Not a quiet day at Skegness

click photo to enlarge

The weather was very benign for early November so we decided we'd have a quiet day by the sea at Skegness enjoying the sun and the absence of wind. A walk along the beach, a few photographs of wind turbines and out-of-season amusement arcades etc. seemed a suitable change from our recent routine.

The morning didn't start well. Our usual parking area was packed with cars and there were far more people in the beach car parks and on the beach than we expected at this time of year. Then we saw a large car park full of motorhomes, large vans, pickups and trailers, many of them with motorcycles. As we approached them we saw lines of temporary safety barriers and the penny dropped. There was some kind of beach motorbike racing about to take place. We walked past the throng, disappointed that the day wasn't to be as we'd planned, and as we did so we heard over the loudspeaker that the racing would soon start. We saw- and heard - it in full flow as we returned and, to make the best of the day, I took a few photographs of the riders as they roared up and down the sand.I'm not one who is drawn to such events but as we watched the racing it occurred to us that a great virtue of having it on the beach was that, once the tide had been in and receded again, there would be no trace of the day's proceedings having taken place: which isn't the case when the countryside is used.

I was ill-prepared for this type of photography as well as being a complete novice with fast moving vehicles. But, despite not having a tripod and the single lens mounted on my camera being too short and not fast enough, I had a go at getting a few shots. These are the best of the bunch.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 95mm (142mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Snapshots, dog walkers and wind turbines

click photo to enlarge
The words "snapshot" and "snap" in connection with photography seem to have pretty much disappeared from use by all but people over the age of, say, fifty. That's a pity because the first word very well describes the act of quickly seeing and taking a photograph without indulging in the lengthy consideration that might be taken with, for example, a landscape. It is a very appropriate word for the sort of shot that is frequently used in street, wildlife or sport photography. "Snap" for a routine or quickly taken photograph is also a useful term. In these days of smart phone cameras and the impromptu shots that they are often employed for, one wonders why the word isn't more widely used.

Snapshot, snapshooting and snaps came to photography from the world of shooting with firearms - rifles, shotguns and pistols. Quickly taken shots at game, targets or even people, were so described in the Victorian era, and are often still described with these words. I'm not the sort of photographer whose output relies heavily on snapshots but I do take photographs rapidly when I want to include people (those who are unknown to me) in my photographs because I usually have a very clear idea where I want them to be in the overall composition. Moreover, for reasons lost in the mists of time, all my digital photographs are in folders that are described with the word "Snaps" followed by the year.

The other day, when walking over the sand and dunes towards the sea at Skegness in Lincolnshire I took a snapshot. A dog walker appeared on a low dune ahead of us. He was silhouetted against the sky, with the sea and wind turbines behind him and a large pool in the foreground. I knew that he would soon be less visible against the sky so I started firing off a series of snapshots having first decided that I wanted a vertical composition with the main interest towards the top of the frame. Today's photograph is the second of four snaps that I took and it came out rather better than I imagined it would. That's another interesting thing about snapshooting: because it's quick you have hits and misses, and the hits, because they are not arranged to the last detail, have a surprise element that often makes them more rewarding than shots where everything turns out as planned.

Incidentally, I often wonder what I'd do without the scale and human interest that dog walkers offer when I'm photographing in the open spaces beside water or on sea-shore grass and dunes.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000 sec
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Obsolescence, repairs and tractors

click photo to enlarge
My web browser bookmarks include a folder marked DIY. It lists sites and web pages that I've found useful when it comes to fixing things or undertaking jobs around the house.With a bit of internet help I've managed to repair the cooker, heating radiators, the car, computers, plumbing, a camera and much more. To be able to do such things gives one a sense of satisfaction, saves money and does something for the environment by extending the life of objects.

However, during my lifetime the number things that are repairable has seemed to become ever fewer. Obsolescence appears to be built into more and more products. Items are made difficult or impossible to open without breaking something, spare parts are unavailable or deliberately expensive, non-standard screws or worse still, glue, are used to fix components together, and records show that often the same component lasts the same limited life-span in a particular product - usually a month or two after the expiry of the warranty! It really looks like some manufacturers construct products to fail after a relatively short time, and make them irreparable by the user or even a technician, in the expectation that it will result in another sale. This marketing ploy is additional to the regular "product-upgrade" cycles whereby the latest and greatest additional features are drip-fed into new models on an annual (or more frequent) basis.

A website I sometimes use for repair advice is iFixit. It ranges fairly widely in its coverage, but is particularly useful for electronics. The staff frequently do what are called "teardowns", i.e. the opening up of new products to see how they are made. Then they pass judgement on their potential for repair. Recently the website published a list of ten electronic devices that are almost impossible to repair. A model of the Apple MacBook Laptop with Retina Display was judged worst in this regard. There were five other Apple product in the list (and two Nikon DSLR cameras). Interestingly their ten easiest to repair electronic devices, published earlier, also included an Apple product.

The sight of this old Fordson Major tractor triggered this line of thought. It's a model from when? The 1960s? I don't know exactly, but it's a good few decades old and still giving service in the harshest of environments: sand and salt water are a recipe for mechanical problems. It is used to haul a crab boat into and out of the sea and its basic, rugged construction, the availability of parts, and the opportunity to improvise or make them where they are unavailable (check out the seat and radiator grille!) means it still works after all these years. I like products that are user-serviceable and user-repairable: they are good for the individual and good for wider society. It would be great if more manufacturers took this into account when they designed their products.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Who shot the photographer?

click photo to enlarge
I was reflecting on the word "shoot" the other day. In particular I was wondering how long it had been an English synonym for "take photographs". A quick look at the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) shows the earliest recorded use of "shoot" in the sense of "a discharge of arrows, bullets etc" being 1534 though in Old English an example is quoted from the early poem, The Battle of Maldon (993). As I worked my way down the list of meanings of the word - there are seven main definitions with many subsidiary ones - I tried to guess the date in the 1800s when it might have been transferred to photography. I was well wide of the mark (to use a shooting analogy). The first use that the OED cites is from Anthony's Photographic Bulletin of 1890 and around that date the word "shot" also starts to be used to describe the resulting image itself.

From our twenty first century perspective it might seem unsurprising that the act of taking a photograph should be described thus. After all, as with a gun (or bow) one takes deliberate aim at a target (or subject) and uses ones finger to release a mechanism at a precise moment to achieve the desired outcome. But, when I reconsidered what seemed the relatively late date of 1890, it occurred to me that perhaps the analogy wasn't quite as obvious as we think. After all, the shooting of a gun or arrow often results in a death or injury whereas a shot made with a camera merely fixes a moment in time on paper (or a screen). The former is frequently violent and negative; the latter usually harmless and positive. No, I thought, shooting isn't a word that transfers to photography as naturally as I first thought.

My reflection was prompted by the fact that a few days ago I was being repeatedly shot - by a camera. We were spending some time on the north Norfolk coast at Cromer and the shooter was my wife. Throughout our married life, as our photograph albums testify, I've done most of the family photography and my wife has taken shots mainly to ensure that I appear in the albums periodically. However, on our recent break she made a conscious effort to try and take a few more photographs of me. The result was I kept noticing that as I was taking my photographs I was also being shot. It was relatively painless as I'm a fairly co-operative subject. I've posted two of her shots today. Regular readers may find them a welcome relief from my obscured self-portraits! Incidentally, the rucksack isn't full of photographic equipment. I try to keep the gear and weight to a minimum when I'm out and about. It had only the 70-300mm lens to complement the 24-105mm on the camera. The rest of the weight was essentials for a morning at the coast on a day when a strong breeze was lessening the effects of bright sunshine.

photographs / text © K. Boughen / T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Rhythm and hues

click photo to enlarge
Of the three major pairings of complementary colours my favourite by a large margin is blue/orange.  Red/green I can appreciate with flowers, leaves and grass - in fact, we have red geraniums (pelargoniums) every year because of the big return you get from their petal colour next to their leaves. Purple/yellow, leaves me cold though; too garish by far. However, I enjoy that delicious blue/orange mix so much that sometimes I barely realise I'm using it, though usually it's a very deliberate choice. Examples in the blog include these trees and buildings, these flowers and their deliberately chosen background, this Euphorbia, ladybird and background, and these spring maple leaves against a blue sky.

What artists have realised down the centuries and what photographers learnt from artists is that some of the qualities of "pure" complementaries extend to "near" complementaries. If, for example, you put brown (rather than orange) next to blue the pairing offers attractive qualities that derive from the fact that, as a colour, brown is close to orange. I'm sure it's this that explains why my preferred combination for split toning is blue/sepia. I've tried other pairings such as cyan/green, magenta/orange and red/sepia, but have always gravitated towards my favoured colours (see this building interior and this sea-front promenade).

Perhaps similar reasoning can be adduced for my liking of the colour pairings in today's photograph. It shows tongues of rippled sandy Lincolnshire beach at low tide. I liked the repetitive rhythm of these small spits and I isolated sections of them with a long lens. The title of today's blog is a blatant steal and amendment of an off-licence I saw in Barton upon Humber, one of a chain apparently, called Rhythm and Booze, which is itself a play on the name of the style of music of almost that name.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 120mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

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

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

Time of the signs

click photo to enlarge

Near my house, at the entry to a short, scenic lane, with old houses, fine gardens, sturdy trees and a stream alongside it, there is a sign on a pole. It says "Unsuitable for heavy vehicles". Despite the fact that any driver of such a vehicle would have to have the visual acuity of a mole in sunglasses and the intelligence of a dead ant NOT to notice that the lane was unsuitable for his lorry, someone, somewhere, felt it needed spelling out in the form of a permanent sign that disfigures the locality.

The modern world seems obsessed with signs, particularly those designed to be read by drivers. We must have long passed the point where it is impossible for even the most diligent and alert person behind the wheel of a vehicle to take note of every piece of information that highway engineers have put before them. Indeed, there must be an increasing number of locations where to attempt to do so must surely impair your ability to drive safely. In other words they risk becoming counter-productive, encouraging that which they are designed to prevent. When the present government came to power one of the minor policies it gave voice to (and one of the few that I had any agreement with) was the desire for a reduction in the number of signs along our roads. But, they seem to have failed to achieve this goal just as they they are failing with many others. I recall a survey a few years ago suggesting that a large percentage of motorists had forgotten what a significant percentage of the road signs mean, so anyone thinking that a reduction in signage would be detrimental to road safety needs to factor that into their calculations too.

Today's photograph, taken on the beach at Wells-next-the-Sea, Norfolk, has two signs, and I'm not ashamed to say that I don't know what they mean. If I were a sailor then I would make sure I did know. However, I have no interest in boats small or large, so I endanger no one with my ignorance. The fact that they are two different colours means, I suppose, that they must do more than simply mark the position of the groynes. From what little knowledge I have I think the green sign may be one of a pair (with a red one) marking the deep water channel. However, the purpose of the yellow one eludes me. By analogy with road signs they are probably warning markers because they are triangular. But I could be wrong, and beyond that, and despite a search I made, I'm clueless.

Of course, it was those green and yellow triangles, stridently coloured to make them noticeable, set against the blue of sea and sky that prompted my photograph, illustrating once again that the nature of something doesn't necessarily preclude it from being the subject of a photograph.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/1000 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Inshore fishing, Hornsea

click photos to enlarge

The inshore fishing industry of England's Holderness coast, an expanse that stretches from Flamborough Head in the north to Spurn Point in the south, has changed out of all recognition down the centuries. In the middle ages the summer fishing was centred on herrings, but by the eighteenth century it was a selection of whitefish - cod, haddock, ling, skate and halibut - that were hunted using lines baited with shellfish. Herring continued to be caught, and were sold salted, or were smoked to produce kippers. Crab and lobsters also formed part of the regular catches by the small boats that went out from the coast's towns and villages.

However, the development of larger, powered trawlers meant that by the twentieth century over-fishing had so reduced the whitefish stocks of the North Sea that a change of emphasis was necessary, and today the small inshore fleet specialises mainly in brown crabs and lobsters, with a very few flatfish and cod being caught. And small the fleet is, the number of boats/men/pots being as follows: Bridlington 42/97/33,750, Hornsea 7/14/4,440, Tunstall 2/4/250, Withernsea 9/18/4,850, Easington 2/4/1,100, Spurn Point 1/2/500.

On my recent brief visit I saw the reltively new compound and buildings at Hornsea where the seven inshore boats are based, and watched as one was recovered from the sea by its tractor. I grabbed a few quick photographs of these developments that had grown up since the time, twenty five years and more ago, when I regularly visited this coast. Looking at the crew bringing their boat in on a bright and relatively warm March day, the prospect of fishing the coastal fringe of the North Sea appears to have its attractions, but on a cold, grey, gale-swept January day I'm sure it would be decidedly less alluring.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Hornsea beach tracks

click photo to enlarge

It occurred to me the other day that during my life I've flip-flopped from one side of the country to the other. I was born in Westmorland (now Cumbria) and raised in the western Yorkshire Dales, moved to the city of Hull for a while, then went back to north-west England for many years, and latterly re-located to Lincolnshire. During all but my early life I was a keen photographer, never specialising in anything in particular, but rather dipping my toe into many of the recognised genres. I suppose that architecture, landscape and natural history have figured large in my output, and of course, down the years I've shot many thousands of family snaps.

In the past decade, as I've spent more time with my camera, I've deliberately selected a few specific subjects and begun building collections of images. Examples of this include spiral staircases, motion blur, and the subject of today's photograph, tracks in the landscape. Lincolnshire's man-made landscape is the place where I began to notice these man-made intrusions, and where the sinuous, sometimes semi-abstract quality, that they impart first impacted on me.

Wheatfields and barley fields offer good opportunities for this kind of photography. The former sometimes provide intriguing examples that appear to have no beginning. But pasture can have good tracks too, and land freshly prepared for a salad crop offered one of the craziest examples I've come across. I've also photographed these tracks on sandy beaches where they temporarily hold a record of cleaning vehicles or the launching of boats. Today's photograph is an example of the latter that I took on a recent visit to Hornsea in East Yorkshire. This seaside resort on a long, sandy coastline, has a small fishing fleet that specialises in brown crabs and lobsters. The boats are launched and brought in by tractor, and this recovery offered an opportunity to add another shot to my "tracks" collection.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Dark skies and photography

click photo to enlarge

After a very dry, sunny spring and early summer, with plenty of warm weather - at least in my part of the world - things have changed and we've had quite a bit of welcome rain. At the time of writing this blog post thunder is booming around us and heavy showers are queuing up to drench the fields and gardens. All this is very welcome to someone who likes to cultivate his patch, and the result of the precipitation can be seen in the increased growth rate of the grass on the lawns, the blooming of the annual and perennial flowers, the heavy crops of strawberries and raspberries that we've gathered in, and the bountiful lushness of the vegetable garden. But it's not just the gardener in me that has been pleased by the rain and changeable skies, my photographic side has welcomed them too.

On a recent day in the East Yorkshire countryside sunshine fought for supremacy with fleeting showers and dark skies. The result of the conflict was a draw, but for me personally it was, as they say these days, a "win-win" situation, with the sky with sun and clouds lending itself to photographic compositions just as much as as the dark, glowering skies. The main photograph, showing the beach at Hornsea with a groyne and the high water groyne marker, would have been less of an image without the black clouds that were above my head and heading out over the sea. They change the tonal values and the mood of the photograph. Interestingly no rain fell from them onto our heads, but rain was around, and distant showers can be seen on the horizon.

On one of the days of my recent visit to London the sky was behaving in a similar way, and it gave me an opportunity to get a different kind of shot of Canary Wharf. The grey blanket above subdued the colours and brightness of the gleaming towers, and perhaps more clearly reflected the mood that much of the financial community has experienced over the past few years. By the way, on this occasion we did get caught in a light shower and had to beat a hasty retreat for cover.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The seaside in winter

click photo to enlarge

"Heaven, as conventionally conceived, is a place so inane, so dull, so useless, so miserable, that nobody has ever ventured to describe a whole day in heaven, though plenty of people have described a day at the seaside."
George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950), Irish playwright, essayist and critic

People will have their own opinions about Shaw's view of a day in heaven, but a majority would probably think his description of it perfectly matches a day at the seaside in winter: particularly at a town that specialises in "entertainment". These are places that are either loved or hated. The English middle classes tend to look down their noses at the likes of Blackpool, Margate, Weston-super-Mare, Cleethorpes or Skegness, seeing them as places of cheap thrills and meretricious tat, glitzy facades with no substance. There is some truth in that, but it's certainly not the whole story, and this kind of seaside resort, even in winter, can be a place of deep interest.

My first impressions of the Lincolnshire seaside town of Skegness weren't good. Its beach is flat and relatively uninteresting, the architecture is of the expected kind, but bland, without the showy excess and originality that enlivens many resorts. The pier, a feature of the English seaside that I love, is so short it rarely has water beneath it, lacks interesting ornamentation, and seems to be closed for most of the year. And the funfair is compact, ordinary, and without the spectacular rides found elsewhere. And yet, after a couple of visits, I started to look at what the town had, rather than what was missing, and in doing so found details, buildings and scenes at which I was happy to point my camera.

Today's image was taken on an early January afternoon as the low sun was about to be replaced by dark, looming clouds. The orange light of winter deepened the red of the sand, and intensified the colours of the amusement park rides against the deep grey sky. I took a close shot of the wheel and roller coaster, and then looked for a wider view. But, there was no foreground interest, and so I decided to use my own shadow. That produced the photograph that I liked best, perhaps because its starkness complemented the scene that was empty of the summer bustle and noise of holidaymakers enjoying themselves.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Does practice make perfect?

click photo to enlarge

"Travel broadens the mind" people say, and everyone agrees without a moment's hesitation. It can, but often it doesn't: it all depends on the mind. Moreover, tourism shouldn't be confused with travel. "Practice makes perfect", is another of those sayings that elicits widespread agreement. You only have to include it in your sentence to find heads going up and down, sagely, like so many nodding donkeys. And yet, if my life's experience is anything to go by, you're just as likely to come upon someone who regularly repeats a task without any discernible improvement in performance as you are the person who exhibits advancement in their chosen activity.

It seems to me that with some activities many of us achieve a level that we deem to be "good enough", and don't improve further. I recognise this in quite a few of my DIY skills. Take paper-hanging and painting. I've done this activity (with my wife) on and off for more than thirty years. The end result today is better than when I started out, but I don't think it's any improvement over the standard I achieved fifteen or twenty years ago. I'm happy enough with the outcome and don't aspire to any kind of perfection. I could probably say the same, with one or two qualifications, about my guitar playing, though here I do have the desire to improve! The fact is, practice alone is not enough to achieve improvement. For that to happen there has to be the application of rigorous thought, reflection and the careful assessment of one's performance. In a lot of practice, including that involving the hobby and profession of photography, the thinking, reflecting and assessing quite often seems spasmodic or completely absent, and frequently plays second fiddle to carrying out the activity at the already achieved level. For many people practice involves working on areas of weaknesses, and there's nothing wrong with that so long as you don't let your strengths atrophy. No, practice alone isn't necessarily the road to improvement.

The two people in today's photograph, gazing out to sea from the beach at Skegness, Lincolnshire, though they don't look it, are in fact practicing. They are members of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, and they have just used the tractor and trailer to launch the inshore lifeboat carrying their colleagues on an exercise. Their line of work requires regular practice, and may involve more of it than actual life-saving. Over the years I've taken a few photographs of this organisation at work in activities as varied as doing the Sunday wash and, yes, practising for the real thing.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 200
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

The significance of man

click photo to enlarge
"The significance of man is that he is insignificant and is aware of it."
Carl Becker (1873-1945), U.S. historian

If only! Carl Becker was right to emphasise a high level of self-awareness as one of the things that separates man from other living organisms. However, one wonders whether, had he been living in the last quarter of the twentieth century, or today, he would have been so easy in penning those last five words. It's true that a large section of mankind as a whole, in terms of much of its art, philosophy and religion, recognises its own unimportance in the grand scheme of things. But, at an individual level, there are too many inhabitants of this planet who think that they are the centre of the universe and that all else revolves around them.

It was always thus of course, to a greater or lesser degree. Yet I can't help but think it very strange that at a time when we know our position in the universe so much better than ever before, and we are aware of our place in our community, society, country, continent and world as never before, our species seems to be more self-centred and self-important than at any time in our history. We consume the earth's resources with a wilful disregard for the future, seek through riches to provide all our own needs and wants and sefishly divorce ourselves from our communities, and try our best to achieve economic and social advantage for our offspring with little regard for others. Our politicians - if the current campaigning for next week's general election in the UK is anything to go by - seek to be elected by appealing directly to this self-centred attitude, with no clear political philosophy, vision or thought of building a community in which all can share, prosper and be fulfilled, featuring anywhere in their manifestos. We seem to be well on the way to becoming a society that only considers "what's in it for me", full of too many individuals who think themselves the only significant actor in their personal universe. No, Carl Becker, surely couldn't have written that sentence in 2010.

Today's photograph of two parents with their small children, walking in a sunlit slice of the beach at Great Yarmouth, Norfolk, reminded me of that quotation, and prompted today's rather pessimistic reflection. There's nothing like the open sky, the vastness of the sea and an empty beach to give a proper significance to the human form. I composed this shot with wide zoom lens near its widest setting to emphasise the smallness of the people in their location.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 21mm (42mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/4000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tractors and crabs

click photo to enlarge
A few years ago, when I lived near the North Lancashire coast, I took a photograph of old tractors on a beach at Lytham. They were used for catching shrimps and for launching small fishing boats. The tractors are necessary because the estuary of the River Ribble at this point is often almost empty of water, and boats have to be taken to the channel to be launched, and must be dragged above the high tide line to be stored.

Today's photograph shows some more old tractors at Cromer in Norfolk. This fishing port is on an open section of coast with no harbour. Consequently boats have to be launched and retrieved with trailers hauled by vehicles. The boats shown are used for catching the famous Cromer crabs (and lobsters). Each has a one or two man crew, and sets pots on a bank about three miles off shore. The crabs they catch are smaller than many, but afficionados declare them to be the tastiest in Britain. The tractors are two Fordsons (Major models I believe), and the third I can't identify. They must date from the 1950s, and the fact that they are still working fifty or sixty years after they were made is a testament to the durability of the design and materials. Salt water and sea air is a corrosive mixture, and doubtless the tractors have received repairs and regular maintenance down the decades, but I still find it remarkable that they continue in daily use.

I took a few shots of the tractors at work, but this one, I think, is the best. I like it for the composition and the distant dog walker. I cropped the shot to remove excess sand and sky, and have ended up with a shot that looks like it might have been produced by the 16:9 aspect setting on the LX3.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Blue skies and starfish

click photo to enlarge
I've made no secret in the posts of this blog that blue, cloudless skies do not constitute my idea of good photographic weather. Azure skies are great in spring as a sign of the changing seasons and a marker of the warmer weather to come: they undoubtedly lift the spirits. In winter they give deep shadows and strong colours, and can break the monotony of a long run of dark, overcast days. But for the most part, to my mind, and especially in the British Isles, they more often than not present a photographic problem. When the sky is unbroken blue you have to compose your shots much more carefully to avoid filling a large area with blank "nothing".

I usually overcome this challenge in one of two ways. If trees are to hand I try to place some in the area of blue: that way I don't have to point the camera down more than I want to do. And that, of course, is the other technique - tilting the camera down to minimise (or remove) the area of blue. This isn't always desirable, or possible, particularly if you're trying to keep some verticals - say the edges of building - parallel. But with some subjects it works fine, and has the added bonus of prompting you to seek out more unusual compositions.

The other day, when I knew that the weather was going to be cloudless for my journey home from Norfolk, I was a little disappointed, because that was the weather I experienced the last time I drove along the county's beautiful north coast, and a little cloud in the sky would have helped me come up with some different landscapes. However, I tilted the camera down, and mined a different seam of snaps. Today's is one such, a starfish stranded on the beach at Salthouse. For this image I was fortunate to have a couple of distant fishermen who had strolled higher up the beach and were chatting. I was able to put the starfish slightly left and balance it with the men on the right, and also include a little sea, a touch of horizon, and enough clear blue sky to be interesting but not boring!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Hunstanton cliffs

click photo to enlarge
"Right now I'm having amnesia and deja vu at the same time. I think I've forgotten this before."

Steven Wright (1955- ). U.S. comedian, actor and writer

People, usually children, have occasionally asked me what it's like getting older. My answer is always the same: "It's better than the alternative!" I find that the younger the person is, the less likely they are to understand my response. However, old folk get it straight away!

Up to the age of fifty my body gave me no problems, but since I passed that age parts of me feel like they need a bit of servicing. As I get nearer to sixty my brain seems to be working OK (how would I know if it wasn't I hear you ask), though my memory doesn't work as efficiently as it did. Today's photograph is a good example of that. I know (or at least have a strong feeling) that I have seen a Victorian (or possibly earlier) painting of these distinctive sea cliffs at Hunstanton, Norfolk. This work shows a view looking the other way from my image, so the sea is on the right. The beach has a number of people, and maybe a stranded boat or two. I assumed it was in one of my art books, probably one of several I have that concentrate solely on English painting, because I'm fairly sure it wasn't a painting by a major artist. But, despite an hour or so scouring my shelves and flipping pages I can't find it. I've searched the internet too, but to no avail. In the past, when I've slept on a query to which I can't remember the answer I've usually found that my memory kicks in when I rise. So I imagine that after this blog entry has been posted I'll turn up the painting. In the meantime if anyone knows the work, and can point me to a reproduction of it, please do.

The banding of Hunstanton cliffs that makes them look like a layered cake is caused by white chalk laid on top of red chalk that is coloured by iron. The strata are popular with geologists who examine the cliff face and rock falls for fossils of the Cretaceaous period. With this shot I was particularly pleased to be able to include two people, in the distance on the left, to give some scale to the image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 31mm (220mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Wind power at Skegness

click photo to enlarge
Kite buggies shouldn't be a problem. The coast of the British Isles has many large areas of flat sand that should be able to be used by different interest groups without conflict, and, by and large that is the case. However, the growing popularity of these wind-powered leisure vehicles, particularly their use in areas heavily frequented by the general public, has provoked increasing numbers of complaints about dangerous, high speed driving. This has led to some local authorities placing restrictions on the areas and times when they can be used, or in some cases (for example Lytham St Annes) outright bans.

When kites were harnessed to surf boards problems of this sort rarely arose because the area of sea available for kite-boarding is vast, and the number of other users of the water, in most places, is few. However, buggy riders have been their own worst enemies by too often choosing to pursue their sport on busy beaches used by day-trippers, dog walkers, fishermen and others. The national and local organizations that support the sport seem to realise the need for compromise, and make every effort to urge riders to use less frequented areas. However, newcomers to the pastime, and individuals who crave an audience for their tricks, seem heedless. I've come across buggies being erratically driven at speeds up to 40 mph on Fleetwood beach in Lancashire, throwing up showers of shingle with every hard turn, and making walkers wonder whether they were going to be mown down.

The other day, on the Lincolnshire coast at Skegness, I saw this lone buggy zipping up and down the beach . It was well-controlled, had the sands virtually to itself, and made an interesting sight as the driver coaxed power out of the onshore breeze. On a warmer day in summer, when the visitors from England's Midlands throng the beach, it would probably be better elsewhere. However, in the spring sunshine the buggy was doing no harm and made a good foreground subject for this photographer who was able to frame it in front of the offshore wind farm he was snapping.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 83mm (166mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/2000 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On