The sunset cliché

click photo to enlarge
The biggest clichés in photography are generally thought to be the sunset and the sunrise. With the possible exception of babies and, perhaps, cats and dogs, (and not forgetting, in recent years, food on plates!) these two subjects must account for more photographs than any other. If you want to stake a claim to photographic credibility make sure you steer clear of sunsets and sunrises!

Why this should be I don't know. Each is a splendid phenomenon, and each is unique -  no two sunsets or sunrises are the same. Fine artists down the centuries have thought them to be just as worthy of depiction as any other subject, and inventiveness has been given full rein in conjuring up a different take on this familiar composition. This blog has several examples, all different, and to the photographer, all worthy of recording. I make no great claim for them though some are better than others as photographs, but I also make no apology for photographing them either.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: Fenland Sunset with Pylons and Wind Turbines
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.9
Shutter Speed: 1/800 sec
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: -0.7EV

Selling the weather

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Over three years ago in a post called, "Banish weather forecasters" I lamented a number of recent efforts to "sex up" the weather forecasts that we receive in the UK. Since that time our weather forecasting has gone into overdrive with additional measures to capture the attention of the public, politicians, the press, advertisers and weather forecasting rivals. For example, we now have regular "severe weather warnings" even though we live in temperate latitudes where our climate is marked by an absence of extremes. If fog is predicted the forecast is plastered with yellow warning triangles bearing black exclamation marks to draw our attention to the coming event; this despite the fact that fogs occur every autumn, also at other times of year, and is obvious to all as soon as you step out of your front door. The same warnings accompany strong winds, heavy rain, frost etc, none of which are unusual occurrences in our islands.

The most recent gimmick to get us to give more attention to the weather forecast is the naming of storms to "raise awareness of severe weather". This device, borrowed from parts of the world that name hurricanes etc, serves little useful purpose. For everyone who is heedless of the weather that it manages to alert, there are more who are unnecessarily alarmed by the screaming headlines and warnings of dire peril that invariably follow such an announcement. Today's photograph shows the fine clouds of the sunset before the arrival of storm "Barney" (surely too cuddly a name for a potentially destructive force), the second named event of the autumn.  It was suggested it may bring gusts of wind up to 80 mph "in places", though looking at the detail of the forecast, in most areas they will be substantially less strong, something that will escape the notice of many. I suppose I shouldn't get worked up about this kind of headline grabbing. It is, after all, a characteristic of all the media today. Can it be long before "listicles" are a regular feature of the weather forecast?

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.8mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.) cropped
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Just a couple of sunsets

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Just?! There's nothing just about a sunset! It surely counts among the most wonderful sights that the planet earth can offer. Imagine how much poorer we would be if the sky no longer turned to fire, if clouds ceased to be tinged by red, orange, pink and purple. Consider losing the transformative effect that a sunset can bring to the grimmest urban scene, the most unremarkable suburban streetscape or an over-regimented, industrialised, agricultural landscape. Think for a moment about how rivers, lakes, west facing coastlines, even humble puddles, would no longer be able to double the power of the fiery sky with their reflections. Or how we would no longer feel that familiar thrill as we stopped and stared at the sky, watching as the colours start to build to a blazing climax then subside to a glimmer, a mere memory of what has come and gone.

I've said elsewhere that seeing a sunset, any sunset, is like seeing one for the first time. It dazzles the eye and lifts the spirits. I felt that way the other afternoon as we had a late walk round the village and the clouds turned first pink and yellow, then a deeper orange and red. It came upon us as we were on some of the plainer streets, away from the church, the stream and the big trees of the village's picturesque centre. But that didn't matter; the transformation took place regardless. After taking my fill of the spectacular sunset I took a couple of shots to remember it by.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: crop of 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/30 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Otherworldly photographic colours

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I was looking at some competition-winning photographs online recently. Those judged the best were chosen by the popular vote of the particular online community. As I went from category to category - landscape, still-life, travel, etc - a recurring thought kept popping into my head: "Which planet were these shots taken on?" The reason for my query? The colours of many of those selected were so heavily saturated, so unnatural looking, so "otherworldly" that they were unbelievable as images of planet Earth.

This penchant for bright, deep, fantasy colours has, I think, grown with the rise of digital. Sometimes it's down to the preference of the photographer. On other occasions "vivid", "saturated" or some other synonym is the default setting of the camera, chosen by the manufacturers in preference to "natural" or "standard", because the they know these stronger colours will appeal to buyers. Deeper colours can also be a deliberate or perhaps even an unwitting manipulation of the saturation slider by the photographer who makes that choice because they feel that's how "good" photographs now look or how they must look in order to win photographic competitions. Then there's the influence of HDR, Instagram and all the other "effects" that are so easily applied digitally. Well, I wish it would stop. I wish that photographic colours would look more like they do in life.

However, there are three more reasons why saturated colours abound. Two causes are hard to deal with and the other should be left alone. The first is the inability of camera sensors to accurately record all colours in all situations. Colour film couldn't do it and neither can digital. If you want total accuracy you've sometimes got to adjust the hues the camera records to a closer approximation of what your eye saw. And that's not always easy. Then there's the fact that monitors are frequently not colour calibrated. Consequently there is often a mis-match between the way the colours of a particular photograph are seen on different computers and devices. Finally, there's the fact that sometimes, in some lights, the natural colours of the world are saturated in a way that makes them look unreal. A few weeks ago I pointed out a pasture to my wife that was so intensely green it looked like it had been spray painted. It probably had been sprayed, but with fertiliser and herbicides. Then, more recently we saw dozens of small clouds at sunset that were a vibrant salmon pink against a glowing cyan blue sky. On this occasion I actually said to my wife, "A photograph of this sky would look like it had been heavily manipulated in Photoshop." Where otherworldly, unusual colours occur naturally there's nothing that needs doing to change the photograph. Today's shot has something of these qualities because the colours look unreal or manipulated. I took it near the River Thames in London, and it's as it came out of the camera, the colours fairly close to what we saw in what was the second best London sunset I've ever seen. For the very best London sunset of the past few decades, one that was widely acknowledged as such, see my photograph here. Note - I did use a graduated neutral density filter for this shot.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: crop of 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Double the value

click photo to enlarge
In one of my early posts - in March 2006 as it happens - I extolled the advantages of a west-facing coast. I happened to live near the west-facing Fylde coast at the time and during my years in Lancashire I frequently photographed during the evening by the sea. Such a coast has a singular advantage at this time of day because, if the sun goes down and produces a blazing sunset, one with fiery skies of red, orange and yellow, the reflection on the sea below doubles the magical effect. I now live in Lincolnshire, a county with a coast that faces east and my nearest west facing coast is round on the other side of The Wash in Norfolk, in the area of Hunstanton. In fact, that is the only piece of coast in the east of east of England that faces west (a good quiz question there I think).

Fortunately the sea is not the only reflective surface that doubles the value of a sunset: ponds, lakes and rivers do as well. So too do the glass curtain walls of modern high-rise buildings. This particular sunset shows the same glass wall that features in today's photograph. It is in Southwark, London. On the day in question it wasn't evening as I passed but early morning and looking up I saw that the sky was being reflected in a rather fine manner. Such reflections regularly attract my eye and feature fairly strongly in this blog. I wonder if the extra value that they add to the subject they reflect appeals to my Yorkshire upbringing?

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Spalding sunset

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The weather has taken a turn for the mild. Daytime temperatures of 10 or 11 Celsius would not disgrace March so they are very welcome in January. Unfortunately the balmy conditions have been accompanied all too often by leaden skies, drizzle or rain. However, today the sun made an intermittent appearance and I left off my path cleaning to accompany my wife on an afternoon shopping expedition to Spalding. I call it an "expedition" because shopping, though it seems to have taken the place of gardening and looking after pet animals as the national pastime, holds few pleasures for me and I approach it as a soldier or explorer might - with a grimly determined expression on my face.

But, I'm also an optimist, and so I always put my compact camera in my pocket when I go shopping. By the time we emerged from a succession of stores the sun was low in the sky, about to set, and I headed back to the car resigned to not finding any photographs. As we passed through a part of the town that isn't the most picturesque - it features a car park, public toilet, the magistrates court, security fencing and some housing and shops that have seen better days - I looked around for an image or two. The potential subjects were most unpromising and the fading light did nothing to pique my interest. But, just as we were about to leave the area a low shaft of sunlight broke through, raking the backs of a row of old houses, revealing the details of their battered brickwork, making sharp silhouettes of a tree and a nearby streetlight, and flooding the scene with strong colours. I raised my camera, composed a shot, pressed the shutter and walked on. As I did so I reflected on the transformative power of sunlight; how it can not only animate and elevate the mundane but can also lift the spirits and provide a photograph where only moments before none seemed possible.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

The threatened ash tree

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The sea that separates the British Isles from continental Europe is generally thought of, by the inhabitants of these islands at least, as a blessing, a defensive moat that kept Napoleon and Hitler at bay, has stopped rabies from becoming widespread here, and prevents European integrationism from too deeply affecting our idiosyncratic ways. However, a longer view must also record how, when the ice ages covered our islands in glaciers, sending the wildlife south to escape its deadly touch, the thaw that followed and the North Sea and English Channel that it created and which separated our islands from Europe, also prevented the return of many plants and animals. Thus, fallow deer were present before the last glaciation, but did not return after it, the present herds all being introduced animals. As many school children used to know, the adder made it back to England, Scotland and Wales, but it wasn't St Patrick who banished it from Ireland, but rather the inundation that became the Irish Sea prevented it reaching that country.

However, in these days of regular international and inter-continental travel, when goods are shipped around the world with barely a thought, and when companies source products from whoever can provide them at the lowest price, the narrow stretch of sea that was once seen as a formidable barrier, is today a mere ditch that can be stepped across at will. Ash dieback disease, the Chalara fraxinea fungus that was first seen in Eastern Europe twenty years ago, which has spread rapidly across the continent, badly affecting the ash trees of Germany, France and elsewhere, and has affected 90% of Danish ash trees, is now spreading in Britain. There is some debate over whether it was brought in solely on imported saplings or whether it also arrived on the wind from across the narrow North Sea. But, it seems widely agreed that it is here, it can't be eradicated, only slowed in its progress, and it will have a major effect on our hedgerows and woodlands, as well as on the wildlife that favours this particular species. Current thinking suggests that the best course of action is to leave trees to die naturally, to identify those individual trees that seem to be resistant, and to begin a breeding programme to produce new plants from them.

This depressing business was on my mind as I processed today's photograph. I didn't notice when I took the shot, but it features a young ash tree. Five and half percent of British woodland trees are ash, but 12 million grow elsewhere, particularly in hedgerows. It is the second most commonly seen individual tree (after the oak). I read that in Lincolnshire and East Yorkshire combined the ash accounts for 40 percent of the trees. A loss of such magnitudes would be devastating nationally and locally.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A lake or a pond?

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There seems to be no universally accepted definitions that allow us to categorically state whether a small body of still, enclosed, inland water should be called a lake or a pond. It is widely held that a lake is larger than a pond. However, exceptions to this rule are not uncommon. The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) says that "properly" a lake is "sufficiently large to form a geographical feature". However, it then adds, "but in recent use often applied to an ornamental water in a park etc": in other words small stretches of water that do not form geographical features. Biologists have looked at the problem in a different way and proposed that an area of water should be defined as a pond if sufficient light reaches the bottom to allow rooted plants to grow, otherwise it is a lake. Others say that if the effects of wave action can be seen on the shore it is a lake, but if not then it's a pond. No wonder we are so confused on this relatively insignificant matter.

In the UK the small, man-made stretches of water that are created for fresh-water fishing are often called "fishing lakes". Whether this is simply for marketing reasons I don't know, but many of them are what I would call ponds. Of course, the UK also suffers from a plethora of other terms, many of great antiquity, that are used to describe what otherwise might be termed ponds or lakes: loch, Llyn, mere, tarn, pool, water, flash, broad, pit, are a few such words that add a layer of complication to the issue. When I saw the man-made pond in today's photograph I thought that it might be a fishing lake, but I could see no perimeter jetties or other locations where a fisherman might sit. It is also on a farm where the owner has made a conscious effort to maintain areas attractive to wildlife, so perhaps it was designed for the benefit of the moorhens, greylag geese, mallards etc, that scurried for cover or took flight at our approach.

I've noted elsewhere in this blog, that a sunset over water multiplies the effect of the dwindling light in a magical way, so I wasted no time and took a group of shots across the water as the sun sank out of sight. These are the best two photographs.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 75mm
 F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A fiery London sunset

click photo to enlarge

Sometimes the colours and beauty of a sunset are quite overwhelming. Such was the case on a recent evening when I happened to look out of my balcony in London. I'm used to getting great views and interesting shots from this location when I stay in the city. And I've seen and photographed quite a few good sunsets. But I was unprepared for the colours and the definition of the scene that greeted me when I went to see which boat I could hear passing by. That happened to be nothing more than one of the Thames Clippers catamarans that regularly race up and down the Thames in their role as water buses, and on this occasion its engine sound had fooled me because it was going much slower than usual: perhaps it was finished for the night. I made a quick bee-line for my camera and started firing off shots intent on capturing the sight.

The ND8 graduated neutral density filter happened to be on the camera so my first few shots (of which this is one) were modified by that. However, apart from it darkening of the upper sky, possibly emphasising the blues a touch and giving more faithful delineation of the cloud, the image is what came out of the camera and involves no post processing. I don't recall seeing a better sunset than this one for a couple of decades, if at all. The people in some neighbouring flats were equally impressed because they too were out on their balconies with cameras. I took some photographs without the filter too, but this one, with the foregound interest of the passing boat, is the one I like best.

For an idea of what this section of the Thames from this vantage point looks like during the day see here and here.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: O
Filter: Graduated ND8

Getting the best photograph

click photo to enlarge

One of the joys of digital photography is the ease and lack of extra expense involved in taking multiple shots of the same subject with the intention of securing the best possible image. Today's photograph, like yesterday's, is one of six that I took the other day of clouds reflected in the glass curtain wall of some London offices.

Here are the main advantages that I see in taking more than one shot of your subject. Firstly, if conditions dictate a low shutter speed that is hand-held, multiple exposures increase the chance of you getting a shot that is sharp. Secondly, you can experiment with the composition by either zooming, changing your position, adjusting the elements that you include in the frame, changing the depth of field etc. Thirdly, you can adjust your camera settings to, for example, control highlights or modify colour saturation. Fourthly, through taking more than one exposure of a subject you inevitably think more about it and that often results in a better outcome. There is a downside with multiple exposures (and indeed the general ease of digital) and that is the amount of storage space required for images if you don't ruthlessly cull the "duds". But, that notwithstanding, multiple exposures make a lot of sense.

However, here's the paradox. When I take multiple shots of the same subject I usually find - about nine times out of ten - that my first shot is the best! Is this because I'm an instinctive or intuitive photographer rather than one who thinks long and hard about each shot? Perhaps. And if that's the case why do I still take multiple shots? Well the answer lies in those approximate statistics: every now and again the first shot isn't the one I prefer, or something went wrong with it, and then I'm very grateful for the "duplicates".

From the above you'll gather that I like yesterday's shot over this one. But, I've been taking photographs long enough to know that many people will prefer the one above.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Curtain walls and coincidences

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It would be great to believe that the modern world had done with the concept of "good luck", that the superstitious attitude that leads people to waste money on lotteries and other gambling would have gone the way of belief in fairies and the efficacy of a daily dose of castor oil. But no, people queue up to give away money they can often ill afford to lose in the hope - sometimes expectation - of becoming a millionaire.

But the fact is, despite the Enlightenment, despite the rise of modern mathematics and science and despite universal education, many people have only a hazy grasp of concepts such as chance, probablity and coincidence, and frequently fall back on the superstitious beliefs of centuries ago. If only I stick with the same set of numbers, some say, I'm bound to win the lottery one day, while another group are equally convinced of their belief that changing the numbers is a better way to beat the odds. A much smaller group realise that the odds are the same each time you play your numbers, whatever the numbers are. Similarly, many people will accept that the probability of two people sharing the same birthday is 100% when there are 366 people in a room (excluding February 29th birthdays), but will dispute the fact that there is a 99% probablity when there are only 57 people. (For further information on this probability theory paradox see here).

My most recent blog post was about my liking for using glass curtain wall grids in photographs. What a strange coincidence then, that on my next photographic outing (that happened to be in London), I should return with just such an image, a semi-abstract example taken around sunset. Not really. I like the subject, I'd been thinking about it recently, and I was in a city with a multitude of glass boxes, so the fact that I should take such a shot is not at all unlikely: it's simply the sort of coincidence that occurs regularly throughout our lives.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.2mm (48mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.6
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Taking the same photograph again No. 2

click photo to enlarge

If you repeatedly walk the same routes you come upon the same photographic subjects time and again. For some photographers that is a problem to be overcome by regular travel, either locally, nationally or in distant lands. Now I enjoy travel as much as the  next person, but not for its own sake, and not solely for the purposes of photography. For me travel has to offer something wider than servicing just one of my interests. And, as I've said on more than one occasion in this blog, I enjoy unearthing new photographs in familiar places and making photographs that are variations on those that I've taken before. So, a familiar walk in the area where I live is just as likely to provide me with a photographic opportunity as is a trip to the other end of the country or to an entirely different country.

The other day I had a morning walk alone, then another walk in the afternoon with my wife. On that second outing we travelled along a track that gives a fine, distant view of Donington church. Exactly one year ago yesterday I walked the same path and took a photograph with similarities to that which I post today. The earlier photograph is from a slightly different point, has a clearer sky, and was at a time when more snow covered the ground. But, the composition is essentially the same: the principal interest resides in the horizon, the trees and the bodkin-like spire of St Mary and The Holy Rood piercing the sky, with subsidiary features being the near field, the huddle of houses and the sky. What I find interesting is how different the two photographs are in feel and colour. Each has qualities that I like - the hard, cold clarity of the earlier shot and the blue/orange complementary colours of the recent one, to name but two.

I've walked the path from which the two images were taken several times during the course of the past year, and on each occasion I've looked across at this section of the horizon. But, at no time was I motivated to take another shot until the other day when the light and weather came together in a way that caused me to raise my camera to my eye.

Why the title? See this post.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 250
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tips for better sunset photographs

click photos to enlarge

Like most photographers I'm easily seduced by a good sunset. However, over the years I've come to realise that, whilst achieving a mediocre or satisfactory photograph of a sunset is fairly easy, making a good one is actually quite difficult.

Photographing a sunset, in some ways, presents similar difficulties to photographing a fast-flowing river that tumbles over projecting rocks: the things that captivate our eyes don't necessarily translate well into a static, two dimensional image. In the case of the river we take our shot after being entranced by the sparkle of light on splashes, and the ever-moving swirls and rushes of light and dark on the surface, and then are disappointed by the lack of life in our resulting image. With sunsets the luminous quality of the light, the depth of colour, the subtle gradations of single colours, and the faster movement of nearer clouds across the face of more distant ones all encourage us to raise our cameras. But, as with running water, we can be frustrated by the flatness of the photograph.

I've come to realise that one or more of three things are required for a good sunset photograph. The first is a reflection of the sunset in water - in the sea, a river or a lake. I lived for twenty years near a west facing coast and was repeatedly impressed by the way in which such a reflection can multiply and transform the power of even a quite modest sunset. The second is that the sunset must have good qualities in terms of the depth of colour, the contrast across the sky, and the shape and consistency of the clouds. Every good sunset you look at repeats the magic of the first one that you ever saw, so a weak one with a sliver of colour against the horizon should usually be ignored, photographically speaking. The third thing that can make all the difference is an interesting (often silhouetted) shape on the land below. I've used piers  and breakwaters with the sea, but pools on the sand and mud are equally good. On land anything will do that acts as a hard foil to the soft sky.

Today's photographs show a sunset that I captured when driving home from a shopping expedition. The clouds above had a lovely, colourful, soft quality, those below a brooding darkness, and sandwiched between was some blue/cyan sky with vapour trails. Both images use the tower and short spire of Swineshead church as the ground interest. The portrait format shot was taken first from a greater distance, but I was happier with the nearer landscape format image that made more of the church's silhouette.

Two further points. Some modern cameras have a mode that allows you to enhance the colour of a sunset. Treat this with the contempt that it deserves and ignore it. A photograph of a sunset should be a celebration of the natural beauty of our world, not a technologically boosted image that ends up looking like an imagined Jurassic landscape minus the dinosaurs or an apocalyptic painting from the fevered mind of John Martin. And the second point? I've posted quite a few black and white photographs over the past several days, and I thought it was time for a splash of colour!

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

First photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 119mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Early evening sun, snow and mist

click photo to enlarge

It's surprising how much of the detail of what you learn in school stays with you throughout your life. I was looking at a cup of cold tea the other day and into my head popped the phrase "colloidal substance". A colloid, as I recall, is a substance dispersed evenly throughout another substance. The word was explained to me by my teacher by reference to, among other things, cold tea. The following day I was looking for a late afternoon/early evening photograph while walking along a track past the village of Bicker when mist started to roll in from the north west. As I started to take my photographs of the trees and church tower with the bright disc of the sun above, the mist started to thicken and the whole of the horizon gradually disappeared from view, the landscape becoming enveloped in a thick fog.

On my journey home I tried to remember the precise difference between mist and fog as it had been explained to me in geography lessons. I recollected that the density of water droplets and the consequent degree of visibility was what separated one from the other, and it was in the hundreds of yards (metres today I suppose), but I couldn't recall the precise figure. So, later that day I looked it up. The current definition of fog is visibility less than 200 metres. However, if you are a pilot it is less than 1000 metres. That latter fact wasn't one I knew and puzzles me somewhat. Do pilots have enhanced vision? As far as mist goes, it is the discernible presence of water droplets with visibility greater than 200 metres.

So, by my reckoning this photograph, which incidentally was taken from near the point where I took this one the other day, shows mist. What it doesn't show is how cold that afternoon was. The temperature was about -8 Celsius (not cold in world terms, but quite nippy as far as the UK goes), however the perceived temperature was a good bit lower due to the wind. The time I had my gloves off to change lenses was as long as I could stand it, and I haven't felt that cold for a few decades - in fact, the last occasion would probably be when I was at school learning about colloids, and the difference between mist and fog!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 228mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Evening photography

click photos to enlarge

One of the tasks I periodically set myself is to take more photographs at night. However, since I moved to rural Lincolnshire I've found that is much harder than it sounds. When my home was on the Fylde Coast of Lancashire, in close proximity to the coastal towns of Blackpool, Fleetwood, Cleveleys, St Annes and Lytham, the opportunities were much greater. Blackpool, in particular, is ablaze with light at night, particularly along its miles of promenade, photographic opportunities are plentiful, and the light levels make hand-held shots relatively easy. But, in a rural village a few street lights and the glow from the windows of houses is about all the light that is available. When you live in a city, a conurbation, or a big town, it makes more sense to be out and about in the evening, and photographs can be snapped routinely. However, for the rural dweller a trip of several miles to the nearest town solely for the purposes of photography has less to commend it. Or at least that's how this photographer sees it.

Sunset, of course presents opportunities regardless of where you live. Today's photographs are a couple of shots taken in an incidental sort of way, using the camera I had with me. The second one shows (or rather doesn't show) a lane with a farmhouse and a few trees. It is, I suppose, fairly unexceptional. The first image, however, presents some issues that often surround a sunset photograph, namely "Did it really look like that?" and "Are those the actual colours you saw?" The answer to both those questions in this case is, pretty much, "Yes!" In fact, I had to take several shots, repeatedly adjusting the EV to prevent the camera from giving me a scene that was much brighter than the one I was looking at. Someone drew my attention to the fiery glow on the left, and as I took my shots the purple tinge illuminated the low clouds. Serendipity had a part to play in this image too. If I hadn't tried so hard to get the light level and colours right I wouldn't have had a shot that included the car on the road, a helpful detail that adds interest and points of light to the right of the photograph.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 6.8mm (32mm/35mm equiv.), (5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f2.8 (f2)
Shutter Speed: 1/125 (1/30)
ISO: 125 (320)
Exposure Compensation: -2.0 (-0.7) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Sunset woods

click photo to enlarge
When I lived in the north west of England woodland was not hard to find. Deciduous woodland was common on the slopes of the Pennines, most of it the result of planting, and today managed for timber or shooting to a greater or lesser extent. However, there was some vestigial woodland, a natural continuation of that which grew there thousands of years ago. On the uplands conifer plantations were fairly common on thin, acidic soil, dense green swathes of woodland with brown scars where felling or new planting was taking place. Where I live now, in Lincolnshire, there is significantly less woodland, and what there is is largely the result of deliberate planting. On the Fens trees are most common around villages, and around farms as wind-breaks, with the odd plantation and copse to be found among the vegetable and cereal fields. However, if one goes on to the low hills or the higher Wolds of the county you find that woodland established for timber or sporting reasons is fairly common.

Todays' photograph shows a view at the edge of a small wood near Aswarby, Lincolnshire. On the particular estate where these trees grow there is a sawmill, and timber is cropped for the wood it produces. But, pheasant are a lucrative crop in this area too, and the woods are dotted with the pens and feeders that support the rearing of this "game bird". I took this shot towards sunset, and deliberately chose these three trees to be in the image. It would have been perfectly easy to have included a lot of trees, but I felt the composition and the imapct of the shot would be better served by a small number. Incidentally, this is another photograph taken with the 16:9 aspect ratio of the LX3, a format that I particularly like for landscapes.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.2mm (48mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

St Mary & the Holy Rood, Donington

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Today's photograph shows a view across the fields near Donington, Lincolnshire, at the tail end of a late December afternoon as the sun is about to disappear below the horizon. The ground and roofs are covered with hard frozen snow, and silhouetted against the sunset glow are skeletal trees and the tower and spire of the church of St Mary and the Holy Rood.

To my knowledge this dedication is unique to Donington church. There are St Marys a-plenty, and quite a few Holyroods (notably in Edinburgh), but no other church seems to have this particular conflation of names. The word "rood" means crucifix or cross. Medieval churches frequently separated the nave (where the people congregated) from the chancel (where the clergy officiated) with a pierced wooden "rood screen", so called because it was surmounted by a representation of Christ on the cross. Many of these old screens survive today, though usually without the rood, and quite a few churches have newer, Victorian examples (complete with rood). That being the case, you might imagine that Donington church's dedication makes reference to this symbol of the Christian faith. And doubtless it does. But in what way? It could simply be an honouring of the principal icon of Christianity. Or, and I think this is more likely, the early medieval building may have held a "fragment of the True Cross" as a relic with which to attract visitors and donations of money. Many early churches displayed holy relics - fragments of saints' clothes, a lock of their hair, a bone or two, a scrap of Christ's shroud, or an old piece of wood reputed to have been brought back from the Holy Land and "definitely a piece of the cross on which our Saviour died, and yours for only a few gold sovereigns father!" Few, if any, of these can have been genuine relics, but many would have been acquired in good faith. I don't know if this is the case at Donington, but it would account for the rood getting second billing to Christ's mother in the dedication.

Donington church is a large and beautiful building that dates back to the 1100s, though much of what we see today is from the 1300s and 1400s. It was one of the sources of inspiration that Victorian Gothic architects looked to when they began to build again in this style. Like many of our old churches it needs constant attention to keep its fabric together, and it is currently undergoing some restoration. If anyone feels able to donate to this worthy cause this website tells you how to go about it.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fenland droves

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To most people the "drove roads" are the old routes frequented by the drovers, those men who walked the cattle sheep, pigs and poultry from the Highlands of Scotland, the Welsh mountains, and the upland Pennines, to the markets of England, travelling hundreds of miles on foot, sleeping under the stars, their final destination often being the metropolitan bustle of London's Smithfield and Cheapside markets. The tracks across the Northern Pennines such as the Driving Road and the Maiden Way, courses that thread their way down in to Cumberland and Westmorland, can still be followed today. Hambleton Drove is another such route, winding from County Durham to the city of York. The coming of the railways brought the ability to transport animals quickly and inexpensively from farms to market, and as their web of steel spread across the country during the nineteenth cenury, so the drovers, the special purpose of their roads, and a way of life, faded into history.

However, there is a second kind of drove road to be found in England. Lincolnshire's Fens abound with them. Here the word "drove" is used in preference to "road" because it more accurately describes the intention of this network of roads that spreads from the villages, hamlets and main roads, out into the wetlands and fields that were formerly seasonal grazing for livestock. In winter animals would have been kept on drier land that was less subject to inundation. As the rains receded and as spring brought drier weather, the cattle and sheep would be driven down the drove to the, by now, lush grass. But, as with the long-distance drove roads, the Lincolnshire variety has also become a relic of the past. Today the wetlands are drained and grow cereals and vegetables. The few resident cattle and sheep that are found on the Fens frequent the same fields all the year round, though animal transporters do bring in sheep from the uplands during the colder months to eat unsold crops. Lincolnshire's droves now have a new purpose, as access routes for tractors, ploughs, combines and lorries that service this highly productive landscape.

Today's photograph shows one such drove near the village of Bicker. It is a single track road that leads from the village and its surrounding farms down to near the South Forty Foot Drain. My photograph shows it after a short, sharp shower had made a puddle by the field edge. I used the reflection of the sun in it to give some extra light to the rapidly darkening evening scene.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 29mm (58mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Thinking about composition

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"It is impossible to give you rules that will enable you to compose. If it were possible to compose pictures by rule Titian and Veronese would be ordinary men."
John Ruskin (1819-1900) English art critic, social critic, artist, etc

There is much truth in what Ruskin said because for many the art of composition is intuitive, something done without reference to direct learning. For such people the component parts of a painting or photograph are arranged "just so", and are just right. But for others composition is difficult, not at all obvious, and guidance is appreciated. There is no shortage of people willing to give instruction and many who seek to make it a mystery. The danger of following guidance in how to compose is that photographs become formulaic. Photography "experts" frequently come up with a set of "rules" to guide the amateur and when they do you can guarantee that they always mentions the wretched rule of thirds: this then seems to become the only thing anyone remembers. The best advice I can give is to study paintings and art criticism, not photography. However, that's not advice that I expect many to follow!

That said, I do know of one succinct piece of writing by a photographer that is brief and reasonably helpful. In eight pages of his book, Photography, Eric de Mare focuses on five aspects of composition (he calls them canons) as a starting point from which to move on to a wider understanding.
CONTRAST , he says, is necessary for variety and interest. Rough/smooth, vertical/horizontal, straight/curved, near/far, dark/light, big/small, plain/decorative, sharp/blurred, etc are examples of devices that can be used as the basis of a composition.
REPETITION makes for harmony through rhythm, though it can become monotonous unless broken in some way.
CLIMAX is the principal area of interest, the subject. Lines will often lead to it, it will usually be near to an edge of the frame, or at an intersection of thirds.
BALANCE is placing values in the image in equilibrium about an imaginary centre line. This is the hardest aspect for the beginner to achieve, because a small object of, say, strong colour can easily balance a much larger, but more subdued mass. Tones, forms and points of interest have to be weighed and carefully disposed. People are particularly "heavy", and when placed to one side can balance whole buildings on the other.
COHESION is about order and continuity, so that each part relates to the whole, and contributes to the story that the image is telling. A complex image, if it is cohesive, will have an overall simplicty and force.

The author of this sage advice adds that "composing can be reduced to fourteen words by quoting Pope's couplet on the landscaping of Windsor Park:
Where order in variety we see
And where, though all things differ, all agree."

Today's photograph breaks the advice that most photographic writers give, namely to seek the power and interest of balanced asymmetry in your compositions. This view, from below an electricity pylon towards sunset, is fairly symmetrical; but symmetry has its place too (rules are made to be broken!), as long as it's not the only compositional device a photographer uses.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/1250 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Sunset thoughts

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"The sky is the daily bread of the imagination."
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), U.S. poet and essayist

I've said elsewhere in this blog that sunsets are undoubtedly one of the most photographed subjects. But it's not just photographers who are seduced by the blaze of fire in the sky at the end of the day: poets and painters frequently press the sunset into service as metaphor. When, in 1839, Turner painted his picture of the old warship, "The Fighting Temeraire," being towed by a steam tug to be broken up at the end of its life, he depicted the scene against a fiery sunset to emphasise that its days were ended. Shakespeare uses the sunset in a similar way in these lines, "In me thou see'st the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away".

The challenge for the photographer, the painter and the poet is to use this well-worn idea of the sunset as representing an end, in a fresh and revealing way. And, as far as photography goes, that is a major aim in photographing any subject. The past 170 years have seen so many photographers capture most subjects in myriad ways that it's a real challenge to present a shot that steps outside a genre, and a way of seeing, that hasn't been done before.

Today's photograph makes no claims in that department. It's a shot of the sky after the sun has set. A particularly lovely combination of clouds and colours caused me to take yet another sunset image. The one thing I very consciously did in my capture was to move so the trees at the bottom right became silhouettes on the horizon. Their insignificance, when seen in this way, seemed to magnify the majesty of this very conventional subject.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 29mm (58mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On