Cherry leaves

click photo to enlarge

Autumn, the time of year when the leaves change colour and fall from the trees, the temperature drops and winter coats make an appearance, fieldfares and redwings appear in the hedgerows, the grass is laden with dew and worm casts each morning, and the unsuspecting householder finds a DIY project materialising through the slowly clearing mist!

We've just embarked on the redecoration of our bedroom, so instead of getting out and about with my new camera I've been wielding a brush and scraper and hanging wall-paper. It's at times like this that I'm glad I have a garden because it means that photography doesn't have to come to a complete halt. During our exertions we've been watching the leaves on a couple of the cherry trees as they've changed colour and started to fall. After lunch today I decided to take a short break, got out our tallest pair of step-ladders and climbed up them with my camera to capture a few shots of the reds and yellows of the leaves before a strong wind blows the rest away.

The great temptation with a subject such as this is to take a shot of the whole of the leaf canopy because that's what impresses the eye so much. But this doesn't always work too well as a photograph. So I went for a closeup of a few leaves, using a shallow depth of field to give an out of focus background - a quick, simple and much easier way to produce a reasonable image - or so I think; you might disagree.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 80mm
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 320
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fydell House, an armillary sphere and doggerel

click photo to enlarge

Lincolnshire is justifiably proud of the explorers that it sent out into the world during the eighteenth and early  nineteenth centuries. In earlier posts I have mentioned the discoveries made by George Bass, Matthew Flinders and Sir John Franklin. The other day, during a brief visit to the eighteenth century Fydell House in Boston, a building that to the credit of the town is open to all at no charge, I came across a memorial of sorts to another Lincolnshire man who sailed uncharted waters and set foot where no "Old World" traveller had trodden before.

Sir Joseph Banks (1743-1820), was a landowner with an estate at Revesby in Lincolnshire. He accompanied James Cook, as a naturalist, on that explorer's first circumnavigation, and collected many plants new to science, especially from Australia and the Pacific region. The armillary sphere on a plinth near the end of the garden at Fydell House has a plaque showing that it was unveiled by the High Commissioner for Australia in 1997. This is all absolutely fine - a model of the celestial globe in an eighteenth century garden among the box parterres, classical statues and chinoiserie gate is quite in keeping, and its connection with this famous Lincolnshire man is very apt. Unfortunately, whoever had it put there also added a poem to Banks (by A.M. Cook) that is one of the finest pieces of doggerel to be found this side of William McGonagall. I won't inflict all four verses on you; the first sets the tone perfectly:

In Mr Fydell's garden
Sir Joseph sat at ease
And talked of many travels,
Of ships and Southern seas,
Of coral reefs and wattle,
Of palms and wallabies.

I've photographed this garden before, but never captured anything I was particularly pleased with. The image above isn't perfect by any means, but it's the best I've done. Perhaps it's the composition I like, maybe it's the autumnal trees, or it could be the very satisfying way the little LX3 camera seems to take high dynamic range scenes such as this in its stride with minimal post processing needed.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Boston fishing boat

click photo to enlarge

One of my recent, self-imposed goals was to shoot more contre jour images. On a recent morning I managed to do just that on a visit to Boston in Lincolnshire. A small fleet of diminutive fishing boats operates out of the town, sailing down the River Witham into The Wash and nearby North Sea waters to search for their quarry. They berth alongside a small quay on London Road, not too far from the centre of the ancient settlement. Opposite their resting place is the Port of Boston with its single dock, large sheds, railway line, cranes and container lift. My photograph was taken from the quay as one of the boats came in on the tide. The railway swing bridge that has to open for each passing boat can be seen in the background.

One of the decisions you have to make when shooting into the sun is what to do about that very strong disc of light. There are three possibilities: leave it just out of frame, include it, or place it behind an object in the shot. On this image I chose the latter course, moving until the sun was behind a crane. The out-of-camera file had much more contrast than my final image. Shooting in RAW allowed me to recover a lot of the detail in the sky and elsewhere, but I tried not to reveal so much that the photograph lost its feeling of morning light. I was really pleased that the shafts of sunlight were hitting the leaves of the trees on the left of the image. It gave them a sufficiently strong presence to balance the "visual weight" of the boat and bridge on the right of the composition.

For another photograph of the port area of Boston see this post.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Familiarisation

click photo to enlarge

I've been familiarising myself with my new camera over the past few days. Not just the obvious things such as how to change the exposure mode, white balance or ISO: those will come quickly with regular use. No, the character of the camera is what I've been wrestling with - composing within an aspect ratio of 3:2 rather than 4:3, how to make it give me the sort of exposure that I like, and especially how to expose for images with a wide dynamic range.

Today's photograph is pretty much an exercise in the latter. A sunlit medieval church, in this case St Peter & St Paul at Algarkirk, Lincolnshire, taken in the afternoon from below trees that are casting deep and dappled shadows. The final image (one of seven I took) has had some post-processing to bring the image nearer to what my eye saw and my brain remembers.

The composition of this photograph is a fairly standard one with the dark shadows and trees framing the building. Behind the building the sky shows that appealing quality often seen on sunny autumn afternoons, the beauty of the clouds being in the many delicate shades of grey on show. In fact, the photograph is something of a late October version of a shot I took in June 2008 that accompanies a blog piece about the village name and the church.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Image data in Exif

All change

click photo to enlarge

I've changed my camera system over the past few days. Actually, that's not strictly true: "I've started to change my system" is nearer the mark. Two factors have prompted this. Firstly, the scope of my photography has changed in recent months and Olympus isn't giving me enough of what I need, and secondly I don't especially want to follow the route that Olympus has said that it is taking with Four Thirds and Micro Four Thirds. Consequenty I've started to divest myself of my Olympus equipment and have bought a Canon camera and lenses. Despite the fact that I've been an Olympus user since 1974 I wouldn't say I have any brand loyalty, though I have enjoyed some of the company's innovations and the fact that, generally speaking, it tried to keep the size and weight of its system as small and low as possible. During the past thirty six years I've always had a second camera but it has never been an Olympus: I chose models by Ricoh, Fuji, Canon and Panasonic. Now I'm going to have to get used to my new, heavier kit. The body-building courses will start soon!

Today's image was taken with the new kit. It shows the top of the metal entrance gateway to the "Teen Park" in Donington, Lincolnshire - a place with cycle and skateboard ramps, shelter and space, where teenagers can hang out.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Bark and business ethics

click photo to enlarge

"Business ethics" sometimes sounds like an oxymoron. Yesterday's post shows one example of how, in the pursuit of profit, business can ignore good manners. And, unfortunately, further examples large and small are not difficult to find. Today I came across another instance. It's not one of the big, basic, glaring examples, such as believing that pricing according to what the market will pay is "right" by definition, and that further ethical consideration of what to charge is therefore unneccessary. No, it's another small detail that is representative of the deep malaise that underpins so-called business ethics.

Today my computer invited me to update a piece of software that is widely used by Windows. I clicked the necessary box to set the process in motion and was presented with a further page requiring me to click another box in order to proceed. However, in the middle of that page was a block of text, and within that writing was the invitation to add a Yahoo toolbar to my browser. Nothing wrong with that you might think: it's free and it might give the user increased functionality. But there was something wrong, something that I call unethical, and it was this. The box indicating my desire to download this toolbar was ready ticked. In other words, if I'd simply clicked the "continue" box for the piece of software I was updating I'd have had this toolbar installed by default, whether I wanted it or not. Somewher behind this, I imagine, there must be deal that benefits the software company: payments perhaps, for accepting the "piggy-backing" of the Yahoo toolbar. Why is it unethical? Because the box is already ticked and the probable intention is that the user doesn't notice this and downloads the toolbar unwittingly. Like the "witheld" phone number, these "pre-populated" boxes are becoming very common. It's very likely that the big companies that boast about their ethical, environmental and other policies are the ones who are most guilty of this unethical practice.

I was pondering this as I took an afternoon stroll with my wife during which I took this photograph of silver birch bark. I have a fondness for the bark of this particular tree, and I was pleased to find this lovely section on the trunk of one that was growing in a garden next to the footpath. The soft colours, folds, unfurling strips of paper-thin covering, and the detailed horizontal markings all invited my camera.

Another examples of my silver birch bark photographs can be seen here.

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: 1/160
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A composition and bad manners

click photo to enlarge

This morning I went to answer the phone, and as I did I looked at the LCD display to see the caller's number. There wasn't one. Instead it showed the word WITHELD. I don't know about you, but I am seriously tempted to ignore any phone call where the caller does not allow their number to be shown. Why? Well, I consider it to be downright rude. With any phone call we take it on trust that the person who speaks is who they say they are, and that they are being honest. I am MUCH more likely to believe this to be so if they are not hiding their number from me. The fact is, I don't conceal my number when I phone someone, so I don't expect others to conceal their number from me. That sort of openness, give and take, call it what you will, is just good manners. There will be reasons why companies do this sort of thing, all of them in the interests of themselves rather than the customer. But there will also be those who do it because they want a dialogue only on their terms, with no opportunity for the customer, once they have collected their thoughts, to get back to them. As I say, witholding your phone number is bad manners.

In my experience this has spread from telephone advertising into more reputable companies, and is being extended into departments of government. This is unfortunate because, were I to follow my inclination and refuse to speak to anyone phoning me from a "withheld" number, I'd be cutting off my nose to spite my face. Yet, how else am I to get the message across that this practice is unacceptable.

I mention this in the accompanying text to a photograph of a vase of flowers in a sunlit room with deep shadows because I was processing this image around the time I took the call. It's one of my wife's quick and effective arrangements in our living room. As we were talking on the sofa we both saw the possibility of a photograph in the composition. I had thought to convert it to black and white, but then I tended to lose the yellow of the flowers, and it is this, alongside the very sepia-like colours elsewhere in the shot, that make it for me.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm (110mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

What is photography about?

click photo to enlarge

 People pursue photography for many different reasons. The best list of these that I've come across, at least in terms of the motivations of amateur photographers, is in the book, Photography: A Middle-Brow Art by Pierre Bordieu and others. You can find it quoted in my blog post, Why do we take photographs?, though I'll warn you that it is cloaked in academic prose and you have to dig to get at the meaning. Today, I thought I'd tackle a subject very close to this issue and briefly summarize what photography is about for me, and, importantly, what it isn't about (for me).

I'm a photographer solely for the pictures I can make. I could end there, but I'll expand a little. How the pictures are achieved is less important to me than what is achieved. I see photography as closer to the arts than the sciences or even crafts, though it does often produce work that is more craft-like than artistic. Visual creativity and the components that underpin it such as composition, colour, light, tone, space, shape, line, contrast, feeling, message, etc, are more important to me than the technical details of sharpness, noise, sensor type, etc. The technological and technical aspects of photography are not what I am interested in. I take it as a given that we've passed the point where a correct exposure is one of the main aims of photography: the computers in our cameras are pretty good at achieving that without our intervention. I don't have a great interest in cameras except insofar as I know enough to buy what I need for my purposes, and make them do what I need them to do. Consequently I aim to use a camera that is "good enough" for the purposes to which I put it, and I have no inclination to debate the merits of one compared with another.

It's for these reasons that I (and many others) take shots such as those above, images I call "semi-abstract". These are photographs in which line, pattern, colour, contrast etc. are more important than the ostensible "subject" i.e. windows and their  reflections. Not everyone's taste I guess, but I like them!

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

That was spring, this is autumn

click photo to enlarge

Cameras are wonderful machines for recording the passage of time, though when I look at the way mine have documented my transformation from youthful lad to "getting on a bit" oldish bloke, I think they are perhaps a little too good at the task. My wife takes a set of about fifty photographs of our garden at the end of each month. By regularly looking through these groups of images she can track the changes over the year, decide what planting has worked and what hasn't, and make plans to remedy any areas that she thinks need attention. She did ask me if I'd do the photography for her, but I saw it as a boring chore, so the job has fallen to her! There's no doubting the value of it however.

A few days ago I was selecting images for a talk that I'm giving shortly. It's about the photography that I've done in the village since I moved to it just over three years ago. One of the main points I'll be making and illustrating will be that photographing your immediate location at different times of day and year, in different lights and weathers, is a great way for a photographer to proceed and will invariably produce some of his or her best photographs. This is a theme I wrote about in the early days of PhotoReflect. One of the quotations I'll be using at the start of the talk is one that I used in that blog entry. It is by the contemporary U.S. photographer, Aaron Rose, and perfectly sums up the value of seeing the photographic possibilities in the mudane as well as the exotic - "In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary."

As I was selecting and rejecting images I came across a photograph I took this spring (in fact early May) of the fresh, lime green leaves of an ornamental acer tree that grows in my garden. It's a shot I like and I added it to the list for the talk. But then I started wondering what the acer looks like now, in mid-October. So, I went out and photographed it in all its autumnal beauty. I think I may add this one to the talk too.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

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

The Blacksmith's Workshop

click photo to enlarge

English surnames are usually classified into 5 groups: given names (e.g. Johnson), occupational names (e.g. Tailor), locational names (e.g. York), ornamental names (e.g. Ballard - "bald head"), and other names. Smith is the most common occupational surname in England, but also the most numerous of all names. The reason for this is likely to be the fact that the job of the smith (sometimes called "blacksmith") was such an important and widespread occupation for much of recorded history. We sometimes forget that English villages changed remarkably little until the last quarter of the nineteeenth century. Up until that time a farmer or agricultural labourer from the medieval period would easily have recognised the tools and practices of his Victorian counterparts. He would also recognise the self-sufficient nature of village life with its baker, shoemaker, saddler, wheelwright, smith and many other tradesmen carrying on their occupations in the small community.

The mechanization of agriculture, a process that began in the late nineteenth century and was complete by the end of the second world war, ended many of these occupations, and changed the character of village life. What was previously made in these small settlements now often had to be brought in from the nearby town, or even ordered from a city. The blacksmith lost a large part of his work, particularly that connected with horses and farm machinery. They didn't entirely disappear of course: ornamental metal work, repairs and the burgeoning equine hobbies provided (and still do supply) a living for some.

Then there was the specialist smith attached to a particular line of work. Today's photograph shows the preserved blacksmith's workshop of an employee of a South Lincolnshire drainage board. His work would involve dealing with all the metal-work needs of this large undertaking that kept the water flowing off the low-lying land. In the corner is the forge, next to it a leather bellows with a long handle to pump it, and nearby a big anvil raised up on a section of tree trunk. There are a couple of workbenches equipped with vices and lathes, and the walls are festooned with tools. The red, wheeled object in the centre of the photograph is a portable, petrol-powered engine. It could be used to drive machinery by means of a belt fixed to the drum on the nearest wheel. I don't know when this particular workshop closed but it must have been around 1950.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation:- 0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Towers of power

click photo to enlarge

Some architectural historians would have us believe that the first building with a glass curtain wall was Oriel Chambers in Liverpool, built in 1864 by the architect Peter Ellis. Others point to the large Victorian conservatories and glass buildings such as the Crystal Palace. But, whilst some of them may technically exhibit the features of such a design - a metal frame from which the windows hang, and external walls that are not structural entities supporting the building  - the first archetypal glass curtain walled building was surely Walter Gropius' Bauhaus at Dessau, Germany, built in 1925-6.

One of the things I've always found interesting about the arts and crafts institute that was the Bauhaus, is the fact that it was peopled by staff who were labelled subversives, Communists and anti-Germans. In fact, it was on those grounds that it was closed down. The truth is that the Bauhaus staff didn't support the neo-realism and imperialist style (a sort of stripped down classicism) that was favoured by the German state of the 1930s. Consequently, many dispersed across the world, to Britain, and more especially, to the United States, where they could build in the way they wanted. And it was there that the curtain wall really took off. Not, however, as an architecture for liberal, left-leaning, social democrats, but as the faceless monoliths of "red in tooth and claw" capitalism. The rest, as they say, is history. Today the glass curtain wall is found in the centre of every major city of the world, its reflective surface symbolizing power, wealth, and the discreet anonymity of the people who drive our financial and commercial empires.

The example in today's photograph is in Canary Wharf, London. I came upon it towards the end of the day as the sun was setting behind patchy cloud. As I looked up at it the building revealed nothing about who worked there and what they did. The visual connect between those inside and passers-by was one way only: they could see me but I wasn't allowed to see them. We used to think that the "iced cake" style tower blocks of the old Soviet Union, with their endlessly repeated window bands epitomised anonymous power. However, I think buildings such as the one in today's photograph do it so much more efficiently. And they do it whilst wearing a reflection that makes them  look like they are part of our world.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Gravestones and lawnmowers

click photo to enlarge

The earliest device for keeping down the grass in graveyards was the humble sheep. They are still occasionally used today, and their presence brings an old world, agricultural charm to the hallowed plot. The scythe was also used for long grass and awkward corners, but like the sheep it has pretty much disappeared. In virtually every UK churchyard today (except those that deliberately let the grass grow long for conservation reasons) it is the lawnmower and strimmer that are employed to keep the grass in order.

Walking a mower round the closely packed and irregularly sized graves is never an easy task, and around the mid-twentieth century some parishes tried to make the grass cutting an easier task. They took down all the headstones and re-positioned them in lines around the perimeter of the churchyard. Often they were placed in front of the wall: sometimes they were used to make a wall. This was accomapnied by levelling of the turf. Immediately the job of cutting the churchyard grass was a task taking a couple of hours rather than a day ot two, and the volunteers to do it became easier to find. Not everyone likes this development, and where it has been proposed in some churches it has led to strong disagreements. But, quite a few have adopted the measure, particularly those in urban settings.

The second of today's photographs shows a church (St Margaret's at King's Lynn) where this has happened  in a very extensive way. A few notable gravestones remain, dotted amongst the greensward, but most have been put to the edge. These headstones date from the second half of the eighteenth and the early nineteenth centuries. The first photograph (of Duddington churchyard, Northamptonshire) may show it too, though much of this churchyard looks fairly "unreconstructed". What this image does show is the damage that mowers can cause to gravestones (see the chips and scrapes at the base of the leftmost), something that never happened when sheep quietly cropped the grass away.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1(Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3 (Olympus E510)
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35 mm equiv.)(55mm (110mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f2 (f5.6)
Shutter Speed: 1/125 (1/160)
ISO: 80 (100)
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 (-0.3 EV)
Image Stabilisation: On

Sheep on the Fens

click photo to enlarge

I grew up in sheep country. The hillsides and "tops" of the Craven district of the Yorkshire Dales used to be crawling with them, whilst on the improved grass of the lower slopes and the river valleys it was the beef and milk cattle that took precedence. That area of the Dales still rears a lot of sheep, but the omnipresent Swaledale seems to have given way to a wider range of breeds since the foot and mouth outbreak of 2001. The diet of Dales sheep is grass in its many varieties. When that is unavailable mangolds are sometimes given. During this year's very dry spring I saw farmers delivering concentrate by quad bike to the sheep and lambs on the limestone uplands.

One of the surprises I got following my re-location from the north west of England to Lincolnshire was the sight of sheep on the Fens. I'd visited this area before, but only during spring and summer, and hadn't seen sheep in the fields, or very much pasture on which they could live: a few "hobby" sheep kept in paddocks near farms was about all. So I wasn't ready for the arrival of significant numbers once autumn got under way. What happens on the Fens as far as sheep go is very beneficial for their owners and for the vegetable growers on whose fields they are deposited. Around October flocks are brought in and put onto fields where a crop hasn't sold and has gone to seed, or where the crop has been lifted and there is still plenty of green leaf remaining - as with cauliflowers, for example. If the field already has a sheep-proof boundary the animals are simply turned onto the crop and they eat their way across it following an electric fence that is moved once they have stripped an area. On fields without hedges or other boundaries an electric fence is all that is used to contain them. Often the owner leaves a few hay bales to supplement the green diet, and I have seen "licks" in some fields. A payment in cash or kind can accompany this activity, and the fields must benefit from the manure that is deposited. The owners of the sheep have the the benefit of fresh greens for their animals at a time of year when the vigour of the grass on their upland pastures is in decline. Sheep can be seen on the Fens through the winter, and gradually start to disappear come spring.

The animals in today's photograph had only recently been introduced to this field of unwanted vegetables, and the height of the crop was hiding many of them. I stopped the car on the adjacent lane as I drove past when I noticed the low sun outlining the bodies of a group of nearby animals. Perhaps I should consider this image another one resulting from my self-imposed task of taking more contre jour shots.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 200mm (400mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Rain or sun, colour or black and white

click photo to enlarge

One section of the bookshelves in my study consists entirely of volumes about the history of architecture. As you would expect, most of these are illustrated with photographs. Interestingly, the majority of these photographs were taken when the sun was shining, and it's not hard to work out why this should be so. Sunlight can be used by photographers to model a building in such a way that the overall massing and the details are accentuated by the contrast between the lit areas and the shadows. The smooth, shiny modern buildings of today and the old, sculpturally ornamented buildings of the past benefit from this effect.

But, whilst sunlight is good for revealing the structure of a building it doesn't do so well when it comes to the building's character. Some architectural photographs can resemble those portraits that are taken with a camera-mounted flash directed straight at the subject that makes them look like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights. Such shots show us details, but often much more than is usually apparent. Photographs taken on overcast days rely much more on colour, tone and line for their effect. In regions where sunshine doesn't represent the prevailing weather an image of this sort can be much more representative of a building.

I recently visited the ruined country house of Kirby Hall in Northamptonshire on two successive mornings. On the first day there was light drizzle, and the main photograph is one of the shots I took at that time. On the second morning the sun was shining, enabling me to take different kinds of images that, for example, allowed me to use the shadows that were cast on the lawns. When I came to review my photographs it seemed to me that the fact they were taken under very different skies meant they collectively told more of the story of the building. For example, the sunlit shots say more about Inigo Jones' borrowings from Italian Renaissance architecture than does the shot taken in drizzle: and that one prompts in me thoughts about how much more suited to our climes is the Gothic style with its steeply pitched roofs.

The other interesting thing about books of architectural photographs is the way that they are now largely (though not entirely) books with colour photographs. Only if they are a cheaper production or have an "artistic" bent do they lean more heavily towards black and white. The merits of black and white versus colour in architectural photography will have to wait for another blog post, but as several of my previous images, and the conversion shown above suggest, I think it still has its place.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

(Main photo)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm (110mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fading water lily leaves

click photo to enlarge

Until I moved to my current house I'd never observed water lilies especially closely. One of the places I worked at had a pond with a few, but I didn't have the time to keep an eye on their growth cycle in the way that I do with the ones that now grow in my own garden.

Over the winter there is no evidence of water lilies above the surface, and it's pretty difficult to see anything of the plant below the murky water. However, when spring appears the shoots and unfurling leaves, brownish to start with, make an appearance. Around June the characteristic white flowers with yellow middles decorate the pond. This year the biggest number in bloom at any one time in my pond was fourteen. Once the flowers have gone the leaves grow with luxurious abandon, pushing up out of the water and spreading across the surface. If they weren't kept in hand they would cover the the pond completely. Then, in September and October the leaves begin to fade. The green turns to yellow, the edges become ragged, and holes appear. Patches of red and brown then appear in the mix, and towards the end a colour close to purple can appear. In some respects I think that the death throes of the water lily can be every bit as attractive as when they are in full flower. In fact, when I look at the photographs I've posted of the leaves, it is this fading and dying stage that is most represented.

Today's photograph, taken on an overcast morning when the colour was quite saturated, is yet another one, and its appearance on the blog has got me wondering. Is the fixation with photographing water lily leaves on their last legs a morbid affliction or at the very least a known medical condition? Have I got a touch of the Monets?!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 94mm (186mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Rushton Triangular Lodge, Northamptonshire

click photos to enlarge

When I read of the fabulously wealthy - the Bill Gates and Warren Buffets of this world - giving away a quarter or half of their fortune I can't help but think of the story of the widow's mite. Similarly, when I visit a building such as the one shown today, the Triangular Lodge at Rushton, my mind turns to the mass of the people of the time it was built whose lives consisted of quiet desperation as they struggled from one meal to the next, one year to the next: people who must have watched the labour, materials and expense involved in the construction of this rich man's whim, and wondered how their lives could be transformed if they only had a fraction of what he spent on his impulsive vision.

The Lodge was built in the grounds of Rushton Hall in 1594-6 by Sir Thomas Tresham. He was a Roman Catholic who had been imprisoned for his faith, and upon regaining his freedom had the building constructed as an assertion of his Catholicism. Its supposed purpose is to provide a base for the warrener who managed the rabbit warrens on Sir Thomas' estate. In fact, it is a tribute to the Holy Trinity, and at every turn the Lodge incorporates the number three. Thus, it is three sided, each side being 33 feet long (echoing Christ's age when he died); it has three floors; each side has three gables; three leaved trefoils abound (as in the surrounds of the upper floor windows); triangles appear everywhere (e.g. in the window "tracery"); etc. Many other "conceits" and codes can be found liberally adorning the exterior. For example, above the door is 5555 which may be a date. Or it could be a reference to the number of years between the conception of the Lodge (1593) and the contemporary belief  of the date the world was created - 3962 BC.

The main rooms of the three floors of the Lodge are hexagonal with two small triangular rooms/cupboards filling two of the corners, and a spiral staircase occupying the third. Whether the warrener used the building for its intended purpose is not known. It may, in fact, have been used for clandestine religious services, or simply as a pleasant destination to which the family of the great house walked, and where they spent time. The Triangular Lodge is now in the care of English Heritage and can be visited (for a small charge) by the public. On my visit I took several photographs. These three give a feel of the building.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

(Main photo)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Morning habits and blog visitors

click photo to enlarge

I'm a creature of habit. Eating breakfast reading The Guardian newspaper is my start to the day, every day except one. On Sunday I don't get a newspaper because none of the offerings appeal to me. I used to buy The Observer (the world's oldest Sunday newspaper), but it became a bit too "lifestyle" for my tastes, so now on Sundays I dip into the bits of the more extensive Saturday edition of the Guardian that I didn't read the previous day. But, as well as newspapers and breakfast I often have a quick look at the blog. I've done this a little more recently now that I'm using a mixture of Blogger's "Stats" and Google Analytics. It's interesting to see where people come from, what they look at, what search phrases they use, etc.

The other day I used the combined data from the two packages to look at which countries visitors are coming from. The results are, I think, interesting, and pose a few questions. Here's a summary after a couple of months use of this pair of hit counters. So far I've had people from 92 countries/territories. The top ten countries for visitors are: UK (55%), USA (29%), Australia (5%), Canada (4%), India (2%), Germany (2%) - these six countries account for 97% of hits - then comes the Netherlands, Brazil, Italy and France Those four countries plus the other 82 account for a total of 3%. Clearly, as a UK-based blog, you'd expect the largest percentage of visitors to be from the UK. And the USA, a big, affluent country with a large anglophone population might be expected to provide the second highest total of hits. But the remaining eight of the "top ten" seem to be a mixture of countries that have a high proportion of first or second language English-speakers, or have a high population, or are near European neighbours to the UK. This is largely true also of the three countries that sometimes nudge their way into the top ten - Ireland, Belgium and Poland. Unsurprisingly there are no visitors from most central and west African countries, and some of the Gulf States are absent too. The most surprising (or perhaps not) statistic - thus far there hasn't been a single visit from the People's Republic of China, the world's most populous nation.

Today's photograph was taken on a morning when I was away from home, so I had no newspaper over breakfast, and no computer distractions. However, I did have a post-repast stroll in Fineshade Wood and managed to get this contre jour shot of horse riders and a dog as they disappeared up the forest track ahead of us.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Unidentified crops and Martin Crane's chair

click photo to enlarge

It was all so much easier when I was growing up in the Yorkshire Dales: fields in that part of England were either rough grazing, improved pasture or meadows, and the only crop was grass. It's true that there were varieties of grass, but it was pretty easy to distinguish Nardus stricta from the fescues and bents, though separating the varieties of those two did usually defeat me. When I moved to eastern England it became harder - so many crops that look so different at different times of year. Being a vegetable gardener I had no trouble with the mainstream varieties - potatoes, sprouts, cauliflowers, cabbages, carrots, beans, peas, etc. Even the less common asparagus, kale and so on weren't a problem because they are quite unique in their shape and size. And wheat, barley and oats are certainly not difficult to identify once they've attained a certain maturity. No, it wasn't those that presented the problem, it was the leafy root crops and "green manure". Sugar beet, mangolds, turnips, and the like have, to the layman, big similarities, and differences that are not always apparent, or that can only be seen when they have been picked.

Today's photograph is a case in point. The field in the photograph looks like it was made from the ribbed, wool-like fabric that was the vogue for sofas and armchairs in the 1970s. It even has the same stripes and colours (think Martin's chair in "Frasier".) Just what is growing in that field? It will doubtless be obvious to someone because the colours and method of cultivation are very distinctive. But that knowledge hasn't been imparted to me yet. Is it green manure? Is it a root crop of the swede/turnip variety? Why are the lines different colours? Is it a consequence of chemical weeding? Perhaps someone can enlighten me.

I took this photograph over the hedge that surrounds a building that I'd gone to visit, one that will be the subject of a future 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: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Summat an' nowt

click photo to enlarge

When I was growing up in the Yorkshire Dales the phrase "summat an' nowt" could often be heard, frequently as a dismissive term. "Ay lad", a grown up would say, "I saw that programme last night on t' telly. It were a bit o' summat an' nowt." The literal translation of the phrase is "something and nothing", and the meaning leans heavily towards the final word of those three. "Devoid of substance" is too grand a conversion, but that comes pretty close to what most users of the phrase intend.

"Summat an' nowt" is a phrase I associate with photographs such as today's, or shots like this beach scene, this crow, and this number and boat. They are images that have a small amount of a not very interesting subject and a seemingly large amount of very little. "Something and nothing" is the phrase I've heard used a couple of times to describe such photographs, and when I do my Yorkshire-raised mind supplies the vernacular version. And yet this kind of minimalist image frequently provokes longer and deeper thought on the part of the viewer than does a nominally more interesting subject such as a landscape, portrait or architectural shot. There's not only the "why" of it to consider, but the spare composition invites attention too, and the space concentrates our attention on the details of the "subject". Take my chair on the stairs at Kirby Hall, Northamptonshire. Is it about the chair? Is it a record of this part of an old, mainly ruined building? Neither really. What interested me here was the arrangement of lines in the frame's rectangle that are anchored by the chair. This photograph of part of a school building was also taken mainly for the arrangement of lines. Something else I liked in today's photograph was the washed out, muted colours. There's nothing in the photograph that jumps out and grabs you, everything is calm, still, serene. But not entirely devoid of substance I hope.

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: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Hard times for horse chestnuts

click photo to enlarge

The horse chestnut (Aesculus hippocastanum) is thought to have been introduced into England in the sixteenth century, probably from its native haunts of south-east Europe. In our country it has rarely been put to any practical use. Early planters were often rich landowners, and they valued its appearance and its seeds which are a source of food for deer. The wood of the tree is soft, white and easily cleft, with no strong heartwood. Consequently it has few uses apart from firewood or cheap boxes, and its great popularity stems from its value in ornamental planting. Its majestic shape and size, the big, "fingered" leaves, the "candle" flowers of spring, and the prickly seeds with their mahogany coloured seeds (conkers) are the reason for it being so widely seen across our islands. It is found in parkland and on playing fields, along streets, on village greens, in copses and clumps, and intermingled in woodland, a delight for children and adults alike.

The photograph above shows an avenue of horse chestnuts at Kirby Hall, Northamptonshire. It was planted by the county's Girl Guide Association in 1935 to commemorate the Silver Jubilee of George V. A typical autumn photograph you might think, the conkers littering the drive, the leaves turning brown and orange. But all is not quite as idyllic as it looks. Those conkers are small, have fallen early, and the leaves shouldn't be quite so shrivelled and brown on the first couple of days of October. In years gone by they would be a multicoloured display of green, yellow, orange, red and brown. The reason for their premature fall and crisp, dark appearance is the horse chestnut leaf miner moth (Cameraria ohridella). The scourge of this species advanced rapidly across Europe, and was first detected in Britain in Wimbledon, London in July 2002. Since then it has spread throughout much of southern and central England as is advancing northwards and westwards at a rate of 40-60km a year. Unlike bleeding canker, the other principal disease of the horse chestnut, a leaf miner moth infestation is not terminal, merely an aesthetic problem. Nonetheless, research is being undertaken to try and control the disease.

My photograph was taken with the camera somewhere below the level of my knees. I felt the need to get away from shots taken from eye level.

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: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Visual coincidences

click photo to enlarge

One of the first things you learn as a photographer is to avoid having telegraph poles growing out of the top of people's heads. This knowledge comes from either a written list of dos and donts, or through bitter experience. You also discover that a distant person inadvertently "standing" on the shoulder of your subject is to be avoided too. However, occasionally you might deliberately engineer a line-of-sight shot like this for the humour that it can engender. In fact, unfortunate, or even judicious juxtapositions are best avoided for anything but this kind of  "funny" photograph.

Today's offering features one of these visual coincidences, and came about in these circumstances. I was driving along a quite busy road that by-passes Corby in Northamptonshire when I came upon this pair of water towers across the road, at the summit of a hill. It is often the case that when I'm behind the wheel and I see a potential photograph there's nowhere convenient to stop and take it. On this occasion, however, there was. I pulled across the oncoming traffic into a layby and got out for my shot. However, in changing my position I found that the clouds were now behind the water towers and positioned in such a way that they looked like they were coming from them: like steam rising from a couple of boiling pans. What to do? I couldn't wait, and I didn't want to miss the shot. Perhaps, I thought, I could give the image the title "Hot Water Towers"! Well, I took my photograph and here it is.

But, there was a further oddity associated with this image that was part of the reason I stopped to take the photograph in the first place. I'm used to seeing solitary water towers, but I can't remember ever having seen a pair standing closely together like these two. Did the rapid growth of Corby (it was a designated "New Town") demand a second one? I must find out.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Church tower vaulting

click photo to enlarge

One could be forgiven for thinking that the purpose of stone roof vaulting in Romanesque and Gothic churches is to turn the eyes of the congregation upwards to heaven. As far as the beautification of the vaulting goes, that must certainly be so. The effect of all those angels, foliate bosses, stellar rib patterns, and grimacing faces is to draw the eye and cause the brain to wonder. However, the underlying reason for vaulting is purely structural. It is a framework that distributes load from above a void (chancel, nave, transepts, tower or porch) to the surrounding walls. Initally, during the Norman period, rounded arches were used and the area that could be bridged was relatively narrow. The development, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries of the pointed arch increased the width that stone vaults could span, reduced the amount of material needed, and led to more elaborate rib vaulting patterns.

For the past forty years, ever since I was bitten by an interest in church architecture, I've been fascinated by vaulting. I've posted quite a few photographs of it in naves, chancels and crossings, such as this example at Pershore Abbey, and this fan vaulting at Peterborough Cathedral. But the one type of vaulting that I particularly like is that found under the tower of a church. Perhaps it is the radial symmetry that appeals to me, or the concentrated nature of the patterns that are used. Whatever it is, I've posted quite a few shots featuring tower vaulting. In this post showing the vault at Morton, Lincolnshire, I elaborated on my fascination. In another I compared the tower vaulting to be found at Louth (Lincolnshire) and Ludlow (Shropshire). Other examples I've blogged about are those at Peterborough, Ely, and Boston.

If you've looked at the links quoted you are forgiven for wondering what it is that's different about today's example from Brant Broughton, Lincolnshire. Well, as ever, the particular radiating pattern is unique, especially since it doesn't have axial symmetry from all sides. Another difference is the widely spaced paterae (stylized  foliage elements) on the corner ribs. But, it isn't the subject itself that is the principle reason for my posting this photograph, rather it is the photograph itself and the way that it mimics a watercolour sketch. I haven't processed the shot much, and my noise suppression was minimal. These are both factors that can give a watercolour quality to an image. Here, however, the effect comes from the way the brighter light at the edges makes it look like thinned paint at the edge of a rough draft painting, and the close striations on the stonework that resemble underlying pencilwork.

Incidentally, through the tower arch can be glimpsed the painted angel roof of the nave that was the subject of this blog post in 2009.

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: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Adnams Store, Southwold

 click photo to enlarge

I'm always pleased to see new and "different" architecture appearing in our towns. It's not unusual to come across it in cities, but towns (and villages) tend to be more conservative, and you find fewer buildings built in a determinedly modern style: too often they are a pastiche of an old or local vernacular style. Sometimes it can be absolutely right to make a new building fit in with its venerable neighbours. But all too frequently these "old modern" structures are safe, staid and completely forgettable.

Consequently I was glad to come across this gleaming shed-cum-Nissen hut in Southwold on my recent visit to the town. It houses a store selling wines and beers as well as items for the kitchen. Adnams are local brewers with something of a reputation for modern, green buildings as well as old public houses (pubs), so it comes as no surprise to see that they have built something that is quite different to anything else in this sedate seaside town.

On the whole I like it. It is simple, bright, stylish and seems to do its job well. I like the absence of gutters and drainpipes, and the way the roof becomes the walls with little overlap or intervening fixtures. When I looked at that I thought I'd like to see it in heavy rain! In fact, I'd like to see the building on an overcast day with featureless stratus above: it must look quite different from how it appears under a flawless blue sky. The bit I'm not so keen on is the area around it. Those randomly placed pieces of wood set into the gritted tarmac are clearly meant to be quirky counterpoints to the ordered pieces on the facade and side windows (I think). I'd have preferred a something little more rectilinear, without the timber.

When it came to photographing the building the semi-abstraction of the side appealed to me most, though if I go back I'll try a shot from very low down with verticals that converge more than they do in the smaller image.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

(Main photo)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 15mm (30mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On