Photographing the ordinary and familiar

click photo to enlarge
Every now and then I include a quotation in my blog posts. I like quotations for the way they frequently condense, pithily, an important truth in a small number of words. Several years ago, when moving house prevented me from maintaining PhotoReflect at its then current level, I created for a few months, a less labour intensive blog that I called PhotoQuoto. It gave me the opportunity to make use of some of the quotations I'd collected and savoured down the years and it was an exercise that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Recently, one of my blog posts from the first month of PhotoReflect's existence (January 18th 2006), as well as its attendant quotation, came to mind. We were doing a familiar walk past a collection of rather ordinary old barns. These seem to have grown up organically as needed, the oldest nearest the road, newer ones added on ever further away. Next to what was probably the oldest structure a relatively young ash tree stood, its "keys" still hanging in heavy bunches despite the weeks of strong winds that we experienced at the turn of the year. The buildings and tree, together with the puddles from recent rain, and the sky that looked like it might clear or could bring further precipitation, was suddenly enlivened by a fleeting glimmer of brighter light. The words that came to mind as I framed my shot were those that I'd used eight years ago, from the American director, artist and writer, Aaron Rose (1969 - ): "In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary." In those few moments the familiar, mundane buildings came alive, photographically speaking, and seemed a much better prospect for a photograph than they usually do. Looking at the shot a couple of days later I still hold that opinion. However, I do wonder whether a photograph of some barns that I took last year might also have been a factor in making me look anew at this group.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Pigs, shadows and symmetry

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The low, wood and steel buildings designed for pig-rearing are not the most promising of photographic subjects. At least that would have been my thought prior to passing some of these industrial-looking units the other day. However, on a late November afternoon, with the sun low in the sky, the shadows deep, and the gleaming metal, clean timber and pristine concrete of the recently erected buildings catching my eye, they seemed entirely suitable for a shot or two. It's a truism that good photographs can result from the most unlikely subject because in photography the subject itself is often less important than the way it is presented by the photographer. I don't make any great claims for this pair of images, but perhaps they do, in some small way, serve to illustrate that point.

We passed these buildings twice on our walk as the different position of the shadows indicates. They are two of several sheds arranged in a barracks-like row. I took my photographs from a gap in a hedge next to a footpath, so my room for manoeuvre was limited. The treatment I've applied to both photographs is to increase the contrast to deepen the shadows and thereby emphasise the repeated forms of the buildings. Clearly I've converted one to black and white (and applied the digital equivalent of an orange filter). I also, consciously, took shots that were symmetrical and asymmetrical. For reasons that are rarely clearly articulated photographic advice frequently advocates avoiding symmetrical compositions. My view is that symmetry is fine if the subject is symmetrical but that it rarely works well if artificially introduced by the photographer. Moreover, symmetry in images is rarely mirror-like, and the best "symmetrical" photographs often feature a dissonant note that mars the perfection. Here the shadows interfere with it sufficiently to prevent it mirroring at the central vertical line of symmetry.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: 6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Moribund buildings

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During my many years working in education I was involved with a few building extensions. The process of design generally involved educational managers of one kind or another (including me) discussing the brief with the architect. Subsequently proposals would be presented for discussion and amendment, and after these had been batted back and forth a few times, the final form of the building would be agreed. In the fullness of time the extension would be built, but during construction further changes would be agreed or imposed, often for cost reasons. This was a fairly reasonable and rational way of extending an existing educational building. The aim was to provide something that would effectively and efficiently meet the current needs of the users, and, very importantly, be sufficiently flexible to accommodate future requirements.

However, much building in the past, and still sometimes today, didn't and doesn't involve consultations of this sort. Buildings as disparate as schools, town halls, railway stations, factories, houses, churches and art galleries were built based solely on the advice of an architect, the orders of the provider of the funds, or the whim of an influential individual. Such an approach sometimes resulted in a wonderful building that received the approbation of contemporaries and future generations because individual vision or genius was given free rein, and the sometimes stultifying hand of "design by committee" was avoided. But, more often I think, it resulted buildings that met the specific needs of a specific time, that didn't lend themselves to adaptation to meet future needs. Such buildings are commonplace, often neglected, frequently in terminal decline as they are passed from one temporary use to another.

This derelict farm building at Haceby, Lincolnshire, prompted these thoughts. What was its original purpose? It's small but not cheaply built, with stone walls and a good tile roof. It was obviously wanted and valued by whoever commissioned it, perhaps a hundred or more years ago. But today, despite being in a small wood next to a road, it is of no use, except as a slightly melancholic subject for this passing photographer. Saplings, ivy and moss are colonising it. The doors seem to be long gone. It is a dying building, but one that could perhaps be resuscitated. Whether it will or not depends on it finding a contemporary purpose that the builders probably never foresaw.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 30mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/25 sec
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The attraction of decay

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The attractive qualities that are sometimes ascribed to ruins and scenes of dereliction and decay has its roots in the Romanticism of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. This movement was a reaction against the dominant social and political values of the Age of Enlightenment, and the scientific rationalization of nature. It elevated strong emotion and the "sublime", proclaiming them worthy feelings capable of standing alongside reason.

Today painters and photographers generally eschew the ancient classical and Gothic ruins that feature in the works of Caspar David Friedrich and J.M.W. Turner, preferring the post-industrial scenes of our urban areas. Derelict buildings, graffiti, abandoned factories and dilapidated warehouses in inner-city wastelands have taken the place of the roofless churches, collapsed columns and decaying statues in arcadia or on precipitous heights. But, in finding such things attractive and worthy of recording in paint or with a camera, is there more than the late stirrings of Romanticism at work. Perhaps our latterday scenes that evoke feelings of repulsion and sublimity work at a visceral level reminding us of the transient nature of our society, and the fact that all we now value and revere has the potential to fall apart and be cast aside. For some that is a terrifying thought that undermines the contract that materialism offers us. For others it is a visual admonition of a truth that our culture tries to make us forget. And maybe that is what determines whether or not you like such images.

Today's photograph is not an example of urban decay and dereliction, but rather is its rural counterpart. I don't know what the original purpose of these abandoned units was: perhaps they housed pigs or some other livestock. But today they sit empty and forlorn at Monksthorpe in Lincolnshire, their asbestos panels slowly succumbing to the ravages of the wind, weeds growing up around them, a glimpse of someone's failed or superseded enterprise. As I walked past them one evening, the sun low in the sky, its light illuminating the underside of a bank of low, dark clouds, the buildings' abandoned character appealed to me, and I took this photograph.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 8.8mm (41mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.2
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The Old Smithy, Aswarby

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This charming former smithy in the village of Aswarby, Lincolnshire is now a store. There is much less call for the services of a blacksmith today than when the building was erected in 1846. At that time horses powered the rural economy and this building was the "garage" of its day, servicing not only horses but carriages, carts, waggons, and sundry agricultural machines as well as providing a wide range of metal working services.

It was built by Sir Thomas Whichcote of Aswarby Hall, the local landowner and squire, and is constructed of coursed, squared limestone rubble with ashlar quoins and dressings, and is roofed with slate. To the left, out of shot is, a shoeing bay. The decorative style of the building sits well with the Tudor-style cottages that comprise most of the dwellings in Aswarby. Like the smithy these were also built by the Whichcotes for the estate workers, as was the "Tally Ho!" pub, the lodge gatehouses at the entry to the park, and the estate office. Interestingly, all these buildings remain, but Aswarby Hall itself is gone, demolished in 1951. The stables of 1836 remain and have been converted into the main house of the estate. Of the older buildings and landscaping only two Georgian columns with boar's heads stand forlorn in a field.

When I was a child, growing up in Yorkshire, I was told that if you hang a horseshoe on a door or wall for good luck, you must always hang it with the open side upwards. If it's hung the other way (like the stone example in the photograph) all the luck will run out. Perhaps that accounts for the demise of Aswarby Hall!

For more information on the idea of the "lucky" horseshoe see the "Folklore" entry towards the bottom of this page. I felt that sepia was the obvious choice for this image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 15mm (30mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Old barn

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Anyone journeying through England will notice that old farm buildings invariably use local materials. So, in Eastern counties warm reddish brick walls and roofs of orange (or sometimes yellow/buff) clay pantiles are frequently seen. Move to the North and dour stone walls predominate, with stone or split slate roofing the buildings. In South East England and the West Midlands timber-framing is seen with infill of brick or mud closing the walls, though some areas favour tile-hanging or boarding. In these areas roofs would have been thatched with straw or reeds, and many still are, though tiles and corrugated metal have often replaced the natural materials.

These styles derive from what was locally available and from the skills of the local people. So, for example, an absence of suitable building stone often led to the use of timber and infill, or brick, and geographical areas can be plotted on the basis of this kind of building characteristic. However, places that border two adjacent areas with distinctive vernacular traditions often feature more "mongrel" styles. The other day I stopped to photograph a couple of old, dilapidated barns at Bridge End near the edge of the Fens in Lincolnshire. The Fenland landscape is characterised by old farm buildings made of brick and roofed with pantiles. However, Bridge End is close to the nearby uplands where limestone was quarried. This found its way into domestic buildings as well as the churches, and down on to the adjacent flatlands.

The barn in the photograph probably dates from the early nineteenth century, though it may be older. Its pleasingly irregular pantile roof has had sections of glass tiles inserted to let in light. At some point the building has been extended without the new part being locked into the old. It's anyone's guess which came first - the left side or the right. However, I'm wondering whether the builder re-used stone from an older structure, and employed bricks to make the doorway because it's easier and that's what he was used to doing. Perhaps the former Gilbertine priory that was at Bridge End is the source of the stone?

I took this shot for the interesting mixture of textures on this part of the old building. I was pleased to see the rusting cross of the end of a tie beam filling the space on the right and giving some balance to the old door and ivy on the left.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 43mm (86mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Old sheds

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At some time in the future a photographer will stop in front of an old agricultural shed and say to his friend, "Weren't these twenty-first century steel framed buildings, with their green, powder-coated, pressed metal walls and roofs wonderful". They'll be extolling the virtues of a structure that many today see as an abomination, a blight on the countryside.

However, it doesn't take an enormous leap of the imagination to see how an eyesore becomes an icon: how the stone-built Yorkshire Dales barn, the height of modernity in the nineteenth century becomes the ancient listed building of today. Or how the brick-built, terracotta-tiled barn of the eighteenth or nineteenth century in East Yorkshire or Lincolnshire, structures associated with the agricultural "improvers" who dispossessed the poor of their land, becomes the rustic and romantic backdrop to desirable country living.

Whether anyone will "Ooh!" and "Aah!" over this pair of ramshackle sheds is another matter. Yet, they too carry a record of the past in their timber and block construction, as well as a reflection of the neglect and the harsh weather they have experienced. I came upon them among fields of vegetables in the flatness of the Lincolnshire Fens. The rising sun was driving off the morning fog, but enough remained for it to obscure the horizon and isolate the sheds from their background. They were housing some large pieces of new timber, a commodity rare enough in this intensively farmed area, and ragged though they were they were, they were still good enough to provide valuable protection.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0EV
Image Stabilisation: Off