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

Looking and thinking

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Recently I was talking with my wife about what people used to do in the days before mobile phones. Today, it seems, many people spend a large amount of their walking time either talking on them, texting from them, or checking them. It's impossible to go down a street these days without passing people speaking into their phone, or poking its buttons. So, the question that arose in my mind was, "What have people stopped doing, as they walk about, that they used to do before mobile phones filled so much of that time?" And the answer I came up with was, "Looking and thinking."

Now you might argue that many people were doing very little with that sort of time in the past: that walking around a town was dead time, because the imperative was to get from A to B, and the mobile phone now fills it with something more meaningful. However, I don't buy into that theory. The snippets of conversations that I overhear are mainly chit-chat, the passing of the time of day, so not deeply significant. Moreover, people who engage in this kind of talk by mobile phone are likely to do it face to face too. So, the ability to chat anywhere at any time must have increased the amount of this sort of casual conversation. And that is likely, I think, to have been at the expense of looking and thinking.

One of my favourite Henry David Thoreau sayings (that I've quoted before) is, "What is a course of history, or philosophy, or poetry, no matter how well selected, or the best society, or the most admirable routine of life, compared with the discipline of looking always at what is to be seen?" And he might have added, "and reflecting on it." In our busy world, where everyone wants a slice of our time, the ability to look and think must be jealously guarded because it helps to make us who we are, and to make sense of our world. There are so many people, politicians, media, advertisers, etc. who tell us what to look at, and what to think, that the ability and time to do these two things for ourselves is something we should cherish. If the mobile phone deprives us of that time then perhaps it needs putting in its place.

I guess today's reflection marks me out as one of the older generation, to which I plead guilty. However, one of the benefits of age is perspective; the ability to see recent developments in context, and to make more informed judgements of them. Well, that's my defence anyway! Today's photograph was taken as I was looking and thinking in my sister's garden. I peered into this plant, felt like I was looking into infinity, and took this shot of it!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Education and the Guelder Rose

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When I look back over my own education - both the formal and the autodidactic - I'm very clear that the things I value most were learned in primary school: that is to say between the ages of 5 and 11 years. During that period I learned to love to find out things for myself. I also first discovered the limits of formal education, from which I went on to know that it is useful for laying down a foundation of knowledge, and that higher education is especially good for securing employment but is hopeless for growing you as a person (it has a tendency to turn out clones who parrot method and content). I also discovered - though I wasn't able to explain it until many years later - the truth that Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) articulated in "Walden": "What is a course of history, or philosophy, or poetry, no matter how well selected, or the best society, or the most admirable routine of life, compared with the discipline of looking always at what is to be seen?"

In the primary school I attended we followed the usual curriculum of the time - mathematics, English, history, geography, religious studies, music, art and physical education. However, in place of science we had "nature study", and as eleven year olds we also had "current events". It was the nature study that gripped me more than any other subject. Often this involved walking up one of the narrow lanes out of our market town into the hills whilst we listened to a commentary from, and engaged in a dialogue with, our teacher about the plants and animals, as well as the man-made features (barns, drystone walls, the town pound, a reservoir, medieval terracing, etc), that we encountered. In those years the importance and pleasure of looking at, thinking about and appreciating everything around me was laid down: it is something that has enriched the rest of my life immeasurably.

It was on one of those walks that, along with herb robert, cow parsley, stonecrop, red campion, wood anemone, and the other flowers of the Yorkshire Dales, I heard the name Guelder Rose. Unlike the rest of the flowers whose names I learnt, this one didn't stick with me. It wasn't one that I could pin on a plant when I saw it, perhaps because it wasn't as common as the others. However, the other day I discovered it was the English name for Viburnum opulus, a tree that grows in my garden, and with that discovery the memories of those primary school "nature rambles" came flooding back. Today's image incorporates a device I've used before - placing an in focus bloom on one side of the frame and a more distant, out of focus flower head on the other.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Looking and seeing

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"What is a course of history, or philosophy, or poetry, no matter how well selected, or the best society, or the most admirable routine of life, compared with the discipline of looking always at what is to be seen?"
from "Walden" by Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), U.S. author, poet and philosopher

When a driver pulls out from a side road onto a main road, and a car slams into the side of his vehicle, it's usually because he looked but didn't see. His eyes gazed in the direction of the oncoming car, but his brain didn't process the visual information in a way that caused him to pause, let it pass, then move out.

Seeing is important in the visual arts for similar reasons - it involves either comprehension or thought, about that which we look upon. I say either because it is often difficult to articulate why we see something as beautiful, interesting, provocative, banal, etc. And, whilst it is useful to make the attempt to express in words our response to a painting, photograph or sculpture, it isn't essential, or even completely possible: part of our appreciation of art will always be visceral. The critic, John Berger, talks of the "always-present gap between words and seeing." If we see the artwork, think about it and have feelings about it, then that can be enough, if we approach it with an open mind and make the effort to engage with it.

When I took the photograph above I did it intuitively, drawing on my education, experience and interest developed over many years. I could see the tree's blurred shadow laid across the boarded wall and louvres, and how it flicked upright after crossing the flat, paved ground. I could see that a composition of tones, textures and lines that pleased my eye and mind could be assembled by including these elements in differing proportions. So, knowing that I'd have to crop slightly to get what I wanted, I pressed the shutter. By briefly describing the process involved in taking this shot I don't mean to imply that it is a piece of art, or that it has any great merit: only that it satisfies me, and that (I think) I took a step beyond simply looking in securing it. An image like this belongs to a photographic genre that doesn't appeal to everyone. Such shots are sometimes rejected as being "about nothing". It's certainly possible to articulate why one doesn't like this sort of thing, but only if you go beyond looking and are sure you see it.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off