Saturday 26 May 2018

Impermanence 7

The theme this week is 'loss' - big losses, small losses, consequential losses, ephemeral losses . . . (for an explanation of this project, see here).

So, first, among 'big losses' there are big 'normal' losses and big highly abnormal losses. In the rich West the death of a child is highly abnormal, not part of life's expected losses. The death of my seven year old niece was one such loss.



A more normal loss was my grandmother - here is a still life of items, previously hers, that she gave to me.



This is a photograph of my grandmother as a young woman in her early twenties, when she was personal maid to Lady Florence Boyle (neƩ Keppel - sister-in-law to the [in]famous Alice Keppel). In this capacity she travelled widely throughout Europe, the only way at that time that a working-class woman could have the adventurous life that my grandmother craved. The outbreak of WW1 put a stop to the travel and also to my grandmother's position in the Boyle household. The antique camera in the photo above was a gift to my grandmother from Lady Boyle.








Another normal loss, and sadly frequent, is the death of a beloved companion animal. Here are all my cats from 1982-2016. Of course, some of the images pre-date digital photography, so old prints have been scanned to include them here.

I don't have a cat at the moment . . . I discover that, if I contemplate adopting another cat, I find that I am too saddened by the thought of yet another cat dying. I'm not ready for that at the moment . . . and given that I'm approaching 70, it's possible that I may never be ready for it.

And then there are ephemeral losses . . . Week 7 of this project has coincided with this year's Chelsea Flower Show . . . and that signals the moment in the gardening year when my neighbour's oriental poppies, and my peonies, are both in flower. Each year I try to get good photographs of them . . . they are both extraordinarily difficult to photograph well. Both plants produce flowers with very glossy petals and there is something about the way light reflects off the surface, and bounces around within the surface layer, that produces colour flares . . . I console myself that the professional camera crew covering the Chelsea show for TV also have the same problem.

The peonies are not an ephemeral flower if the weather stays dry . . . but this is England. If it rains, the heavy flowers fill up with water and fall over. Immediately below is an image of flowers that opened in dry sunshine and enjoyed a week of the same; underneath, 24 hours later, after 12 hours of continuous heavy rain.



The oriental poppies, though, are inherently ephemeral - the bud opens, the flower goes over and drops its petals, the seed pod starts to form . . . all in 48 hours. And the whole patch lasts only a week, or ten days at most. Then it's another year before I can try again to get photographs.


Sunday 20 May 2018

Impermanence 6

The theme for this week is 'vulnerability' (for an explanation of this project, see here). And there's another Japanese word: wabi-sabi . . . 'all things are either devolving toward, or evolving from, nothingness' . . . 'a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete'. In terms of photography, this might include examples or qualities of:
- natural weathering processes
- irregularities
- earthiness
- murkiness
- simpicity


So, here are three images in response - respectively:  inorganic, organic, and environmental vulnerability.






Saturday 12 May 2018

Impermanence 5

This week's theme is the Japanese concept of 'mono no aware' - this means 'the gentle sadness of things', most obviously observed by us in the West in the intense Japanese appreciation of the beauty of ephemeral cherry blossom (for an explanation of this project, see here).

So, as previously, I'm constrained in what I can manage as response by my ongoing debilitation by pneumonia. I ventured out into the garden . . . the cherry blossom here has been and gone; it's too early for the day lilies . . .

Spring here has been late, because of cold weather, and hence condensed. So, in a way, the whole of the exuberance of spring this year evokes 'mono no aware' - there are flowers blooming together that don't usually coincide, and it will all be over very quickly.

So I took this photo - I wanted to capture the sheer frothy brief exuberance of azalea buds, bluebells and comfrey flowers, all together. It's not a very good photograph . . . but my energy, like Shakespeare's summers lease, 'hath all too short a date' . . . so it was this image or nothing.


Sunday 6 May 2018

Impermanence 4

This week the theme has been 'now', immediacy, living in the moment, carpe diem (for an explanation of this project see here).

As in the previous post (Impermanence 3) my ability to respond to this prompt has been restricted by being ill . . . with, it turns out, pneumonia! So how to address the theme at all . . . ?

About half way thought the week after days of cold, rain and overcast skies, suddenly the sun came out for a whole day . . .. warm enough for me to sit outside, bright enough to cast sharp shadows.


Impermanence 3

The prompt for Week 3 was about change (for an explanation of this project, see here).

It seems that each week I have a particular constraint placed upon me by the exigencies of life which has meant that I have not yet been able to take a week with my camera to respond freely to the theme. Week 3 has been no exception. I returned from my trip to Normandy with a nasty chest infection and have spent this past week not only in my house but mostly in bed.

So I have been trying to find moments of change, to be photographed indoors, without a great deal of effort, either mental or physical, since the combination of illness and medication leaves me fuzzy-headed as well as physically lethargic.

So, first:


Hardly of great aesthetic merit, but it's the change impinging on me most insistently.

Through the window - this is a photo of rain! This is England in April - half an hour ago it was bright and sunny, now it isn't. We live here with a changeable climate, never more so than in April.



And a neighbour brought me some flowers to wish me well soon - they changed over the week, as tulips do.


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