Look up, but look down too

click photo to enlarge

It's a natural reaction, when approaching a medieval cathedral, minster or abbey, to look up. The architecture, indeed the main premise of such a building is to inspire that reaction in people: to make the passer-by admire the soaring towers, the pinnacles, the buttresses etc but, more importantly, to gaze heavenward. Identical intentions attach to the interior of these great churches, though here the iconography is more explicit and a visitor can be in no doubt of the message that is being broadcast.

In truth there are precious few surfaces of a cathedral that are not enlisted in the proclamation of the faith. From the "unnecessarily" ornate carving of capitals, windows, roof bosses etc, the celebration of Biblical figures in carving, stained glass and other materials and the heavy use of symbolism, to the beautiful carved and painted scripts that proclaim their messages, the building is a vehicle for the religion that erected it.

But, whilst it is natural to look up in a church, fewer people look down at the floor beneath their feet. Yet here too beauty and the message can be found. Some of our churches still have the original stone paving that replaced the rushes and compressed earth of the first religious buildings. Others retain medieval tiles impressed with geometric shapes, foliate crosses, leaves and other patterns, including the elaborate letter "M" signifying Mary or Madonna. Marble paving of the eighteenth century can also be seen: I posted a photograph of a trompe l'oeil example in the choir of Beverley Minster, East Yorkshire, earlier this year. The great restorations of the nineteenth century have left a wonderful legacy of floor tiles. Many of these take their lead from the medieval styles and colours but original designs abound too. This photograph of the area around the font of the church at Swineshead, Lincolnshire, shows very characteristic Victorian tilework. And then there are examples that are difficult to date because stylistic clues are few.

Today's photograph is such a tile scheme, also at Beverley Minster. Is it eighteenth or nineteenth century, or does it date from some time in the twentieth? Whenever it was made it works well. The eight pointed star is centred under the crossing tower, and the complexity of the pattern lessens as it spreads into the transepts. The design is strong, with contrast, but the colours are relatively muted, and it works with the surroundings. My photograph shows visitors in characteristic pose, faces turned upwards to the glories overhead. I wonder if they also looked down at the lesser, but also interesting, beauties beneath their feet.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 29mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/25
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0
Image Stabilisation: On

New and old tiles

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I'm currently debating whether or not to tile the floors of a couple of our downstairs rooms. I've laid floor tiles in the past and found it a relatively straightforward task: the hardest part, I recall, was deciding which tiles to buy! On that occasion I settled on some terracotta coloured quarry tiles. They were of a type that had been manufactured for more than a century, weren't especially fashionable, but were durable and looked good. Those were all qualities that appealed to me because I sometimes get quite exercised by the modern habit of furnishing with highly durable materials capable of lasting a couple of centuries which are then discarded in less than ten years because they have become unfashionable.

I've recently taken a couple of photographs of some tiles in two very different locations, and I thought I'd post them today. One image is a detail of a round outdoor table at a park cafe. Here the tiles - blue squares and triangles - were arranged by hand in concentric circles. The tables have the potential to last quite a few years, and the rain shouldn't be too much of a problem for the tiles or grout. But I have a feeling that I won't see them if I go for a cup of coffee five years from now. They'll probably stand the knocks that the public give them, but not the vagaries of fashion. I took the photograph for the bold shapes, strong contrast, and the way the reflected colours of the nearby building enlivened the surface.

The second image shows a detail of the tilework on the chancel walls of the church of St Mary at Sutterton, Lincolnshire. Much of this building dates from the twelfth to the fourteenth century. However, these tiles are High Victorian i.e. from about 1880. They are unusual for that period because each tile is a single shade, with none of the decorative details or impressed shapes that were favoured at the time, and because the force of the design comes solely from the arrangement of the limited number of colours. I can imagine that many would see these tiles as inappropriate in this setting - perhaps more suited to a municipal baths - but I like them a lot. The colour is quite rich, but the simple, repetitive design doesn't overpower the focus that is rightly on the altar. They've been there for 130 years or so, and there's no reason why they shouldn't double or triple that and still look as good as they do today.

photographs & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8 (f2.0)
Shutter Speed: 1/160 (1/30)
ISO: 80 (320)
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Self-portrait in Green Bricks

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"If red houses are made out of red bricks, blue houses are made out of blue bricks, and yellow houses are made out of yellow bricks, what are green houses made out of?
from "1001 Jokes for Kids"
(answer below*)

Many Victorians had the feeling that they were living in an age, the like of which, the world hadn't seen before. It was a technological age, an age of new industries, burgeoning cities, mass transport, migration, population growth, exploration and change. Architects were asked to rise to the challenge of designing buildings that had never been needed before. What should a railway station look like? Or a hospital? Or how about an urban school, a museum, or a cotton mill? And with these new buildings came new construction techniques and new materials. Cast iron, steel, fire-proof floors, large areas of glazing, terracotta mouldings, and glazed bricks were all employed to create the new structures.

I came across some fine Victorian glazed brickwork yesterday when I was in Kingston upon Hull, a city and port on the north bank of the River Humber in eastern England. I lived there for several years so I know it reasonably well. As I walked around the marina that has been formed out of the former Humber Dock I passed what I remember as the "Humber Dock Tavern" but is now called "Green Bricks". This changing of pubs' names to suit the fashion of the day is not something of which I approve: old names carry part of the history of an area and shouldn't be expunged on a whim. The best I can say about this example is that the new title at least has a certain logic to it. The Victorians liked to use glazed bricks to face pubs, and green was especially popular, though burgundy, red, blue, yellow and a few other colours can be found in most big cities. Here the elevation also has tiled panels with swags and arabesques, as well as crude capitals on glazed "columns." One of the virtues of glazed bricks is they last remarkably well, providing a smart, easily cleaned, low-maintenance finish that still looks good over a hundred years later: they should be used more today. I've seen a few examples from the late twentieth century - here's some Southwark flats - , and I've posted another image of a pub (now a hotel) with a tiled facade that I saw in Windsor.

My reason for snapping this pub elevation was not only the glazed bricks, but the reflection of the sunlit marina in the window. It was, I thought, another opportunity to add to my ongoing theme of reflected self-portraits!

*Answer: "Glass!"
That joke is only funny if you know that in the UK glasshouses, that is to say the glass horticultural buildings used for growing tomatoes, lettuces, cucumbers, etc., are more commonly known as greenhouses. And, even if you do know that it still isn't very funny!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On