Fern frost

click photo to enlarge
Those of us who grew up in 1950s and 1960s Britain will remember frost patterns on the windows of the houses in which we lived. Sometimes they were on the outside but often we'd wake up in winter to find them on the inside. Double glazing and central heating have banished frosted windows for most people, but the absence of those two conveniences will result in the phenomenon even today.

They occur inside when there is air below freezing point outside and moist air inside that condenses on the cold glass as ice crystals. What has always fascinated me - and everyone I've spoken to about this kind of frost - is the form of the patterns that are produced. The most common type seem to be a shape similar to leaves or fern fronds. Quite how and why this shape results is a mystery to me, and a quick search doesn't produce a clear or detailed answer. It seems that the composition of the surface of the glass, particularly its imperfections, are contributory factors, but a fuller explanation is not easily found.

Today's photograph was taken on a recent early morning after a cold night. The icy patterns, commonly called fern frost, were on the outside of the windscreen of a parked car. The low sun that was obscured by trees was strong enough to produce a directional light that emphasised the details of the delicate "leaves".

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

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

Frosted windows

click photo to enlarge

It's ironic that one of the ways in which shopkeepers and some householders seek to evoke Christmas cheer is to decorate their windows by spraying fake frost and snow on them. Those of us old enough to recall frost on the inside of windows don't wish to be reminded of the days when this was a regular occurrence.

In the the UK in the 1950s and 1960s, when central heating was a rarity, it was unusual for anywhere beyond the living room and kitchen to be heated. They usually had coal fires which radiated heat and warmed the front of those sitting around them, but left their backs and the rest of the room much cooler. Winter bedrooms were chilly places where blankets, eiderdowns (no duvets in those days) and hot water bottles fought valiantly, but usually in vain, to keep the cold at bay. A freezing night where the temperature dropped well below 32 Fahrenheit (no Centigrade of Celsius then either) would result in the single-glazed windows having a frost pattern in the morning as the cold surface of the glass attracted condensation which then froze.

I was reminded of those times when I walked around the village in the snow and frost with my camera the other day. Today's photograph presented itself on the window of a Victorian-period house that is currently empty. The temperature outside was about -13 Celsius. In the house it must have been a good few degrees below zero. These low temperatures had produced the sight familiar to my childhood eyes, and I couldn't help reciting the words of the poem that I learnt at that time.  It begins Watch out, watch out, Jack Frost is about, He's after your fingers and toes..." Perhaps you know it.

Incidentally, today's photograph is a colour shot (you can see a slight hint of brown at the bottom right) yet somehow it seems right that this icy subject should be devoid of any of the warmth that colour brings to an image.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 80mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/60 sec
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Condensation patterns

click photo to enlarge

Every time I've had a cup of tea recently I've examined the inside of the teapot lid fifteen minutes or so later. Why? Well, shortly after we started using our new stainless steel teapot I noticed that the brewing tea caused condensation to form on the underside of the lid in radial patterns. Unfortunately, this pattern was often disrupted when I took the lid off and turned it upside down to view it. So I determined that I would look at it regularly until I found and saved a good enough condensation pattern for a photograph. It took just over a week but I finally got one as you can see above.

The underside of the lid has fine, concentric grooves as though it has been turned, milled or finished in some way. I assume that the radial pattern of condensation that forms is due to the nature of the surface of the metal. Whatever the reason, I liked it and thought it worthy of a macro shot. Perhaps I can consider it a further addition to my "kitchen sink" collection. For more in that vein, see here.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm macro
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/5 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Natural froth

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Speaking of being puzzled (as I was in yesterday's post), something that made me scratch my head as a child was the froth that I saw regularly on the River Ribble. It wasn't always positioned at the base of waterfalls (or "forces" or a "foss"), but was sometimes floating along on a quiet stretch, making patterns of whirls, curls and blobs, until it was rushed down some rapids to be broken up and spread throughout the torrent.

I remember that my initial thought was that the paper mills upstream must be responsible for the froth and foam. Perhaps, I thought, it was a result of the discharges that they made into the river. But, as one by one, the mills closed down, and the froth continued to be evident I speculated on other causes. Was it farm run-off? Or maybe it was caused by natural agents in the rocks, soil and plants.

On my recent visit to the Settle area I took this photograph of froth on the river just below Stainforth Force. I have no doubt that the turbulence of the flow seen in yesterday's image had a part in creating the froth. But, since not all agitated river water produces it there must be additional factors involved. A little research shows that this phenomenon is widely found, and does often have a natural cause. It seems that organic compounds dissolve in the water and act as natural surfactants allowing fine bubbles to form and coalesce as foam or froth on the surface of the river. The plunging action of a waterfall or rapids is usually the stimulus for its creation.

Looking down on the froth from a small cliff above the river I took this shot, pleased by the patterns that were being formed and then slowly changed as the water moved on. Looking at my image on the computer I was reminded of some of the photographs that I took of patterns in frozen puddles last December.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 60mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Puddle ice compositions

click photos to enlarge

We've had a couple of days of thaw and now the thermometers are back to showing sub-zero temperatures day and night. But, as they say, "it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good", and the return of the cold has at least been accompanied by bright skies. So, a walk with the camera over a few well-trodden paths seemed in order.

I don't know about you, but I have come to realise that I can walk the same routes on many days over many years, and still come up with something new to photograph. Familiarity doesn't always breed contempt (to quote another old saying), it can just as easily reveal new possibilities. If, that is, we care to look for them. The puddles on our path, that had been frozen for the best part of two and a half weeks, had more or less returned to liquid, but on this walk were ice once again. But what ice! I'd love to know the physics that created the two main pattern types that most of them exhibited on one of the tracks. I mentally gave them the names "Feiningers" and "Arps" after the names of the painters whose works they brought to mind.

The Feiningers were the compositions with straight, thrusting, and angular lines. The Arps, by way of contrast, had soft curves and concentric loops. No one else seemed to have walked the path since the latest freeze so all the puddles were intact. I took several shots, all of which I found fascinating, and here I present a fairly random foursome that shows two of each type. However, though my photograph choice is random, the recurring details of these ice patterns shows that their creation wasn't entirely down to chance, but was influenced by some common processes that were repeated across the ground the night the puddles froze over. Someone will be able to explain them. I can't.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 73mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 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

Jack Frost

click photo to enlarge
"Look out, look out,
Jack Frost is about,
He's after our fingers and toes,
And all through the night
The gay little sprite
Is working where nobody knows.

He’ll climb each tree,
So nimble is he,
His silvery powder he’ll shake.
To windows he’ll creep
And while we’re asleep
Such wonderful pictures he’ll make.

Across the grass
He’ll merrily pass,
And change all its greenness to white.
Then home he will go
And laugh ho, ho ho!
What fun I have had in the night."
children's poem by C. E. Pike

On more than one occasion recently, when talking to friends of my sort of age, the subject of ice on windows has cropped up. Most people who grew up in the United Kingdom in the 1950s, and even the 1960s, unless they were very well-off or raised in modern houses, remember waking up on cold winter mornings to find ice on the inside of their single-glazed bedroom windows. It's something that my children find barely credible, and yet we thought nothing of it: that's just the way it was, and we appeared to be none the worse for it. Of course, it's not something I'd like to return to, and it's a phenomenon that these days I rarely see anywhere. But I did the other morning.

As I stood at the kitchen window watching the birds eating the seed and scraps that I'd put out for them I noticed my unheated greenhouse (glasshouse) was iced up. At a distance it looked like the ice had formed the sort of feathery patterns that I remember from my childhood. So, I grabbed the LX3 and went to investigate. There were patterns, and they were best seen from inside the greenhouse. Those on the roof were the most elaborate and, remarkably, each pane of roof glass had a quite different pattern. Some were more foliage-like, in a very William Morris chintz way, others resembled feathers that were either very fluffy or quite sparse. I took a few shots then I found one feathery pane with good contrast and light that displayed the patterns in a way that the camera could better record - see above.

The other thing I remember from these cold childhood mornings is my mother reciting the first few lines of the "Jack Frost" poem (above) as she pointed out the frost patterns. I know some schools still teach these verses to young children, but do parents? Perhaps there is less cause now that central heating and cars have all but banished the "wonderful pictures" and the need to experience cold from our lives.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bark pictures

click photo to enlarge
I'm starting to think that I have a thing for the London Plane - the tree that is (Platanus hispanica), not some BA or Virgin aircraft. I've taken more than a few images of its bark, and posted two of them before, here and here. What I like about it is the patterns that you find, as well as the interesting colours and almost infinite variations on its basic theme. I find that I'm unable to pass one of these trees without inspecting the trunk to see if I can capture another example of this attractive surface.

Several days ago, when I was in Sleaford, Lincolnshire, I came across this tree. Its bark was flaking off in rounded pieces. The surfaces that were revealed seemed to get darker the longer they had been exposed to light and air. I took a few shots around the trunk with my pocket compact camera, but then concentrated on this area of bark. Why this piece? Well, framing it in the camera it occurred to me that the shapes looked like a one-eyed cat looking back at me - and that seemed a good enough reason for a photograph. I've no doubt that the patterns of plane tree bark are a little like some wallpapers, and different people will see different things in them. But, for me, with this example, all I see is the cat!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Glasshouse patterns

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

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

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

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

Silver birch bark

click photo to enlarge
There are times when we see words as if for the first time. You know the occasions: you're writing something and you include a word, but it doesn't look right. You stare at it, and think, "I'm sure I've spelt it correctly", but the more you look the more wrong it seems. Then, instead of seeing the form of the whole word you start to see parts and individual letters, and you have to check with a source to see if, in fact, you have spelt the word properly because it looks like a word you've never seen before. This happens with me periodically, and apparently it's a widely experienced phenomenon.

The ability to see things as if for the first time, is a wonderful gift - though not necessarily with words when writing! But, to rediscover the magic of a person's face, an object or a place, and experience the sensations of that first look, can be wonderful. People report this feeling after a near-death experience, after coming through major surgery, or when facing a death sentence. But for some it can happen in the normal course of events. Many artists seem to be able to summon up the experience, and perhaps it can be taught or acquired. I find that it comes upon me in much the same way as I described with words; reasonably regularly, but of its own volition.

The other day I was looking at the bark of a silver birch tree before taking a photograph. The more I looked for a section that offered an interesting composition, the more the bark looked strange, odd, new and fascinating. I've looked at silver birches many times, so there was no good reason for these feelings, but I certainly enjoyed them. I chose the part above because I "saw" three-dimensional structures in the thin, papery bark - stepped, sedimentary cliffs, fractured stone, plains with outcropping rock; and running up to these angular zig-zags that looked like the leading points of an advancing army passing across a desert, seen from high above. Fanciful? Certainly. Fun? Undoubtedly. A bit weird? Probably!!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Plane tree bark

click photo to enlarge

I remember reading a while ago that the reason antelopes have light coloured hair on the lower sides and underneath of their bodies is to better camouflage them by counteracting the effect of the shadow thrown by light coming from above. Thus, to a lion the antelope's body is less three-dimensional and therefore less visible. The writer noted that this kind of colouration is common across many mammal species, birds and fish. Whether evolution has caused these animals to develop like this to protect them from predators, or whether another reason is responsible for the phenomenon, I don't know, but the theory certainly sounds plausible.

And yet, if it were effective, wouldn't we see the principle being used in the camouflage paint schemes that are applied to tanks and other military vehicles? Military aircraft are often darker above and lighter below, but I imagine that is more to do with making them harder to see from above and below rather than from the side.

In fact, camouflage is an interesting science that has evolved over time. Take the battledress of infantry soldiers. It wasn't until the mid-nineteenth century that bright colours, designed to distinguish armies from each other stopped being used, and were replaced by "earth" colours intended to make the individuals less conspicuous. And not until the mid-twentieth century were khaki, lovat, green, field grey, white (in snow), etc. replaced by multicoloured patterns that sought to break up the outline of the wearer even more effectively. Today the early two-tone green and brown have given way to mottled effects of three or more "earth" colours whose shades and pattern are changed with the latitude and landscape in which an army is deployed.

I was reflecting on this as I photographed the bark of this plane tree (Platanus hispanica). The colours and shapes reminded me very much of modern battle-dress camouflage, and I wondered if the designers had been inspired by this tree that is found in many of our urban and suburban areas. The attractiveness of the bark is obvious, but military camouflage is quite seductive too otherwise it wouldn't have found its way into high street fashions! Incidentally, this is the second shot of plane tree bark that I have taken this year, though the previous tree was in another town altogether, and quite different.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

400th blog post

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As I prepared this post I noticed it is the 400th* since I began the blog on December 23rd 2005.

I started PhotoReflect to give my photography a focus and to try and improve the quality of my images. I think it has done that, and the comments and emails I receive seem to suggest it's so too. The short pieces that have accompanied each post were also designed to challenge me. In the early days of the blog I found coming up with subjects fairly easy. Lately it's been harder! The quality of my writing seemed to improve as the months passed, but then levelled off. Lately, it's maybe slipped back a touch!

The interruptions that there have been due to work and moving house proved to be useful in that I came back to posting re-energised, with a backlog of photographs to work through, and some fresh topics to discuss. At the moment I'm finding the time for photography and "reflecting", but the time will surely come when I'll take another break. I've had a several emails asking me why the facility to comment has been removed. The one word answer is "Spam". I may return the feature at some point in the future, but it will probably be moderated i.e. I'll have to read and approve each one before it's posted. In the meantime I've been happy to get emails from regular correspondents and the occasional new reader, and I hope you'll continue to send me your feedback. I'm currently revising my "Best of PhotoReflect", and I'll let you know when that's ready to view.

I can't let this milestone pass without saying that the feedback I've had through this blog, and on the photography forums where I post, has invariably been positive, insightful and helpful, and has played a big part in helping me to improve my photography and keep finding the images. Thank you everyone!

Today's photograph is some tree bark I came across in a busy town centre. I think it's a plane tree (Platanus hispanica), but I'd be happy to be corrected if anyone knows otherwise.

* Some of you may have added up each year's total, arrived at 396, and are now wondering about my facility with mathematics. The fact is, for very specific reasons, I've recently removed 4 of the older posts.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 68mm macro (136mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On