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

Bridlington harbour, Britain and the sea

click photo to enlarge

According to the Ordnance Survey the farthest point from the sea in Great Britain is near the farm of Church Flatts outside the village of Coton in the Elms in Derbyshire. From that location to the nearest sea - at Fosdyke Wash, south of Boston in Lincolnshire - is 70 miles (113 km). That information tells you that for the people of our island a trip to the coast is a relatively easy proposition. Nonetheless, people being people, quite a few go there rarely, if at all.

I grew up in the Yorkshire Dales, an area of valleys, hills and mountains. The nearest sea to me at that time was about 30 miles distant, and I loved to go there. I liked the sea so much that later in life I spent fifteen years living by a tidal estuary with the North Sea only 16 miles away and twenty years living a mile from another tidal estuary a mere two miles from the Irish Sea. During those decades I spent a lot of time by the sea, enjoying the light, the open space, the air, the sights of the coast and offshore, and revelled in its ever changing quality. Today a trip to the nearest sea is about 11 miles. However, that location is the saltmarsh edge of The Wash, and whilst this is fine for bird watching and has potential for photography, it isn't the kind of coast I've known and came to enjoy. I once again have to travel about 30 miles for that experience. Consequently, when I recently went to Sewerby in East Yorkshire I took the opportunity to spend an hour or two in nearby Bridlington with its working harbour.

Boats attract photographers like ripe fruit attracts flies, and I wasn't the only person that day pointing their camera at the many and varied boats tied up there. The foreground of today's shot shows a few small, probably pleasure or hobby boats tied up on the landward side of the harbour. The centre now has pontoon jetties for yachts and launches, but the seaward side of the harbour, in the lee of the curving harbour wall, the inshore fishing vessels and landing facilities can still be found, looking much as I first saw them forty or so years ago.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fascinating hexagons

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Ask a person in the street to name something that involves regular hexagons and they'll almost certainly come up with either the honeycomb or the snowflake. The reason why bees make their cells using this shape is thought to be the fact that it uses the least material for a given volume. It's the hexagon's ability to tessellate perfectly that is the key to our fascination with the shape. Squares and triangles have this property too (as do many other less common shapes), but they don't do it with the same interesting elegance.

Honeycombs and snowflakes aren't the only naturally occuring hexagons. Basalt columns exhibit this quality, as does the crystal beryl, the turtle's carapace and even a north polar cloud system on Saturn. Man has made use of the tessellation properties of the hexagon in things as diverse as floor tiles, patchwork quilts, glass window blocks, paving and house plans. It is also the shape used for the "Seabee" concrete blocks used to make the honeycomb sea-walls found on low-lying coasts subject to erosion. Placed as a revetment over gravel or stone they work by the holes absorbing the force of the waves. They are one of the more expensive methods of protecting a coast, but have been found effective when used judiciously. The examples in today's photograph are part of a length at Skegness, Lincolnshire. I chose a section where steps cut through the Seabees and I composed this semi-abstract image.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm
F No: 6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The sailing barge

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"A sailing vessel is alive in a way that no ship with mechanical power ever be."
Aubrey de Selincourt (1894-1962), English writer, classical scholar and translator

The sight of a sailing ship, with its elegantly curved hull, tall masts and intricate rigging, never fails to stir the painter or the photographer. Its location on a lake or river, in a harbour or on the sea, only adds to the allure. The strong light, big sky, reflections, ripples and waves provide a setting that encourages display of the artist's skills. I've never quantified the imbalance between depictions of sailing ships and powered vessels, but surely it must be at least three to one in favour of the former?

And, thinking about it, the sailors who spend their spare time messing about in boats must favour wind over diesel as their motive power by that ratio or more. So it must be the appeal of sailing along driven by a breeze that prompted the construction of the sailing barge, "Juno", shown here moored at Blakeney, on the north Norfolk coast. At first glance it looks like a lovingly restored, orginal, shallow-draughted boat of the sort that used to ply the east coast, calling in at small havens and tidal creeks, during the nineteenth and early twentieth century. But no, this vessel with its steel hull and modern conveniences was built in 2000, and earns its keep through hire to tourists. However, none of that detracts from its elegant lines and the distinction that it brings to the channel of this coastal village, today a haunt of small-boat sailors and bird-watchers.

This is my attempt at composing a shot in the manner of a marine painter. I took advantage of the soft sky from which spots of rain were still falling, and in the processing I tried to emphasise the painterly qualities by bringing out the detail of the clouds, and muting the colours slightly.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off