My ebook is nearly ready to go, and I’ve been giving the sales page a lot of thought recently. I want to write it in a way that’s true to myself but might still entice somebody (maybe even more than one somebody) to actually buy it. I really hate these hugely-long, yellow-highlighted, online sales letters full of sensational promises that no product could ever fulfil, but in the back of my mind a little voice has been saying ‘but that’s what you have to do if you want to sell your book’.
So I was absolutely delighted this morning to get a subscription reminder notice from Philosophy Now magazine, in which the first paragraph goes like this:
Your subscription to Philosophy Now ran out with Issue 83, and ever since then we’ve been inconsolable. “What”, we ask ourselves rhetorically, “is the point of continuing? Issue 85 is really good, but the achievement seems hollow, futile, if you aren’t going to read it…” Bring meaning back to our lives: if you send us a cheque for £15.50 we’ll send you the next six issues and I’ll be able to wean my colleagues off their anti-depressants….
…..Rick Lewis, Editor
I only let the subscription lapse because I’m very, very broke at the moment, but this letter means that I’ll be renewing the moment I have some spare cash. It not only made my day – I laughed out loud when I read it – it taught me a few things too about how connecting with people gets far better results than an in-your-face sales letter ever could.
Anyone who knows me well also knows that I like my bed and am not in the habit of leaping out of it at anything other than a civilised time, and even then after at least an hour of leisurely reading with a cup of tea. But this morning I made an exception, and was in my car and heading over to Alexandra’s garden in Faversham before 8.00am. Alexandra* has a gorgeous garden that’s just begging to be photographed, and we’d been trying to arrange this date for quite a while.
There’s a photographic version of sod’s law that says the light is always at its best the day before you get there, and this was one of those times. For most of the last week I’ve been waking up to beautiful sunshine and blue skies; the sun has usually disappeared by the time morning gets going in earnest, but has stayed around long enough for a potential photo session. This morning – of course – I opened my eyes to dull, flat light and grey skies and realised it was going to be pretty tough to get any decent images at all.
The only thing you can do when the light is like this is to keep the sky out of things altogether and concentrate on small, intimate areas of garden where you at least have the advantage of there being no harsh shadows. Even so, I’m not about to burst with excitement at the photos I’ve got. In a bid to add some extra interest to what would otherwise have been some very dull shots because of the light, I took quite a few of them using the Lensbaby – for the same reason, I’ve added the Orton effect to a couple of them. Even so, you still can’t expect to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.
(If you haven’t heard of the Orton technique, or you have but you don’t know how to do it, I wrote a tutorial on it a while ago for the Mortal Muses site. I can’t get a unique url that will send you to the right place, but if you want to find it, go to www.mortalmuses.com, click on Muse University in the left-hand side panel, then scroll down several posts till you come to mine.)
Alexandra has two of these wonderful dog statues in the garden. I had to do huge amounts of processing to get this image to look good at all. It’s had curves, a solid colour adjustment layer, warming photo filter, and vignetting applied, to mention just a few of the things I did to it. It still isn’t great, but probably the best I was ever going to get in the dull light.
She also has the real thing; isn’t he lovely? – unfortunately I can’t remember his name. I’ve also managed to mess up with the focussing, which is centred on his collar rather than his eyes, as it should be. It’s been a while since I’ve used my Lensbaby and my lack of practice is showing.
The garden has loads of lovely little details like these:
There are some amazing and interesting flowers and plants, too. My ignorance of plant names and species is extensive, but I can tell you this is some kind of hydrangea. The flowers are fascinating – like little parasols with dainty flower heads dangling from them. I think I could have done with a bit more depth of field here (it’s probably wise not to employ me to do photography early in the morning before my brain’s booted up), but the soft pinks are rather nice.
But my favourite shots of the day were these wonderful leaves, which had the most amazing colours in them. No, please don’t ask me what they are – I have no idea! I processed the two shots a bit differently, with the first one kept very soft and the second with more sharpness and saturation. I’m not sure which one I like best; I think they both work, in different ways.
We’re going to try again soon, in the hope of better light next time. The reason for all these grey skies, according to an email I got the other day, is because Summer has failed to install….
404 error: Season not found. Season “Summer” cannot be located. The season you are looking for might have been removed, had its name changed or is temporarily unavailable. Please try again later……
Maybe we could install “Mediterranean Summer” instead…that would be nice. Any techies out there?
*Alexandra is an author who writes under the name of Nina Bell. She has four books in print, on the theme of family dramas, and you can find details of them on her website: www.ninabell.co.uk
And if you’ve ever wondered about getting to grips with Twitter, do read Alexandra’s blog post on it – it’s one of the best I’ve ever come across on telling you why you should join in and how it all works. You can find her blog on the website link above.
If you stop to think about it, life is made up of repeating patterns. Anything that becomes a routine or a habit is also a recurring pattern, and it’s these patterns that make up the bulk of our lives. We need them – just imagine a life where no pattern is ever repeated and think how chaotic that would be. So rhythms and patterns feel reassuring and secure and maybe that’s why we’re drawn to spotting them and photographing them.
Having said that, I realise that patterns are not something I tend to photograph much; if I do, it’s usually because of something else that goes along with them, like colours, or shadows, or a subject that has the pattern as a background. Where there’s a very regular pattern, to me it works best as a backdrop that makes the other features of the photo more interesting. And sometimes when I’ve photographed patterns it’s more of an echo effect than a neatly repeating one. In the image below, the pattern can be found in all the arch shapes, but they repeat at different angles and sizes and so it’s not as obvious to spot at first glance.
Where there’s a more obvious and regular pattern to be found, it’s usually the small (or sometimes large) interruptions and variations in a pattern that make it worth looking at. That’s probably why we prefer handmade things to machine-made ones: there’s a deadly, clone-like perfection to the patterns that a machine produces, but something handmade has little irregularities and variations in its patterns that keep it interesting while still retaining the satisfying feeling of the ongoing basic pattern.
In the photo below, the shadows are all slightly different and the building facade has little differences in it that stop it becoming boring – some blinds are up and some are down, some of the plaster is smooth, some is stained or damaged.
Sometimes what makes the patterns more interesting, too, is where you have several repeating patterns together, as in the Cathedral ceiling image at the top. Patterns combined hold more interest than one on its own but still give that satisfying, repetitive effect.
If we think about it in terms of life, we need a foundation of repeating patterns to form a structure to how we live. The routines and habits that we have form a secure base for the rest of our lives to rest on. So sleeping at night, waking during the day, brushing your teeth and washing your face in the morning, doing the laundry at the weekends, and so on is a good foundation that makes life run smoothly. If we have that, then now and again we can interrupt the pattern without repercussions – it doesn’t matter if the laundry doesn’t get done this week because you’re off to Paris for the weekend. It would matter if it didn’t get done for several weeks in a row.
So interrupting and varying the pattern makes life more interesting, but not having patterns at all would make it unliveable. Patterns hold things together and make life cohesive, but it’s the irregularities that make it interesting. The trick in life, as in photography, is to find the balance between the two.
Despite the fabulous colours in the image above, it just doesn’t hold my interest.
This has got me wondering if the kind of patterns we’re drawn to and the way we photograph them are reflected in our attitudes to routine? I know I need a certain amount of routine, but more than a little and I find it gets stifling very quickly. I also try to create variations within the routines I follow as much as I can; for example, taking a different route to a regular destination. I think most of my ‘pattern’ images reflect this: I don’t have many that form straightforward, clearly-repeating patterns and, where I’ve taken photos like this, I don’t really like them. We can’t help but show our selves in our photography, so I wonder – if you looked, would you find the same thing?
Those of you who know anything about Spike Milligan might also know that before he died, and with his typical brand of humour, he asked that his gravestone bear the inscription “I told you I was ill”. He now lies buried in the graveyard of Winchelsea Church, and he almost got his way with the inscription, but it’s in Irish Gaelic instead of English. The Chichester Diocese got a bit uppity about having the English version on the stone, and after two years of wrangling they finally said the equivalent of ‘oh, alright then, but only if you do it in Irish’. (Milligan held an Irish passport)
A couple of weekends ago we went to Winchelsea to see it. The excuse – and it was purely an excuse for a day out – was that Geoff had completed a cryptic crossword that was themed around the quote and he thought it would be fun to be photographed beside the headstone holding the completed crossword.
When we got there we couldn’t find it and it turned out that, in a trick of fate and timing that I’m sure would have pleased Spike enormously, the gravestone had been removed just a few days beforehand. His wife had just died and it had been taken away to have her name engraved on the stone, so all that was left to us was a mound of unmarked earth – but we took the photo anyway and we managed to buy a postcard of how it ought to have looked.
That was the only disappointment of the day, and there were lots of compensations. Before we started looking for the grave, we had some lunch in a beautiful little beer garden belonging to the pub in Winchelsea, and I found this bench quietly being taken over by nature.
Winchelsea Church had the most amazing stained glass windows. The photographs don’t do them justice – the colours were softer, lighter and more pastel than stained glass usually is, but I had trouble getting that to show in the images.
And we found the grave of someone called Seddon Wildeblood, which sounds like something out of an eighteenth century romantic novel. Wonderful!
Then we went to Winchelsea Beach, which is a huge expanse of sand, sea and pebbles, stretching for miles and only broken up by the wooden groynes that criss-cross it.
There was a powerful wind that seemed ideal for a bit of kite flying. Unfortunately it was so strong that, after a while, the lines of the kite got tangled up into a tight, Gordian knot that was impossible to undo with the wind whipping everything around, including my hair over my face. In the end we bundled it all up and threw it in the back of the car, to be slowly unpicked later at home.
I played around with some abstract water and sand photos too.
Then we finished up with tea and cakes in Rye, and staying true to my inability to remember to photograph things before I eat them, I ate them and forgot to photograph them – but I will tell you it was one of the nicest slices of coffee and walnut cake I’ve ever had.
I love books; I’ve always loved books, with a passion. I read all the time and can easily get through a book in a day (and do other things as well). But as much as I love the content of books, what I like equally much is their physicality – I love the weight of them in my hand, the lovely squared-off heft of them. I love the way they smell: every book smells different and each one is enticing in its own way. I love the feel of the pages, whether they’re tissue-thin or thick as card; matt, or smooth and glossy. I love shiny new books, for their perfect edges and untouched quality, and I love old, tattered books, for their faded covers and soft, much-handled, pages. (Kindle, eat your heart out)
So perhaps it’s not surprising that I’ve had a yearning to make my own books for some time now. Eventually I’d like to combine my photography projects with hand-made books so that I could create beautiful, individual works of art with each element enhancing the other.
That’s for the future, and you’ve got to start somewhere. I haven’t made it to a book-binding class yet but I have made my first ever book. I know it’s not perfect, and it doesn’t have any of my photos in it, but I made it and I’m proud of it.
The backstory is this: it was Geoff’s 50th birthday in March and I wanted to do something special for him. I didn’t have much money so it had to be something that was meaningful but didn’t cost much. So I came up with the idea of making a small book called ’50 Things I Love About You’ – one for every year of his life. I themed it around rabbits because he adores rabbits. I had a lot of fun putting it together, although it was more time-consuming and challenging than I thought it would be.
I made the pages out of cream luggage labels from Paperchase, and each page was decorated with pieces of rabbit confetti (found on ebay), painstakingly glued on, one by one. I managed to find a phone charm in the shape of a rabbit, and then I found a key with a little tag with ‘My heart’ on it on a card-making site. The other components were things I either had lying around the house or found in a card-making supply shop. And on every page, I wrote one, two or three things that I love about him. (The first 30 or so were easy; the next ten were more difficult; and by the time I got into the 40s I was having to think very hard indeed – and wishing he was a lot younger.)
It didn’t work out quite as I had hoped. The luggage labels seemed like a good idea at the time, but they had metal eyelets in the holes and when they were piled up together they became much thicker at one end than I’d anticipated, and that required a complete rethink about how I was going to hold everything together. There were other problems too, but I got it to work well enough in the end.
That all happened back in March so why am I bringing it up now? Well today I got delivery of the most gorgeous book called ‘Book + Art: handcrafting artist’s books’. It’s full of stunning and inspiring artist’s books, plus just enough of the practical how-to stuff on binding to be useful without being boring. (Rather appropriately,I bought it using an Amazon voucher I was given for my own birthday.) I’ve only flipped through it so far, but it’s fired me up already and I’ve realised this is something I so want to do. Combining my love of photography and my love of books just has to be the way to go.
And, oh yes, in case you’re itching to know: did he like it? Well, I did have to pass the tissues so I think the answer’s ‘yes’.
I come across so many good things as I move round the internet that I thought I’d do a series of occasional posts on the best of them. This is the first one.
I love treehouses; I always wanted one but never got it (maybe because we never lived in a house with a garden that had big enough trees). If you’re like me, satisfy your treehouse craving at ‘inhabitat’ website. These are beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
David Peat’s street photography is wonderful – humorous and touching. Although he’d taken thousands of street photos over the years, he’d never had any of them printed or shown bigger than a tiny thumbnail on a contact sheet. When he was diagnosed with a terminal illness at the age of 64, he started sorting through the negatives and the best are now on show in Scotland. What a shame it took a life-threatening illness to encourage him to share them with the world.
If you’ve ever needed to find the owner of a Flickr picture you’ve saved, this could be really useful.
And if you’re a woman of a certain age, and have wondered about doing some self-portraits, have a look at Patricia Lay-Dorsey for inspiration (click on Portfolios, and then Falling Into Place). If she can do it, so can you.
I’m dedicating this post to anyone who has ever been floored by criticism of their work – here’s proof that you shouldn’t take what anyone says too seriously even if they are qualified and experienced.
The tutor I started out with on the course I’m currently studying is not known for his tact or empathy. He didn’t like my first assignment one little bit and criticised it so harshly that it took me the best part of a year to get my confidence back. I asked for a change of tutor at the time and so the same assignment was marked a second time. What you see in this post are a few of the images with both tutor’s comments added to them. I don’t think I need to say any more……except, don’t take anything too much to heart!
I’m so happy to have discovered the Introvert’s Corner section on the Psychology Today website; it makes me feel a lot less like an oddball than I usually do. I once filled in a questionnaire on introversion and I was practically off the scale on some of the parameters. My introvert traits often perplex and puzzle the extravert people in my life, who mostly don’t understand that I’m just wired differently. For every three extraverts in the world, there’s just one introvert, so we’re seriously outnumbered and usually more than a little bit misunderstood.
In case you’re an extravert yourself, let me just clear up a few misconceptions. We’re not people haters – we often love people but only in small doses and in ones, twos or threes rather than large numbers. We prefer peace and quiet, because loudness simply overwhelms our more delicate nervous systems and we can’t think straight. And we love to talk, but only about things that really interest us and when we feel we’ve got something to say – you can’t shut us up when that happens. We’re not shy people (well we can be, but it doesn’t go with the territory) and we’re often very friendly and sociable (just not 24/7).
The big, big difference between us and extraverts is that even when we have the kind of people contact we enjoy, our energy is drained by it, but extraverts actually gain energy from being around others. For that reason we need to spend much more time alone to recharge our batteries.
Parties are not our idea of fun
Because of all this, our idea of fun is a lot different from an extravert’s notion of the same thing. We loathe parties. We understand that extravert people have a lot of fun that way, but we just don’t. We’d rather have root canal work than have to go a party (especially as you don’t have to make small talk when your mouth’s full of dental instruments). Parties are noisy, you can’t have any sort of in-depth conversation at them (which is the kind we like), and even worse, you have to try and look as if you’re having a good time even when you’re very definitely not. On top of that, we find parties and most social things involving large groups of people, well…… quite boring, really. We tend to have a low tolerance for small talk, and we’d much rather be doing something other than standing around, struggling to have banal conversations over wincingly loud music. And when we say doing something, that could just be thinking – we usually have a lot going on in our heads.
So what does this have to do with photography?
I’ve found that being a photographer helps a lot when it comes to finding a way of surviving these things. A camera – particularly the serious DSLR kind – makes me look as if I have a purpose and gives me something to do. It means I can talk as little or as much as I want to, wander around or sit on the edges if I like, and when it’s all over I can present the host with some nice images of their ‘do’, which usually goes down very well. And not least, it gives me something absorbing and interesting to do that doesn’t make me look rude. Result!
Once I got over the initial stages of learning how to take photos – when I used to feel that people were looking at me and my DSLR and imagining I actually knew what I was doing, when I was all too aware that I didn’t – the camera became a great tool both to hide behind and to make connections with. I attract attention because of it, but it gives me a role to play and I find that reassuring. It gives people something to ask you about, and a reason to speak to you. (I may not be big on small talk but a little bit of it does make the world a nicer place.)
It’s probably not the same for all introverts. Most introverts hate being the centre of attention or indeed attracting attention to themselves in any way whatsoever. For myself, I don’t mind as long as I have a role to play. I’m happy and comfortable being a photographer, or a tutor, or a hander-round of canapés, but without being able to wear the role like a protective cloak I quickly feel exposed and lost in large gatherings. That kind of social interaction is deeply unsatisfying to me and it takes huge amounts of energy for me to try to fit in, but if I don’t make the effort I look and feel like a spare part. Having a role to play takes that kind of pressure off.
For me, at least, photography hasn’t just given me the creative outlet I always yearned for, it’s also stopped me feeling like quite such a party pooper (although I’d still much rather not go!)
I was having a bad day; I felt tense, antsy, mildly depressed. So I went for a walk in the woods, followed a small track away from the main pathways, and discovered this plaque high up in the trees: Love. Just what I needed. Thank you to whoever put it there.
Love, with little hands, comes and touches you with a thousand memories, and asks you beautiful, unanswerable questions …
This week, Kat Sloma is blogging on Reflections in glass
I’m a bit obsessive about photographing reflections, although when I started trawling through my archives it turned out I have far more photos of reflections in water, mirror, metal, or other substances, than I do in glass.
The word ‘reflection’ comes from the Latin ‘reflex’, which means to bend back – in the case of glass it’s the light rays that are bending back but this also gives it its other meaning of considered thought – ie, you turn back on your thoughts and give them more consideration. I’m pretty keen on that kind of reflection as well and have eagerly engaged in lots of it – some might say to the point of over-indulgence but I don’t listen to them. Studying philosophy just egged me on as far as this went and I was actually encouraged to write whole essays about this sort of thing –
Do you ever wonder if the guy in the puddle is real, and you’re just a reflection of him? — Calvin and Hobbes
Kind of makes you want to disappear up your own tutu, doesn’t it?
Staying true to my nature, I’ve been giving a bit of thought as to why many of us are so fascinated with photographing reflections. Speaking for myself – which is all I can do here – I’m drawn towards abstraction in art and reflections can turn something quite ordinary into a fascinating abstract. They distort the subject, sometimes making it semi-transparent, and giving it a less substantial, dream-like look. You often get a double-exposure effect as well, which adds to this. I like the sense of ambiguity and the little bit of effort that’s needed to figure out what’s going on. You can’t usually take in a reflection picture in one casual glance – you have to really look at it. If you look at the image at the end of this post, it can take a while before you realise that the leaves are painted onto the glass and the building is reflected in it.
I also don’t like straight lines much and find it fascinating to see buildings and other straight-edged objects take on wavy, curvy shapes. I’ve always loved Gaudi‘s architecture because of its lack of hard edges and straight lines – a reflected building can turn into an instant Gaudi.
Someone else who likes distorting buildings is Cole Thompson. In his project The Fountainhead, he photographs skyscrapers reflected in some kind of curved metal board (I can’t remember what it’s made of). I think he’s had a mixed reaction to these, but I like them.
I’d love to know what it is that other folk like about reflections. Nearly everyone is fascinated by them so if you have any thoughts on why, I’d welcome a comment below.