Enforced phone photography - b & w

click photo to enlarge
My smartphone camera isn't the best for photographing people - especially fast moving children. However, it deals reasonably well with static subjects such as architecture. The qualification to the last statement is - if it is well lit. Today's photograph shows the concrete staircase in the Switch Room, Tate Modern's £260 million extension with three gallery levels. The exterior, with its angular brick walls, window slits, great views and fascinating lighting at night is becoming well known - especially to the inhabitants of the new, glass-walled residential towers nearby who resent having spent up to £19 million for a flat only to find gallery visitors peering into their rooms.

The interior features quite a lot of new raw concrete that extends from the old raw concrete that was laid down when the building was a power station. The most arresting feature is the spiral staircase shown in today's photograph. This wasn't a particularly well lit subject and the resulting image had quite a bit of noise. But, that noise was quite amenable to cleaning up and so I thought I'd find out what the resulting image looked like when converted to black and white. Not too bad is my answer.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Staircase, Switch House, Tate Modern, London
Smartphone photograph

Fencing off spiral staircases

click photo to enlarge

I've eulogized the spiral staircase elsewhere in this blog, and I've included photographs of many of the examples, old and new, that I've come across on my travels. I've been especially pleased that architects today often choose steel versions for external entry and exit, and more particularly as fire escapes. However, with the increasing popularity of the latter a problem has arisen: how to keep the unwanted - robbers, vandals and kids - off them. The answer has an ugliness that all but destroys the functional beauty of the spiral staircase.

It usually involves erecting a circle of triple point palisade fencing around it at ground level, with entry through a lockable gate made of the same material. It's a sad indictment of our society that such a vicious thing exists, but it adds insult to injury to use it in this way. I acknowledge that there are circumstances in which it may be necessary, but I'm beginning to think that if one of these rings of steel is the answer then a spiral staircase shouldn't be the solution an architect adopts!

Today's photographs show two spiral staircases on the exterior of the Boathouse Business Centre at Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, the subject of yesterday's post and this one in February 2010. Both have the offending circular fence at the base. I managed to exclude it on the main photograph that includes the helical wind turbine, and was quite pleased with the strong, dramatic shape that I captured. However, I deliberately included it in the other image as an illustration of the point I wished to make, but also because, combined with the shapes and colours of the rest of the composition it almost achieved a Russian Constructivist quality. Almost, but not quite!

If, after sampling these, somewhat disfigured spiral staircases, you'd like to see some more interesting examples, you might like to try this one in a Cambridge museum, this one on the back of some Blackpool offices, this one in South Stack Lighthouse, Anglesey, this reflection of one on Blackpool Casino, or this almost-spiral at Somerset House, London.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 27mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Enduring buildings

click photo to enlarge
I've always thought it odd that in the distant past, when people had a less sure grasp of history and time, that many buildings were built to last "for ever", whereas today, a time when we can map previous centuries in great detail, and look forwards in a way that our ancestors never could, we often build with no thought about tomorrow. Go to any trading estate and look at the brick and steel "sheds" that are being thrown up to house a business that might occupy it for ten or twenty years (if they're lucky). Or observe what has happened in central London, and many other cities, where Victorian buildings were torn down in the 1960s, replaced by concrete office blocks, which were themselves replaced in the 1990s by taller, glossier structures. This isn't the whole story, of course, but it does happen very often, and one has to ask why.

Perhaps it is associated with the free maket short-termism that was responsible for the financial turmoil of the past couple of years. Certainly the building booms of the City of London have mirrored the periods of financial growth. But there is something else at work too. Our society hasn't been sufficiently concerned with producing quality in the built environment. That's as true with commercial structures as it is with factories and private housing. If the past teaches us anything it is that the buildings that survive the bulldozers are the ones built in the right place to high standards. Many argue that old buildings are difficult to adapt to new uses. That is true in some cases, but it's surely overstated.

I was mulling this over on a recent visit to Somerset House in London. It was built in 1776-1796 by the architect, Sir William Chambers, and further extended in the nineteenth century. It is generally regarded as the first purpose-built offices in the capital. In its early days it housed the Admiralty and a variety of other public bodies. In the nineteenth century much of it was taken up with the Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths, as well as the Government School of Design. Then, in the twentieth century the forerunners of the Inland Revenue occupied a large part of the site. Today the Courtauld Institute of Art is a major tenant, including the Courtauld Gallery (which I had gone to see). The changing use of this large building is testament to its quality and location, two factors that have ensured its survival and enduring use. Long may it continue.

My photograph is a shot taken looking over the ornate hand rail and iron balusters of a stair-well in the Courtauld Gallery. The blue paint and cold, natural light made a good complementary contrast with the orange/yellow of the artificial lighting, and the receding stairs and curves, with the people below supplied the composition.

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: 400
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Showing, interpreting and explaining

click photo to enlarge
One of the things that every photograph says to a viewer is, "Look at this" because photography is a way of showing and interpreting the world. Many of the earliest photographs emphasised the medium's ability to bring accurate images from across the world into the eye and mind of people who had never ventured abroad. In November 1839, less than three months after Daguerre's invention became available, the painter Horace Vernet was using it to record scenes in the city of Alexandria in Egypt - a remarkable example of the quick implementation of new technology. The images Vernet made enabled European audiences to see what had previously been depicted only in words, engravings and paintings.

But, when the novelty of the photograph had worn off people began to see that cameras could do more than simply show the world; they could interpret it in something like the way that painters did. It was this important step that made some see photography as a medium capable of producing art. Today the field of photography is still divided up in this way, with amateurs and professionals producing images that either show or interpret.

Today's photograph is one that I took at the Boathouse Business Centre, a new and striking looking building at Wisbech in Cambridgeshire. It is a partner to the image I posted a couple of weeks ago. But, where that photograph was essentially "show", this one has an element of "interpret". How? Well, firstly I deliberately tilted the camera for the shot, and in such a way that the central column of the spiral staircase (and the vertical wind turbine) form a diagonal across the square frame. In doing that I could use the treads of the stairs as a curving diagonal across the square in the opposite direction, making a balanced, dynamic composition. And, in emphasizing the pattern of the segments of the underside of the stair treads I'm inviting the viewer to not only look at a possibly overlooked part of the building, I'm also saying look at it the way I saw it. My image, therefore, is as much about form and composition as it is about the subject.

Describing my photograph in this way makes it sound a rather fine and grand image: it's not. But that's always a danger when you describe the how and why of a photograph or painting. I think my shot's O.K., but no more than that. The act of putting into words the how and why of image making is something that photographers (and painters for that matter) are reluctant to do. Perhaps they think it robs their work of some of its magic and mystery, and makes it too accessible! Whatever the reason, it shouldn't be only critics and academics doing this sort of thing, and I try to offer a little explanation every now and then.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The attraction of spiral staircases

click photo to enlarge
Like a lot of photographers I find myself drawn to spiral staircases. The helix shape (they're not spirals as mathematicians understand the term) lends itself to interesting compositions from above, below and from the side. Add a dark shadow and you can have a perplexing image, especially if you convert it to black and white.

Over recent years I've taken several photographs of spiral staircases, and in no instance (I think) have I produced an image that I haven't posted on the blog. That fact says something about either the visual interest of this subject or, perhaps, my lack of imagination. I'm currently "otherwise engaged" on a tiling project which gives me rather less time than usual for photography, so here's yet another spiral staircase. This one was on a hotel near the Thames in Rotherhithe, London. In fact, my wife pointed it out to me - she knows my proclivities better than anyone!

For anyone who is interested, here are the links to my other photographs of spiral staircases.

Images: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11.1mm (52mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Arches and stairs

click photo to enlarge
The outline of most arches was constructed using a straight edge and a pair of compasses. It's quite easy to see how a round-headed arch might be drawn using these tools, but pointed arches were drawn in this way too.

The simplest pointed arch - the "pointed" or "two-centred arch" was drawn using two arcs that met at the apex of the arch, with the compass point located outside, to the left and right, of the vertical lines that form the jambs. This is easier to show using an explanatory drawing than it is to describe in words.

I mention this because when I came to look at my photograph of an arched doorway through which a spiral staircase can be seen, I couldn't decide what kind of arch it was. The photograph was taken in Tattershall Castle, Lincolnshire, a tall, brick structure built in 1434, a time when castle building was on the wane. The arch is of the Tudor/four-centred variety. Some authorities class these arch shapes as one and the same, though others maintain that the Tudor arch is more depressed than its the four-centred sibling. Either way, I was definitely depressed after I'd consulted my books and the internet and come to no definite conclusion!

The photograph was taken using natural light, and the effects that might suggest the use of flash come from artificial light sources that are designed to make the tourist's passage safer, and natural light penetrating through small windows.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/44mm equiv.)
F No: f3.5
Shutter Speed: 1/13 seconds
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photographic unreality

click photo to enlarge

"The camera never lies" and "It's just like a photograph" are two of the most quoted sayings about cameras and photographs, and they state two popular misconceptions about the power of photography. The first quotation suggests that an image produced by a camera is a perfect representation of reality, and the second, that reality (say a landscape) is comparable to a photograph. The truth is that the camera always lies, and reality isn't like a photograph.

Technical illustrators have long understood the shortcomings of the photograph. Have a look at a manual from the 1960s or 1970s for a car or a camera. The chances are that the illustrations are drawings. Now you'd think that a camera manufacturer (in particular) would use their own products to illustrate their manuals. But no, they understood that if you want clarity you don't want "reality". So, for much of the second half of the twentieth century these (and other publications) used monochrome line drawings combined with airbrush work to give the clearest view of their wares. The shading was limited to the amount necessary for modelling the form of the object, and the lines were used to clearly show the parts that needed to be seen. These drawings exemplify another well-known saying - "a picture is worth a thousand words!"

Today's photograph of a steel and glass spiral staircase in a museum, with its over-all greyness and clear lines, reminded me of that type of drawing. The materials and the lighting reduced the depth of the shadows (necessary for health and safety reasons), and the emphasis given to the hand-rail and the step edges (for similar reasons) gave a linear quality. Converting the image to black and white completed the effect and triggered my reflections above. Incidentally, that type of illustration is still to be found in many of today's manuals, though often it's the digital pen, ink and airbrush of a computer programme such as Adobe Illustrator that accomplishes the work.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -1.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On