Keep Calm And Carry On

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"Keep Calm and Carry On" was the exhortation on a poster produced  by the British government in 1939 at the outbreak of the second world war. Its purpose was to give direction and to strengthen the morale of a public who were fearful of the future and uncertain about what they were required to do in the new and perilous circumstances. The poster existed for many years after the war mainly in government archives. Then in 2000 it was re-discovered and reproduced commercially by a number of companies. It quickly achieved a popularity that grew stronger after the onset of the banking crisis and the subsequent economic recession. Its message seemed, once more, to chime with the oppressive times, though it  can be seen now as condescendingly paternalistic, the sort of phrase that our prime minister might use (then wish he hadn't) during the knockabout weekly question time. In recent years it has become common for the poster to be published with new, often humorous, words but in the same colours, still with a crown and that distinctive sans serif font.

Today's photograph shows an example of this as part of the display in a Queen Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee celebration shop window, its text modified to support the ongoing reign of the current monarch. These windows have started to appear in large numbers, accompanying the flags and bunting that are also featuring in our villages, towns and cities, collectively confounding my previously expressed thought that this Jubilee, compared with earlier ones, wasn't going to make much of a mark. On my travels, I've photographed quite a few window displays, and though I'm a republican and not a monarchist, I'll show a few as my oblique contribution to the event and for the historical record.

Today's example is one of the earliest I saw. It was in Ledbury, Herefordshire, and seems to be compiled by the shopkeeper from items that are normally for sale, though some are so kitsch they must surely be purpose-made Jubilee souvenirs. I did a self-portrait in one of the flag mirrors, though it must have been in another shop window because of the price tag and the reflected wall of the timber-framed Feathers Hotel in the background. I include it because it reminds me that I haven't posted a reflected self-portrait for a very long time.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Periwinkle and the quality of reserve

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"One of the attractive things about flowers is their beautiful reserve."
Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), U.S. author, poet, philosopher etc.

When I first came across this quotation I immediately thought of the many flowers that are all showy flamboyance, blooms that exhibit absolutely no reserve - such as the the candy striped pinks in our garden. However, what I thought most interesting was not the accuracy or otherwise of the observation but the fact that Thoreau, an American, chose to call "reserve" beautiful. Reserve isn't a characteristic that the rest of the world associates with people from the United States; from Britain, definitely, but not America. And yet there will be people in both countries that not only display these qualities but also admire them. One might think that in the one hundred and fifty or so years since Thoreau wrote those words that both cultures have changed in significant ways. Ask anyone in Britain if the reserve shown by the lead characters of a film such as "Brief Encounter" (1945) are still prevalent today and the likely response is "No". However, personal privacy and control of emotions, two key characteristics of reserve, are still quite strong national traits that are passed down the generations, despite older people viewing the young as  more open, emotional, vociferous and gregarious than they were fifty years ago. Is reserve a quality that was formerly more common and admired in the United States than it is today? I don't know, but I'd be interested to find out.

Growing in the shade of a maple tree in our garden is some purple/blue periwinkle (Vinca major). This plant makes good ground cover in such a location, requires little attention, and at this time of year puts out beautiful sapphire coloured flowers that positively glow against its dark green leaves. When I saw it the other day the words of Thoreau came to mind. This isn't a showy plant glowing with reds, yellows and oranges like the pelargonium, nasturtium, gaillardia or rose. To my mind it is one of those beautiful unassuming, "reserved" plants that Thoreau perhaps had in mind when he made his observation. This particular bloom caught my eye because it seemed to have placed itself in a frame of its own leaves as it waited for a passing photographer.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm macro
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO: 320
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bridlington harbour, Britain and the sea

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According to the Ordnance Survey the farthest point from the sea in Great Britain is near the farm of Church Flatts outside the village of Coton in the Elms in Derbyshire. From that location to the nearest sea - at Fosdyke Wash, south of Boston in Lincolnshire - is 70 miles (113 km). That information tells you that for the people of our island a trip to the coast is a relatively easy proposition. Nonetheless, people being people, quite a few go there rarely, if at all.

I grew up in the Yorkshire Dales, an area of valleys, hills and mountains. The nearest sea to me at that time was about 30 miles distant, and I loved to go there. I liked the sea so much that later in life I spent fifteen years living by a tidal estuary with the North Sea only 16 miles away and twenty years living a mile from another tidal estuary a mere two miles from the Irish Sea. During those decades I spent a lot of time by the sea, enjoying the light, the open space, the air, the sights of the coast and offshore, and revelled in its ever changing quality. Today a trip to the nearest sea is about 11 miles. However, that location is the saltmarsh edge of The Wash, and whilst this is fine for bird watching and has potential for photography, it isn't the kind of coast I've known and came to enjoy. I once again have to travel about 30 miles for that experience. Consequently, when I recently went to Sewerby in East Yorkshire I took the opportunity to spend an hour or two in nearby Bridlington with its working harbour.

Boats attract photographers like ripe fruit attracts flies, and I wasn't the only person that day pointing their camera at the many and varied boats tied up there. The foreground of today's shot shows a few small, probably pleasure or hobby boats tied up on the landward side of the harbour. The centre now has pontoon jetties for yachts and launches, but the seaward side of the harbour, in the lee of the curving harbour wall, the inshore fishing vessels and landing facilities can still be found, looking much as I first saw them forty or so years ago.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

River Avon and Abbey Mill, Tewkesbury

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One of the pleasures of photography is photographing the same subject in different ways. This requires a little imagination combined with the manipulation of the many variables available to the photographer. The camera, lens, focal length, aperture, shutter speed, time of day, season, weather and viewpoint are just a few of the things that can be changed to secure a contrasting photograph of a subject taken on a previous occasion.

Today's photograph of Abbey Mill in Tewkesbury, Gloucestershire, is quite different from my previous shots (in fact my first) of the subject taken in October of last year. On that occasion I managed to get photographs under a threatening sky, and again when the weather appeared much calmer. My recent shots, of which this is the best, were taken on a pleasantly warm, bright afternoon in May. There was an absence of drama in the sky so I gained a little by positioning myself downstream of the weir and used the froth-filled water of the River Avon (known here, for obvious reasons, as the Mill Avon) as the foreground against which I positioned the mill and the distant crossing tower of Tewkesbury Abbey. One of the purposes of photography is to describe a scene; to tell the viewer about the subject. When I took my earlier shots I was aware that I hadn't shown the mill's position by a weir - in that photograph it couldn't be discerned below the footbridge. So, my aim in this shot was to complement the previous images and give the viewer a fuller picture of this fascinating old building and its context.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Garden photography in dull weather

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It's well known that in the UK the main topic of conversation isn't the state of the economy, the royal family, politics, the achievements of a football team or the goings on in whatever happens to be the favourite soap opera of the day. Not one of these matters of great importance do people dwell on overly long, rather it's the everyday subject of - the weather. In a country such as ours where latitude, the Gulf Stream, the surrounding sea and the proximity of a large land mass - "the continent" - produce a temperate climate with plentiful cloud and, often though not always, several kinds of weather in a single day, the weather is always going to be more of a talking point than it would be in a Mediterranean region, the centre of a continent, or almost anywhere else. And when the changeable weather pattern departs from its normal fluctuations and produces a period of unseasonally low temperatures, persistent cloud cover and very regular precipitation, as it has this spring, then you can be sure that the regular chatter about the weather becomes a grumbling storm of comment, cogitation and complaint.

I've found that this spring's weather has definitely impinged on my photography. Dull days, with little shadow and low contrast give what is often called "flat lighting", something that is often difficult to work with. I say "often" because it seems that this kind of weather also affects your memory. I know full well that there are circumstances and subjects that respond well to overcast skies, but occasionally I forget, and fail to search them out and take advantage of them. I described some of the positives of this kind of light a couple of years ago when I posted a photograph of boats on the shingle beach at Aldeburgh, Suffolk. On my recent trip to Herefordshire I came upon another such subject that worked well on a dull day. It was in Hampton Court Gardens near Leominster. The bright splash of red of the tulips in front of the attractive, timber and brick pavilion, provided the burst of colour that was needed for this overcast scene of greens, greys, brick and dark water. The saturated colours, the absence of contrasting highlights and shadows, and the lack of modelling that the latter two qualities confer, lend a character and mood to the subject that I like.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 65mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Putting the boot in

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In one of my early posts I described myself as a republican. A reader from the United States contacted me to clarify my use of the word since he associated it with right wing views and the Republican Party of that country. Of course, I meant it in a wider, not country-specific, sense. I support no political party, but my views are, on the whole, left of centre and my republicanism derives from my belief that the British monarchy has outlived any useful purpose that it might have once had. I see it as a dead weight on our country's progress and, in particular, the foundation on which our particularly pernicious class system rests. I'd like to see it gone or at the very least reduced to an historic relic with no constitutional role.

I recognise that my view isn't shared by the majority of people in this country. The royal family, and the queen especially, are undoubtedly popular, whether you measure this anecdotally or through surveys. This stems, I think, from something else that I regret, namely that Britain is quite a conservative country with relatively little interest in politics (that's a small "c", not necessarily Conservative Party supporters). To most people the royal family is held up as a symbol of continuity, public service, stability, and viewed as a refreshing change from "self-serving" politicians.

Or at least that's what I've long thought. However, recently I've detected a small hint that perhaps our monarchy isn't held in quite the regard that I've always supposed. On June 5th Britain will have a holiday in recognition of the Diamond Jubilee of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. Sixty years on the throne is to be celebrated with national pageantry and local parties. It has always been thus. The country's photographic archive features countless such celebrations for successive monarchs depicting feasting, flags, and celebratory conviviality. Yet, with only a couple of weeks to go I discern a distinct lack of bunting, publicised events and flags. Perhaps I'm looking too early and it will all appear in good time for the day. The only place I've visited recently that looked like it was making an effort was Ledbury in Herefordshire. Is what I saw there the shape of things to come, or has national sentiment turned, and will people of a republican persuasion cease to be in the minority and become the majority?

The colourful wellington boots shown above have nothing to do with the Jubilee celebrations, they are simply part of a shop's usual display of wares. However, the sight of the Union flag adorning a pair - surely an irreverent use for anyone of royalist sympathies - prompted this reflection.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 102mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 250
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Daisies, likes and dislikes

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I've never liked the ornamental "pincushion" version of the common daisy, Bellis perennis. It always seemed very artificial looking with its flattened pom-pom head and often lurid colour. What I didn't realise, however, was that the way many gardeners use the plant contributed significantly to my antipathy. Those straight rows in lawn edge borders, with either the daisy alone or alternated with alyssum, lobelia or some other low growing, contrasting flower, seemed so forced.

What opened my eyes to the potential of this flower was a recent visit to Sewerby Hall near Bridlington. This former country house on the clifftops overlooking Bridlington Bay and the North Sea is now a visitor attraction run by East Yorkshire Council. The house holds museum-type exhibitions and period-furnished rooms, and the gardens, many that date from the time when the building was a private residence, are very well laid out and maintained. In the walled garden  - probably a former kitchen garden - I came across a few large beds of the pincushion daisies and I was so impressed by what I saw that I photographed the best examples. The most striking was the mixed planting of of red daisies with blue forget-me-nots. This combination was eye-catchingly vibrant, not to say dazzling, certainly photogenic, though probably too much "in your face" for my tastes. However, a bed of pink daisies with forget-me-nots had quiet, understated, elegant, pastel qualities that I admired much more.

You're perhaps thinking that a section of our garden might be given over to something like this. But probably not. We tend to favour pockets of annuals among perennials and shrubs rather than complete beds of annuals or biennials that have to be replaced en masse part way through the season. However, the sight of these lovely flowers paired up with forget-me-nots has changed my opinion of this kind of daisy and we could well find a use for it in the future.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The Olympics, money and kayaking

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It seems impossible to express indifference or opposition to the Olympic Games without having opprobrium heaped upon you, such is the fervour with which the alliance of sporting organisations, politicians, sponsors and the self-serving bureaucrats of the International Olympics Committee (IOC) stir up support for the nationalistic jamboree. For years I've been of the opinion that the Games has moved so far from its original and modern ideals that it has forfeited the right to use the word "Olympic" and should embrace the inevitable and sell the naming rights to a sponsor.

The absurd sums of money that host nations are required to spend mounting the Olympic Games invites ridicule. As do the demands of the IOC for facilities for their delegates: the designated traffic lanes for official cars and the rest of their gratis benefits are megalomaniacal and no country should concede them. Then there is the idea that new facilities should be built for a Games - for a fortnight's utilisation - and the wishful thinking that they will find "legacy" uses for decades afterwards. The record shows that this is rarely the case. Moreover, you have to question enormous public subsidies for sports that, day to day, find it difficult to find an audience and exist only through sponsorship, state handouts and the recognition that comes from being part of the Olympics. Now don't get me wrong, I have no objection to people indulging in or watching minority sports or in the principle of subsidies. However, I can see many more worthy recipients of public money, and in straitened times I object to the state supporting people's hobbies.

I think it is time for the Olympics to be returned whence it came, to a purpose built sports complex in Greece, one that could also be used in the periods between Games. Moreover, I'd like to see the number of sports reduced to an agreed and traditional range (probably a few more than the modern Games' original nine). This would have so many obvious benefits that I'll only mention one - it would provide much needed visitor and TV income for Greece on a continuing basis! Under my proposals kayaking, the subject of today's photograph, wouldn't feature in the Olympic Games. Nor would synchronised swimming, trampolining, mountain biking, taekwondo, table tennis etc etc etc.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 67mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Shadows, light and a font

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As fonts go the example at Swineshead church in Lincolnshire is very plain. So plain that it is impossible to date it from any stylistic details. It has an octagonal bowl on an octagonal stem with a base the same shape, like the great majority of fonts. It is mounted on an octagonal plinth with a raised step for the vicar, again, like many others. Where it differs from most other fonts with steps is in having two rather than three. The church has always seen great significance in the number three and the three steps of a font are thought to be in recognition of the Trinity. Given that the font offers little of interest or beauty, you must be wondering why I've bothered photographing it, and if you have visited this blog for a while, why I've photographed for a second time (the first attempt is here).

The answer is - the placing of the font and the light, especially the light. Many church fonts are found by the south porch door: next to the main entry door into the church was deemed suitable for the instrument that delivered a person into the Church through baptism. Often that means the font is squeezed up against pews, or is in a corner surrounded by tables, stacks of hymn books or even fire extinguishers. At Swineshead, however, the south porch door is no longer used, entry is by a small door embedded in the west door, and consequently the font has lots of space around it. The Victorian restoration provided a wonderful tiled floor with a pattern centred on the font. Combine all that with the position of the windows, and it makes a good photographic opportunity.

In my first attempt, referenced above, I went in quite close, excluded the windows, but used the strong light and shadows from the window and its tracery as part of the composition and interest. With this shot I thought I'd include the reticulated window, give greater emphasis to the space and darkness, and make the softly illuminated font and striking tile floor the visual focus.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 21mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Mixed varieties of flowers

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Flowers seem intended for the solace of ordinary humanity.
John Ruskin (1819-1900) English art critic, social critic, artist, etc

As a fully paid up member of ordinary humanity I agree with Ruskin's observation. The sight of flowers in full bloom has the ability to lift, if only for a moment or two, the clouds that shroud us, the worries that beset us, and the cares and concerns that are a necessary part of life itself. However, there are those who think that the cultivation of flowers is onerous and will have nothing to do with it. They worry about what to plant, where to plant, how to plant, how to feed, about pests and watering and a multitude of other imagined "difficulties". But, as anyone who has done any gardening will know, the life force in seeds and seedlings is strong, and they will often survive even the most inept of gardeners.

There is another lesson that I have learnt over the years that I want to share today. If you are the sort of gardener who wants to create something beautiful but without the need to acquire specialised knowledge or an inordinate amount of time working the soil, then ignore the latest varieties, the expensive hybrids, and instead make plentiful use of the tried and tested, especially the inexpensive "mixed" varieties of seeds. These are part of every seed merchant's range and give not only excellent value for money but also do the "artistic" bit of gardening for you. The fact is, one of the novice gardener's worries concerns which flowers to plant with which, and whether this colour "goes" with that. The mixed varieties of seeds combine flowers of a range of colours that work well together. So, if you buy mixed rudbeckia you'll get yellows, browns and oranges of various shades that will complement each other beautifully. If you plant mixed cosmos then the variety of reds, yellows and oranges (or pinks, purples and whites) will positively glow in combination. So too will mixed wallflowers, as today's photograph, I hope, shows. Beginners and some experienced gardeners avoid wallflowers because they are biennials - they flower the year after you sow them. Don't let this put you off - the result is worth it.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Old church doors

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Today's photograph is another of my recently scanned slides from 1986. It shows the remarkable south door of the church of St Helen at Stillingfleet, East Yorkshire. The semi-circular headed doorway in which it sits dates from c.1160. It has the characteristic ornament of chevron, beakhead, scallop etc. that is frequently found in Late Norman architecture. The door itself is thought to be contemporary with this period. Even though it has suffered the ravages of time - see the inserted pieces at the bottom replacing rotted wood - and, despite some of the ironwork missing, what is left surely cannot be from a later period.

The first thing that catches the eye is the very Nordic looking boat with its great steering oar/rudder. At the top left are two figures, and a further one can be seen at top right. The big hinges have large "C" shaped embellishments with dragon-like heads that bring to mind the sort of head one sees in stone on Norman doorways and in illustrations on illuminated manuscripts. The single foliate boss was probably one of two, three or more. Then there is the band of interlaced metal that helps to tie the boards of the door together. It looks like the hinges may have had a lattice-work of metal inside the "C" shapes. Who knows what else there was? When I took my photograph in 1986 the old door was still hanging in its original position and fulfilling its purpose as the main door connecting the outside and inside of the church. The last time I visited Stillingfleet, several years ago a new door was in its place and the ancient door had been moved inside to preserve it. It is a remarkable survivor.

The smaller photograph shows the north door of the church at Swineshead, Lincolnshire, taken on my recent visit. This is also the only door ever to have hung in its doorway. The reticulated tracery at the top of the door shows that it is contemporary with the architecture around it. Like many larger church doors it has a smaller door embedded within it. The large door would have been opened on ceremonial occasions with the smaller door serving everyday use and helping to minimise the effects of the cold north wind.

Somewhere in my collection of slides I have photographs of other old church doors including the fine example at Skipwith, also in East Yorkshire. Other Lincolnshire examples I've posted in this blog include the door at St Andrew, Sempringham (here and here) and the door at Pickworth.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Olympus OM1n
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 50mm
F No: N/A
Shutter Speed: N/A
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  N/A
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Crude but effective

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In my very first paid job I worked with a man who often described makeshift engineering work as "crude but effective". It's his phrase that always comes to mind when I gaze upon the nave roof timbers of the church of St Mary at Swineshead, Lincolnshire. The roofs of English medieval churches are well known for their structural timbers. Often these are ingenious, functional, elaborate, inventive and ornate. The angel roofs of St Wendreda at March, Cambridgeshire, and All Hallows, Dean in Bedfordshire, both exemplify the latter quality in particular. Victorian timber roofs are often well made too, and the work that the restorers of the nineteenth century did on older roofs is frequently very sensitive, retaining the essentials of the medieval carpenter's craft whilst replacing wood that has succumbed to death watch beetle and rot, and adding metal bracing as required.

However, sometimes I gaze upon a medieval timber roof that is severely functional and think that it has many of the qualities that might be seen in a great barn of the same age. Ornate has been eschewed in favour of utility giving a rustic feel to the whole enterprise. The roof of Swineshead church has some of those qualities. It perhaps comes from the use of timbers that retain something of the shape of the original tree trunk or limb. These irregularly shaped pieces catch the eye and suggest that either thrift or a "good enough" spirit underpinned the making of the roof. The roof was restored by Wilfred Bond in 1925.

At Swineshead the roof retains its original, steeply pitched, form (see photograph in yesterday's post). So many English church roofs were lowered to a very shallow pitch in the fifteenth century, to be hidden behind parapets, often invisible from ground level. This was done to stop the downward creep of the lead covering that became the favoured roof finish; unsurprising really in the country that was Europe's premier producer of lead. All of which makes me wonder just what is the age of the main timbers in the nave roof? Pevsner notes that the north aisle has a fifteenth century roof: are parts of the main roof earlier still?

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bluebells, native and introduced

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It is estimated that between a quarter and a half of all bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) are found in the British Isles. In England they are a much loved flower, and a visit to a "bluebell wood" in April or May is a pleasure that many seek out in spring. The carpet of blue flowers taking advantage of the filtered light through the emerging tree canopy is one of nature's finest sights. However, the native bluebell is under threat from loss of habitat, illegal picking (they are protected by law) and hybridisation. Moreover, I am one of those who is contributing to the decline of this beautiful flower.

How so? When I moved to my present house I enjoyed the appearance of bluebells in the garden each spring. Clumps grow under the willow tree, fruit trees, flowering cherries, maple and in the deep borders shaded by silver birches and shrubs. They grow on our rockery too. But, I discovered, these are not the native bluebell, they are mostly the Spanish bluebell (Hyacinthoides hispanica) that is commonly found in gardens and sold in garden centres. A few are hybrids produced by the natural crossing of the native species with the Spanish variety. Such has been the impact of this introduction and hybridisation that the introduced bluebells are increasingly common in the countryside and few urban or garden bluebells are the native species. How can you tell the difference between H. non-scripta and H. hispanica? The native flower is scented, the anther that bears the pollen is cream coloured and the flowers are carried only on one side of the stem. In the non-native species there is no scent, the anther is mid-blue and flowers are carried on all sides of the stem. The hybrid, Hyacinthoides x massartiana is more like the Spanish variety but has creamy-blue anthers.

There is no easy answer to the problem of how to ensure the survival of the native bluebell throughout the country. It may be that the best we can hope for is its survival in more remote woods. It would seem that the spread of the Spanish variety and the hybrids is well past the point where eradication is a feasible solution. Lincolnshire has bluebell woods, but in the Fenland region the flowers are found in smaller stands of trees, gardens. These bluebells in Swineshead churchyard (churchyards are another common location for the flower) hint at the beauty they bring in spring, but are, you've guessed it, further examples of the non-native flowers.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO:80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Connoisseurship, tiles and the OM1n

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I often think there is a fine line between connoisseurship and obsession, and that both are capable of distorting, rather than refining, judgement. That thought first struck me many years ago when I glanced at one of the many television programmes about antiques. A couple of experts were discussing the merits of a small, eighteenth century, china figurine that depicted a coy shepherdess, complete with lamb, who was being courted and gazed on adoringly by a young man. The discussion ranged over the quality of the representation, the fineness of the detail in the painting, the provenance of the piece, how it compared with others by the same maker and different makers, and much else. After listening to this for a while, and looking at the comparable figurines that were also being shown, an "Emperor's New Clothes" moment came upon me and I found myself wanting to interject and say, "But they are ALL meretricious, sentimental tat. That's what they were the day they were made, and that's what they remain today." It seemed to me that their connoisseurship had caused them to lose all perspective on the real qualities of the pieces under discussion.

What I don't deny, however, is that familiarity with a set of objects, to the point of connoisseurship, does give one perspective within that set, even if it can sometimes blind one to the overall value of them. Take a case in point. I have looked at and studied the floor tiles and mosaics of churches for many years. Every church I visit I note the tiles and mosaics. This familiarity has given me a frame of reference that allows me to see any that depart from the norm and any which, in my judgement rise above the average. In the field of church floor tiles and mosaics, as with most man-made artefacts, the bell-shaped curve can be applied to the quality of the output, with most being competent, fewer being less than competent, and some showing greater imagination and quality.

Today's photograph shows the mosaic floor in the church at Bishop Wilton, East Yorkshire. It dates from 1902 and represents the tail end of Arts and Crafts. Its linear, almost Rococo style, with birds rather than medieval or overtly religious motifs, makes it very unusual for an English church. Its origins suggest why this should be so. Though it was designed by the English architect, Temple Moore, it is said to be based on a design in the Vatican, and was manufactured by the Venetian company of Salviati. When I saw it the design immediately caught my eye and I was favourably impressed to the point where I took this photograph of it. The coloured patches of light from the stained glass added a further dimension to my image. That was in August 1986! This photograph was taken using an Olympus OM1n with the Zuiko 50mm 1.8 lens and slide film. I recently passed the slide through my new, dedicated slide and negative scanner that I recently bought, and I was sufficiently pleased with the digitized result to post it.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus OM1n
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 50mm
F No: N/A
Shutter Speed: N/A
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  N/A
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Wisteria doorways

click photo to enlarge

We recently had a day in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire. It happened to coincide with some of the better weather that this generally wet and windy spring has brought, with pleasanter temperatures, some sun here and there, and a welcome absence of precipitation. So, we spent quite a while walking around, enjoying the plentiful historic buildings that are to be found in the Fenland town. One of the best sequence of buildings in Wisbech is to be found on the North Brink, a street near the centre that follows the course of the River Nene. The architectural historian, Nikolaus Pevsner, called North Brink "one of the most perfect Georgian streets of England." In terms of brick-built streets I think it is possibly the very best, having quality and variety rarely seen elsewhere.

But, on the day of our visit it wasn't the totality of North Brink that caught our eye, nor was it the visual interest and delight to be found in individual buildings. Rather it was a group of doorways decorated by flowering wisteria. As we came upon, first one, then another, it seemed that an inspired owner, by planting wisteria in the small space between facade and pavement, had triggered other owners into doing the same. The main photograph shows the front of the grandest building on the street, Peckover House of c.1725. This three-storey town house of yellow brick dressed with red brick and stone had wisteria growing across most of the ground floor of the main facade, its wilful, sinuous forms contrasting with the precise control of the eighteenth century elevation.

Not too far away was No. 10, an early eighteenth century, three-storey house that was raised to four storeys in the nineteenth century, a time when the windows with their hood shades were added. Here the wisteria was squeezed into the space between a bay window and the late eighteenth century doorcase with its Roman fluted columns. Farther down the street was another fine wisteria, this time on a one of a pair of Jacobean-Gothic Revival houses of the 1850s, framing its pointed doorway and the Gothic-style panelled door.

Wisteria with its short-lived, lilac-coloured blossom and sturdy trunk and branches, is a popular choice for the adornment of the front of houses. I've posted photographs of other buildings that have made use of it - see, for example, this seventeenth century farmhouse door and facade. I've only used the plant once myself. The second house that we owned had a very unattractive garage and the wisteria that we grew up its wall helped to ameliorate its utilitarian ugliness.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 30mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cherry blossom pond

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"Are we to look at cherry blossoms only in full bloom, the moon only when it is cloudless?  To long for the moon while looking on the rain, to lower the blinds and be unaware of the passing of the spring - these are even more deeply moving.  Branches about to blossom or gardens strewn with flowers are worthier of our admiration."
Yoshida Kenko (c.1283-c.1350), Japanese author and Buddhist monk

Look at photographs and paintings of flowers and you'll find that the vast majority depict them in full bloom. Perfect flowers are generally thought to be best to represent on canvas or in print. Buds of flowers-to-be and the dying blooms of flowers past are viewed as less than perfect; the former because they hold only promise, the latter because they remind us of what was and what all life becomes. And yet, a small proportion of painters and photographers choose to show flowers before or past their peak. Why? Well, it's often because we are sated with images of perfection. Or that, in what can seem to some an odd way, we admire the look of beauty marred by imperfection and the symbolism of both promise and decay. Faded beauty prompts different thoughts than does the full flush of youth or maturity, thoughts with a poignant and melancholy edge that those of a Romantic persuasion enjoy. The quotation above by Kenko, a contemporary of Dante, reminds us that we can find beauty and something worth admiring in less than perfect circumstances.

It's feelings of this sort that prompt my annual photographs of emerging and dying water lily leaves and led me to photograph some hydrangeas that I found past their best in a church. The cherry blossom on this pond in Billingborough, Lincolnshire, probably provoked many photographs when it was on the tree, yet on the water it has its attractions too. I've photographed this subject before using a longer focal length. For today's shot I selected a wider angle to capture the beauty of the reflections and the massed pink petals before they discoloured and were subject to the decay that afflicts all living things.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photographic credibility

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If I worried about my credibility as a photographer I'd definitely post fewer photographs. Only my crème de la crème would be on display. Or, I'd select for posting only those that impressed the other photographers and critics who I felt I should be impressing. Those photographs would not necessarily be the same as the ones that I thought my best. I'd also be much more selective of the subjects that I photographed. Flowers and plants would be banished. So too would churches and much historic architecture. Macro shots would disappear along with any subject that didn't have "serious" overtones. The titles of my shots would be enigmatic rather than prosaic, and I'd shoot more black and white and more people. I certainly wouldn't publish "reflections" alongside my images or talk about how I created them. Instead I'd periodically throw out a line or two in impenetrable "artspeak", full of the sort of cryptic jargon in which I'd frame the "artist's statement" that I'd display prominently with my work.

And the last, the very last, thing that I'd do is post a photograph of fluffy ducklings and follow it up with a shot of cute calves penned up in the corner of a Lincolnshire pasture. That would be suicide for my credibility. The only thing I could possibly do worse than that faux pas would be to make the following photograph a shot of baby rabbits eating dandelion flowers. Watch this space.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Always carry a camera

click photos to enlarge

In recent years I've missed two great photographs because I forgot to follow my own advice and always carry a camera. I've probably missed more than two, but it's two particular missed opportunities that stick in my mind and make me always take a compact camera when I don't carry the DSLR.

The first was a steeplejack climbing the ladders he'd fixed that extended half way up a tall church spire. Across his back, at right angles to his body, this precarious figure was carrying the next section of ladder that needed to be put in place. It would have made a great shot. The second was the surreal sight of a long - about 100 metres - strip of  plastic snaking through the air fifty feet or so above a solitary bungalow. A strong wind had detached this vegetable cloche/cover from a field and was propelling it, very gracefully, almost in slow-motion, through the air. Remarkably it maintained a constant height as it writhed and twisted in the wind. It looked very odd, and would have made an interesting short film clip as well as an unusual photograph.

Today's shot has none of the unusual features that would have characterised the "shots that got away". However, the line of brown ducklings and their white mother, striding purposefully through the main thoroughfare of a busy retail park like a crocodile of school children with their teacher, made me reach into my pocket for my camera and grab these two photographs; the first as they approached with an over-eager duckling dashing ahead, the second as they departed, the impatient duckling now firmly put in its proper place, in the line with its siblings, following mother. It surely must be mother, mustn't it?

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 8.8mm (41mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.5
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO:80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Chairs and visual connections

click photo to enlarge

As a child I used to see faces in the front of motor vehicles. The headlights were eyes, the radiator grilles were mouths and the often prominent maker's badge represented the nose. Sometimes the wing mirrors managed to suggest ears. I have the feeling that the car designs of the 1950s and 1960s prompted my imaginings in a way that the designs of today wouldn't. Or perhaps, underneath all this, is the primitive ability and necessity of quickly recognising faces because your life may depend on it. Maybe that's something that is stronger in childhood, but declines as you age. What I do know is that these sort of visual connections work at an unconscious level and come upon you when you least expect it.

The other day we passed an old watermill that also houses a cafe. Outside were tables and chairs for the use of customers who fancied their coffee and cake en plein air. Rather optimistic, I thought, given the fact that rain and unseasonally low temperatures have been an almost daily feature of recent weeks. Most of the chairs and tables were the sort of thing one can see anywhere. But the examples shown in today's photograph attracted my attention because they seemed to be the outdoor equivalent of a bar table and stools. The elongated legs of the trio made them look different and slightly odd. They also prompted one of those unconscious visual connections. As soon as I saw them I thought of Salvador Dali's elephants in "The Temptation of St Anthony"! I think it's the fact that if you cut the legs down to size they would be like any other table and chairs, just as Dali's surreal elephants would become much more "normal" with regular legs.

I took the photograph because tables and chairs often provide visual interest in the form of strong, interesting outlines and, if the sun shines, shadows that reveal more about their structure. The backdrop of old bricks, steps and railings seemed to add to the image too.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 65mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Radiatus clouds over the Fens

click photo to enlarge

As a paid up member of The Cloud Appreciation Society and the proud owner of "The Cloudspotter's Guide" you'd think that I'd have no difficulty in naming the type of cloud shown in today's photograph. But I do. I had no trouble identifying it as something relatively unusual in my part of the world, and perhaps a suitable subject for a photograph, or a background to a shot. And I had no hesitation in making the effort to find some foreground interest in a quite open and flat area of the Fens. But as for a name for this cloud formation, well, that required a bit of research that I still haven't completed.

From earlier reading I did remember that some of the basic clouds have what is described as a "radiatus" form. That is to say, they form lines more or less parallel with the wind direction and the perspective effect makes them seem to converge towards the horizon. I've seen cumulus clouds do this, and very striking they were too. I've also seen it in high-level cirrus clouds. The clouds in the photograph, however, weren't the former that are fluffy cotton-wool balls, nor did they seem particularly high and white as is characteristic of cirrus. They don't look like stratocumulus, and probably they aren't altocumulus either. Are they altostratus? They certainly have a greyness about them that is prevalent in that form of cloud. I just don't know. Perhaps someone can enlighten me.

When I searched for a composition for my photograph it occurred to me that I should try and include an element that worked with the lines of cloud, so I positioned myself next to a section of road that curved round towards the "vanishing point" and waited for a container lorry to pass by. Fortunately this quite colourful one quickly appeared on the scene.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The power of colour (again)

click photo to enlarge

When I came to give a title to today's piece I thought I'd use, "The power of colour". However, somewhere in the recesses of my memory a bell sounded and I wondered if I'd used it before. I had. The title of my second blog post, made on 24th December 2005, used those very words. In fact, the reflection that I had in mind to write for this post was somewhat along the lines of what I penned then. (Thought: should the word "keyed" replace "penned" if you write at a keyboard?)

I took today's photograph in the stair well of a gallery. As a semi-abstract composition it offered me more interest than anything that was on display on the walls and window ledges of the stairs. The thing that made it stand out from the other recessed lighting panels was the glowing red LED. Quite what the purpose of the red light is I don't know, but its eye-like presence suggested a photograph to me and I tilted my camera to make this diagonal composition.

One of the most effective ways in which colour can be used in a painting or photograph is sparingly, as a highlight against a mainly muted palette. Even a small amount has a transformative power and can lift a composition in a way that seems beyond such an insignificant spot of colour. I don't think that, overall, this photograph or my earlier one are the greatest examples of that, but I do think the dot of red above illustrates my point, and makes a contribution to the shot that reaches beyond its diminutive dimensions.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO: 1000
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On