Reflected in the mirror

click photo to enlarge

Walking in the rain along a London street near St Pancras railway station the other day we came upon a shop selling picture frames and mirrors of all descriptions. It was one of those businesses that can thrive on a large scale only in a city. Passing its sequence of rather grubby and rain flecked windows we saw mirrors of various kinds, including the "sunburst" designs that were fashionable from the 1950s through to the 1970s, and which have re-appeared in recent years. Then we saw this rather odd looking mirror, of a shape that reminded me of a traditional English garden gate minus the diagonal bracing piece. As we studied it I saw the reflections, and the potential for a photograph, so I took out the LX3 and snapped this shot.

Earlier in the day we'd been to the Museum of London and seen the "London Street Photography" exhibition. That kind of image isn't part of my usual repertoire, but I do admire good examples of the genre, and thought we'd take advantage of this free show. The fact that we were there on the day after it opened meant that it was quite crowded, and visitors were being allowed in only as others left. However, we arrived reasonably early, so it wasn't the inconvenience that it would have been later. But, I did buy a copy of the accompanying book to study the images at home at my leisure.

As I processed the photograph above I wondered if the exhibition influenced my photography during the rest of the day because I took quite a few shots that include people in the street.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Barn Hill, Stamford

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Take down the television aerials and burglar alarm boxes, mask the electric door-bells, and you need to do very little else to produce a street where you could film the latest Jane Austen adaptation. Barn Hill in Stamford, Lincolnshire is one of those places that film producers and directors value for the way it has changed so little down the centuries. When I looked at this view my eye saw no building that appeared to be of a later date than the first quarter of the nineteenth century. However, knowing that provincial houses often lagged metropolitan styles by a decade or three, I decided to consult a database of listed buildings to see if my judgement was accurate.

The nearest house on the right with a ground floor and first floor bay is C17 and mid-C18. The house with the green door is similar, though the porch and ground floor bay is thought to be mid-C19 (bah!). The house with the pedimented door and arches over the windows to the left used to be two houses but is now one, and dates from the C17 and late-C18. The next house with the two-storey bow and the open-work Chinoiserie porch is quite a bit earlier than I thought: I'd have said 1810, but apparently it is mid-C18. On the left is a fine, obviously C18 town house, with one of the rainwater heads giving its age away - 1740. The two church spires are, of course medieval. In 1087 Stamford had four churches: by the end of the Middle Ages it had fourteen of which five remain complete, and two in fragments.

I've photographed Barn Hill before. That image was taken from near the building with the Chinoiserie porch. Scouting for film locations is a branch of film production that Google Street View must have made so much easier. With that thought in mind, click here to explore the length of Barn Hill for yourself.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cyclamen petals

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There are 20 species of cyclamen that collectively flower during every month of the year. Combine this with the striking, colourful, five-petalled flowers, the beautifully figured leaves and the reason for their widespread popularity becomes obvious. I've photographed them on a couple of occasions and each time managed to secure an image that was different from my usual flower shots. One of the blog posts - of a plant that had gone a touch "leggy" due to too much warmth - was where I first used the Marc Chagall quote that I repeated the other day. The other was a semi-abstract image of a single flower head reflected in a mirror.

We've had cyclamen as indoor pot plants for years, and we've valued the fact that they are not only long-flowering, but also provide winter colour for our window-sills in the cooler rooms of the house. However, there are species of cyclamen that will grow outdoors in the garden too, and a couple of years ago we planted some in our rockery. They are thriving, though whether through the activity of birds or due to weather and gravity, some of them have moved downhill and are flowering in the edge of a lawn.

The photograph above is a macro shot of some of our blooming indoor cyclamen. It was taken hand-held, rather speculatively, but turned out better than I expected. Reviewing the shot as it filled my computer screen the petals looked like turbulent waves on a pink sea. Reproduced on a small scale it has less impact, but still offers something I think.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO: 2000
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cathedrals old and new

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There have been only three*(see below) completely new Anglican Cathedrals built in England since the Reformation of the sixteenth century - St Paul's in London, Truro and Liverpool. All the others were either built in earlier centuries, are former parish churches raised to cathedral status, for example Blackburn, or, as in the case of Coventry, are substantially new but replace and adjoin a medieval building that was severely damaged. One thing that distinguishes the newer cathedrals from the ancient buildings is the shorter period of time over which they were constructed, and the consequently smaller range of building styles that the structure shows.

St Paul's is, of course, a Renaissance building in almost every respect except its floor plan which was modified to more closely match those of medieval cathedrals. Wren was given the project in 1669, the first services took place inside the cathedral in 1697, and it was officially opened and declared complete in 1711, a mere forty two years later. Truro is a Victorian Gothic Revival cathedral, considerably smaller than St Paul's, and the work of John Loughborough Pearson. Building began in 1880, it was consecrated in 1887, and work was completed in 1910 - only thirty years later. Liverpool's Anglican Cathedral is the biggest cathedral in Britain and one of the largest in the world. Not surprisingly it took longer to build than St Paul's and Truro. In 1903 Giles Gilbert Scott's Gothic design was chosen from over one hundred competition entries, and the foundation stone was laid in 1904. Despite significant changes to the design it was consecrated in 1924, regular services began in 1940 and the central tower was completed in 1942. The Second World War slowed building progess, but the cathedral was finally finished in 1978, eighteen years after the death of its architect.

Of course all cathedrals are added to in some way as succeeding generations make their mark on the structure. For example, Truro had a chapter house added in 1967. But the point of today's reflection is the great difference in the construction time and styles of newer cathedrals compared with their medieval predecessors. Today's photograph shows some of the Norman (Romanesque) style at Peterborough Cathedral. It dates from the twelfth century when much of the main structure was built. However, most cathedrals of this sort were being added to, modified, brought "up to date", and generally knocked about by builders, bishops and others for 500 years or more. One consequence of this is the succession of architectural styles (fashions if you will) that exemplify this work - including the relatively heavy, crude and utilitarian of the Norman quadripartite vaulting shown above to the delicate Perpendicular style fan vaulting of the 1500s shown in this earlier post.

* 23/02/2010 18.27pm
As I washed the dishes after our evening meal a thought came to me - "What about Guildford Cathedral?" This is a building I've never visited but which I know from photographs to be modern. A bit of research showed that it was begun in 1936 and completed in 1961. So, for three above, read four. In fact, any advance on four?

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 60mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Wilted tulips and vanitas

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In a post the other day I lamented the attitude of some towards flower photography, and suggested that painters had long recognised what many photographers have never grasped: that flowers can be a great vehicle for grappling with the basic elements of composition, representation and symbolism - colour, light and shade, tone, line, mood, etc.

Masters of this approach to flower painting (and to the still-life in general) were the artists of the Dutch and Flemish schools. In the last quarter of the sixteenth century the still-life attained the status of a recognised genre in the Netherlands, and in the subsequent two centuries, through painters such as Ambrosius Bosschaert (1573-1621), Hans Bollongier, and Rachel Ruysch (1664-1750)  its popularity spread throughout this region of Northern Europe.

One particular branch of Dutch and Flemish flower painting were the works known as vanitas pictures. Their purpose was to remind the viewer of the meaninglessness and impermanence of earthly life, and the certainty of decay and death. A vanitas painting might include a variety of flowers that were past their best, decaying, curling and dropping petals, perhaps some bitter fruit such as lemons, a few transitory butterflies, and to make the point more forcibly, a human or animal skull. It has been suggested that these works served as a coded substitute for Protestants who rejected the paintings and iconography inspired by the Roman Catholic church. Regardless of their true purpose they are works that invite the viewer's eye to linger on them, to search out the details, and to think about the artist's intention in assembling the disparate parts.

My photograph of a vase of tulips that are past their best, green leaves and stems yellowing, blooms opening, distorted and dropping petals, is a poor substitue for one of the paintings discussed above. But perhaps it does show what painters have long known - that flowers offer interest and character not only in the fullness of their beauty, but also as they deteriorate, discolour and decay.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 3.2 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Church music

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Every now and then, when I visit a church, I come upon a glass case containing one or more musical instruments. These are invariably quite old, often of a type now made only by specialists, instruments such as the viol, crumhorn, shawm or serpent. The reason for their display is that they were some of the instruments played by the church's band in the days before the organ made its appearance in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Church organs have been in regular use in English churches since the seventeenth century, but only in the major buildings - the cathedrals, abbeys, minsters and large churches. They became more common in the eighteenth century, and by the second half of the nineteenth were found in virtually every church. Before they were installed the church music was often supplied by a small band of mainly string and wind instruments, sometimes accompanied by percussion players. These typically performed from a west gallery (that faced east), so that the sound could be heard by the eastward facing congregation. I have never heard such a band play in a church, but I'd be interested to do so.

However, I do frequently hear the organist practising during my visits, as I did the other day when I took a break from shopping and popped into the town's medieval church. It was a cold, dull day, and he had wisely kept his coat on as he played the pieces that were to feature in a forthcoming service. The church was one with stained glass in most windows, consequently quite dark, and the organist, illuminated by his lamps, positively glowed at the console. I took my photograph from behind, and had to make quite a few adjustments to secure an image that showed the musical notation on the white paper.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 70mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation: -1.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Building restoration

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It would be quite easy to fill several shelves of a library with books about the repair and restoration of historic buildings. Within the architectural profession this kind of work has become something of a specialism with some individuals and firms doing it to the exclusion, pretty much, of anything else. One of the aims of architectural restoration is to conserve the original structure as far as is possible. This is sometimes not possible because the ravages of time can make stone, timber, tiles, in fact whole sections of buildings, unsafe and beyond repair. In such cases sensitive replacement becomes the aim, either following the design of what was originally there, or with modern work that sits harmoniously alongside the original. In the U.K. work on historic buildings is subject to a number of pieces of legislation that have the effect of protecting our built heritage, and allowing us to see old buildings very much as our forefathers saw them.

Last year I was talking to a Yorkshire Dales farmer about a stone-built barn that I have known all my life. It originally dates from the seventeenth century though it received some modification in the nineteenth century. Fifty years and more ago I saw this barn standing alone in its field by the river. Today it has a small cluster of corrugated metal and timber barns next to it. Yet, because the building is "listed" and subject to laws about what can and cannot be done with the structure, it still looks pretty much as it always has done. In fact, when the stonework was recently pointed it had to be done with a traditional lime mortar to maintain its original form and appearance.

Given all that, what are we to make of this section of the west wall of the tower of the church of St Mary at Horncastle in Lincolnshire? This structure, like most of the church, is made mainly of green Spilsby sandstone. As a building material this "greenstone" leaves a lot to be desired because it weathers, rots and flakes relatively rapidly. However, when this section of wall was built in the 1200s it was the best locally available stone, certainly striking to look at, and its longevity (or lack of it) was probably not known. The light green and dark green stone in the photograph are new and older pieces. However, as this photograph shows, the original builders also included pieces of brown sandstone and occasional lumps that verge on the ruddy and tan. Consequently the restoration of the crumbling tower wall has followed the same pattern. The reason it looks so multicoloured is because the weather has yet to subdue the brightness of the newer stone. I liked the patchwork effect and the decidedly odd appearance, one that I have never seen on any other church, and so took this shot of it.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 60mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Reflecting on flower photography

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From, broadly speaking, the sixteenth century to the last quarter of the nineteenth century, there was, among fine art painters, a hierarchy of genres: that is to say the subjects that it was deemed "best" to paint. The order of these genres changes slightly with time and country, but nonetheless shows a remarkable degree of unanimity. At the top, judged the most worthy of the artist's attention and the audience's time, was the "history painting", works that depicted subjects based on religion, allegory, myth or significant past events. At the bottom was the still life, paintings showing flowers, vases, fruit, household objects, food etc. Between these extremes, in descending order of importance, we find portraits (unsurprising in the days before photography, rather more so after the mid-nineteenth century), scenes of everyday life, landscapes and animal painting.

The revolution that art faced as the nineteenth century turned into the twentieth shook this hierarchy of genres almost to pieces. History painting virtually disappeared, as did animal painting, but all the other genres continued and were much more equally plundered by painters who also added to the mix semi-abstract and abstract subjects. Interestingly, for a period, the somewhat derided still life (including flowers) assumed an importance in the painter's oeuvre that earlier centuries couldn't have imagined (with the exception perhaps of sixteenth and seventeenth century Flanders).

Today, within photography, there is something of a hierarchy of genres. I won't list what I think it is, and it's certainly not as fixed as it was in painting. However, I will tell you what I think is at or near the bottom - flower photography! At least that's the distinct impression I get from what I see and read. Why, I wonder, do some photographers disdain a subject that many great painters found to be very worthy of their attention? Do Marc Chagall's famous words, "Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding", hold no truth for photographers? I certainly have no hesitation in choosing flowers or other still life arrangements for my images. As a basis for working with and exploring colour, light and shade, line, mood and all the other facets that we can bring to photography, I think flowers offer a lot. I can understand photographers being drawn to subjects and approaches that preclude flowers, but not their disparagement of them as a subject: that shows a limited vision and ignorance.

Today's photograph shows a couple of the blooms on one of our Impatiens hawkeri (New Guinea Busy Lizzie). This particular variety has beautiful orange/red flowers that go uncommonly well with its dark green/brown foliage. I took some care to find a directional natural light in a relatively dark room to make these flowers glow and show off as best I could the qualities that Chagall acknowledged he could never match.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/3
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Fenland barns

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Fenland barns are not like the barns I grew up with. In fact some of them appear to be not so much barns as aircraft hangers, each successive generation of buildings bigger than the previous. The stone-built barns of the Yorkshire Dales are smaller, more domestic in character, with architectural ornaments - finials, datestones and the like - and seem a natural part the landscape. Those of the wide open spaces look strictly utilitarian, industrial even. But, where the Dales barns are largely redundant in terms of modern farming but find alternate use converted into picturesque homes, those of the Fens are still heavily used for machinery storage, as crop stores, etc.

I came upon this group of barns near Spalding in Lincolnshire. I don't imagine they were all erected at the same time. Probably they are sequence put up over the years as the farmer's requirement for space increased. I liked the strong shape that their shadowed shapes presented against the finely figured sky.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Derelict windmills

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A tall, well-maintained tower windmill, its white sails slowly turning against a deep blue sky is one of the finest sights that England, especially Eastern England, can offer. Whether the main structure is unadorned brick or coated in black bitumen, whether the cap be ogee-form or something plainer, and regardless of the presence or otherwise of ancilliary buildings, to approach one of these half-building/half machines is always a joy. And it is, perhaps, knowing what a restored, working windmill can be that makes the sight of a derelict example such a sad, forlorn prospect.

Anyone who keeps up with this blog on a regular basis, particularly if they are not based in England, may be under the impression that our countryside is dotted with beautifully maintained, working windmills. The unfortunate fact is that derelict mills where only the tower remains, or the stump of a tower, or a tower and a couple of sail shafts, far outnumber the complete examples. Some of these "lost" windmills have been converted into desirable, up-market houses, usually by making use of adjoining buildings, or with the addition of a newly built extension. But most simply languish in neglected corners of farmyards or out in the fields, slowly succumbing to age and the weather. It's not surprising that this should be so, the time of the windmill is long past, and the number of people willing to expend their money and energy on restoration is limited.

Today's photograph shows the derelict tower windmill at Shepeau Stow, Lincolnshire. The "keystoned" segmental arches over the doorway and windows suggest that it dates from the late 1700s or early 1800s. The small red brick building must have been associated with the mill, though it appears to be of a later date. The bricks look like they were once bituminised. At the very top of the tower is a row of dogtooth brickwork, so all that is missing from above this level is the cap, sails and fantail. Apparently the collapsed floors still have, buried beneath them, the original millstones and machinery. The records show that it lost its sails in the early 1920s and was engine-powered for a number of years - the two, very odd looking, external wheels were probably installed at this time to receive drive belts. In1935 it was reported to be capless, and today it is the wreck that my photograph shows.

I suppose that I should have photographed this windmill under a heavy, cloudy sky, and converted my image to black and white: that might be seen as better suiting the subject. But, photography is as much about representing and recording the world as we see it, as it is about imposing our feelings on a subject, and on the day I passed by the February light was bright, the afternoon sky a fine, strong blue, and all the colours deeply saturated.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Leisure, pleasure and reflections

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There are two contemporary leisure activities that I find completely baffling. Actually there are several, but for now I'll restrict my comments to just two - shopping and driving. Like many men I have a very utilitarian approach to buying things that usually follows this basic outline: a need arises, I decide on the product to meet that need, I look for the best price and the place to buy it, I go to the shop, buy it, then go home. This is sometimes called the "surgical strike" approach to shopping because it tends to have the deep focus of a military operation. Shopping as a leisure activity seems to involve going to the shops to see what's for sale, trying a few things on (it frequently involves buying clothes), having a coffee and chat, browsing a bit more, buying a few things that may or may not have been on a "wanted" list, then going home. But it doesn't end there because the leisure shopper then goes back to the stores the next day to return an item or items that turn out not to fit or weren't really wanted in the first place. It's an approach to shopping that strikes me as very strange.

Then there are men (it's usually men) who do something called "going for a drive". Not anywhere in particular, just for a drive. For the pleasure of it. They are the kind of men who can sit through a whole episode of "Top Gear", who can discuss into the early hours of the morning things such as "ride", "understeer", "torque" and whether a Porsche Boxster offers a better driving experience than a Mercedes SLK280. When I'm within earshot of such discussions (which isn't very often) I want to shout, "They're all cars, tin boxes with a wheel at each corner, they all get you where you want to go, they are a form of transport." In fact I sometimes do, but to little avail because anyone who can "go for a drive" or discuss the merits of sports cars is impervious to both ridicule and reason. And anyone who suggests that slinging a camera bag over your shoulder and going for a long walk simply to find some photographs to take, is not too different from either of these activities is clearly not thinking straight!

The location where I took today's photograph - the Springfields shopping outlet at Spalding, Lincolnshire - prompted this reflection. As a purpose-built retail centre with acres of parking, rows of clone shops, and piped music everywhere, Springfields is very much like anywhere else, and is clearly a leisure shopper's paradise. From my point of view it does, however, have one redeeming feature: the adjoining Festival Gardens with its ponds, water features, woodland walks, flower beds etc. My wife spotted the the silver birch reflections in one of the formal pools as we had a stroll after buying a couple of things, and it seemed a useful addition to my ongoing collection of motion blur images.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 249mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Water birds, weirs and what ifs

click photo to enlarge

Freshwater birds, by and large, prefer calm water. Most ducks, waders, herons and smaller species find their food, raise their young and spend their days around slow moving rivers or open expanses of water. There are exceptions of course. Dippers only frequent quickly running rivers and streams, and grey wagtails, though they are found in a range of waterside locations, prefer the quicker stretches of a river. Common sandpipers aren't averse to such locations either. I've seen adult red breasted mergansers with a brood of fluffy chicks bouncing down a steep and stony Lakeland beck, but for most of the year these birds too will choose the calmer reaches of rivers, lakes and even the sea. Certainly common ducks such as the mallard generally favour ponds, meres, lakes and sluggish rivers.

Where a river has a weir the water above the drop is often flat and calm. I've watched mallard and tufted duck as well as coot and moorhen feeding in such places, dabbling or diving as the pull of the water slowly draws them to the tipping point, then paddling away from the edge as they get too close. I've often wondered if at such times, a bird that is distracted by the prospect of a tasty morsel, ever loses its sense of where it is relative to the weir and is drawn over the edge. It's not something I've ever seen happen. Until the other day when we were at Cogglesford Mill in Sleaford.

I took a photograph at this location a few weeks ago, and as I stood at the same spot again I saw a pair of mallard being pulled towards the falling water. The male kept out of harms way, but the female drifted over the edge. However, rather than dropping into the foaming water below, she extended her wings, flapped them very purposefully and in combination with walking on the water, got herself back to swimming again. Unfortunately, by the time I raised my camera to my eye this scene was played out. But I did get this shot with the still disturbed water going over the weir's edge and the female heading for a safer spot.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -1.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

To get on, get a name

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It's well known that if you want to be a successful popular beat combo or even a solo artiste then you need to perform under a good name. Would The Beatles have made it as The Quarrymen? Could Cliff Richard have assaulted our ears for as long as he did as plain old Harry Rodger Webb? And would Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta have achieved popular success without her transmogrification into Lady Gaga? Or would the costumes alone have assured her superstardom? Memo to self: I must listen to one of her recordings sometime or other.

Of course, catchy names have been embraced by popular (and not so popular) music for more than a century. In the blues they are almost compulsory. My favourite blues guitarist is T-Bone Walker (Aaron Thibadeaux Walker), though I also have a liking for Lightnin' Hopkins (Sam John Hopkins). The self-styled father of Chicago blues, Muddy Waters was born McKinley Morganfield, and the early bluesman Huddie William Leadbetter found greater fame when he styled himself Lead Belly.

All this is well known and documented. It is less appreciated, however, that to get on in the world of church organ playing you also need a distinctive, indeed a memorable name. Or so it seems from my extremely exhaustive survey of the memorials to two organists that I came across recently. The first was in Peterborough Cathedral and recorded one Haydn Keeton who tickled the ivories, kicked the pedals and pulled out all the stops there for 51 years. A good innings, I thought. My next thought was, "What are the chances that his parents weren't music lovers?" With a Christian name like that it's a near certainty. Then, a couple of weeks later, at the church in Helpston, just to the north of Peterborough, the place where the poet John Clare was born and is buried, I came upon a more recent memorial to the wonderfully named Albert Snowball. Albert's time as a church organist eclipses the half century plus of Haydn, and amounted to a staggering seventy years! A truly remarkable period of service to his community.

Of course, both Haydn Keeton and Albert Snowball were fortunate to receive their wonderful names from their parents. Had they not been so blessed, and were they both budding musicians today they could do worse than use one of the Band Name Generators or advice pages on the internet. My favourite proposed band name from the link that I cite is "Squishy Fabulous"!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/13
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Psychedelic tulips

click photo to enlarge

On my frequent visits to churches to look at the architecture and history I often come across flowers.When a church is prepared for a wedding the nave aisle and various other places are decorated with floral arrangements. Harvest festival, Christmas and Easter are other times when the building is beautified with flowers. Then there are the church flower festivals that feature inventive displays, often on a theme, over a period of a week or so. But, these special occasions apart, flowers are invariably present in a church in smaller quantities every week of the year. These are usually supplied by parishioners, and arranged by volunteers on a "flower rota". The font cover or base, niches, the pulpit, tombs, and especially the sanctuary are the common places for such arrangements, but window sills are also places where they are frequently found.

Today's photograph shows a bunch of tulips in an earthenware jar on a church window sill. My attention was drawn to it because February sunlight was streaming through the stained glass, colouring the ancient stone and transforming the colours of the flowers and leaves. Red blooms were tinged with blue and green, and the yellow/green of the flower stalks took on a darker hue bathed in the strongly coloured light . The word that came to my mind was "psychedelic", and I thought of the album covers, posters and graphic design of the late 1960s as I looked through the viewfnder and took my photograph.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 250
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Craft, shoes and architecture

click photo to enlarge

Britain's National Centre for Craft and Design, is located in a converted seed warehouse in Sleaford, Lincolnshire. It is called the hub ( all lowercase), a daft name and confusing because it is used by many other organisations. To avoid such typographical silliness, it will be henceforth called the Hub (capital "H") in this blog post. I've written about visiting this exhibition space/teaching location/shop/cafe before. It's something we do fairly regularly, and enjoy, despite the varying quality of what is on offer. Frequently we come away having been entertained, educated and impressed by the exhibitions. Where the subject has interest for me -  recent architecture/design and guitar making come to mind - I find it a very rewarding place. But I've also enjoyed subjects that I wouldn't have thought at all appealing, for example the history of women's underwear or rubber jewellery and drawings. However, on other occasions we depart exasperated by the vapidity of the objects on display and the pretentiousness of the accompanying panels written by the creators of the "pieces". Perhaps I shouldn't be so critical of these kinds of exhibits: after all many of the displays are not everyday objects so much as doodlings and musing on craft themes.

The other day when we visited the Hub the main gallery held an exhibition entitled A Personal Collection: Vivienne Westwood Shoes. Well, that was like a red rag to a bull for this visitor because I have strong views about the "look at this, ain't I awful" gimmickry of this designer's output, and a glance at the first case of footwear confirmed my feelings. So, while my wife went to look at the shoes, I went up to the next exhibition - The Hub presents...Contemporary Crafts Network. My usual routine when viewing an exhibition is to walk around it fairly quickly to take in the whole, get a flavour of what is on offer, and see if I can discern any overarching themes. Then I go round again slowly, giving each piece my consideration. That's what I intended to do this time except I departed after the quick tour because here again was work that didn't engage me at all. Which left me with some time on my hands while my wife did the tour and so I went outside and photographed the building.

I've taken a few shots here before, but this time I looked up for my inspiration and focused on the thrusting, interlocking shapes and shadows of the building against the blue of the sky. The image above has had the shadows "burned" in a little to give them greater emphasis.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Looking for colour 3

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It's that time of year again, the time when, after months of darkness, cold and overcast skies, the days start to lengthen, the first signs of spring appear, and I get the urge to produce photographs that are bright and colourful. But the fact is, the colour still isn't there in great abundance, though it is now starting to appear.

On my circuit of the garden I found wych hazel (yellow) in full flower, small branches full of blooms (purple) on the Daphne mezereum, the heathers in flower (white and purple), the odd primula struggling into bloom (red, yellow), some pansies (purple) and the winter jasmine doing its best (yellow). Oh, and the snowdrops were also opening (white). If that sounds like a profusion of colour it isn't because most of these are small plants, producing small blooms in small numbers.

During my perambulation I took a few shots of the flowers but my attention was diverted from them by the subject of today's photograph. My eye was drawn to the brilliant orange/red of this solitary ladybird sitting on the leaf of a sage plant. I've seen quite a few of these insects recently, slow moving, apparently aimless, looking like they've woken from a deep slumber. This one was no different from the others except it was completely immobile. The attraction from a photographic point of view was the deep point of colour against the grey/blue/green of the sage and the brown of the earth and fallen leaves.

Why the title "Looking for colour 3"? Because in 2009, towards the end of February, I blogged on the same theme, using the same title, over two posts. See here and here.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Rainy day photography

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I've never been much of a rainy day photographer. My cameras and lenses, by and large, have never been of the weatherproof variety, and photographing from underneath an umbrella, or with a cover over the camera has never appealed as a deliberate way of securing such images. That's not to say that I haven't photographed in the rain - I have, but it's usually been from cover such as a doorway, the car or a window. There is another reason too. Most of my photography takes place when I'm out and about with my wife, and we don't deliberately choose wet days for long walks, or to visit places of interest. But, when the weather does put a dampener on one of our days out, then I try to make the best of it and grab a shot if and when it's possible.

Today's photograph is a similar subject and similar weather to the second example I link to above - a market place on a wet day. I have a habit of repeating the subject of a photograph when I've taken a shot that I like. The view of Newark market place was a different kind of image for me, and when I saw this prospect from Spalding's South Holland Centre as I sipped my coffee, I couldn't help myself and took this similar kind of photograph. I usually find that the shots that arise in this way are substantially inferior to the original. This one, however, though not as good as the Newark photograph, has qualities that I like. In particular it seems to convey more of the dreary and oppressive nature of a cold, wet, heavily overcast January day.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Sibsey Trader Mill

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Lincolnshire was, and still is, a land of windmills. More than one hundred towers remain standing, in various states of repair, sentinels reminding us of a time before electricity and the internal combustion engine, when wind power was harnessed to the cause of milling grain. Enthusiasts have restored a number of these mills to working condition, and charities and the energy of volunteers keep quite a few open to the public. The other day I visted such a windmill, managed by English Heritage, at the village of Sibsey a few miles north-east of Boston.

The Sibsey Trader Mill was built in 1877 by Saunderson of Louth to replace a small post-mill. It is a striking building, one of the few remaining 6-sail English mills, measuring 74 feet to the top of its cap, with six floors. In the flat landscape it looks taller than it is, and compared to many it is of only average height. The mill was used commercially until 1954 by which time it was operated with four sails. After it closed it became derelict. However, in 1971 it was taken into the care of the Department of the Environment and restored to static condition. In 1981 further work restored it to working condition. Today visitors can see the complete process of milling and can buy bags of the stone-ground wholemeal flour. We did so and found that bread made with it was of a "smoother" consistency than that made with most commercially supplied brands.

I enjoy photographing windmills, not only for the beauty of the part building/part machine structure, but because they offer so many different possibilities for an image. On this occasion I decided to set the building in its landscape and let it be seen against the soft winter sky. For other photographic approaches to Lincolnshire windmills see these images of Heckington, Heckington again, Maud Foster, Boston, Burgh le Marsh, and Moulton. For a wider collection of my windmill images from across the country, click here.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 70mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Giles Gilbert Scott and the K6

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Giles Gilbert Scott (1880-1960), is known as the architect of Britain's largest church - the Anglican cathedral at Liverpool - as well as many other ecclesiastic and civic buildings including the new Bodleian Library, Oxord, and Battersea and Bankside power stations (the latter is now Tate Modern). However, in circles wider than architecture and its history he is best known as the designer of our country's iconic red telephone box.

The first telephone kiosks, erected in the 1920s, were rather dour, concrete structures. They received the designation K1, meaning kiosk design Number 1. In 1924 a competition was held to design something better. Three architects submitted their ideas, and the judges, the Royal Fine Arts Commission, selected Giles Gilbert Scott's entry as the winner. His K2 design incorporates vaguely classical elements and a top that is thought to derive from Sir John Soane's mausoleums at St Pancras Old Churchyard and Dulwich Picture Gallery. The main structure was made of cast iron (though Scott wanted mild steel), and the strong red colour was intended to make it easily noticed. It was introduced across London, and in 1926 a modified design (K3) made of reinforced concrete for low-revenue sites was produced. Fifty K4 derivatives were produced from 1927: they included a postage stamp dispensing machine. In 1934 a plywood kiosk was made, designed to be easily assembled and dis-assembled for exhibitions.

But, it was the K6 of 1935, designed to commemorate the silver jubilee of King George V, that put the red telephone box on the map. Thousands were made to replace older models and for use in towns and cities across the country. The red colour was initially unpopular, and other colours (including grey) were used in areas of environmental and historical sensitivity. Eventually, public affection grew for the shape and colour, and it became a familiar and well-regarded part of Britain's landscape. Subsequent designs were made based on Scott's original. However, with the creation of British Telecom as a private company in the 1980s the old kiosks began to be replaced by newer, lower-maintenance designs. The life of these unloved boxes looks like being relatively short due to the now ubiquitous mobile phone. But, many of the original K6 boxes live on as listed buildings. Parishes were given the opportunity to retain the old style boxes providing they took over basic maintenance of the structures. Many did so, though not all treat them with the respect they deserve, and it is not unusual to see a faded box, the red paint now pink and peeling, languishing in a rural backwater.

Today's photograph shows the telephone box in the village where I live. I caught it on a morning of hoar frost and took the shot with my pocket camera.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.5
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

The relocated tower of Kirton church

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The church of St Peter and St Paul at Kirton-in-Holland, Lincolnshire, is a typical, big medieval town church. It has a large nave with buttressed aisles, a fine clerestory with pinnacles above, a lower chancel with big Perpendicular-style windows, a south porch, parapets that are embattled and richly decorated, and at the west end a tall, imposing tower. When lit by a raking sun its details are thrown into sharp relief and it makes a noble sight. But, all is not as it seems with this building.

Firstly, Kirton (as it is usually known) is no longer a market town, but a large village, and the church though of a size found in many villages in South Lincolnshire, is much bigger than is is usual in a settlement of this size elsewhere in the country. Then there's that west tower. Anyone surveying the building today who had seen it in the period between, say, 1500 and 1800, would be puzzled by it. Why? Because during those years it had a crossing tower (i.e. it was in the centre of the church), from the four sides of which stretched the nave, chancel and transepts. Today there are no transepts and the tower is at the west end of the building. What happened to effect this change? How did the tower get from the middle to the end of the church?

In 1804-5 the transepts were removed and the crossing tower taken down. Then, re-using some of this stonework, the west tower was built and all evidence of the crossing removed. The architect of this unusual transformation was William Hayward of Lincoln. Given the date of his work - before the 1840s when Pugin promoted the cause of historical veracity - it is remarkable that not only the untrained eye, but also the trained one, sees little evidence of the re-modelling unless it is pointed out to them. Perhaps a subsequent restoration by C.H. Fowler in 1897-1900 tidied up the building and made it more of a whole, but whatever the case, the church now looks to all intents and purposes as if it was built this way. Why was it done at all? I don't know, but I suspect that either the tower fell, or, more likely, it became unsafe and was deliberately taken down and a decision was made to reduce the overall size of the building.

In recent years it has been difficult to photograph this church in its entirety because of the large and close trees that surround it, but the recent felling of a couple of them has opened up a good view from the ESE (top image). However, I see a tree has been planted that will, in time, spoil this prospect as well!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 47mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Well and truly wireless

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Normal service is now resumed! The reason for my recent absence is connected with today's photograph, though I must reassure anyone with a fertile imagination that I am still in possession of all my limbs. However, the pruning of my very large willow tree, despite it being done with great skill, care and attention, resulted in my telephone line being severed, and the absence of the umbilical cord connecting me to the wider world stemmed my flow of blog posts. But, as the old saying goes, "it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good", and during my period of purdah I did some more photography, delved deeper into my photo processing software, and tinkered a touch with the way I present each image. I thought I'd give the "matted" look a try for a while.

As far as the willow goes, my magnificent arching tree that supported a wealth of wildlife and cast shade over the stream, a lawn and a border, has been turned into a sculpture resembling a gnarled, upturned arm and hand: something that looks like an entry for the Turner Prize rather than an arboreal delight. I reconcile myself to the loss by reflecting that it won't be long before it starts to produce shoots and leaves, and its reinvigorated growth will soon make it a fine specimen once more. Of all trees, willow is one of the hardest to keep down.

My photograph shows a contractor shaping one of the willow's main boughs.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 191mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On