Churchyard gravestones

click photo to enlarge
Standing in Quadring churchyard the other morning, my fingers chilly on the cold metal of the camera, I started to move about in an attempt to keep the recent, black marble gravestones out of the composition of my photograph. There is no doubt that, among the lichen encrusted oolitic limestone and the green and grey of the slate from Swithland and elsewhere that is characteristic of the older gravestones, these newer examples stick out like the proverbial sore thumbs. Over the years, and in different localities, church authorities have periodically tried to bring some aesthetic harmony to gravestones, particularly where they are being sited next to outstanding old examples, or where the churchyard is particularly uniform in this regard, or is especially picturesque. I have some sympathy for these attempts, and yet I can see a sound argument against it too.

At the very minimum, in sensitive churchyards, I'd like to see local stone, or stone that was been used down the centuries, or a stone that is similar to the traditional type, continue in use in the interests of visual harmony. In a churchyard such as that at Quadring areas of similarly styled gravestones tend to be grouped together according to the few decades in which they were erected, with the oldest the closest to the south, west and east of the church. Imported marble appears in the Victorian period and thereafter increases in both quantity and stridency. The currently fashionable glossy black examples with incised gold lettering jars with everything around them. Perhaps they'll weather to an acceptable finish, but I doubt it. Of course, were my prescription to be followed then the fertility of the memorial designer's art would be somewhat curtailed and the possibility of a new and admirable wave of gravestones appearing is lessened. That is the main disadvantage. On balance, however, I'd take that over the agglomeration of styles that sit awkwardly together today, with quite the worse being those made in the decades either side of about 1920, badly finished stone with letters and numbers fixed to their surface, looking drab and nondescript barely a hundred years after making.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Colour popping

click photo to enlarge
I'm not a fan of colour popping, the trick of converting a colour photograph to black and white and deliberately leaving an area of (usually bright) colour. It seems to be a technique of the digital era: I certainly don't remember seeing it in the days of film. Image editing software such as Photoshop make it a fairly straightforward thing to do, and boy, has it been done in recent years. In fact it's been done to death.

I see it regularly on photography websites. Clearly some people are very taken by the technique, however I'm not. It has always struck me as "gimmicky", and I can't recall a single image that was improved by having this done to it. That said, I imagine you're wondering why I've done it to today's photograph. The answer is, "because the subject suggested it."

I was passing Quadring church in the fog, and stopped to take a photograph of this fine medieval building. I've photographed it a few times - see here, and here - but lately I've avoided doing so because that scaffolding on the spire has been there for months, an abcess on a thing of beauty. During my visit the fog was giving the scene a drab grey look, and I thought it was sufficient reason to overcome my dislike of the enduring scaffolding. But as I walked to my favourite position for photographing this church I came upon a bunch of the brightest, pink roses that I've ever seen. My first thought was that they were artificial flowers made of silk or some such material, but they proved to be the genuine article. The roses had been placed near a newly dug grave (just out of shot), probably yesterday, and their fresh, bright, summery radiance looked very out of place on a cold, foggy, February day. "Colour popping!" I thought, and took this photograph which I then converted. My first essay in the style is likely to be my last.

Looking at my image, and digging deep for justification, I suppose I could say that the colour popping device emphasises the unseasonal incongruity of the bright, fresh roses in this dull, dank, setting. What do you think?

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Glasshouse patterns

click photo to enlarge
It's great fun to search for repeating patterns that you feel will make successful photographs. Man-made objects, especially buildings, involve a lot of repetition, so if you live in a city or a relatively urban area it's much easier to make photographs in this way. I've used columns and shadows, cafe chairs, rusty corrugated metal, industrial buildings, and other objects to make photographs of this sort that please me.

But, if you live in the countryside, such photographs are harder to find. The other day I posted a picture of a disc harrow that involved repeating elements. I've also photographed soil ridges in a newly planted potato field and new rural housing, but subjects with these qualities have been pretty difficult find. However, the other day, whilst walking near Quadring I came upon a very large glasshouse that seemed to offer patterns to exploit. I think if the repetition had merely been the verticals of the aluminium frame and the zig-zag roofline I'd have passed it by. I find that shots involving repetition generally have to have a degree of complexity, or a detail that breaks the pattern, otherwise they can be boring. The part that really drew my eye here was the shadows that produced diagonals slanting across the verticals. These, combined with the contrasty bright colours that the day and the structure produced, caused me to fire off a few shots. This one is the pick of my glasshouse crop!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 110mm (220mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Prospecting for views

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Look through any art gallery showing paintings from the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and you are bound to come across many "prospects". These are paintings or drawings that show a view of a town, city, harbour, building, or any place that the artist or illustrator wanted to describe pictorially. This engraving of "A Prospect of the University and City of Oxford", dating from 1705 and attributed to Johannes Kip, is typical of the genre.

The earliest recorded use of the word "prospect" to describe the pictorial representation of what we would now call a "view" dates from 1649 when John Evelyn (1620-1706) wrote in his diary, "I went to Putney and other places on the Thames to take prospects in crayon to carry with me to France, where I thought to have them engrav'd." Today "prospects" are rarely painted or drawn, but the making of such images is one of the most common uses of the camera. However, we now use the word "view", "landscape", "scene" or some such word, and "prospect" has pretty much dropped out of use. Which is a shame because the the verb form of the word links very nicely with the noun to describe how we search out the particular point from which to make a representation of the scene.

I did quite a bit of searching to find this "prospect" of the church at Quadring, Lincolnshire. I tramped back and forth through the rough grass of this field until I found a composition that made the building the focal point but still kept it quite small. I wanted to include some of the tall brown grasses, and decided to use the interesting but ragged hedge as mid-ground interest and as a means of reducing the expanse of boring blue sky!

Here is a closer look at this church in an earlier blog post.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Not fade away

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Shortly after May 10th 1793, John Ladd was laid to rest in Quadring churchyard, Lincolnshire. He was 49 years old, and had died 21 years short of his "three score years and ten". I imagine he would have wished for longer. The gravestone poignantly notes that "Also 4 children lie near him".

Those who chose the memorial for John Ladd followed the fashions of the day. The monumental mason selected a heavy, rectangular slab of Lincolnshire limestone and gave the top a rounded arch. Below it he carved a winged cherub in the form of a classical putto, to represent a soul rising to heaven, and this he flanked with flowers. A raised panel with a curved top and straight sides, echoing the shape of the gravestone, received the simple inscription carved in elegant Roman lettering. It is similar to several nearby, and probably represents the work of someone based in the locality. What purpose did it serve? Like all such stones, it was a memorial and tribute to the man, and a place where family members would come to remember him. But is it anything else? It certainly claimed his place in the churchyard, and on the "best" and sunny south side of the attractive medieval church. More than that, it reminded the world that this man existed. A gravestone is a relatively inexpensive way of claiming some sort of immortality. But for how much longer? The rain, wind and frost of 215 winters have softened the edges of the mason's carving, and lichen has ravaged the stone. In another 100 years it will be difficult to read the inscription, and in twice that the putto and flowers will be indecipherable lumps. And, with their passing, you might imagine that the memory of John Ladd will have completely faded away.

That, however, is to reckon without the power of the internet and the tenacity of family history enthusiasts! A quick Google reveals the following information. Apparently John Ladd was married to Jane Bradcher in Quadring church in 1777, and over a period of 12 years they had 7 children baptised there. Jane died a widow, aged 50. The next earthly apocalypse permitting, it seems that the memory of many of us may outlast our gravestones!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 15mm (30mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Do it again

click photos to enlarge
The title of this blog post, inspired by one of the best Beach Boys songs, is about one of the pleasures of photography - revisiting the same subject and producing an image that is, in one or more ways, different from previous shots. There are many variations that the photographer can play on the same theme, but different time of day, season, weather, light, position, focal length and processing are the main variables. Manipulating these can provide stimulation for the mind and eye, and provide a useful and productive alternative to scouring the land for a different subject for each shot.

The mainly fourteenth and fifteenth century church of St Margaret at Quadring, Lincolnshire, has given me a number of images over the past several months, including the shot presented here that I took last October as the trees began to show the colours of autumn. With that photograph in mind, yesterday and today I braved the biting north wind and took more shots of the church, looking to capture the sharp spring light and the now bare trees. As I moved round the building framing shots from all points of the compass I came back to my favourite position for church photography - the view from the south east. What makes this aspect so satisfying is firstly the way the afternoon light models the structure, and secondly how it allows the inclusion of the principal elements of the building, which lead the eye to the usual (in England at least) west tower.

As I snapped away I decided to take a shot similar to that of last autumn, and tried to position myself - from memory - in the same location. I didn't do too badly, and again got the line of gravestones over to the right to give some balance to the shot. When I came to process the image I decided not to show the bluer light of spring that infused the view, but to convert it to a contrasty black and white. So, the variables here are season and processing, with a slightly different position and focal length. Which do you prefer? As for me, "God Only Knows"!

photographs & text (c) T. Boughen

Black & white image
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Colour image
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off