Talking about towers

click photo to enlarge
Concern has been expressed in the press recently about the number, location and quality of the towers that have recently been erected, and are in the pipeline for construction, in London. It's right that there should be a public debate about such things, for at least two reasons. Firstly towers can materially blight a location. Secondly, towers can materially improve a location. The impact of a tower on a settlement, large or small, is greater than almost any other building. Medieval churchmen knew this and constructed theirs with an eye to god and a greater eye to impressing the populace.

In 2006 I touched on this subject in a blog post entitled, "Vertical accents". I briefly revisited it in 2011 in "View with spires". In a post of 2009, "Navigation by church spire", I commented on the usefulness of the church towers and spires as signposts for the cyclist. And, elsewhere in the blog I have spoken of the beauty and pleasure that these structures offer, and the challenges they offer the photographer. Today's photograph show the top of the particularly fine medieval tower of Holy Trinity, Hull, glimpsed above wind-blown tree tops beneath a threatening sky.In the city of Hull this tower continues to be one of the tallest towers in the city. Church towers no longer enjoy that distinction in London. However, careful planning can minimise the negative impact of new tall buildings on these older structures, and I hope that is one of the outcomes of the current debate.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Tower Top of Holy Trinity, Hull
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 120mm (240mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1250 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Improbable photographic colours

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Sometimes it's the depth of the blue in the sky, other times its the lurid green of the fresh grass, and frequently it's the improbable reds and oranges of the sunset (or sunrise). The other day, on a visit to the Yorkshire city of Hull (Kingston upon Hull to give it its full title) it was the blackness of the clouds. I'm referring, of course, to the way that reality sometimes looks unreal. In each of the instances cited above the observant viewer or photographer might well think that the saturation slider has been applied with a heavy hand, although there is a school of photography where this kind of embellishment has become pretty much the norm (see 500px.com).

We visited Hull on a day when heavy showers  and brighter spells alternated, and the clouds produced by this weather were striking. We were walking near the pier where the River Hull meets the River Humber, passing the end of Queen Street, when we both noticed the smoke-like clouds drifting past the tower of Holy Trinity church. My wife remarked that they wouldn't look real in a photograph and I know just what she means.We have reached a point in the development of digital photography when the manipulation of the relatively faithful images produced by cameras are routinely "enhanced", either straight away and automatically by software (e.g. Google's "auto awesome"), or later by the user's deliberate choice. I really wish it would stop. Our world is awesome enough without making it look otherworldly.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Queen Street and Holy Trinity, Hull
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 39mm (78mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.3
Shutter Speed: 1/2000 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Church clock mechanisms

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I'm not someone who is particularly interested in mechanical objects. I maintain my bicycle quite well and don't mind doing so. But, I bought a car on the understanding that I wouldn't have to poke about in the engine. That indifference to things mechanical spreads to most other areas including old clocks. There are those who relish looking at and tinkering with the innards of clocks. Whilst I understand, I think, their motivation and fascination, I don't share it.

During my wanderings around churches I frequently come across the mechanical workings of tower clocks. Sometimes these are old, no longer used clocks, often dating from the late medieval or Georgian period, put on display in an aisle or a transept, gathering dust and tick-tocking no more. Other times I climb towers and pass by the current mechanism driving hands that can be five feet long on a face twelve feet or more across. That happened a while ago when we went up the tower of Holy Trinity in Kingston upon Hull. The workings, as can be seen in today's photograph, date from 1903 and came from the Leeds clockmakers, W. Potts & Son Ltd. Everything looked beautifully kept, well oiled, with nicely painted wood and metal, and shiny, polished brass; perfect for a photograph.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm (36mm - 35mm equiv.) - cropped to 4:3 ratio
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/40 sec
ISO:900
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Holy Trinity, Hull

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Holy Trinity, Hull, is one of those medieval churches that should be much better known. Its absence from lists of renowned churches is probably due to its location in a city that, for people south of Watford, is imagined to to be a depressed northern backwater. In fact, it sits near the ancient heart of an old settlement, one that had and continues to have national importance, and which still retains many fine historic buildings in a very distinctive and different kind of urban setting. The church of Holy Trinity would grace any city, and were it in the home counties, would be feted and a major visitor attraction.

So, what does the building, erected between 1285 and the mid-1500s, offer. Firstly it is big (length 285ft/87m, width 72ft/22m, height 150ft/46m), often described as the biggest English parish church by area, bigger in fact than some small cathedrals. The size gives grandeur and awe to the interior, and the painted ceilings are spectacular. Then there is the transept walls and the lower stage of the crossing tower. These were built of brick in the 1300s, a very early use of this material in the medieval period, and said to be the first use of brick for a large building in Britain since the time of the Romans. The tower itself is a particularly fine example of the Perpendicular style and still able to hold its own against more recent tall buildings in the city. Finally there is the west front that overlooks the Market Place. It too is an exceptional piece of work, well-proportioned, symmetrical with good window tracery and a lovely entrance doorway. It has to be said that the setting of the church adds to its appeal. Around it are narrow streets, the old Market Place, the newer (1902-4) Market Hall, the old Grammar School (also brick, 1583-5), Trinity House, and a host of Victorian and earlier buildings.

The January day on which I took my photograph was cold and bright. I liked the way Holy Trinity's tower and the upper parts of the nave, transepts and chancel appeared to rise towards the light out of the deep shadows of the surrounding streets.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (27mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The beauty of church vaulting

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The vaulting that graces many a church and cathedral ceiling, especially inside a tower, is a recurring topic on this blog. I am fascinated by the variations on a theme that medieval masons and carpenters wrought in their desire to beautify the space above the worshippers' heads such that an upward glance really did feel like a glimpse of heaven. Architectural historians have created a whole specialised vocabulary to describe the development of vaulting down the centuries from its beginnings in simple barrel vaulting, to groin vaults, rib vaults, quadripartite and sexpartite vaults, vaults with tiercerons and liernes, culminating in the glories of stellar vaults and fan vaults.

The purpose of vaulting is to take some of the weight of a roof or tower above and distribute it laterally on to arches, walls, piers and columns. In the crossing vault shown above the ribs that form fans stretching from the centre to the four corners are instrumental in achieving this weight transference. However, this vaulting also has a central star pattern made by the addition of short decorative ribs called liernes. Clearly it is a design that seeks to impress with its beauty as well as do an architectural job of work. In fact, all is not what it seems with this vaulting. The tower of Holy Trinity was built during the period 1500-1530 on a raft of oak trees for the lack of any firm bedrock below. These were replaced by concrete in 1906. The vaulting, however, was erected as late as the 1840s, and the beautiful, rich paintwork must surely originate from that time - a mixture of medieval ideas and Victorian interpretation and development of those ideas. When I magnify my photograph I can see that the infill is timber planks so I imagine the ribs must be timber too. This vaulting will have replaced an earlier ceiling. That may have been stone, but is more likely to have been timber too. I've often seen fine Victorian work that replaced an insensitive, flat Georgian ceiling (itself inserted in place of the medieval original) though I've no reason to believe that is the case here. In fact, timber roofs were more widespread in England during the medieval period than in any other North European country and exhibit a unique ingenuity and beauty. Here, at Holy Trinity, the wood mimics painted stone and is none the worse for that.

The organ pipes on north and south sides of the crossing belong to the largest parish church organ in Great Britain. The oldest of the more than 4,000 pipes date from 1756 and are by Johannes Snetzler.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f1.8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Walter Crane, Art Nouveau and psychedelia

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In the south aisle of the church of Holy Trinity in Hull there is a stained glass window designed by Walter Crane (1845-1915). Crane is best known as a very original and accomplished book illustrator though he also painted and designed pottery, textiles and wallpaper. He was the second son of a portrait and miniature painter, and grew up influenced by not only his family, but also Japanese prints, the work of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and the writings and philosophy of John Ruskin. In time he associated himself with William Morris and the Arts and Crafts Movement, and became one of their chief propagandists.

It is this background that helped turn Walter Crane into one of the seminal influences in the development of Art Nouveau, a movement that flowered in continental Europe and the United States but which had its origins in Britain. It sprang from a group of Arts and Crafts designers, illustrators, painters and architects who stepped beyond the medievalising advocated by Morris and injected notes of willfulness, decadence, and extreme curvilinearity into their work. The man responsible for what has been called the first manifestation of Art Nouveau, Arthur Mackmurdo, is not well known today. But, to those interested in the history of art at the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth the other pioneers are better remembered - C.R. Ashbee, Arthur Liberty, Aubrey Beardsley - and in the case of Charles Rennie Mackintosh, widely recognised.

I cannot claim to like Crane's work in stained glass at Holy Trinity but I do find it remarkable. Why is this? Well, I find the composition too "busy" with figures that feel artificially "forced" into the restrictions imposed by the tracery. The colours are, to me, kaleidoscopic, but not in a good way, seeming too uncontrolled. The overall "feel" of the window is sensual, voluptuous even: quite out of keeping with most Church of England stained glass, something that makes it appear a bit of an oddity among the more formal pieces. Moreover, the label that always comes to my mind when I see this window is not Art Nouveau but "psychedelic." That's perhaps not surprising. When psychedelia was at its height in the late1960s and early 1970s Art Nouveau (and the Arts and Craft Movement) made a comeback. So, in those years, as well as seeing the psychedelic art on album covers by the likes of The Incredible String Band and Cream, we could also pop along to the Athena poster store and buy Alphonse Mucha prints, or call in at the local shops and buy a range of fabrics and wallpapers newly printed with original Willam Morris prints, such as "Strawberry Thief" or "Chrysanthemum Major". Perhaps it's my age, but it's a memory of those times rather than the origins of Art Nouveau that the heady, swirling lines and dazzling colours of Crane's Hull stained glass sparks in me.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation:  -1.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Reflecting on Holy Trinity, Hull

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The advent of the world wide web opened up so many avenues and repositories of information on such a wide variety of subjects that, for many, it has become completely overwhelming. Some older people find the idea of searching this massive morass daunting and having dipped their toes in once, vow never to return. Younger people have different strrategies for dealing with it, one of which is to limit what they look at. On the face of it this seems fair enough: you simply can't engage with everything when "everything" means just that! However, what looks like rational and reasoned selectivity is frequently just another coping strategy not entirely unlike the rejection adopted by quite a few senior citizens. How so? Well, often it involves looking only at what you like or agree with. Take politics. If you are left-leaning the tendency is to visit only those websites that reflect your views; to avoid the online newspapers of a right-wing persuasion, and to simply reinforce your existing beliefs. And, the internet specialising in nuance as it does, provides a menu of sites to satisfy particular viewpoints. What it does less well is offer intelligent sites that are more broadly based, where opposing or differing viewpoints sit side-by-side. Now you might think that it's quite easy to select and view multiple sites that offer these contrasts and thereby expose yourself to conficting opinions. But, as we all know, few do that. In fact, by its very nature and organisation the internet seems to positively encourage people to limit the range of experiences to which they subject themselves. Quite the opposite of what some of its cheerleaders proclaim.

I drifted into this line of thought when I gazed once again on the reflected image of the medieval church of Holy Trinity in Hull. The 1970s tinted glass curtain wall that was erected at a time when I lived in the city, is losing a little of its sheen. It always reflected back that which was in front of it (rather like some internet users' screens). On a bright day with deep colours and sharp shadows it can look quite a sight. On a dull day with muted tones, featureless stratus above and fading light below it makes much less of an impact. The green paper stuck on the inside of some windows isn't helping either. I searched for an alternative to the obvious main shot, but the complexity of my second attempt, though not without interest, is somewhat intricate; real church, reflected church and trees appear to compete rather too much.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On