It's that windmill again

click photo to enlarge
During the Second World War the British government gave a lot of thought, manpower and money towards keeping up the morale of the civilian population. One of the means of achieving this was through the "light entertainment" programmes of BBC radio. The comedy show, "It's That Man Again" was probably the most popular of these programmes. It ran from 1939 to 1949 and entertained listeners with its characters, jokes, story lines and the fun that it made of Hitler and the Axis powers. The show was built around a comedian, Tommy Handley, and when he unexpectedly died in 1949 the long-running series ended. I'm not old enough to have heard it broadcast during those years though I have heard clips. Moreover, I do recall quite a few of the performers who went on to star in radio and TV shows of the 1950s and 1960s comedy shows; people such as Derek Guyler and Hatti Jaques.

You might wonder what this has got to do with a(nother) photograph of the windmill at Cley next the Sea in Norfolk. Well, when I came to give a title to this blog post I came up with the one above. But it seemed a bit long and not very snappy so I thought of abbreviating the words it to ITWA in the way that "It's That Man Again" was always abbreviated to ITMA. It was at that point that I thought, "Tony, you're showing your age again, people (especially younger folk and  non-UK dwellers) won't know a thing about ITMA". So I stuck with the original title and blogged about that long-gone show instead!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 30mm (45mm - 27mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Sensor aspect ratios and reeds

click photo to enlarge
The Lumix LX3 camera, in common with a few others in the Panasonic range offers the photographer different aspect ratios. A switch on the lens barrel allows the user to select 4:3, 3:2 and 16:9. What makes Panasonic's offering particularly useful is that the angle of view doesn't change when you make your selection. So, APS-C users are catered for with the 3:2 setting, Four Thirds (and MicroFT) users will be familiar with 4:3, and widescreen (16:9) is there for anyone wanting to either fill such a display with an image, or who fancies a landscape or other shot with this aspect ratio. I find myself using the 4:3 and 16:9 a lot, and the 3:2 only occasionally.

However, a firmware update intoduced a fourth option - 1:1, that is to say, square. Because it's an afterthought it has to be accessed through the menu system. However, for this photographer it is very welcome despite this inconvenience. There are those who cannot see the point, possibilities or aesthetic value of the square format: but there are others who use it exclusively or regularly. The latter group often includes former medium-format photographers who cut their teeth on square viewfinders and square film. And then there are people like me, who see 1:1 as offering the ideal shape for some subjects. If I were a portrait photographer I'd use it a lot. But even for landscapes, semi-abstracts, urban scenes and the like, it has its place.

You're perhaps wondering why I'm mentioning this in the context of a photograph taken with an Olympus DSLR with a 4:3 aspect ratio that has been cropped to square. Well, many argue that cropping obviates the need for hardware settings of this sort. I disagree. It is difficult (though not impossible) to visualise a square composition when you're framing a shot with a different aspect ratio. I did it here, but I'd love to have been able to place a square frame over the viewfinder rectangle or close it down until it was square. But thats not an option.

Today's shot is a black and white semi-abstract with, I like to think, a Japanese watercolour feel to it. I selected a group of dead reeds around a narrow water-course, including one that arches into the water (with its reflection), others that exist only as motion-blurred reflections, and some nearer ones that are out of focus. The delicate lines traced across the square frame, that look like they have been applied with a brush, appeal to to me, though I think they won't be everyone's cup of tea.

photograph & text (c) T.Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Reeds at sunrise

click photo to enlarge
Reeds were once one of the dominant plants of the Lincolnshire Fenlands. Around the margins of permanent meres and seasonal pools the Phragmites australis grew tall and lush. Reed and sedge warblers churred their coarse song perched on its stalks; moorhen, water rail, bittern and heron stalked around its roots, eating the plentiful insects, fish, and frogs; and water voles and other small mammals built their homes among them. During the Middle Ages the reeds provided a valuable roofing material, and thatched cottages can still be found so covered, though today they are more likely to use Norfolk reeds or straw.

The draining of the Fens and the turning over of the land to arable agriculture saw a drastic reduction in the acreage of reed beds. Today, with a few exceptions such as wildlife reserves, reeds are most commonly seen lining the natural and artificial streams and dykes that criss-cross the fields. Here, on a more limited scale, they still offer sanctuary to wildlife, and on my walks I regularly see sedge warblers, reed buntings, little egrets and other birds amongst them. In the early evening I can watch barn owls patrolling the grid of reed-lined water-ways, hoping to surprise a water vole, shrew or mouse: occasionally marsh harriers can be observed doing the same during daylight hours.

The character of reeds changes over the year. In spring and summer they are a fine, fresh green, but in autumn they turn a khaki brown. Some - for reasons not known to me - have a quite strong orange colour in October and November. Today's photograph shows reeds by the side of a stream near my house. I photographed them on a cold December morning shortly after the sun had risen, catching their delicate silhouettes against the clouds that were tinged with pink, orange and yellow.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 7.4mm (35mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Using the horizon

click photo to enlarge
I grew up in an area of hills, mountains and valleys in North Yorkshire. I currently live in a flat area of Lincolnshire. (Note to UK residents who have never been to Lincolnshire - contrary to popular belief much of the county isn't flat!) One of the things you find when you're making landscape photographs in an area of flat land is the importance of the horizon.

In recent weeks I've taken a few photographs that have used the device of a ragged horizon punctuated by a church spire, specifically those of Sutterton, Helpringham and Donington. In the case of Sutterton the main subject is supported by the details of the incoming clouds. The horizon in the Helpringham shot is helped by the colour gradations in the sky and the detail that is still discernible in the foreground fields. In the Donington photograph the foreground offers little interest, but the soft pink/orange of the sky prevents the image being too monochrome, and gives a little warmth. Those three images emphasise something else that you learn photographing flat landscapes: a good sky and finding foreground interest is really important. In hilly areas you can shoot upwards, downwards and across, and can often change your height relative to your subject to give emphasis or to create a composition. In the flatlands you are usually shooting across, and generally raise or lower your camera only to increase the relative importance of sky or foreground.

I was thinking about this the other day when I took another "horizon" shot, also featuring the church of St Mary and the Holy Rood at Donington. Remembering my previous early evening shot I looked for a different composition. The sky wasn't offering much so I positioned myself behind some snow-swept reeds that offered foreground interest. I took a couple of photographs. The first had the church in focus. However, I preferred my second attempt (above) with the reeds in focus and the church out of focus.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 110mm (220mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Birdwatching, photography and reeds

click photo to enlarge
It struck me the other day that photographers are quite similar to birdwatchers in the way they choose to pursue their hobby.

Birdwatchers fall into two main groups. There are those who study a particular local patch, walking the same routes year after year in different seasons and at different times of day, learning which birds favour which spots and when, noting the unfamiliar as their eye becomes attuned to the familiar terrain. Such people also, periodically, travel a bit further afield and benefit from seeing new species in different surroundings. Often birdwatching of this kind is a solitary pursuit, or is undertaken with a partner or friend, and builds a knowledge of bird life in a particular locality over time. Then there are those who tear around the countryside by car, briefly dropping into favoured spots, scanning the usual places before screeching off to the next locations, contacting other birdwatchers to find out if any rarities have been seen within striking distance. These birdwatchers compile lists of all sorts - birds seen from their home, birds seen in their country, birds seen in their lifetime, etc. Trips to far-flung places and abroad, to extend their lists, are essential for this kind of birdwatcher. When I watched birds with a greater seriousness than I do now I definitely fell into the first camp.

I suppose that accounts for the way I choose to make photographs, also tramping over the same ground at different times of day, in different seasons, taking pleasure in picking out something new from a piece of countryside or village that I've walked many times before yet never noticed. Making the occasional foray farther afield is part of my practice too. However, I have never been tempted to pursue my hobby by driving off to "photographic" locations, to exotic countries, or to meetings of other photographers in photogenic places: what I disparagingly call the "Luminous Landscape" approach to photography. To me that's photography as consumption just as "twitching" is about birdwatching as consumption.

Today's photograph was gathered during a circular walk I've undertaken many times. On this occasion I noticed that alongside some streams the leaves of the dead reeds had been fixed in a horizontal position, presumably by the effect of the wind. The way the late afternoon light was falling made them into an attractive subject, contrasting with the thin upright lines of their stalks. This shot has been converted to black and white using the digital equivalent of an orange filter which has increased the contrast of the image.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 132mm (264mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Reeds, ripples and reflections

click photo to enlarge
I sometimes wonder if I should get a Holga. Given some of the images I'm starting to produce, where colour fidelity, sharpness, clarity and depth are of little consequence, the features offered by a DSLR sometimes seem like overkill. A small, cheap, black box, with a simple, fixed-focus lens, producing images that are all imbued with the same characteristics has its attractions. Of course a Holga uses film, and digital is much more convenient.

I've used an SLR since the early 1970s, but for most of that time I've also owned a smaller, fixed lens camera to carry when something larger is inconvenient or inappropriate. Of all such cameras that I've had the one I look back on with most affection is the Ricoh 500RF - a 35mm rangefinder with a fixed 40mm f2.8 lens that I used for about 15 years. This produced images far better than it had any right to, and served me well shooting slide film and black and white for architecture, and colour film for family snapshots. The discipline of the fixed lens was good - zooming involved walking - and the rangefinder focussing was very easy and convenient. It was a camera that forced me back to photography's basics, and helped me see images where previously I hadn't. I was sorry when it died. Today I have a Fuji E900 that I picked up a few years ago, fairly cheaply, after it had been superseded by other models. It has a 32-128mm (35mm equiv.) f2.8-f5.6 lens, offers RAW, and is capable of producing some pretty good images. I use it less than I might, but perhaps winter shots of the sort posted above are within its range. My self-imposed Olympus burden that accompanies each walk is probably due for some time off.

Today's semi-abstract photographs show more reflected reeds shot with deliberately slow shutter speeds to introduce blur. Not everyone's cup of tea I suppose, especially those die-hard DSLR users who seem to value sharpness in an image above most other qualities. But I like them!

photographs & text (c) T. Boughen

Top Image
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/25
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Bottom Image
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 110mm (220mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f14
Shutter Speed: 1/3
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The water's edge

click photo to enlarge
When the Pre-Raphaelite painters turned their attention to nature they produced work that rejoiced in the minutiae of leaves, flowers, branches, rocks and water. They saw this verdant world like a child does, and examined it closely, marvelling at the nooks and crannies, insects and dark places. Paint was richly worked to show the detail of their subjects. Works such as "A Study, in March" (1855) by John William Inchbold (1830-1888), or the better-known "Ophelia" (1852 ) by John Everett Millais(1829-1896) exemplify these characteristics.

Critics of the Pre-Raphaelites - and there are many - see a lack of focus in this approach. They complain that the compositions do not direct the eye to a main subject (if one even exists). Camille Paglia talks about the "Keatsian ardor" with which the painting of nature was pursued, and compares it unfavourably with "High Romance energy" and "dynamic process", suggesting that it is only one step removed from the Symbolist decadence of Gustave Moreau. But, like many critics, she lets her preferences get in the way of seeing this aspect of Pre-Raphaelite work for what it is - a different and straightforward way of looking at nature, a reaction to "Sir Sloshua Reynolds" and what had gone before in English painting. And, whilst she is right to say that "part triumphs over whole", there is pleasure to be had in the simple revelation of nature and the decorative effect that this can produce. This is largely art for the eye and the emotional response: it isn't as completely cerebral as some painting. Critics of this aspect of the Pre-Raphaelites' work are like those who decry the unaccompanied folk song but praise the conservatoire setting of the tune, denying themselves the different enjoyment that each offers.

I was reflecting on this as I processed my image. Did it suffer from a lack of focus? It was taken on a walk that I regularly undertake from my house, part of which follows a stream that is reed-lined in summer. The other day only a few reeds were left standing, and the water was reflecting the nearby trees and the blue sky. I took a shot of the water's edge, to capture both the sharp foliage, and the softer reflections that were being distorted by the ripples and eddies. Does the image lack a main subject? Yes, but I think it offers distinct and the indistinct interest for the searching eye.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 98mm (196mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On