I was dumb, but now I'm smart

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I have an ambivalent view of technological advancement. So many new products seem to have so little reason for existence or worrisome potential liabilities attached - internet connected heating system or fridge anyone? That said, I've used computers since the early 1980s and I do have my share of hi-tech gadgets.

One device that I have managed to avoid has been the smart phone. I'm not a great fan of phones of any kind; I spent too much time using them in my work. But we do, of course, have a landline and I also had a dumb phone. You may recall dumb phones. They're the tiny ones that you could carry around that allow you to speak to people beyond shouting range and even send them little written messages, but do very little else. The disadvantage of even a dumb phone from my point of view is that you can be the recipient of these calls and messages too. I say I "had" one because it is no more and has been replaced, at my wife's insistence, by a smart phone. They're the bigger ones that don't easily fit in your pocket and cause people to bump into you on the street as they walk along watching the latest episode of heaven knows what (I don't watch much TV either). She's had one for quite a while and felt it would be useful for her and our extended family, if I had one too. So I bought a cheap one. I say "cheap" because, compared with my wife's, it is. However, it was more than I wanted, or wanted to pay. But I know when to go with the flow and so I'm no longer dumb but smart, and can do lots of things with my phone (but won't).

I noticed the thing has a camera so I took a shot of possibly the most reviled building in Spalding Lincolnshire, when we were out shopping. It's also one of the biggest buildings in this quite small town. The concrete frame and cladding used to be stained so I guess that put some people off. But, a few years ago, it had a new paint job and it looks fine now - not great, but O.K. That describes my photograph too - not great, but O.K. In fact it's a bit better than I expected. I guess the bright light helps. The shot was something of an experiment and it will probably be the only smart phone shot I post on this blog.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: No-Name Android Phone
Mode: Auto
Focal Length: Does it matter
F No: See above
Shutter Speed: Presumably
ISO: Ditto
Exposure Compensation: Didn't bother
Image Stabilisation: Perhaps. Or maybe not

Portrait photography assignment

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In this blog I've always stressed my enjoyment of the fact that I can photograph what I want, when I want and how I want. In other words, that I am an enthusiast and not a professional photographer. However, I am not blind to the fact that the imperative of getting a good shot because you must, can be a strong driver in achieving high standards.

The other day, as I picked up my DSLR and lenses and set off on a portraiture assignment, I had an inkling (though only a tiny one) of what it might be like to work as a pro. I was on my way to secure some images to accompany a magazine article. What made this assignation somewhat different from that of the average professional was that it was for a small, not-for-profit, community magazine. Moreover, the subjects, despite their rather glamorous sounding names of Miss Hunny, Miss Nimbus and Miss Lemon, weren't models, starlets, celebrities or even, thank heavens, civic worthies; they were three hens. Rather fetching hens with striking plumage, but hens nonetheless. My task was to photograph each of the "ladies" so that their portraits could accompany a magazine article by their owner. It was entitled, "Tales from Cluckingham Palace", this being the very grand and delightfully silly name of their hen house.

There are predictable problems when it comes to photographing hens. The first is that they don't respond well to instruction; in fact, they don't respond at all. Then there's the heads that rarely stop jerking backwards and forwards. In fact, even when the body is still the head moves! And finally there is their size - small - and the type of abode in which they live - muddy - with "deposits" liberally scattered about in the environment in which you have to crouch with your camera. However, like a true pro I went about my task determinedly, fired off a dozen or so shots, and was pleased that I was using a relatively high megapixel count camera so that I could crop out the intruding tail feathers, wire netting, wooden ramp etc. I went away confident that I'd got what I needed for the article. Miss Nimbus is for me, the best of this avian bunch photographically speaking, so I'll only inflict her on you as evidence of my travails and my success.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon 5DMk2
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 282mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Google Glass or Guardian Goggles?

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As of yesterday Google Glass has a challenger in the augmented reality, immersive technology, wearable video recording market. The announcement of Guardian Goggles means that the technology giant will face stiff competition from a home-grown alternative. Reading the specifications of the new product I'm especially taken by the "optional built-in anti-bigotry technology" that prevents Guardian newspaper readers being exposed to right-wing columns written by the likes of Melanie Phillips or Richard Littlejohn, "as soon as the user attempts to look at them". Particularly innovatory is the ability to have your blurted out loud, incredulous response to a Guardian article added to the newspaper's "Comment is Free" section within 30 seconds. The observation by Paul McMullan, Professor of Thinkovation, that it's the biggest innovation in news technology "since newspapers opened 'virtual bureaus' in Second Life in 2006, transforming journalism forever" is very perceptive. At least I suppose it is. The trouble is I haven't a clue what he's talking about.

What I want to know is can these Goggles or even the competitor Google Glass expunge cars from the viewer's eyesight and, by a wifi connection, from the viewer's camera? If so, despite the one or two slight difficulties this might introduce into a stroll about town, I'll have a pair. Maybe the same technology could be adapted to transform a Georgian terrace such as this one on London Road in Spalding, Lincolnshire, by removing the bay windows that were added during the Victorian era as well as ridding it of the multiple varieties of window glazing bars, thus allowing us to see it as the architect intended. But somehow I feel such a development will be very near the end of any list of apps that are developed. At the top, undoubtedly, will be one that gives spoken instructions on how to find the nearest hospital that has a proven track record in removing glass from eyeballs.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Signs and sentience

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Over the years I've posted quite a few photographs of signs. Some of them, such as the recent one of the London Underground roundel show specimens displaying exemplary design, others, as is the case with this old road sign, illustrate how signs in the past emphasised the message much more than presentation. However, it is those signs that say more than the writer intended that I enjoy most of all.

I particularly relished the sign I came across in Williamson Park, Lancaster, that proclaimed, "Danger - Shallow Water" and I had to drive carefully and look behind every tree and bush when I came upon the sign at Bleasdale, Lancashire, that said, "Slow - Children & Dogs Everywhere". Then there was the sign on a Blackpool pier exhorting visitors not to attach bicycles to the railings because to do so was a fire hazard. I felt I had little choice but to give that blog post the title, "Incendiary bicycles?"

When I decided that my garden shed needed its security improving I took a few basic measures to make it more difficult for a burglar to enter. I also cast around for a sign that would increase the deterrent effect. When I saw this one I simply had to buy it. I loved the idea that my shed is sentient and has feelings just like you and me, though every time I see it I do wonder what I could have done to cause it such consternation.

Incidentally, this image shows a photographic optical illusion of a kind that I've noticed before. The writing on the sign is engraved, yet sometimes it appears to be embossed depending on how you visually interpret the shadows in the indentations. Another example of the phenomenon can be seen in this old graffiti on the medieval stonework of the tower of St Botolph in Boston, Lincolnshire

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm macro
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 100 sec
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

And so this is Christmas

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Christmas has crept up on me this year. I noticed it coming on a few occasions, but deliberately put it out of my mind except when making and writing a few cards, buying some presents and doing the shopping. Then, suddenly, out of almost nowhere, it's Christmas Eve. My wife has done many of the necessaries required to make Christmas as it should be, and for that I am, once again, grateful. How she puts up living with Scrooge, I don't know!

The appeal of Christmas has declined for me over the years. It's the conspicuous consumption that it entails and the interruptions to my routine that it presents, but mostly because it rarely compares to the Christmases that I so enjoyed when our children were young. Perhaps - and I've just thought of this - Christmas makes me feel my age. Last year I quite enjoyed it and next year, well, who knows? Of course, I'm not alone in my ambivalence towards the festive season. Charles Dickens, whose books both celebrated and helped to define the modern Christmas also had this to say about it (through his character, Scrooge): "Every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart." If that sounds a touch too misanthropic (and I have to say I wouldn't endorse it!) let me make it even more so with Gore Vidal's Christmas greeting: "Meretricious and a Happy New Year", and Samuel Butler's prayer: "Forgive us our Christmases as we forgive those that Christmas against us."

Today's main photograph is the only shot I have from this year that has any connection with the festive season. The two Christmas trees with lights standing on the front of Inigo Jones' superlative building of 1616-19, Queen's House in Greenwich Park, London, are my excuse for posting this image today. However, when I think about it, this post could also be an example to support the thesis of my blog post of earlier this year, "Look behind you", because the shot of Christopher Wren's Old Royal Naval College (formerly the Royal Hospital for Seamen) of 1696-1712, were taken from precisely the same spot as the Queen's House photograph, but looking in the opposite direction

After the downbeat opening of this post perhaps a little uplift is required, so here, in conclusion, are four of my favourite Christmas jokes:

"I bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note attached saying, 'Toys not included'". Anon

"My mother in law has come round to our house at Christmas seven years running. This year we're having a change. We're going to let her in." Les Dawson

"Aren't we forgetting the true meaning of Christmas - the birth of Santa?" Bart Simpson

"It will be a traditional Christmas with presents, crackers, doors slamming and people bursting into tears, but without the dead thing in the middle. We're vegetarians." Victoria Wood

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/13
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

An obsession?

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Sometimes you have to be honest with yourself. You have to acknowledge your weaknesses. You have to face up to your obsessions and the fact that you have an unwholesome fixation. Today is my Tiger Woods moment, my time to come clean and admit that I have a compulsion that leads me to ... photograph public seating.

Where this comes from I don't really know, but if I was to place the blame anywhere (rather than on myself that is) it would be on seaside promenades. I first got hooked at Blackpool in Lancashire. When I went further up the coast to Morecambe I found I couldn't escape the dependency. Even a relocation to Lincolnshire on the other side of the country didn't allow me to elude my desire to make images of street furniture, and I found myself photographing examples in Heckington and Sleaford. Like everyone who has such a craving I thought I could kick the habit. It was only when, during a visit to Wisbech in Cambridgeshire, I found myself spurning the photogenic marina and further shots of interesting buildings old and new, and was focussing on a row of ridiculously uncomfortable stainless steel benches that I knew my problem was long term, and I needed to do something about it.

Today I take the first step in my rehabilitation. Instead of posting the original shot of the Wisbech benches for its own sake, I've included it only as the source image for today's colourful flight of fancy. This consists of the same image copied four times, rotated (and flipped), then coloured (with complementaries at opposite corners), all with the aim of turning the focus of my obsession into something quite different - a vibrant, symmetrical, radial pattern. I quite like it. The trouble is it has a sort of psychedelic feel to it, and is the sort of image that might have been projected as part of the light show at a concert by Traffic, Jefferson Airplane or some such 1960s rock band, and I wonder if I'm simply swapping one obsession for another. Don't know what I mean? See here, here and here!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The "Kitchen Sink" photographer

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A couple of days ago I was reading a piece by a photographer. It was reasonably interesting until I got to the part where he mentioned the importance of "finding your own voice". At that point I gave up on him, because it's something I've never been able to take seriously. The idea of developing until you create your own unique and identifiable style is promulgated by those who like to see themselves as the gatekeepers of the higher levels of photography - bodies such as The Royal Photographic Society - as well as by many photographers, photographic critics, and writers on the subject. For those who aren't familiar with this concept I discussed it briefly in a post in early 2008. Here's what I wrote then:

"This idea is adapted from fine art criticism, and goes something like this. When you start out in photography you take snaps, then as your interest and skill grows you re-create technically sound well-known genre (some would say cliche) images, and finally, if you make the ultimate leap, you produce artistic, original images each including an element of a style that you have created: your work becomes recognisable by your particular "signature".

I don't rubbish this theory lightly, or from a position of ignorance - I have a lifelong interest in art, the history of art, and photography, and even have academic qualifications in these areas. I am scathing about it because, whilst it might be a theory that can be, retrospectively but artificially, applied to many painters and photographers, and it undoubtedly does accurately describe the progress of others, it is nonetheless very easy to find eminent practitioners whose career zenith involves producing very disparate pieces of work, for whom the idea of a single identifiable "signature" style is anathema. It is not a "one size fits all" description of a photographers development, nor should it be held up as a model to consciously emulate.

The other week, as I was reading about Britain's "angry young men" in David Kynaston's "Family Britain 1951-57," the seed of an idea was planted that has a bearing on on what I've just written. The novelists and playwrights of that period, people such as John Osborne, Kingsley Amis, Terence Rattigan and Alan Sillitoe, were seen as producing work rooted in anger, alienation, the feeling of being an outsider, and this phrase was coined to describe them. I recalled that in the 1960s the angry young men's view of the world, and the low-key, domestic and provincial subjects that they addressed in print, was transferred to television plays that became known as "kitchen sink drama". And that phrase strongly resounded in my head. Perhaps, I thought, I could find my own voice as the "kitchen sink photographer"! After all, I'd already started down that road with the triptych that I posted on the last day of 2009. That very same evening, as I washed up the dishes, my second "kitchen sink" image appeared before my eyes. I'd splashed some water on a metal tray that had the residue of olive oil on it, and as the two liquids fought each other, the light bouncing off the water's irregular convex meniscus, I saw the shot.

So, when I burst upon the photographic scene as the chronicler of the drama, light, shade and essential dampnessness that is the kitchen sink, you'll know that I've succumbed to that dreaded theory, I've finally "found my own voice", and I am condemned to photographing nothing but soap suds, gravy stains and pan scrubs. Until that disconcerting day arrives you'll have to put up with the usual mixed and motley rubbish!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cabbages and neanderthals

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It's good news about the neanderthals, don't you think? The University of Bristol's discovery that they used make-up and fashioned jewellery (of sorts) suggests that there may not have been the gulf between them and homo sapiens that has long been thought to have existed. Their lack of brain power and the consequent inability to compete with early modern man are shown to be judgements that need reviewing in the light of these revelations. Then there's the pejorative connotations of "neanderthal" which these artistic accomplishments undermine. Dictionaries will need revising, and people will have to stop throwing the term at anyone who doesn't measure up to their own intellectual standards.

As I was photographing this section of a red cabbage it occurred to me that it isn't only neanderthals who have had a bad press and need to be re-assessed in light of the evidence. So too do cabbages. And turnips. Why, among all the varieties of vegetables, are they used as synonyms for brainless and stupid? What qualities do they possess that makes them a more suitable term of abuse than, say, a parsnip, a leek or an aubergine? They are just as tasty, and every bit as visually appealing. Looking at today's photograph I'm tempted to ask what vegetable is more brain-like than a cabbage? If I cropped this shot to show the top half, and converted it to black and white, you'd be hard pressed to distinguish it from a section through the average human's grey matter: not that I'm suggesting anyone should do what is necessary to make that photographic comparison. But it is a fact that cabbages have every right to feel aggrieved about the way they are misrepresented. So strongly do I feel about this that I'm tempted to found a movement for the support and re-appraisal of these slighted vegetables. I've even got a snappy palindromic set of initials (acronym if you will) for this organisation, ingeniously crafted so that it wouldn't matter if dyslexic cabbages and turnips (and their supporters) wrote it backwards: Trust Against Cruelty To Cabbages And Turnips (TACTCAT) - I think it's a winner.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/2
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Reflecting on washing the dishes

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On what should I end the photographic year? Which would be the most apposite subject for the last image of 2009? Those thoughts were going through my head as I stood at the sink washing up after the turkey, roast potatoes, sprouts and the rest of the Christmas meal, listening to my newly acquired Nina Simone CD. I spend quite a bit of time pondering life, the universe, everything (and the blog) as I plunge my hands into the suds, and scrub the china. Even though we have an automated servant in the form of an electrical dishwasher, there are times when "man-draulic" action is required. I sometimes think that washing up has taken the place of my drive to and from work: it is a time for reflection, focusing on the important things of life, and putting the pressing but inconsequential bits in their place.

And, it works! In fact what came from this period of quiet reflection, as I listened to Nina sing "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood", "I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free" and "Nobody's Fault But Mine" - all titles with resonance for a regular blogger - was the subject of the final photograph of the year. It started with the difficulty of removing the cooked-on pieces of turkey from the tray on which it had been roasted. My usual tools were making no impression, so I placed it on the worktop, applied abrasive powder detergent and went at it with a damp scouring pad. As I leaned into my work I noticed that the, by now, liquid detergent was leaving swirls and swashes like those made by a large wet paintbrush on paper. Experimenting I found that I could make shapes that appeared three-dimensional, ones that recalled Munch's "The Scream", others that brought to mind Hokusai's "Great Wave of Kanagawa", and even Abstract -Expressionist works. So, I grabbed my small camera, and between strokes took several shots of my handiwork, three of which I present in the form of a "triptych." So pleased am I with my original artwork that I'm thinking of submitting it for the 2010 Turner Prize. Or perhaps not!

Now I imagine a few of you - and it will be only a few because not many can have made it this far in today's post - are wondering whether or not I got my dirty tray clean. It pains me and shames me to admit that I didn't, and that my wife had to complete my work (and achieve the required pristine finish). At this point I imagine quite a few of my female readers are shaking their heads knowingly, muttering, "Typical man - playing about with his camera instead of doing the washing up properly." And yes, once again I'm guilty as charged.

Happy New Year!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Andre Preview and comedy writing

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In an idle moment the other evening - and I haven't had many of those recently - when multi-channel TV offered nothing that appealed to me, I turned to YouTube and found myself watching a few old clips of Morecambe and Wise. I am of the generation that saw this British comedy duo transfer from live variety theatres and end of the pier shows to television, and witnessed their creative peak in the 1970s when one of their Christmas Shows garnered 28 million viewers.

At the time I was both impressed and highly entertained by the style of Eric and Ernie. They were a double act in the vaudevillian sense, with Eric the tall "daft" one, and Ernie the short more "serious" one, though equally daft if he could only see it: the concept owed a lot to Laurel and Hardy. The comic timing, mannerisms, delivery, ongoing jokes, interaction with guest stars, and the slightly anarchic humour that occasionally broke through the "working class lads made good" feel of the show, ensured it had a very wide appeal. What I never thought particularly deeply about at the time was the writing. This was largely the product of one man, Eddie Braben, and today I find that fact quite remarkable. We're used to comedy shows being written by teams of people - Monty Python surely couldn't have existed without the fertile imaginations of each individual being driven to a higher plane by interaction with each other. So to see great line after great line, new idea after new idea, appearing each season, year after year, from the pen of a single writer is, yes, remarkable.

Reviewing this image taken in Canary Wharf, London, a few weeks ago I kept thinking about what the lady in the brown coat might be saying to the lady in the black coat. But a suitably comedic line wouldn't come. The best I could manage are: "Do you think the baby will have his mother's or his father's looks?" and "My money's on the baby's head being an octahedron!" (that one's for the mathematicians out there.) Not ROFLMAO (I think that's right) material is it?

In my small way I have written a few "humorous" pieces for PhotoReflect. My best three are perhaps: Primordial soup and chilli, IMO UN wasted money, and The cows take a bow. Putting those small snippets together didn't come easily, so I can imagine just how hard it would be to come up with several 45 minute episodes or a full hour of Chrismas entertainment in the way Eddie Braben did for Morecambe and Wise. How much easier it would be with someone to bounce ideas off.

Most British people of "a certain age" will be familiar with Morecambe and Wise, and many more will know of their most famous sketch that features the conductor, Andre Previn. But for those who have never seen it, here's a link.



photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Benign dictatorships and firework displays

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When I am made supreme leader and rule as the benign dictator of UK plc I will pass an edict. This will say that all celebrations of events that are linked to a single date must happen on that specific date and at no other time. There will be those who will eulogise my wisdom and perspicacity (mainly the over 50s and pet lovers) and there will be others who will condemn me as a reactionary, careless of the needs of children, families and workers, who tramples freedom to secure his own narrow interest. To the former I will smile, wave and accept their kind words and enlightened attitude: the latter will be reminded that they live in a dictatorship which is currently benign but could become a little more traditional if they don't quieten down!

And now back to our normal programming! My flight of fancy above is prompted by this year's Guy Fawkes Night celebrations. This annual event recalls the downfall of the Gunpowder Plot of 5th November 1605, in which conspirators (including Guy Fawkes) were thwarted in their attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament. This year 5th November fell on a Thursday. On that night some people had the traditional bonfires and fireworks. However, others waited until Friday 6th November to do this, presumably because the following day was a Saturday and (for many) not a working day. But, many had decided that Saturday 7th was an even better day, and so there was a third evening of whizzes, bangs and flashes, accompanied by the smell of bonfires in the night air. Why does it matter if the event is spread over three days? Well, in so doing it becomes a little less of a celebration of a specific date. Then there's the extension of the din of fireworks over a longer period. And finally nervous pets have three nights of cowering whilst the explosions echo around the streets, rather than just the one. I recognise I'm probably in a minority on this one, but this stretching of festivities over a couple of nights is something I've known happen at New Year too.

Today's photograph was taken on SATURDAY 7TH NOVEMBER at the fireworks display on Blackheath, at Greenwich in London. We went there at the suggestion of my son. The last time I took a photograph of fireworks it featured him and his younger brother making sparkler patterns, and was taken with the OM1n. This image is from the LX3, which once again did a fair job in difficult circumstances. I was quite pleased with my composition here. I decided to include the tree, street lights and the silhouette of a near onlooker at the bottom left to balance the aerial bursts of the fireworks that I put on the right. It seemed a reasonable device to get away from the usual shot with a central focus of interest.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.2mm (48mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.6
Shutter Speed: 1/13
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Plumbing the medieval mind

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The gargoyles on a medieval church, such as this one at Aswarby in Lincolnshire (see yesterday's post), are pieces of sculpture that form part of the medieval plumbing system. They are designed to carry rainwater off the roof and other coverings, then out from the walls, and deposit it on the ground below. However, despite this rather prosaic purpose it sometimes doesn't pay to look too closely at them. Why? Because amongst the grimacing, devilish faces, weird beasts and elephants you might spot something a little more earthy.

When you've worked out just what today's photograph shows you might wonder, as I did, precisely what was going on in the mind of this particular sculptor, what the priest was thinking of sanctioning the design, and why in the middle ages people thought toilet humour appropriate for the decoration of a church!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 110mm (220mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Pickups and bad styling

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When I first saw the Range Rover Sport I thought it the ugliest vehicle I'd laid eyes on. It seemed like the stylist had fashioned its form with a lump of wood and an axe, then tricked it out with details borrowed from the sort that are added to toy cars to make seven year olds part with their pocket money. Surely, I thought, this is the nadir of automotive styling. But then I saw the Audi Q7! With this car the designers apparently took a glob of dough, said, "Lets make everything BIG!", then for good measure connected it to a pump and inflated it even more. Its top-heavy, dodgem-car looks and over-fed demeanour achieved the seemingly impossible task of making the Range Rover Sport look stylish. Here, surely, was the low-point of vehicle looks. But I was wrong. The other day I saw a BMW X6, an automobile that looks like it's suffering from a personality disorder. Is it a luxurious saloon? Is it a sports car? Is it an off-road vehicle? It hasn't a clue! And neither have I! Like the "variety" stars of yesteryear, whose time has passed, it wants to be a bit of everything - all singing, all dancing, a little comedy patter, and an appeal to all ages. If it was an entertainer I'd say it should focus on comedy and ditch the rest of its act because when I saw it I had to suppress a smile - and I was laughing at it, not with it.

A smile also came to my lips when I passed this little old Morris Minor pickup in front of a house. I saw it on the same day that I saw the enormous BMW, and reflected that the world (and the roads) would be so much nicer if all vehicles were this sort of size and styled with this sort of cosy aesthetic. So often, it seems, big, boorish, styling seems to engender offensive, aggressive driving. There's probably a Toyota Aygo or Citroen C3 driver speeding around somewhere proving me wrong, but I have the feeling that the size of vehicles and the way we style them affects how they are driven. A few more "Postman Pat"-inspired cars on the road would be no bad thing!

Two final reflections. Firstly, I'm struck by how much my photograph looks like a model against a background set. The light when I took this shot was clear, strong, and at a good angle, and that, combined with the nicely refurbished Victorian semi-detached houses (remodelled into one dwelling) must account for it. Secondly, from what I've written you may think I'm interested in cars. Nothing could be further from the truth - I drive a small Honda that I chose principally on the grounds of economy and reliability. However, I am interested in the design and styling of cars, because I find the subject an endless source of interest and amusement.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Dumped TVs and fanciful imaginings

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On a warm and sunny afternoon we had a cycle ride that took us through the flat Fenland landscape in the vicinity of Donington, Lincolnshire. In many areas of Britain the countryside starts to get a slightly unkempt look at the beginning of autumn. Not in the Fens however. This intensively farmed area receives constant attention from man and machine as crops are planted, tended, and harvested, at which point the soil is prepared for the next crop. And, since maximising output is the aim, just about every acre is well-tended and tidy.

So, as I cycled alongside a field where regimented ranks of winter wheat shoots were just starting to appear, you can imagine my surprise at coming upon an old TV resting upright on the carefully manicured soil near the road. What kind of low life would drive into the open country, open their car door and throw an unwanted television down the bank on to a field? Especially when the local council's "amenity sites" (waste dump) will receive and recycle such articles at no charge. Sometimes I despair of the selfish irresponsibility of my fellow citizens.

However, rather than dwell on the disfigurement of the countryside by the oaf who dumped this article I thought I'd see the discarded TV as an "opportunity", and took this photograph. Remembering Marcel Duchamp's dictum that anything can be art as long as it is taken out of context, it occurred to me that the unwanted television was a "ready-made", not unlike his bicycle wheels and urinals, and consequently I pronounce my photograph to be a work of art! I'm thinking that, if I can secure a sponsor to help me develop my theme then today's image will be the first in a series that will comment on the "the condition of mankind." My next image will have a man buried up to his neck in the field with his head inside the TV (screen removed), and arms sticking up to left and right. Then I'll move on to life-sized straw figures standing in the ripe wheat and caught in the act of hurling the TV at an oncoming combine harvester. Yes, that TV has definite possibilities... Or maybe not!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Recipe for the apocalypse

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Here's my recipe for a photograph of an apocalyptic sky in the style of the English Romantic painter, John Martin (1789-1854).

Ingredients
One grimy bird bath
A stormy sky, ideally featuring both sun and thunder
One tree

Method
Prepare your bird bath by leaving it exposed to the elements for a few years. Fill it with tap water when it dries out, otherwise let the rain do its job. When the bird bath grows a patina of orange lichen try and scrape it off. Please note, you won't succeed in this task, but that doesn't matter since the remaining patches distort the everyday colours reflected in the water in a preternatural way.

On a day when thunder is rumbling around, the broken clouds are of various shades of white and grey, and the sun is making intermittent appearances, crouch down with your camera fitted with a macro lens and try and get a focus lock on the clouds reflected in the bird bath. If the autofocus keeps finding the surface of the water, or the orange patches of lichen just below the surface, either switch to manual focus or wait for the sharp edge of a cloud to appear against the brightness of the sun: the latter usually produces an autofocus lock, and also stirs the colours up nicely, adding pinks, oranges, purples, etc. In order to anchor the image in the real world, as opposed to creating a shot that is entirely from the dream world of a deranged imagination, make sure your position allows you to include part of the reflected tree. Then press the shutter.

Serving
You can either take the shot as it comes, or post-process to taste. I like to increase the contrast very slightly to enhance the image's "end of the world" feel.

There will be some people who'll tell you that a photograph secured in this way looks contrived, unreal, "out of this world.", and must be the product of post-processing tricks. Take such remarks as compliments rather than the slurs that are intended, then show them the original RAW file. The close correspondence between the two will help them to understand that our world holds an infinity of weird and wonderful images that can be captured directly, without any need to resort to Photoshoppery.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro, (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bull bars and inquisitive cows

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The main subtext of motor vehicle manufacturers' advertisements is that buying their vehicle will say something about you to the world. They're pretty much right, but what is said isn't always what they imagine. Take off-road vehicles. When I see a 2.5 ton Land Rover Discovery barrelling along the highway, transporting a mother and child on the school run, I think, "That driver must be a half-wit." If it is fitted with bull-bars I think, "That driver must be a complete and utter half-wit with the cognitive powers of a dead ant." What causes me to have these thoughts? Simply the redundancy implicit in using a vehicle of this sort for domestic travel, the selfishness involved in cocooning yourself in a place of safety at the expense of other road users, and the environmental impact of such transport. As for the bull bars, well, the chances of hitting a bull on Britain's roads is marginally less than running over a member of the royal family, so what's the point? Now I know that my thoughts about the drivers of 4X4 vehicles cannot be right: many must be perfectly pleasant, intelligent people, and those that I know certainly are! The trouble is, a large number of them, through their driving, seem intent on making me think otherwise.

Yesterday, as I was photographing the motte and bailey of the former Norman castle at Castle Bytham, Lincolnshire, it occurred to me that the "petal" lens hood on my Zuiko 11-22mm lens is a pretty useful bull-bar, or rather cow-bar. I was in a field taking my photographs when I was approached by a small herd of young cattle. I took a couple of shots of them as foreground interest for my image of the castle mounds, then turned and climbed over the stile out of the field. The animals followed me right up to the fence and crowded around, seemingly wanting their photograph taken again. As I obliged the boldest of the bunch pushed her wet nose so close that I felt it bump up against the lens hood which, very conveniently, saved the filter on the end of the lens from getting snotty.

Taking a couple more shots I reflected that these were the friendliest cows I've encountered for quite a while. However, when I came to process this shot I revised my opinion. I think what I'd taken for friendliness was pushiness; a lack of the social graces due to being badly brought up. What makes me think that? Well look at the cow in the background cleaning its nose out with its tongue. Ugh! Gross! Didn't its mother teach it anything?

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Mavis Enderby and Old Bolingbroke

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The place-names of England offer endless fascination and not a little fun. I was raised in the Yorkshire Dales market town of Settle, a place with a name that has the distinction of being a settlement, a verb and a noun. Across the River Ribble from Settle is the unlikely sounding village of Giggleswick, a word that the comedian, Tony Hancock, found humorous enough to use in his act. A couple of miles down the valley is the equally strange Wigglesworth. As a child I was intrigued by the names of some farms not too far from my home-town, one called Israel and another Rome, presumably founded by people of a strong religious persuasion. But how, I wondered, did the adjacent farms of Higher Wham and Farther Wham come to be given such improbable titles?

When I grew older and began to travel around the country I discovered that my corner of Yorkshire wasn't the only place where strange names abound. A journey by train (from Giggleswick) to Morecambe in Lancashire passed through a place called Bare where there existed, so I was told, a branch of the Women's Institute - yes, the Bare Women's Institute! This national organisation, with branches in most towns, is probably also found in the village of Loose in Kent. In Derbyshire it's possible to live in Hope, Dove Holes and Flash (the villages of), whilst Dorset offers Whitchurch Canonicorum, Gussage St Michael and Plush (with the nearby Scratchy Bottom). However, a strong case can be made for the county of Lincolnshire as the area with greatest number of place-name oddities. Here's a selection of them from the top of my head - Anton's Gout, Ashby Puerorum, Bag Enderby (surely an inspiration to Tolkien), Bicker, Boothby Graffoe, Cowbit, Hop Pole, Pode Hole, Quadring Eaudike, Saracen's Head, Spital in the Street, Swallow, Twenty, Wasp's Nest and Wrangle.

I was reflecting on such things as I cycled to the church of St Michael in the Lincolnshire village of Mavis Enderby the other day. I had recalled a story, possibly apocryphal, that a passing wit, noticing the road sign that said, "To Mavis Enderby and Old Bolingbroke", added the words ", the gift of a son." Above is the photograph of this medieval "greenstone" church that was comprehensively restored in the nineteenth century. A couple of days previously I'd been at Old Bolingbroke, the birthplace of Henry IV in 1367, and so here is a view of its old church (also featuring greenstone) as well.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/44mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/1250 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A sign of the times?

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I don't know about you, but I thought it was deep water that was dangerous. At least I've seen plenty of signs around canals, rivers, reservoirs, lakes, etc., that warn me about it, so it seemed a reasonable conclusion. However, when I was walking in Williamson Park, Lancaster, I came across this sign, and the only conclusion I can draw from it is that if shallow water is dangerous too, then surely all water must be dangerous. Perhaps the sign makers could save time and money by simply printing "Danger, Water!"

Of course, if they did that they'd need to put the signs on taps, baths, water coolers and swimming pools. People would need to be employed to place portable signs next to puddles after rain, and to remove them when the water evaporated. And if we conceded this principle then all those "Danger, High Voltage" signs on electrical equipment would need to be complemented by "Danger, Low Voltage" on batteries, or would it just be "Danger, Voltage"? Maybe balloons would have warnings analagous to those on plastic bags, but instead of saying "Danger of suffocation!" they'd say "Danger , Low Voltage if Rubbed on a Jumper!" And, thinking about it, I suppose the plastic bags that have holes punched in them to prevent suffocation would need marking with "Danger, You might get a bit out of breath and damp from condensation if you put this over your head!" Or not.

I came across this photograph when I was transferring backed-up images to my new hard drive. I took it a couple of years ago. Looking at it the other day I thought it perfectly encapsulated our risk averse, litigation conscious, accidents-don't-exist-anymore, it's-always-someone-else's-fault culture. The organisation that had the sign erected was clearly covering its back, fearing that if someone dived into the shallow water (an ornamental pond) and hurt themselves they'd have vulture-lawyers working on a no-win-no-fee basis to recover damages for their "negligence" in not warning about the depth of the water. It's literally and metaphorically a "sign of the times" in which we live.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E500
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm (90mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Looking down a homonym

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Did you know that innuendo is the Italian word for suppository? Or that there are some that are wise and there are others that are otherwise? And maybe you've never considered that while two wrongs don't make a right, three rights do make a left?

A significant part of English humour is based on the peculiarities of our language. I was thinking about this the other day as, with a group of friends and relations, I looked down a well (see photo). It was the fashion a while ago for young people to use the phrase "well good" to describe something they particularly liked. To my older ears this is an awkward construct, but it came to mind when I was deciding a title for this image. But then I thought, no, the photograph's OK but it's not a "well good well shot"!

Then, with the word "well" in mind I got to thinking about homonyms and the like. And, after a little research I found that my understanding of what constitutes a homonym wasn't quite right. What's worse, after a lot of research I discovered that many are similarly confused, and that the internet can't be trusted to shine a light on the matter. So, in the interests of clarity here is what I discovered, courtesy of the Oxford English Dictionary:

Homophones - different spelling, same pronunciation, different meaning (e.g. here, hear)
Homonyms - same spelling, same pronunciation, different meaning (e.g. well, well)
Heteronyms - same spelling, different pronunciation, different meaning (e.g. refuse, refuse)

Please try and remember this - there will be a written test next week :-)

photograph & text (c) Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 42mm (84mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/10
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On