Photography, fishing boats and the sea

click photo to enlarge

I've lived near the coast and spent quite a bit of my time photographing it for a fair chunk of my life. That's not unusual, of course, when you live on a relatively small island. However, one of the characteristics of the British Isles, England in particular, is that it is densely populated and and its landscape can change quite markedly over short distances. A consequence of this is that some people don't visit the coast much because it requires a journey on heavily used roads or public transport. Others forsake regular visits because there are competing attractions in the form of mountains, lakes, moors, woodland etc.

I've always enjoyed the coast, not least because of the sense of space that you find there and the quality of the light that positively invites photography. Then there's the distinctive sights that are also manna to the photographer. Whether it is shingle or sand, salt marsh or sea cliffs, harbours, bays, promenades or whatever, the coast is a great place for photography. It's also, I find, a location that encourages you to slow down and contemplate as you gaze out over the flickering water. Small wonder that people often retire to a seaside location.

One of the things I often reflect upon by the coast is the fishermen that I see in small, inshore boats. Their life is, I know, dangerous and not without its travails, both physical and financial. And yet, on a sunny, summer day with the wind a benign zephyr and the water quiescent it appears to have its attractions. Perhaps without such days people wouldn't continue in the occupation: stormy weather and the icy blasts of winter must have their compensations. My photograph shows an Aldeburgh fisherman attending to his catch accompanied by gulls feeding on his scraps. His was the sole craft on the sparkling water that morning, an image of easy tranquillity as the tide reached its maximum height. For my shot I positioned the boat off centre and used the coiled rope on the beach as a visual counterweight. Black and white seemed to suit this fairly minimalist composition better than the original colour.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 47mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/500 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Social climbing and The Old Custom House

click photo to enlarge

When Margaret "there is no such thing as society" Thatcher was prime minister the Conservative Party came up with a wheeze to increase the number of people who voted for them. The idea was to sell off local authority housing at a very generous discount to the tenants who currently rented them. The theory was that once such people became property owners they would transfer their political allegiance from Labour to the Conservatives and, if they didn't currently vote, they would begin doing so, favouring the Conservatives out of gratitude and because they now saw themselves as one of "our people". Forgetting the political ramifications for now, the policy had  a number of unintended consequences, one of which was to change the visual appearance of local authority housing.

Britain's local councils were given permission to build housing for rent in the early part of the twentieth century because the low cost housing erected by the private sector was so indaequate in almost every respect. Councils often hired socially aware architects and built some of the better properties in this sector of the market. They were, for their time, well designed and relatively spacious. The building density was reasonable and the layout was well considered. A downside that some people saw was that individual developments tended to be quite uniform in appearance. Others thought this often gave areas a better appearance than if deliberate differences had been incorporated. However, when from the 1980s onwards, they were sold to tenants one of the first steps some new home owners took was to replace the front door with something different that signified their possession of the property. It seemed that intuitively people knew of the importance of the front door in making a statement about a building, and a proclamation of the change of ownership was needed. Over the years windows were replaced, porches and extensions - all different - were added, as were fences, hedges and much else. The result was that the modest but agreeable style of the individual house was usually lost, and so too was the visually satisfying homogeneity of the area. In an attempt to elevate the building, quite often the reverse resulted produced by a jarring heterogeneity.

I was thinking about this after I'd photographed The Old Custom House in Aldeburgh recently. This building from the early nineteenth century is essentially the same as many of the other small, gault brick and pantiled residential houses that line the town's older roads. However, in order to make it imposing and more distinctive, to stress its status as an office of the government's Customs, and to impress upon the seamen visitors that they are dealing with an institution and people of importance, the main door and offices were located on the first floor and reached by a really quite ridiculous, overblown, flight of stone faced stairs. One wonders if, on seeing it for the first time, a ship's skipper smiled at the pretentiousness of it, as I did. Today it is a residential building, probably quite an interesting dwelling to inhabit, and one that poses a few questions to an observer of its exterior. For example: when was the ground floor door to the right of the steps inserted, at what level is the ground floor ceiling/first floor floor, and what happens behind that main door? Is it a narrow corridor, are there further steps? I can't imagine.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Back yard or back garden?

click photo to enlarge

"England and America are two countries separated by a common  language".
George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950), Irish playwright, critic and activist

The above quotation has been attributed, with subtle variations, to many people including Winston Churchill and Oscar Wilde. However, it seems more likely that Shaw originated it. The point of the quotation being, of course, that although English is spoken in the United States and the United Kingdom, there are slight variations in usage, spelling and pronunciation that render it subtly different and make it obvious from which side of the Atlantic the speaker (or writer) hails.

One such linguistic nonconformity is apparent in the words "back yard". In the UK it generally refers to the small area immediately behind an urban or suburban house, that is the property of that house, that is usually enclosed and which has a wholly or predominantly hard surface. In the United States the words are used to mean any open space behind a house that forms part of the house's property. The UK uses the words "back garden" to describe a mainly lawned or planted area behind the house. In the United States this distinction, as far as I know (please tell me if I'm wrong), is not observed: whether paved, gravelled, grassed or planted, or a combination of any or all of these, it remains the back yard. Does it matter? Not really, because in each country the meaning is understood. Such things merely serve as cultural signifiers and are a small and welcome difference in a world that is slowly gravitating towards uniformity.

Today's photograph shows a back yard in Aldeburgh, Suffolk. The narrow strip behind the blue painted terraced house may once have been a back garden with a path to the rear door. Today it is block-paved with raised beds made of brick, and so has become what I would call a back yard though some may insist it is still a back garden. Regardless of nomenclature the multi-coloured flowers against the painted walls looked bright and cheery in the morning sunshine and so I photographed them.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 58mm
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Aldeburgh, keyboards and dead letters

click photo to enlarge

Several years ago I received a couple of old Dell computer keyboards (Model AT102W). They were mushroom coloured, large, robust and a dream to type on. They have never matched the computer cases that I've bought and assembled, or the screens that I've used, but that doesn't bother me in the slightest. Why? Well, unlike most contemporary computer keyboards they use mechanical linkages beneath each key rather than a plastic membrane. Consequently typing on them is bliss and reminds me of the pleasures of using an electronic typewriter rather than the experience of typing in porridge offered by today's cheap keyboards. But, nothing lasts forever, and for the past few years I've been typing happily on the last remaining AT102W, all the while fearing the day when it too will give up the ghost.

There have been a few false alarms as individual keys have stopped working. However, I would simply take the keyboard apart (just six screws to remove), indulge in some vigorous brushing and vacuuming, the recalcitrant keys would dutifully return to life and off we'd go again. Until today. This morning the "w" key refused to work. On previous occasions it had been the "b" and the "9". I completed my cleaning cycle, re-connected it and it appeared to be working fine. But when I came to write this blog post about the Suffolk coastal town of Aldeburgh the "w" had packed in again. I only realised this when I looked up from the keyboard and noticed I'd written a couple of sentences that were even worse (or should that be "orse") gibberish than usual. So, I'm going to try more cleaning. But I'm also going to buy a second hand keyboard (same model) off eBay, and hope that between my faulty one and a newer (to me) old one I'll continue to experience pleasurable typing.

Today's photograph shows a small boat that is also past its best. It stands at the southern edge of the area of beach that is used by the local fishermen and appears to have been abandoned. It looked just the sort of foreground interest that I could use in my composition of the shingle beach and the sea-front buildings.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 47mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/500 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Do mermaids wear makeup?

click photo to enlarge

A few years ago, when I went to see the famous angel roof in the church of St Wendreda at March in Cambridgeshire, I read in a leaflet that the carved wooden angels were "half life size". It was a description that made me smile and caused me to wonder who it was that first measured an angel and how they did it. But then I thought, perhaps no measurements were taken and there was simply an assumption, based on the descriptions of those who claim to have seen one, that they are the same size as the average person. Thoughts not too dissimilar to these came to mind the other day when I gazed up at a ship's figurehead in the shape of a mermaid that is fixed to the "Golden Galleon" fish and chip shop in Aldeburgh, Suffolk.

Now you may wonder at the suitability of a mermaid, a creature that is half woman and half fish, being used to attract diners to a shop that sells a variety of species of fried fish for consumption by whole women and men. However, it wasn't that which initially taxed my brain. No, my first thought was, "Do mermaids wear make-up?" Is red lipstick, I wondered, suitable in a pelagic environment? Just how long can it reasonably last? Is all that sitting about on rocks that we associate with mermaids nothing to do with luring sailors to their doom but actually time spent fixing their make-up?  And what about the camisole top? Surely that is a touch impractical, not to say flimsy in a world of storm-tossed waves, currents, spray, undertow and the rest. One plunge in at the deep end and it would be gone.

But on further reflection I wondered if the figurehead had always been a mermaid. In Britain they are usually seen as sources of bad luck that frequently provoke disaster, and though figurehead mermaids are not unknown, voluptuous maidens seem more common. Change the fish scales for the fabric of a dress and this lady fits the more commonly seen template.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 90mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Looking and seeing No. 2

click photo to enlarge

In 2008 I wrote a blog post called "Looking and Seeing" in which I briefly attempted to articulate something of the distinction between those two words. It's a topic I find interesting and I want to return to it today.

When people ask me what my interests are my stock response is "everything". That's not true, of course: no one can or should be interested in everything. However, it's easier to say that than to recite an extremely long list of subjects, and it succinctly makes the point that in learning and education I have always valued width over depth (or narrow-mindedness as I have been known to call it). The reason for this is that I long ago realised that I rejoice in what I see, that the visual is very important to me, and that my life is immeasurably enriched by looking, and by thinking about what I see.

It took me many years to appreciate that a walk down a street or a stroll in the countryside can be a source of interest, pleasure and education for some and an empty experience for others. That where some see, for example, fragments of our past that interlock to create meaning, planned vistas that invite our judgement on their success or otherwise, modelled forms with colour, shape and line, wildlife characteristic (or not) of a location, or landforms that reveal something of the genesis and use of the locality down the ages, others see urban or rural monotony, a place "like any other" that is "boring". Those widely differing experiences sum up another difference between looking and seeing. A person sees only when their eyes work in tandem with a brain that is inquisitive and knowledgeable, that is open to sensation as well as enquiry. Otherwise they just look and they see very little.

I've neglected my blogging of late. PhotoReflect has been on autopilot while I have been enjoying my family and some time away in Suffolk. The other day, walking along the beach at Aldeburgh, my eye was drawn to the small fragment of the landscape in my photograph above. It wasn't the crab pots (or are they lobster pots?) themselves, a fairly hackneyed photographic subject, but the juxtaposition of the three strong colours - red/brown, blue and yellow (plus the black of the shed). I've always enjoyed combinations of these colours in this range, and it was that alone that prompted me to take my shot. Photography is a great aid to seeing rather than just looking, and I find that many of my images, as well as those of photographers whose work I like, stem from this facility.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 82mm
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Walling and windows, Aldeburgh Moot Hall

click photo to enlarge

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

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

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

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

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

Photographic composition - some thoughts and ideas

click photo to enlarge

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

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

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

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

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

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

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

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

Soft sky at Aldeburgh

click photo to enlarge

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

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

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

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