might as well try to catch the wind…

Not so long ago I had time to kill – 30 minutes – while I waited to meet my son who was swimming at our local leisure centre. Here in Cleethorpes, on the Lincolnshire coast at the mouth of the Humber estuary, the centre is situated at the southern end of the promenade; behind it, the start of the dunes and salt marshes that stretch for miles down the coast.

Having my camera with me I thought I might like to make a few photographs to pass the (short) time I had and I chose to wander an area between embankment and dunes which was filled with a variety of grasses and other coastal plants.

Dropping down into that place was like entering another world: a strong wind was blowing and the dominant sound was the rustle of grasses as they swayed this way and that. My attention was drawn to the dance, to the accompanying music. I made some attempt to capture that motion, that sense of rhythm and mostly failed, as in the photograph above. Walking on, my thoughts turned to the notion of sea nymphs and I wondered if there was a goddess of the salt marsh. And this the mouth of the Humber estuary. Hardly the place of exotic myth and, though it had its own particular beauty, the only sirens likely to be heard were those of fog-bound ships. I made too many photographs during my short time in that place: photography offers a great intimacy between photographer and subject – whatever the genre – and I was pleased to have a result. Just one frame that went some way to expressing how I felt, listening and watching and all that jazz. Here it is:

I recently revisited that place and discovered that all the grasses had been cut down. They will be back next year. And there is a goddess of the salt marsh (I googled it): she is one of the Nereids of Greek mythology and her name is Lymnoria.

Art for Art’s Sake? On the Contrary

Spoiler: it’s personal.

Following an unbelievably brief episode last year, which reduced me to a state of near devastation and the effects of which are still with me today, ten months on, I realised (once I had managed to pull myself together) that I might be a little out of my depth. I weighed up any positives I could muster, picked a couple of brains and ended up facing a big, blank canvas.

Positives? Well my alarming weight loss, from a rather ‘portly’ 74 kilos to a slimline 64 in about two months, was – once I had ascertained there was no physical reason for it – a very big positive. The sometimes agonizing effect of damage to the cartilage between the vertebrae in the sciatic region of my spine miraculously disappeared and, touch wood, has never returned. I enjoyed being able to buy some clothes that I felt suited me and which made me feel good about myself and, importantly, it enabled me to achieve a childhood dream: to have the bohemian look of a starving artist. I kid you not.

I had a bunch of largish box canvasses I’d bought cheap some years back. I invested in some good quality acrylic paint – just the colours I felt I needed – and, being of reduced means, solved the problem of hardware by buying cheap household items with which to apply paint.

Before I go on, I will say that I undertook an art foundation course back in the mid 1970s, am a committed photographer and have worked with computer graphic design / publishing programmes. So I have lived a pretty visual type of life.

As regards the therapy, my first attempts evolved through experimenting with the tools I had bought: plastic adhesive spreaders, rubber squeegees of the sort used to clean down shower cubicle glass, scrubbing brushes, dish washing brushes, small decorator’s rollers and large decorating brushes. From the start it was pretty obvious that texture was going to play a big part in my painting. And I went with it, loved how little unexpected details and unanticipated revelations of colour as I built layer on layer suggested compositional ideas.

Once I had discovered exactly what I could achieve with the resources at my disposal, I located myself within my pictures. The choice of an equilateral triangle comes from my love of maps. Everywhere I go, the first thing I do is buy a map. The Ordnance Survey of the UK use a small triangle as a symbol for a triangulation point. It seemed relevant to me.

I, or rather the triangle, evolved into trees, flowers and ice shards. Something pictorial was going on and I wasn’t fighting it. Most of these new pictures were based on memories of my home county, Lincolnshire.

The eighteen large canvasses I have completed so far (each one shortest side one metre) are currently en route from Bangkok Docks to the Port of Grimsby, UK. More on that in a moment. Meanwhile I am dabbling with what I have kept behind. On paper. We are currently locked down so my camera is taking a break. It keeps me busy and improves my condition.

Untitled 2020: Monoprint and soft pastel on lining paper

I hope to relocate to my home town, Cleethorpes in the near future. After a long time away. Only a couple of years off a pension (unless the government moves the goalposts again) and facing a new life as single parent of two teenagers. I will paint, I was just discovering the potential of very fluid paint when I left off and I am anxious to return to it.

To use a well-worn cliche, the journey continues. I have the prospect of a one man show of a photographic project I am currently wrapping up. In 2021. I would hope sometime to be able to exhibit my paintings and other artworks. But no matter: in a metaphorical way, painting has saved my life. I’ve left it late but I may even work myself out. Stranger things have happened…

Thanks for bearing with me. I’ve enjoyed putting it down….

The moment of decision: judgement? luck? – I’ll take both…

‘There is nothing in this world that does not have a decisive moment’

When Cardinal de Retz (1613-1679) made this statement he was talking from a political perspective, suggesting that the art of leadership is strengthened by the ability to recognise and seize the ‘moment’. The phrase ‘the decisive moment’ came to the attention of the photographic world when it was used as the title of the English version of Henri Cartier-Bresson’s book, ‘Images à la Sauvette’ (1952). Nowadays it is – particularly in the world of social media groups – a buzzword for countless photography enthusiasts and seems to simply relate to the decision – often misguidedly – to press the shutter button. The original, intended meaning – ‘when the visual and psychological elements of people in a real life scene spontaneously and briefly come together in perfect resonance to express the essence of that situation’ (John Suler, The Psychology of the Decisive Moment) is, to some extent, lost.

Winter, Fifth Avenue (1892) by Alfred Stieglitz

One early photographer who embraced the idea of such a moment was Alfred Stieglitz (1864-1946): he appears to have had the patience of a saint (as well as a strong constitution, lol) in waiting for the above moment: three hours in a snowstorm, reportedly. Here are his own words:

‘On Washington’s birthday in 1893, a great blizzard raged in New York. I stood on a corner of Fifth Avenue, watching the lumbering stagecoaches appear through the blinding snow and move northward on the avenue. The question formed itself: could what I was experiencing, seeing, be put down with the slot plates and lenses available? The light was dim. Knowing that where there is light, one can photograph, I decided to make an exposure. After three hours of standing in the blinding snow, I saw the stagecoach come struggling up the street with the driver lashing his horses onward. At that point, I was nearly out of my head, but I got the exposure I wanted.’

I have always enjoyed the resulting photograph for a variety of reasons, not least because I believe the photographer achieved his intention.

Following the stoicism of Stieglitz, it seems somewhat trite to mention that I waited almost five minutes for the photograph above. On the promenade at Cleethorpes. On a sunny day. I had initially been attracted by the shape of tyre tracks in the sand before I noticed a strolling couple on a course that I believed might coincide with those tracks. The judgement proved accurate; the silhouetted figures in the background were, interestingly, all separate and, because my attention was centred on the woman and child, I feel this is an example of luck. Whatever, I only noticed this once I had downloaded my image.

I had to hold my nerve for the snap of the ice cream vendor, above. Only a minute or so wait, camera to my eye, but on a busy-ish day with several passers-by. I was going on the hunch that sooner or later, someone with their head down and involved with a task will look up. I tried to half hide behind a giant plastic ice cream and the result was that luckily, although I was discovered, it appears (to me, anyway) that the attention of the salesperson is drawn to that giant piece of gimmickry.

And on to ‘the lucky break’, unexpected moments that add to the success of an image rather than, as is more often the case in my experience, ruin it. I had already made one photograph of the scene below – I was attracted by the geometry of it – but felt I needed to slightly reposition myself; just as I made the second photograph a figure appeared into the scene. In white, catching the sunlight and carrying a clipboard which made an interesting shape. The intrusion enhanced the photograph in my opinion; the original intention, the play of line and shape, was still there but now there was some human interest. I can’t claim it. Or can I? As the saying goes: ‘you make your own luck’.

In the course of preparing this blog I came across two very interesting articles. ‘Alfred Stieglitz: The Terminal and Winter, Fifth Avenue’ by Linda Tate (www.thestoryweb.com) and ‘The Psychology of the Decisive Moment’ by John Suler.

My pictures were taken using an Olympus OMD with a Zuiko lens.

Closure: ’35 Years On’ (Part 5 of 6)

When I undertook my ‘street’ portrait project in 1984, I never thought I would be tramping the streets of Scunthorpe, Lincolnshire 35 years later, revisiting those I photographed…

Joanathan has been married – his wife works at the Royal Free Hospital in London – for 27 years and has a daughter who is currently studying film and media at university. I knew him quite well back in the eighties – we played in a band together – and it was great to catch up affter a 30-odd year interval. I remembered him as being a highly animated, enthusiastic and unconventional young man; nothing much has changed and our conversations ran at such a pace, and with such a diversity of topic, that it was difficult to make notes. Luckily, Jonathan provided some outline of his life to date by email:

‘My life is divided between living in London and Burton (editor’s note: a village near Scunthorpe). Bought a flat in Hampstead some years ago so I spend my free time propping up bars in and around Camden and going to gigs. But it’s great to catch up with family and friends in Scunthorpe too. Career-wise I have worked in engineering as a machinist/tool maker; it’s paid for the house and trappings but never really fulfilled the arty side of my personality. I’m now retired from that line of work.’

At the ‘local’: Burton upon Stather, 2019

Jonathan tells me that music has always been an important part of his life. He has always been a member of one band or another for the past 40 years and is now ‘a guitarist in 76 Calling playing anywhere and everywhere.’ He likes to collect vinyl records and is a great fan of record fairs, he also spends some leisure time on a narrow boat he owns. Having explored the canal systems of Northamptonshire, Oxfordshire and Warwickshire, ‘Agincourt’ is now moored at Great Haywood in Staffordshire.

And the Scunthorpe scene all those years ago?:

‘I think fondly of the people I knew back then I think we were lucky to have such a vibrant music scene going on in such a small town. Everyone seemed to get off their arses and do something – whether it was a band, a fanzine or even a shop. If you weren’t playing then your mates were so you would go along and support them: superb. I favoured the Furnace Arms as I thought that place conjured up some great nights of pub rock!’

When I asked Carol – who I remember made all her own ‘going out’ clothes back in 1984 (including those in the photograph) – for her reflections on the past 35 years she answered: ‘I have worked hard and earned nothing’. I feel I, and probably many others, can second that statement…

It would be fair to say that Carol is an academic: she has taught and lectured on English Literature in Scunthorpe and marks papers for a major examination board. She works in a loft in her home – accessed by a ladder – and this provided the setting for my photograph. Carol is unmarried, has one daughter who has made her a grandmother (and me a grandfather, it would be fair to say) and enjoys walking with her dogs, a whippet and a lurcher.

At 13 years old, Anita was the youngest person I photographed for my 1984 project. Indeed, it was her mother – from whom I had gained permissions from at the time – who reminded her, after spotting a post from me regarding my 2019 plans, that she had taken part. Consequently, the decision to take part was made by Anita at the last moment but she very kindly drove the 30 miles to Cleethorpes just days before I left the UK.

Anita arrived with the youngest of her three daughters, Millie and we embarked upon a short expedition to find a location. After discovering that all three of the Turkish gent’s hairdressers on the main shopping street were unsuitable for one reason or another (well, I thought it a good idea, lol. And Anita is a hairdresser), we adjourned to the Cafe Baraka on the promise of an excellent fruit smoothie I had discovered a couple of weeks earlier.

Since 1984 Anita has worked in a London hotel and in a Scunthorpe sewing factory where she had a hand in providing Marks and Spencer with a finished article. She explained that she had turned to this work because she had wanted a car. Very mobile now, she works as a hairdresser covering the Scunthorpe area.

It’s a closed shop. Well, almost…

My early morning walks in Lincolnshire often take me through high streets and I confess to being a keen window-shopper. Sometimes I find a window display interesting enough to want to record the moment; sometimes an empty shop, sadly closed down or simply closed for renovation offers up something equally appealing.

As a student, the work of Eugene Atget (1857-1927) made a great impression on me. The Frenchman was out and about the streets of Paris early and he photographed many shop fronts. Fête du Trône is my favourite and is worth seeking out should you be interested. The photograph above is a kind of homage to the great man; you will notice that I have mirrored the image so that the reflected word ‘hope’ is better read. Across the road was an employment agency (it is worth bearing in mind that Grimsby, once the greatest fishing port in the world, has seen better times) which bore the legend: (no) hope…

I find this sort of thing rather attractive, though I have heard it described as ‘an eyesore’. Each to his own. West of Grimsby, a little way along the Humber estuary there is another port, busier than Grimsby and an important oil terminal. Immingham is a small town and, like Grimsby, its connection with far-off places is reflected by a diverse population. Should you need something exotic to be cooked up for you or if you want to browse shelves for unfamiliar ingredients, you are catered for:

Head downstream from Grimsby and you will encounter neighbouring Cleethorpes; a seaside resort and the place of my birth, many moons ago. I found a pet supplies shop as I made my way down to the beach one day:

And on another occasion I reached the seafront, was suckered in by a faux ice cream cornet and, despite the fact it was a cold, miserable day, entered this excellent establishment only to find out that they didn’t have my favourite flavour (pistachio, if you’re interested).

Heading inland, Gainsborough – as far as you can go before entering Nottinghamshire – is a very interesting place with a fair history; famous for the Tudor Hall that once hosted the likes of Henry VIII, the town also attracts me for the wealth of shop front potential. The shops in the two photographs below sat side by side; I was sat on the wall of a splendid churchyard having a smoke when they occurred to me:

Boston, the third port in Lincolnshire, is a fascinating place to visit and was my home during the 1970s. Over the past three years I have spent a few days of my annual holiday in the town. It has seen changes and I’m hoping that it will be a subject for a future blog post. For the time being, here is an empty shop window shortly after sunrise:

Many thanks for taking the time to look at my blog. For the enthusiast, I used an Olympus OMD with a Zuiko short zoom for all the photographs.

Not as bracing as you might think: a day out in Skegness

The resort town of Skegness, on the coast of Lincolnshire, is famous for the slogan: ‘It’s so bracing!’. Not so the day I visited the place. In the middle of that long, hot summer of 2018. The view from the shore is dominated by a vast wind farm; on this day of heat and little breeze it was as if cooling fans had been laid on for the benefit of visitors.

It would be fair to say that us Brits enjoy our Costa del Sol temperatures in small, package-deal doses; not a couple of months of them. I base this observation on a switch – from, ‘it’s too wet’ or, ‘it’s too cold’ to, ‘it’s too hot’ – in conversations about the weather. I sympathised with the parents of the youngster above as they tried to work up some enthusiasm appropriate to the moment. I had chosen the first day of the holiday season – the day after the schools closed for the summer – but there were surprisingly few souls walking about.

Donkey Delivery Vehicle, Main Beach: July 2018

I walked north along the promenade. Once I had left the main beach I had the route to myself and, as the sun beat down, the phrase ‘mad dogs and Englishmen (go out in the midday sun)’ came to mind. The closest thing to alternative activity was encountered as I passed some bowling greens:

There was even less evidence of man a little further on as I arrived at the North Shore Golf Club, though the fairways were crying out for some rain:

The chap above was probably looking for the ‘nineteenth hole’ I imagine, lol. I’d have joined him, but I needed to press on. I managed another couple of kilometres before I decided to return to the main road. My water bottle was empty, I was quite some distance from the town by now and I felt uncomfortable.

The road to who knows where?… I never found out: July 2018

In my explorations of my home county, Lincolnshire I always use public transport. If that’s not available, I walk. I was overjoyed to find, at the end of an overgrown pathway from the shore, the main road into town and, importantly, a bus stop. The couple in the shelter were not only preoccupied with themselves, they were in full sunshine. I lurked in the shade behind. By the time I boarded a bus I felt like someone with a bizarre fetish:

And that was that. Alighted the bus at the railway station and made my escape after a lengthy wait in a long queue of hot and irritable fellow travelers. ‘It’s far too hot’ – If they weren’t saying it, they were thinking it.

Thanks for visiting this, my 30th blog. The camera I used for the pictures was my trusty Olympus OMD.

Shooting dogs for dog’s sake? Merely incidental!

It is difficult to avoid the occasional dog when you spend your time out and about. Here in Thailand dogs are everywhere; in my other stamping ground, Lincolnshire our canine friends are less frequently encountered. When the noted photographer, Elliott Erwitt went through his huge collection of snaps (his term) he noticed this too, eventually working the theme in one of the most marvelous books of photographs. Unlike him, my photographs are pictures of dogs rather than pictures with dogs in them. For dogs’ sake if you like…

I have to admit that I am a ‘cat person’. I can tolerate dogs and have grown to not be intimidated by them during a face to face street encounter. Despite the barking, snarling and threatening behaviour of some dogs – particularly the strays – they will generally allow you to carry on with what you are doing if you ignore them.

I have, oddly, formed a brief but rewarding relationship with a dog on occasion. I have talked to them even. In the following photograph I put this down to self-preservation; ‘if I’m friendly with you, you be friendly with me…yes?’

There are cute dogs:

…and there are not so cute dogs (my opinion only, lol):

Of course the fact of the matter is that life, for all living things, is finite. I felt a moment of sadness for this late dog, thrown up by the waves. The rockabilly classic, ‘Endless Sleep’ by Jody Reynolds occurred to me….

My final offering is my favourite and is another dog I talked to. I felt he needed a friendly word and I believe he enjoyed the company, if only for the briefest time:

Thanks for visiting my blog. The camera I used for these photographs is the usual Olympus with a Zuiko lens.

‘Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside’: part one….

Cleethorpes is a seaside resort in Lincolnshire, UK. It sits on the mouth of the Humber estuary, not far from where river meets sea, and it is the place of my birth. I visit the place every summer for a month or so, my family and I plan to resettle there next year.

Generally, as with anywhere I find myself, I like to be up and about before the sun. Watching the scene unfold, empty yet populated with the evidence of activity. Such was the shot above as I looked over from an empty pier I noted how a sluggish tide had so neatly smoothed away the marks of an earlier activity and how it had jettisoned a single piece of driftwood.

‘The Front’: Cleethorpes early morning, 2018

During the summer days, people come to the seaside for much the same reasons as they have done historically; to take the sea air, to have fun, eat candy floss and whipped ices or to simply relax….

It is fair to say I never tire of the place. I’ve watched it change over the 60-odd years and it has seen me grow up too.

Despite the emergence of fast food outlets (dim view taken by me, for sure), you can still feast on the most excellent fish and chips – best in the country – and, as the son of an ex-trawlerman, I know it.

At the end of the day – literally – there is nothing better than leaning over the promenade railings and feeling the sting of that fresh breeze on your face!

Thanks for visiting, as usual an Olympus OMD was used with Zuiko short zoom.

Photography Essentials: Decent Shoes…

By the time I reached my lodgings – a ten minute walk from the bus station – my left foot was very sore. I was in Boston, Lincolnshire and my intention was to make a series of long walks around the surrounding country side, to see what I could see (the photograph above was made during a 13 mile hike the following day). I’d hit a problem before I had even started. I stepped out into the market place and found some excellent and comfortable walking footwear in a sale. Consigning my old shoes to a skip I returned to my room and unpacked my OS maps….

Evacuation Point or ‘This Must be my Portaloo’: Fishtoft, Lincolnshire 2016

The shoes were a success, comfortable as slippers, durable enough for the variety of terrain encountered by the keen walker. Although most of my photography takes place in urban areas, I really enjoy strolling along the byways and footpaths of the UK, particularly those of my home county, Lincolnshire. Photographs may not come often – the two above are all I have to show after a six hour expedition – but how exhilarating to reach the Wash, with a big sky above, and look out over the marsh to the water, recalling my days on the cockle and mussel boats in the late 1970s.

Never did find the roadworks: between Fulstow and Tetney, Lincolnshire 2017

Seats are always a welcome find, particularly those provided as a rest stop….

Sometimes unwanted and discarded, as in the next photograph, in the seeming ‘middle of nowhere’….

Between Ludborough and Fulstow, Lincolnshire: 2017

Pubs can be a welcome sight, particularly during opening hours (this one was closed for renovation)….

Another novelty was the discovery of a fish and chip shop set back from a very quiet little country road out in the sticks….it was closed. I later learned that it had an excellent reputation and that people would travel from miles around for the food…

Top Nosh, near Yarburgh, Lincolnshire: 2017

I love the sense of stillness that you get when you stop somewhere along some remote footpath, away from the hustle and bustle of towns and cities, and just for a minute soak in the view…

And if anyone needs a couple of car seats, I know where you might find some, lol:

Somewhere between Burringham and East Butterwick, Lincolnshire: 2018

Thanks for taking a look at my blog. Now, where did I leave those shoes?

Early Doors, First Light

‘Then a change began slowly to declare itself. The horizon became clearer, field and tree came more into sight, and somehow with a different look; the mystery began to drop away from them.’

The words above are from one of my favourite books – The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame – and are found in the chapter, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn.

I have always been an early riser and wherever I find myself I will be up and about with my camera before sunrise. I love the way the scene – from city streets or country lanes – in front of me unfold; the deep shadows and the striking shapes they create, the slowly revealing detail, the sudden rustle that makes you start and the unseen population of all those who have been there, leaving their mark or a simple feeling of presence. The Maud Foster drain, cut in 1568 (when Boston was one of the wealthiest ports in Europe) and once used to transport corn and flour (the windmill in Boston still stands) is now empty of traffic. But with a little imagination…..

I’m a Lincolnshire lad and I love my home county. All the photographs here form part of my ongoing project: Notes in Passing, Lincolnshire. I’ve been tramping the streets and lanes for many years and this summer I aim to try and fill in some gaps and try to make some sense of what I have. The county town, Lincoln is a particular favourite of mine when it comes to exploring.

I don’t always get photographs, but my early morning walks are never unproductive; the experience of being there at that time is reward enough.

For the tech-minded, the camera used was an Olympus OMD (bar one, which was shot with an earlier Olympus digital) and a Zuiko Digital short zoom lens. Thanks for visiting and here’s a swan: