Monthly archives for March, 2012

First of the Year

Mar31
2012 Written by Stephen Street

Some mornings are just special.  The first morning of the year that feels as if spring has truly arrived is one of them.  A few days ago was such a morning, a morning that refreshes my soul and recharges my batteries.

Mist was lying low and clinging to the valley bottoms tighter than a shipwrecked sailor clings to a life ring.  It wasn’t thick enough to filter early morning sunlight into a warm glow, but it was thick enough to soften the contrast that I expected to have to deal with immediately the sun cleared surrounding hills, until it burnt off that is.  These are the kind of mornings that I love and it’s a privilege to be out at sunrise watching such a day come alive.

I have always found red-legged partridges to be shy birds.  They usually secret themselves away under cover, or dash off at the first sign of any interest from me, so hopefully you will understand when I say that I was surprised to spot one sitting proud on top of a clump of heather.  Basking in spring sunshine he was set against what would otherwise have been a very confusing background, but was in fact completely washed out to a pleasing pale blue-grey, thanks to the mist.

After carefully approaching as close as I dare I spent some time rattling off a few frames.  I liked what I saw and tried out various compositions as a snipe was drumming overhead (I couldn’t see him – he was coming at me out of the sun).  Suddenly the partridge disappeared from view.  Arrgghh!  I’ve spooked it.

Instead of running away as expected, he came even closer, walked in front of me, hopped up onto a towering wall and started calling.  So naturally, I gave him another go until he finally turned around and walked away along the wall.


This week we’ve had a nice run of spring mornings that have been a pleasure to experience.  But, as I said, the first of the year is always special.

Posted in Out & About - Tagged , , ,

Critical Critique

Mar21
2012 Written by Stephen Street

Photographs are nothing more than either an ink stained sheet of paper or a string of 1’s and 0’s in a digital file.  Well, that’s one point of view.  A more significant view is that they are a bridge between the photographer’s vision and skill, and an audience’s hearts and minds.  And every single member of that audience may get a completely different impression.  This is the tightrope we photographers walk, as we pour our selves into creating the best photographs that we can.

In my experience the most successful photographers generally have a number of defining characteristics, but having a fragile ego is not one of them.  At this point I recall something I read somewhere, sometime, “The intention of the artist does not dictate the reaction of the audience”.   All we can do is offer up our meagre efforts, hope for the best and weather any criticisms that come our way.

Naturally we want to try and skew the Bell Curve of our audience’s reception in our favour, so it helps to have a touchstone for reference, someone we can turn to for an honest opinion.  I’m married to mine. It’s good to get critical input away from the public glare, even if I don’t always like what I hear.  What makes my wife’s input so valuable is that she is not a photographer and has no desire at all to be one.  Hers is a real-world appraisal. The differences in our points of view can be interesting in themselves.

When she first saw me messing around with the photograph that opened this post I described it as artistic; she dismissed it with a simple “It’s blurred”.

Here are a few more examples of my offerings and her valued critiques:
“It’s in its habitat” – “It’s too small”.
“It’s nature in the raw” – “It’s viscous and horrible to look at”.
“It’s low key” – “It’s too dark and I can’t see it.”
“It’s high key” – “It looks washed out”.
And finally, “It’s boring and chocolate boxy” – “It’s lovely”.

Posted in Just thinkin' - Tagged , , ,

Smiler

Mar11
2012 Written by Stephen Street

I was coming to the end of a ‘beach for daybreak’ outing at Runswick Bay and I started to carefully pick my way back along the beach below a cliff face.  These cliffs, where the North York Moors literally fall into the sea, are fragile, very fragile.  After a good storm fossil hunters come here especially to see what new treasures have been unearthed.  As for me, well, I was just trying to avoid being hit by one of the frequent cascades of shale slivers tinkling down the cliff face.

I’d stopped to take a documentary shot of boldly coloured rock where iron ore is being leached out by ground water.  It was the almost luminescent colours that caught my eye.  I’ll often take pictures of unusual things like this; I’ve lost count of the number of times ‘she who must be obeyed’ will be working on some document or other and call out ‘have you got any photographs that show …… (insert obscure subject as required)?  One day this picture may well come to my rescue.

Afterwards I began carefully picking my way over a mass of large boulders when, lying underneath them, I saw an amazing lump of rock.  It was unlike anything that I’d seen before.  An intrusion of pale rock was fixed between two layers of bright pink sandstone.  It looked to me just like a toothy grin frozen in stone.

I have no idea where it had come from but I knew that there was one photograph that I had to take.  Sorry.

Posted in Out & About - Tagged , ,

Myth of the Perfect Camera

Mar01
2012 Written by Stephen Street

We photographers are a strange bunch.  We spend our days squinting through one eye with our faces squashed up against an electronics filled box.  Possibly because of this enforced intimacy our cameras ultimately become our friends.  Sometimes even more than that; they become an integral part of our identity, but hopefully not quite to the same extent as dogs and their owners, who are said to begin to look alike after time (here is one blogger’s sardonic take on what the camera that you own says about you).

Try and picture this scene from, hmm, it must be about ten years ago.  Chilled by frigid, pre-sunrise air I’m shuffling my feet to keep warm at the edge of a lake at Bosque del Apache nature reserve in New Mexico, waiting.  Before me in the twilight are up to ten thousand honking snow geese.  The end of their overnight roost will soon be noisily announced as they lift of en masse and I’m eagerly looking forward to experiencing this spectacle of nature.

I wasn’t the only one.  Snow geese in Bosque are popular with photographers and despite the early hour a small but steadily growing crowd had formed.  Not far away from me a couple of guys (and it always seems to be guys) were verbally sparring by deriding each others’ camera.  It was mildly amusing for a few seconds, tiring after a few minutes and extremely tedious after twenty.  Their conversation could be distilled to; “Canon”, “Nikon”, “Canon”, “Nikon”, “Canon”, “Nikon”, repeat ad nauseam (with a healthy emphasis on the nauseam bit).

How does the old adage go?  “The more things change, the more they stay the same”.  The last time I was out working close to other photographers the same Canon – Nikon conversation took place.  I’ve seen people take such ‘discussions’ to extremes, where their throbbing neck veins resemble a conga eel and their face turns the colour of beetroot.  The photographer-camera bond can grow so strong that defending it against the slightest criticism can quickly become a matter of pride, honour and principle.  That’s right, the same three things that have probably started more fights than anything else.

But does it really matter?

If you use a camera that is different to mine, why should that concern me?  Likewise, if I use a camera that is different to yours, why should that concern you, particularly if we are both realising our photographic aims to our own personal satisfaction.

But what if you truly believe that your fresh-from-the-factory DSLR is the greatest camera that will ever be produced and is perfect in every way?  Well then, may I respectfully suggest that you read less of the brochure and wait for reviews of the model that will supersede it, in which will be highlighted all of your perfect camera’s shortcoming as the new kid on the block is showered with endless praise.  At least until that too is superseded in due course.

Posted in Just thinkin' - Tagged ,
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