small towns, miniature architectural gems that date from the 1840s through to the 1880s or thereabouts, there is much less recognition. And yet, they were often built to high standards using local materials, frequently sought to add a noteworthy structure to the area, and often exhibited the "house style" of the commissioning company. Some plunder the historical pattern book - Tudor, Gothic, French Renaissance and Georgian are quite common. All have served railway users well down the years.

In recent decades the cost of maintenance and the changing needs of railway companies and the travelling public have led to the destruction of some of these fine buildings. Others have found alternative uses, for example as shopping centres. Today's photograph shows one such station, at Spalding in Lincolnshire, that has been under-used by the railway in recent years, but which is being adapted to form a "community hub" centred around a station of a very different kind -  South Holland Radio. The yellow brick, asymmetrical, Italianate building was design by the architect, John Taylor, and dates from 1848. It has been knocked about a bit over the years, but still makes a fine sight with its bracketed eaves, tall chimneys and arched windows and entrances. In summer and autumn when hanging baskets and tubs of begonias festoon the facade, as seen in my image above, it looks particularly attractive.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.4mm (26mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Evening photography

click photos to enlarge

One of the tasks I periodically set myself is to take more photographs at night. However, since I moved to rural Lincolnshire I've found that is much harder than it sounds. When my home was on the Fylde Coast of Lancashire, in close proximity to the coastal towns of Blackpool, Fleetwood, Cleveleys, St Annes and Lytham, the opportunities were much greater. Blackpool, in particular, is ablaze with light at night, particularly along its miles of promenade, photographic opportunities are plentiful, and the light levels make hand-held shots relatively easy. But, in a rural village a few street lights and the glow from the windows of houses is about all the light that is available. When you live in a city, a conurbation, or a big town, it makes more sense to be out and about in the evening, and photographs can be snapped routinely. However, for the rural dweller a trip of several miles to the nearest town solely for the purposes of photography has less to commend it. Or at least that's how this photographer sees it.

Sunset, of course presents opportunities regardless of where you live. Today's photographs are a couple of shots taken in an incidental sort of way, using the camera I had with me. The second one shows (or rather doesn't show) a lane with a farmhouse and a few trees. It is, I suppose, fairly unexceptional. The first image, however, presents some issues that often surround a sunset photograph, namely "Did it really look like that?" and "Are those the actual colours you saw?" The answer to both those questions in this case is, pretty much, "Yes!" In fact, I had to take several shots, repeatedly adjusting the EV to prevent the camera from giving me a scene that was much brighter than the one I was looking at. Someone drew my attention to the fiery glow on the left, and as I took my shots the purple tinge illuminated the low clouds. Serendipity had a part to play in this image too. If I hadn't tried so hard to get the light level and colours right I wouldn't have had a shot that included the car on the road, a helpful detail that adds interest and points of light to the right of the photograph.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 6.8mm (32mm/35mm equiv.), (5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f2.8 (f2)
Shutter Speed: 1/125 (1/30)
ISO: 125 (320)
Exposure Compensation: -2.0 (-0.7) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Scrap metal

click photo to enlarge

Two years ago I posted a blog article about how I set out on a foggy morning to take photographs of electricity pylons and wind turbines sticking up through the low-lying murk. The final paragraph reflected on how the only decent shot of the day was of a dew-laden spider's web on the gates of my driveway. My "hook" in the article was the Rolling Stones' song, "You Can't Always Get What You Want". That particular post came to mind the other day when I reviewed the photographic output of five hours on board a boat.

The craft in question took my me and my wife, with a couple of friends, and some other people, from the centre of Boston, Lincolnshire, down the River Witham, into The Wash, up the River Welland, and then retraced its journey back to our starting point. I imagined the day's photographic subjects would include a few images of Boston from the river, fishing boats on the Witham and The Wash, some birds, a few landscapes, and maybe some seals. Well, I got all those shots, and a few more. However, the weather was very windy, largely overcast (it rained towards the end of our voyage), and the light was very flat. Consequently I was satisfied with very little that I produced during the trip. The best of the bunch is this shot taken shortly after we set off, passing the Port of Boston, a relatively small undertaking that specialises in timber, grain and sundry other goods, including it seems, scrap metal.

As we cruised along against an incoming tide the sight of a great mound of shredded metal came into view. I've seen such things at other ports around the country, often with a boat alongside taking the precious commodity on board. A mechanical grab was making this mound higher. As our boat slipped by I noticed the yellow container hoist beyond, and thought I'd try for a shot with it framed by the arm of the grab. The whole composition worked out better than I  imagined. Not only did I get the framing I wanted, the grab was also in the act of flinging its load onto the pile, introducing a slightly odd touch. Added to those elements is the red crane (giving me all three primary colours) together with a weak burst of sunlight. I ended up with something I'd have found hard to achieve standing still to take the shot, never mind passing by at six knots.

This particular image looked like it might work in black and white - the absence of colour, I thought, would focus attention more on the shapes and the composition of the photograph. So I did a conversion. I'm still undecided whether or not I prefer it to the original colour shot.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 42mm (84mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Radial blur then and now

click photo to enlarge

Yesterday I posted a solarized image that achieved through digital means an effect available to photographers using film. For many years I used a 35mm SLR (and rangefinder), and developed my own film and transparencies, but I never once tried to solarize a print. However, I did try to master the effect shown in today's photograph. It wasn't until I'd had an Olympus OM1n for quite a few years that I bought a zoom lens: up to that point my few lenses were all fixed focal lengths. With my newly acquired 70-200mm though, I soon tried zooming with the shutter open, aiming for an effect that I'd seen in photographic magazines. The camera had to be placed on a tripod, and a neutral density filter or low light (or both) was necessary to achieve the slow shutter speed that was necessary. Even then, quite a few shots, trial and error, luck, and an appropriate subject were needed. But I did it. And, having mastered it, I never tried it again! I suppose I couldn't see too many occasions where the zoom effect (we didn't call it radial blur in those days) enhanced the subject.

Today, of course, this effect is very easy to achieve in software. So, I thought, it's twenty five years or so since the last attempt, it must be time to have another go. The section of motherboard is the same one shown in yesterday's image but taken from directly above and with the main microprocessor square in the frame. The ease and flexibility of producing radial blur using a computer program meant that I could adjust the degree of blur, and place the focus of the effect off centre: I chose the middle of the chip.

So there you have it. Not a great shot, but one that was much easier and cheaper to achieve than using analog methods!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/6
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Solarization

click photo to enlarge

Today's photograph is the result of my efforts to reduce the amount of junk we have. During my sifting of the useful, the not so useful and the downright useless that is stored in various rooms and locations around our house I came across an old computer motherboard. It is one that my youngest son had discarded during one of the upgrades that he performed on his machine in recent years. As anyone who has assembled their own computer will know, incremental improvements are possible, but every now and again - say after five years or so - a major upgrade involving the replacement of the motherboard, memory, graphics card and often the hard drive, is desirable, if not necessary. It was the innards that resulted from one such disembowelling that I came across during my tidying. As I held the motherboard up to examine its vintage the sunlight streaming in through the window caught it and, for a brief second, the circuit boards and components had a look of solarization about them.

Anyone with an interest in the history of art or photography in the twentieth century will have come across this photographic technique, usually in connection with the artist Man Ray (1890-1976). Solarization occurs when light and dark areas are partly reversed in tone. It was known during the time of Daguerre, but what Man Ray did was to deliberately use the effect that his assistant, Lee Miller, discovered (in fact re-discovered), when she accidentally exposed an already exposed film to light during developing.

I used software to achieve the effect on a photograph that I took of the motherboard - hence my use of "pseudo" in the title of the image. Digital imaging allows the effect to be applied to shots in black and white or colour: to the best of my knowledge Man Ray and the other photographers who used this effect only applied it to monochrome images. By making adjustments with my software's "sliders" I was able to turn the blues, browns and silver of the PCB and its components into something quite different, and in so doing change the emphasis of different parts of the photograph. I don't use too many "effects" in my photography, but this one suggested itself and it seems to me to suit the subject.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/6
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Eagles, angels and lecterns

click photos to enlarge

Go into any English parish church and the chances are that somewhere below the chancel arch, on the south side of the nave, you'll see a lectern holding a Bible. It's the place from which extracts are read during services. In the vast majority of churches the lectern will take the form of three footed base supporting a column with a ball on top, on which stands an eagle with outstretched wings. The inclined plane formed by those wings forms the surface on which the Bible rests. In most instances the whole of the lectern will be made of brass, and will date from the nineteenth century.

That being the case, it is quite refreshing to go into a church and find a variation from this dominant design. Sometimes I come across seventeenth or eighteenth century versions, occasionally made of wood, with an eagle that looks more like a parrot. More often I find a simpler design with a column holding a decorated, inclined shelf. Today's main photograph shows a detail of one such lectern that I saw a few days ago. The brass shelf had been designed (in 1897) with a very pleasing fretwork pattern, and I felt motivated to capture this close-up that shows something of the intricate leaves, swirls and central cross. A couple of weeks earlier I'd stumbled upon an altogether different take on the lectern. The church of All Saints, at Harmston, Lincolnshire, has an angel with upstretched arms holding the usual inclined shelf. It has something of the Art Nouveau about it, and I guess it dates from somewhere between 1890 and the beginning of WW1. It is not without its attractions, and as far as symbolism goes has just as much to commend it as an eagle perched on a ball. But, I have to say that I find it a touch disconcerting, perhaps because the slender figure holding that  large weight in such an awkward pose for eternity makes me feel decidedly uncomfortable. On the other hand it could be that, to me, the figure looks a little too worldly for its setting, and might be more appropriate in a town hall, opera house or grand hotel.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.), (10.2mm (48mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f2 (2.8)
Shutter Speed: 1/20 (1/40)
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 (-0.66) EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Victoria plums and natural light

click photo to enlarge

If, in a simplistic kind of way, we divide the year into four equal length seasons, and we assign three months to each of them, then technically the arrival of September brings autumn. Yet early September, especially when, as recently, the days are warm and sunny, not only feels like summer, it IS summer (albeit the tail-end). Consequently we are not yet into Keats' "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness". Except, in terms of fruit trees, we are. Most confusing.

We've had a few calls recently - in person and by phone - asking if we'd like some plums. This year's harvest is exceptional, and anyone with a plum tree seems to have more than they can manage. We've got one, and consequently the kind offers have had to be declined, and we have spent some time furnishing friends and neighbours with our own surplus fruit.

Today's photograph shows part of a basket of our Victoria plums in the utility room. Some of them were given to visitors, the rest turned into puddings or frozen. I saw the plums illuminated by the early morning sun filtering through the Venetian blinds, and the deep colour and lustrous surfaces simply cried out for a photograph. As I've said elsewhere in this blog, though I possess three flash guns, my strong preference whenever possible, is to use natural light. There are those who are sufficiently skilled with artificial lighting that they can simulate (or almost simulate) natural light. I'm not one of those: I have neither the technique nor the desire. Moreover, natural light is often so wonderfully captivating, one of life's pleasures in fact, that I can't see the point in trying to replicate it with a flash or other lights. Perhaps if I made my living by photography and was subject to external pressures to deliver I'd see it differently. But fortunately I don't, and I can point my camera at whatever takes my fancy - including these plums of late summer. Or is it early autumn?

photograph and 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

Wisbech & Fenland Museum

click photos to enlarge

The Victorians got museums right - pack them to the rafters with a wide variety of interesting stuff, add labels and brief explanatory texts, and leave the rest to the visitor. Many of today's museums have departed drastically from this idea, and seem to have taken the photographs of living rooms and kitchens in Homes and Gardens as their inspiration. All the clutter is removed and a few objets d'art are carefully placed amongst the seating. The "less is more" philosophy prevails. But the fact is, as far as museums go, less is a bore.

Sometimes today the emphasis is on "interpretation". In museums that favour this approach a visit is akin to going to church, with curators and historians in the role of the priesthood handing down to the laity the one and undivided truth about the past. Gone is any idea that a museum displays artefacts that prompt wonder and interest in the visitor such that they are inspired to go off and learn more for themselves. Other museums succumb to the audio-visual or "interactive" approach, with video presentations, historical games and puzzles, buttons to press and flashing lights for the correct answer. The idea behind this is the patronising thought that today's generation can only be attracted to what a museum offers by giving them something of what they already consume through TV and computers. Lincolnshire has a number of museums that feature some or all of these principles.

Consequently, it was with a sense of increasing delight that, a few weeks ago, I explored the museum at Wisbech in Cambridgeshire. As I passed beyond the entrance foyer it immediately became apparent that not only in the range of its content, but in presentation too, it was still a Victorian museum. The building opened in 1847, its initial collection having come from the town's Literary and Museum Societies. Since then it has, in the words of its website, "continued to grow, but the essence of the Museum remains virtually unchanged." It is, to quote again from its own publicity, "a treasure house of rare and unusual artefacts, illuminating history, both local and worldwide, recent and ancient." In other words, a wonderful Victorian museum from which a more recent small room with white walls, very little content and a couple of new "historical games" for children couldn't detract.

The display cases with stuffed birds took me back to my childhood visits to the Yorkshire Museum in York. The very large collection there, many displayed in diorama settings as at Wisbech, was a source of endless fascination for me. I didn't, at that young age, think about the Victorian collectors and the hundreds of rarities that were shot for display purposes. The young birdwatcher in me simply gazed with fascination at species that I'd never seen, and couldn't imagine ever seeing.

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: 125
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On