Exhibition preparation

I am currently getting everything together for my “Intimate Landscapes” exhibition at the Arran Distillery in Lochranza, Scotland due to open on the 2nd March 2105.

I’ve not organised an exhibition North of the Border before, and managing the logistics virtually from 400 miles away has, and is proving challenging… Infact it’s a bit like a ballet, with prints arriving for signing and numbering (working within the vagaries of the postal system), email exchanges over card proofs, newspaper advertising and of course practicalities with my generous hosts at the Distillery. And then there’s the exhibition transportation and hanging to consider. Will it all go in my Clio? Will I need to take my drill? What order to hang the images in to ensure visual flow? Lots of decision making made. Lots more to do!

I am very excited about seeing fifteen of my loveliest pictures behind glass hanging for visual consumption and contemplation. The richly textured Arran landscape is something very special. Although battling with the elements - rain mostly - it really struck a personal chord with me when I stayed last winter and I hope that even seasoned visitors will see something new and beautiful in the familiar in my photographs on display. 

Of course, whilst I’m on the island, I cannot let the opportunity slip by of extending my portfolio by revisiting some of these locations and exploring new ones if the weather permits. So please do revisit my website and check for updates from time to time.

Christmas in the Hebrides

I spent Christmas this year in the Outer Hebrides, the northernmost Western Isles off the coast of Scotland, the largest of which is Lewis and Harris.

Lewis, famed for its chessmen and Callanish stones, has a peaty heartland with windswept beaches of sand and rock chiselled by the Atlantic ocean in the west and the Minch in the east, whilst Harris in the south has a more mountainous landscape with shores of rock, sand and dune. A small town called Tarbert links these two land masses and the Isle of Skye via its ferry terminus.

In weather parlance, all four seasons in one day is an understatement here. The skies and light change from minute to minute as clouds bearing rain roll in from the Atlantic and cascade down onto the land and seas below… it is this very meteorological volatility that makes this terrain such an exhilarating challenge to capture photographically as the winds whip up the seas into a untameable frenzy of action and acoustic resonance, and pelt the photographer with icy water in all its forms…a particular umbrella challenge.

I love the sea and am being drawn to it increasingly. Perhaps it’s because I live so far away from the ocean in West Yorkshire that I yearn it so much, but I believe that there are certain features within the landscape that the species homosapiens in our very cores appreciate.

Day 1 after arriving in Tarbert, I drove southwest before sunrise in the dark along an unfamiliar road. The windscreen wipers stroked the glass smoothing the rain momentarily before my view was obscured once more by the rain hitting me hard, and this mechanical whir was suddenly broken by the awareness of cracking waves. I stopped but could not see anything. I wound down the window momentarily to be hit hard with the rain necessitating rapid repositioning of the glass. I had no idea where I was. I wasn’t lost as such as there was only one road, but I had no idea how far I’d travelled and could only guess what lay below… but within 10 mins, as my eyes became accustomed to the twilight, I could see that my momentary parking spot overlooked the Sound of Taransay and some formidable rocks below. My heart raced with excitement…I knew I had come to somewhere pretty special.

This image was captured at high tide at Bagh Steinigidh with the uninhabited Isle of Taransay in the distance beyond. The golden tones in the sky came from the early dawn rays blotted by the approaching storm clouds and the wave action is conveyed by choosing a slower shutter speed. I had been on the beach a while before this opportunity presented itself. The wind had been strong and the passing rain squalls had hit me several times leaving me cowering behind rocks with my umbrella praying I didn’t lose everything to the elements. Patience paid off thankfully and eventually provided me with the wonderful opportunity to capture this beautiful oceanic vista

And a highly commended in 2014’s Take a View Landscape Photographer of the Year to boot!

fruits of their labours to date, weighing up their chances of success in competition A over B, paying the sum and saying bye bye to scaled jpegs, uploaded and dispatched for judge scrutiny.

They’re a lottery, no doubt about it, and the winning shots will invariably divide taste provoking shock and delight in equal measure. One simply cannot predict what the judges are looking for…is it that dreamy mist rising from a lake (as won LPOTY 2013), a sunset/rise…classic shots..or is that really unusual take on the familiar or a capture of something entirely new?  

There’s no brief as such for the 10,000+ entrants who submit their images in the hope and belief that their work may have the edge over someone else’s. And as the selection process is usually lengthy, when the shortlisted yay/nay arrives in the inbox, the frenzied forum activity reaches the first of its peaks with elated and disappointed candidates airing their grief and reflections on a shared joy or frustration of yes!/why/not? The second peak occurs when the winners are announced and further shortlisted hopefuls are rejected. It’s a harsh process. One definitely needs to have a hopeful laisser-faire attitude about the whole thing…there’s only so much reflection one can do on one’s successes and failures when you’re unsure on what criteria you are being judged. Certainly assured technical competence is a given.

Twelve months ago, I decided to enter my first photographic competition (Landscape Photographer of the Year) and came nowhere. I’ve had several letters of rejection since, and will doubtless have many more in the future, but for now, I’m happy with this, my first success.

I’d submitted a range of work for all tastes…some of those classic shots…but it was this one that judges thought had particular merit.

Here’s the story:

Iceland had blown my mind on the geological stakes, and when I realised that Arran also had features of outstanding geological importance, I was keen to visit and explore. Pirate’s cove is an area of fossilised sand dune with interesting concave linear textures scooped out by the erosion of the sea. The rock is intermittently covered by the tidal waters and at dawn and dusk with a low light and shadow play, the rock assumes a redder tone and the detailed textures are made more visible to the eye. I revisited these rocks on several occasions and was drawn to the abstract patterns more than the global features of the beach. I was keen to produce a sequence of images that were about the pattern elements alone and with a tilt-shift lens, was able to obtain a pin-point sharpness from the most proximal to the most distal elements of the frame both vertically and horizontally. Such lenses go some of the way to overcoming the depth of field limitations in conventional lenses but cannot compete with the  flexibility of the view camera which is capable of much greater rise/fall/tilt and swing movements. Put simply, with my other lenses, the blur I would have had from both limited depth of field and diffraction aberration (due to stopping down to maximise that depth of field) would have defeated my creative intentions.

Have I hinted that using a tilt-shift lens is time consuming? Oh yes! One simply cannot rush taking photographs with this lens set-up…but that’s one of its pleasures…it really forces you to slow down and do things carefully…in the framing, the metering, the focussing…

Yep, my pictures taken with this lens (Nikon 45mm f/2.8 PCE for those who are interested) are definitely produced with love!

Here is the web address for the Landscape Photographer of the Year winners:     http://www.take-a-view.co.uk/2014_winners.htm

Coming down with a bang - what happens when you take your eyes off the ball (or road in this case)

My camera, tripod and I were perched precariously on top of a cold dry stone wall at dawn recently trying to capture the most spectacular of mists caressing the Calder Valley when it happened… Wonderful rays of light were streaking through the cloud like a delicate and dynamic comb across Mytholmroyd below, gently illuminating the features of the church with its characteristic tower. It was chilly. Hands in gloves. Good hat on. My eye was locked onto the camera screen, finger on the cable release…click, click, another shot, wow the light getting better by the second…

Then  SLISH….BANG….A slithering flesh gouging sound issued behind me as a cyclist’s body hit the road tarmac and slid 20yards down the steep decline past me on the bank above.

I helped him up. He checked himself and his bike. Couldn’t stop looking at the view he said. Slipped on the ice. Shaken but not hurt he said. Only another 20miles to go before work that morning. After straightening out his brake levers and pedals, he climbed back onto his steed and freewheeled down the hill. What mettle I thought.

And what suckers we are for a good view. I continued to gaze at the scene unfolding which he had only glimpsed before his wheels lost their grip. Click click. And then it was over…the sun had fully risen and the mist was melting away…and then was gone…just like the cyclist into the valley below. I will forever remember my vantage point there with the pain the cyclist must have felt in falling, coupled with the relief that he was lucky to be unharmed. It made me consider how to fully absorb and enjoy a scene, one probably has to suspend all but observation alone for this very act demands not just passivity, but conscious activity to perform.

“Feel the fear and do it anyway”

 

It’s a phrase coined by one of those motivational self help guides that espouses us to break our familiar habits to be open to experiencing potentially rewarding new opportunities. A visiting friend related it to me and when I decided to go to Arran, whatever the weather after the recent tidal surges, I thought I would either pay the price with my stupidity or have an amazing time.

I was definitely nervous as I drove from Glasgow to Ardrossan about not being able to sail as most ferries had been cancelled in the previous 10 days. A mainland Plan B was mooted, but it did not get beyond the conceptual as I simply could not think of anywhere else I wanted to go more at that time….a “Scotland in miniature” with its mountains, glens and rocky geologically varied coastline was what I craved.

As I crossed on a mill pond, I sensed the portents might be in my favour. Of course it rained…a lot… but I expected that and daily prayed for that cloud-on-cloud action that lifts a mundane photograph to something almost transcendental; whether I got that is debatable but I did have fun chasing rainbows and sunbursts at every opportunity and drove from one side of the island to the other on one occasion when a golden hue emerged from the daylong raincloud grey over Goatfell signalling the possibility of a great sunset. (Yes it was worth it, if only to experience for a few moments only as the golden disc dipped behind Kintyre).

I simply could not have worked harder that week in my efforts to find photographs, and when I glimpsed an otter at Kildonan munching on a newly landed fish held between its furry paws, and the pair of golden eagles soaring across the glens several days later, I knew my experience already complete enough without me attempting to attach a telephoto lens and capture those scenes too.

Arran is a spectacular island that calls me to go back at another season and experience with fresh eyes once again. Visiting has definitely highlighted the merit in my friend’s anti-fearful paralysis maxim…Do it anyway!

An ode to a season passed and reminder of a fine English summer

And what a FANTASTIC British summer too. Yes, I’m struggling to recall when the weather was quite so kind as to reward us with so many opportunities to get out and enjoy the fabulous terrain without needing to pack an entire wardrobe into our camera bags to cover every climactic possibility (or maybe that’s just the girl guide in me?). We’ve enjoyed locally the most spectacular wildflower meadows and garden colours, and as the trees have gradually withdrawn their leaf nutrients, the resulting autumn golds and umbers have replaced the buttercup hues contained within the dry stone walled Pennine meadows.

 

First post

Welcome to my first blog post…Or ruminations on missing the MOST spectacular aurora showing through camera failure?

Where to start? It’s been an exciting 12 months with a trip to Iceland over Easter with a jaw dropping aurora presentation at Jokulsarlon on the southern coast. Pity the malfunctioning camera failed to capture the experience! Tears? Yes! But on reflection, as photographers, I believe us to be viewfinder junkies accustomed to framing every aspect of our visual experience within some aperture with a rigid aspect-ratio dimension.  Being forced to divorce ourselves from this comfortable relationship and stand powerless as we do so can, I think, be a good thing on occasion (provided a back-up camera’s in the bag for later) as we are compelled to observe every detail in the unfurling scene before us. I felt humbled and intoxicated by the sheer spectacle of the scintillating phosphenes flickering and dancing across the sky, and whilst obviously frustrated and disappointed by my lost photographic opportunities, I believe the raw memory of the event to be etched all the more deeply for it.

This long exposure image was captured the night before and was pure serendipity - I could see very faint streams fanning out from these icebergs in the Jokulsarlon glacial  lagoon and they were present for a minute or two before they were obscured by thick cloud never to re-emerge. The long exposure has accentuated the green phosphene ribbons.