I write this on a Sunday morning in late January. Outside the window snow is falling and the world lies still. It’s a day for hunkering down and staying warm indoors. Much of our lives have been lived indoors in the past year. As a photographer this has meant fewer landscapes and more still lives.
Still life is older than photography. Still life or “nature morte” (literally dead nature) was a popular subject matter for painters. They would arrange and paint a number of objects, typically of a luxurious nature such as game, fish, fruit, and flowers. There was very often an underlying sense that the objects depicted would fade away thus presenting an allegory on the transience of life, and human vanity. Sometimes this would be rammed home by the inclusion of a skull or some other symbol of death!
The genre became popular with early photographers. Henry Fox Talbot, the inventor of one early photographic process, used his invention to photograph objects such as the statues around his home in Wiltshire, England, for example. There were some very practical reasons for choosing still life. Early photographic processes required long exposure times and inanimate objects don’t move.
Also, it gave early photographers a chance to practice their new artform.
Initially they would emulate the older still life paintings partly because they had no other frame of reference but also because they wanted to gain respectability for their new artform and showing it as a continuation of an older tradition was one way of doing this.
Gradually though they began to exploit the new technology, cropping objects at the edge of the frame and using focus to emphasise parts of the subject. Some still life photographs became almost abstract.
Why take still life photographs?
Here are four reasons why I take still life photographs.
First of all, I feel I am completely in control of the process and the subject matter. I can choose and arrange the objects as I wish. And I don’t have to worry about asking permission before photographing something!
Secondly, still life photography is a way of bringing order out of chaos. This can be said of any form of photography, of course, but there is something unique about still life photography where I bring the chaos in the form of a disparate choice of objects and then order them in such a way to tell a story in front of the lens.
And there is also something quite immersive about still life photography. It is very easy to lose myself in the small world I have created on the table as I re-arrange objects and the lighting to get the pictures I want. In the strange world we find ourselves in at the moment it is very comforting to focus in on a small world that I have complete control over.
Finally, It’s also good for observational skills. I can give myself plenty of time to really look at the objects in front of me. How are they laid out? What’s in the foreground? What’s in the background? Is something unintentionally obscuring something else? What’s the best composition for these objects? Where is the light coming from? Are there any unwanted shadows? What about reflections? Unlike other forms of photography I have the luxury of time and complete control to be able to answer those questions to my (almost) complete liking.
Still life with old maps and a compass; looking forward to the day I can explore further afield once more!
This photograph was taken on the 22nd January 2017 and was part of a project looking at what remained of the old railway that ran through the centre of Weymouth, Dorset. The line used to carry trains from the station to the dockside but no trains have run along it since the 1990s, and now much of it has been removed.
The photographs were the subject of an exhibition I held in Weymouth Library in May 2017.
These photographs are being published during the third Covid 19 lockdown in England when it is difficult to get out to take too many new images.
I am not sure when this photograph was taken but I thought I would share as I don’t seem to have ever photographed anything on the 20th January.
This was an early photograph taken on an old Zeiss Ikon 120 film camera. I think it shows the interior (and exterior – a double exposure!) of all that remains of the old church in Fleet, Dorset. The rest of the church was destroyed in a massive storm in the early nineteenth century.
Today’s photograph was taken just a year ago outside London Bridge Station. I loved the symmetry created by the reflection of the station roof in the pool in the foreground.
After last week’s blog on 2020 now it’s time to look to the coming year. In the current circumstance making plans might not seem the best idea. Life, the world and pandemics can get in the way. However I am always the sort of person who likes to look to the future and see what I can achieve next.
This year I do have a couple of plans, both for new projects. They are in the very early days. One of them I am still just thinking about and, whilst I have taken some photographs for the second one, both require circumstances to change a little bit before I can start them in earnest.
Watch this space for more details on both of them.
In the meantime I will continue to take photographs over the coming year. It is fascinating to think that all those pictures I have taken and shared here over the last twelve months did not exist this time last year. What new work might appear in 2021?
A field of poppies somewhere in Hertfordshire
I have chosen to illustrate this post with a photograph I took in the early summer. It was taken as the first lockdown in England was beginning to ease. The weather was improving and people were beginning to venture out. Most places were still shut so they were beginning to connect with the outdoors. I feel it represents a sense of hope and optimism (perhaps at that point, misplaced optimism) but a definite feeling that things would improve.
Best wishes to you all in these strange and unsettling times.
During the first Covid 19 lockdown, when it was not possible to get out to take many new photographs I trawled through my back catalogue to see what photographs I have taken on that day in earlier years.
Now that we have entered a third lockdown I have begun to trawl through my archive once more.
The original photographs were shared on my Flickr account. This time I plan to share them here. It will be an occasional series as I don’t have photographs for everyday, especially at this time of year.
I hope that I don’t have to keep it running for too long!
An abandoned Christmas Tree with some of its decorations still hanging from it. Taken on 11th January 2017 and helped inspire the Reclaimed Christmas Tree Project
Last year wasn’t a normal year but this time twelve months ago many of us were hardly aware of what was to come. At the best it would be a disturbing year, stuck indoors and isolated, riding the highs and lows as the pandemic ebbed and flowed.
This was how 2020 was for me in twelve photographs.
January
The poster for the “Riding to the end of the Road” Exhibition, Januaruy 2020
In January 2020 I was more worried about hanging photographs and serving finger food for the opening of my exhibition, “Riding to the end of the Road” than I was about a new virus emerging in China.
February
View from the top deck of a London bus on a rainy evening
One rainy evening in February I was heading home from work on the top deck of a bus, and I was struck by the effects of the raindrops and the lights of the vehicles ahead. I quickly took a few photographs on my phone. That was probably the last time I have ridden on a bus.
March
Detail of an old bicycle pedal
In March, as the first lockdown in the UK began and photography had become an indoor activity. I turned to self-portraits and still life. For the latter I hunted out some old bicycle components to photograph. It became a welcome distraction to focus on setting up and lighting the objects and for a while I was lost in the details of old pedals, derailleurs and brake blocks.
April
Easter 2020
April brought Easter tide, an opportunity to get out and about. Not this year.
May
Detail of an old Yew Tree in a churchyard on the edges of London
In May, tentatively, I began to cycle a little further afield. In the UK we had always been allowed to exercise, and cycling was encouraged. I rode to the outskirts of London and came upon this ancient yew tree in a churchyard. Allegedly it has grown for more than 2000 years. It has seen so much.
June
Fishermans’ cottages outside the village of Langton Herring in Dorset.
Stuck indoors for long periods of time I began tidying the flat. In the process I came upon a box of old 35mm slides taken when I started photographing back in the 1970s and 80s. They were mostly of the Dorset countryside and coast where I grew up. Somehow I had carried this box of slides through my life and I thought I would repurpose them. If I could not travel physically in space, then I would travel in time with my memories.
July
As the summer wore on and optimism grew that the world would soon return to some degree of normality (a misplaced optimism in the event) I began to cycle a little further. The great thing about cycling is that it can be a self-contained activity; it is transport and exercise combined. You just need to make sure that you are prepared for the ride, and your bicycle is well maintained. In July I travelled further out of London and picked up on a project I had started a year or two ago.
Watering cans and a dog bowl congregate around a water butt in a churchyard somewhere in Hertfordshire
On visits to country churches I had been struck by the corners of the churchyards where the watering cans and recycling bins were usually stored. To me they represented the practical aspects of grief and remembrance. It is a subject I hope to return to, so look out for more photographs on this theme in the future.
August
Paddle boarders, Weymouth Bay, August 2020
Then in August I travelled the furthest I had done since the beginning of January. This was to Dorset to spend two nights camping under the socially distanced stars. I was able to see some of my family, and take a few photographs, including this one of a group of paddle boarders tentatively testing the water in Weymouth Bay. It represents how many of us felt throughout 2020.
September
A cyclist riding on a bike lane on Pancras Road, London, September 2020
One of the positives for me of the year was the growth in the number of people cycling. Public transport such as buses which push people together became very unpopular. Driving allowed people to isolate but would gridlock the streets. Alternatives needed to be found and many local authorities began to build pop-up bike lanes to encourage more people to try cycling. In September I took these photographs of cyclists using the bike lane on Pancras Road. It was a Sunday afternoon and there was a steady stream of cyclists in both directions.
October
Winter crops, Cambridgeshire
In October I went for one more long distance bike ride, this time out to the Cambridgeshire Fens. It was train assisted at a time when the trains were very quiet and you could get a whole carriage to yourself. I have always loved the Fens as much for the wide open skies as the land itself.
November
A man wearing a mask walks past an unused table tennis table in a park during the Covid 19 lockdown
Then in November came the next lockdown in England.
I did experience some joy that month when I received notification that I had become a Licientate of the Royal Photograpic Society.
December
A solitary red bauble
In December there were unrealistic hopes for a slightly more relaxed Christmas. Sadly, the virus does not take holidays, so many of us spent Christmas in a strange and isolated world. As I decorated the flat for the holidays I sought escape, as before, in photographing the detail.
And here we are in 2021 where I should end with something more positive. There are a range of vaccines available now which are beginning to be administered, but there are also new variants of the virus appearing. To find hope I return to that picture of the ancient yew tree and a reminder of what it might have seen in the 2000 years it has stood there. It has seen the darkest moments but it has also seen the brightest of times. It is a bit of a cliche but holding onto that thought is a comfort.
In the meantime I will continue to make photogaphs and publish some of them here for you to see.
“Why take photographs?” “What am I trying to say?” To answer that question, I want to look at some of the photographs I have taken in particular genres and answer another question: “Why did I take that picture?”
This time I am going to look at some of my landscape photographs, and answer why I chose to take these particular subjects. What caught my eye and why do I want to share that image with you?
To capture a place
Ely Cathedral, Cambridgeshire
The most obvious reason for photographing a landscape is because you are so taken by the view, the sunrise, the sunset, the soaring mountains, the stormy sea, the city at night, the deep forest that you feel you have to stop and look and hold what you see before you.
That was the case when I took this photograph of Ely Cathedral in Cambridgeshire as it rose above the trees, under a dramatic sky.
This photograph also illustrates one of the main things you need when taking landscape photography – patience. I was cycling by and glanced to the side of the road to see the cathedral lit up as the sun broke through the clouds. By the time I had stopped and got my camera, the clouds had covered the sun and the marvellous tower of the cathedral was lost in the shade. It was a windy day, and I hoped the clouds would break again and let the sun through. So, I waited for a while and was rewarded with this photograph. I hope that I managed to do the scene justice.
To capture a moment in time
A field somewhere in Hertfordshire, May, 2020
A family walk through a field of poppies on a bright summer’s day. I was not the only person attracted to the display; quite a few others were wandering through and around the field, but I was able to isolate this small group as they walked towards the trees. Their presence gives some scale to the sheer and overwhelming quantity of red flowers all the way to the horizon.
This photograph was taken as the first lockdown in the United Kingdom against the coronavirus disease was being eased; most places were still shut but people were beginning to emerge from their isolation.
A landscape photograph isn’t just of a place; it is also of a time. Sometimes that time is simply the time of day, a sunrise or a sunset. Or it could be a fleeting moment as in the light catching Ely Cathedral. Or, as in this case, it could be a unique moment as people of the UK began to emerge from lockdown and venture further out into the world around them again.
To tell a story
The next photograph zooms in on a detail in order to tell a story.
Close-up of a length of barbed wire in front of track leading across a field to a line of trees on the horizon
This photograph was taken somewhere in the Hertfordshire countryside and focuses on a string of barbed wire across a dirt track to some woodland on the horizon. The wire is in sharp relief, in contrast to the track and the woodland which I have thrown out of focus. I wanted the emphasis to be on the foreground to create a sense of a barrier. The background hints at what is beyond. Together I hope they tell a story of exclusion – keep out – this land is private.
To create an impression
A landscape photograph is of a place and a moment. It is also a feeling, an impression, for example the mystery of an ancient burial site.
Bincombe Bumps, a neolithic burial mound, Dorset
This photograph was taken just outside Weymouth in Dorset and shows one of the neolithic burial mounds that stand out on the horizon above the town.
Rather than show the earthworks on the horizon against the sky, I chose to focus in on a detail in the foreground; the flint lying on the grass (similar pieces would have been used to dig out the burial place). In the background a solitary figure walks towards the burial mound, echoing the funeral procession that took place here thousands of years ago.
To make sense of the complex
Above the City of London
A landscape is made up of many elements, an urban landscape even more so. Sometimes the easiest way to make sense of it is to rise above it as I did in this shot of a major junction in the heart of the bustling City of London
To simplify
Finally, sometimes to make sense of what you see you need to remove as many elements as possible
A marker buoy, the sea, the sky and a ripple
A red marker stands just off the coast to warn of some hazard in the water below
There are many different ways of photographing your fellow humanity in the street or local environment. One is the “in your face” (almost literally) method where the photographer walks up to an unsuspecting passer-by and photographs them, sometimes using the flash, before walking on, leaving the bemused and sometimes outraged subject behind. It is almost performance art and the person’s response to the intrusion is a part of the photograph.
In the second method the photographer engages with their intended subject before photographing them, asking permission and finding out more about them. In some cases the photographer may actually follow-up with their subject taking more photographs at a later stage, perhaps in the person’s home or work environment. This sort of photography represents a two way process with the subject perhaps gaining as much as the photographer.
The third method sees the photographer as the outsider, an observer standing apart from the people as they move around her. In this case the photographs are taken discretely very often without the subject knowing at all. In this method the photographer is often interested in the patterns and shapes that are created and almost instantly destroyed as people pass them by.
Each method has its own adherents and they can all produce great photographs. More than other genre of photography, though, the personality of the photographer will play a big part in the chosen method. An extrovert is likely to chose the first method, someone who is gregarious and chatty is likely to chose version two, whilst a more introverted person will feel comfortable with the last method. I definitely fall into the latter category!
Here are a few examples of the street photography I have taken over the last few years along with a few of my thoughts on each of the pictures.
Patterns
Busker outside Barcelona Cathedral
This picture was taken in Barcelona and shows a solitary busker outside the gothic cathedral. In the background groups of tourists flow together and fall apart as they look up at the grandeur. My interest was in the busker all on his own but I was also struck by the forms that the groups of tourists made. Over on the left there is a larger group, balanced by a smaller group on the other side of the image and looking up the cathedral. Right at the back there is a group flowing up and down the steps and into the cathedral. An aspect of street photography that fascinates me are the patterns that people make as they move around individually or in groups.
Cropping
Passers-by in a Cork street on a rainy day
This photograph has been cropped. There are some schools of street photographers who might think that’s a bad thing to do. The photograph should capture the entire scene you saw. Sometimes, though you might not be able to get in close enough (especially if you fall into the more “discrete” method of street photography) or you might compose the picture one way but when you look at it later you might see another picture emerge.
This photograph of passers-by on a rainy street in Cork was originally a landscape orientation. Behind the people walking with the umbrella there was another person behind them glancing down an alleyway. In that version there was much more going on. In this cropped version I have focussed in on the face on the mural looking over the top of the brolley which makes a simpler photograph.
Street photography can be instinctive and instantaneous; something ahead of you catches your eye, you raise the camera and press the shutter release. Only later on when you are looking back through the photographs at your leisure, perhaps you see other things that were immediately obvious in the original moment. Or, at least, that is my experience.
That was the case with this photograph. I saw the people walking past the alleyway and took the photograph. Looking again it might have been better to have focussed on the face on the mural rather than the general scene. I may have been able to get a better juxtaposition between the passers-by and the background.
Trombone at the Tolpuddle Martyrs’ Rally Summer 2017
This photograph was also cropped but mostly to remove extraneous detail such as the leg of a man standing on the left and an object lying on the ground at the top right. Whilst cropping the photograph I wanted to ensure I retained certain information such as the RMT (National Union of Rail, Maritime and Transport Workers) logo on the lapel of the jacket. It helps to tell the story of this photograph; the annual rally of trades unionists that takes place in the small Dorset village of Tolpuddle each year to commemorate the farm workers who in 1834 set up one of the first unions.
This photograph is also a self-portrait. See if you can find me!
Looking indirectly
Picnickers Kings Cross London
The picture of the trombone illustrates another way of viewing people – indirectly – as in a reflection. Here is another example, a reflection of a group picknicking on a summers day at the park that has been created out of industrial land near Kings Cross Station in London. The mirrors in foreground stand on the site of a former gas holder; its cage still exists and you can see the shadow of it at the bottom of the photograph.
Photographing people in reflection adds context to the photograph. I can include more than I might have been able to with a more direct shot. I also think it makes a more arresting image.
Faces in a crowd
New Years Day Parade London 2017
Human beings are instinctively drawn to other people’s faces. It is one of the first things a baby recognises, and we find endless fascination looking at them. This photograph shows part of the crowd at the New Years Parade in London. In the foreground is one of the participants pushing up his baggy costume. He is the centre of attention as he is so incongruous but my focus is also drawn to the woman leaning over the barrier and looking directly at him. Then I begin to see the other people such as the woman scratching her face; or the woman with the selfie stick looking back up the road in anticipation; or the man in the beanie hat towards the back craning to look over the people in front of him.
This photograph was taken very quickly on a dull day so there is a little bit of blur but I think it works. It is another of those photographs where my attention was initially drawn to one thing – the man taking part in the parade as he tries to sort his costume out – and then begin to see so much more later on.
The detail
Touching the image of John of Nepomuk for luck, Charles Bridge, Prague
This last photograph I would like to share with you takes in a detail, immediately, focusing in on someone’s hand as they touch the image of John of Nepomuk for luck. John of Nepomuk was a fourteenth century martyr flung from Charles Bridge in Prague for refusing to divulge the queen’s confessions to her husband, the king. As you can see in this photograph many people have touched his image. There were other photographs to be taken including the crowds that gather around the plaque beneath a statue of the martyr but I chose to focus in on the hand.
This photograph was the only one taken with a smartphone – the new tool of the street photographer?
