#Lens-Artists

Lens-Artists: Lucky Shot

For most of the several years we lived in Africa I only had a small film camera – an Olympus-trip. It had a good lens and was great for general landscapes, but of course it had no zoom facility. Obviously, this was a big handicap when driving through bush country in search of wildlife to photograph. Also I did not have the aptitude to make the best of varying light conditions. E.g. The header photo was taken in Zimbabwe in July, winter in the southern hemisphere, with a midday view in Hwange National Park as gloomy as an English November. In other words, that this photo worked at all was sheer good luck. In fact I could probably say the same for most of the photos in the old Africa album. There’s another problem too: old film does not keep well.

And yet I love this shot. It has the look of a painting; an air of timelessness. And besides which, the scene did seem to materialise by chance.

At the time we were living in Lusaka, Zambia, and had driven down to Zimbabwe to meet up with New Zealand friends and take them on a short tour through Zimbabwe back to Lusaka. We spent two days driving around Hwange under lowering skies. The bush was parched, so many shades of brown, and anyway the likelihood of spotting anything much from a Subaru estate car seemed slim. We thus spent our first morning on a high-rise game viewing platform, gazing at a very distant waterhole with some faraway buffalo and one giraffe. It was very mesmerizing, surreal even, but in the end one forgot to feel grateful for witnessing such a scene, and began to feel frustrated by the limited photo opportunities.

We left the hide and returned to Hwange’s paved access road, trundling between wide grass verges, that truth to tell, had a rather managed, suburban look about them. Finally we found a dirt trail that led to another waterhole, and parked up under a rain tree. There was no sign of wildlife when we arrived, but it seemed a good spot to eat our picnic lunch. It was only as we were driving away that we saw the elephants had arrived. One of those moments you don’t forget.

Lens-Artists: Lucky Shot This week Sofia sets the theme. Great fun!

Knowing My Ground: Spring On The River Avon

This week Patti at Lens-Artists asks us to consider fore- middle- and background when framing our photos. And it just so happens I took a few (I think) suitable photos back in March when we were staying beside the river at Bidford-on-Avon in Warwickshire.

The house had a fine view of the town’s fifteenth century bridge. On the afternoon we arrived there was brilliant sunshine. I’m glad I caught it! I liked the shimmery reflections of trees and church tower in the river, but also that you can glimpse the upstream banks through the arches. Can you see the swan?

A view from the bridge

And lastly a couple of photos from our visit to nearby Hidcote Manor Gardens:

I liked the layered look of the magnolia blossoms near and far against the flat grey sky.

What’s not to like about this red-framed window in the Hidcote tearoom, and such a rich red too. Then there’s the garden border beyond, still slumbering for the most part, and in the distance the manor house roof.

Choose a pane, any pane…

Lens-Artists: Framing your shot – fore-, middle, and background

This week Patti sets the theme, and gives us some excellent examples and guidance. Go and see!

Blue Sky Morning

Breakfast on the lawn. A jug of coffee and fresh cut orange and apple with toasted nuts. And at last the sun on our skin. A sense of bliss after the dark, wet months.

Overhead, in the big blue, jackdaws drift from their roost to all points and back again. No reason necessary. Far off, too, above the town, white glints catch my eye. They shimmer like foil reflecting the sun, and soon, drawing near, take form: a pair of buzzards in their best feathers. It’s the white underwing that catches the light. They glide by. A pair. Aerial synchrony. It looks like a slow pas de deux.

And next comes the red kite, Shropshire’s largest raptor. Sipping our coffee we lean back to watch. It’s far up, the tell-tale V of the tail feathers, the wide wingspan. We almost take such sights for granted now. The sparrows, though, dash for cover in the holly hedge. And that’s when, gaze lowered, I notice the brimstone butterfly. Wings of pale apple green, it’s flitting about the garden at high speed. Then up and away over the fence, across the street and into the Thorntons’ garden. It’s the second I’ve spotted this week. I don’t recall ever seeing brimstones before.

Along the garden path there’s a continuous sprinkling of cherry plum blossoms. The ice pink petals fall like slow snow flakes. On days like this the tree looks its festive best against the sky. It’s not our tree but grows near our hedge, casting the new spring garden of daffodils and hellebores in dappled light.

And so with the sun and the blue sky all seems hopeful, bountiful, beneficent, and I breathe a long slow breath. Muscles soften. Winter tensions dissolve. Here, in our small garden world, spring is happening.

Lens-Artists: Time to relax This week Anne at Slow Shutter Speed wants to know what helps us relax.

Shadowed At Wenlock Priory

In its time, the Cluniac Priory at Much Wenlock, Shropshire, did much overshadowing. For one thing it was physically one of the largest ecclesiastical houses in medieval Europe. For another, its Prior ruled over both its resident French monks and the lay populace of peasant farmers and artisans who lived and worked beyond its walls. Then in 1540 came the Dissolution of the monasteries. By order of Thomas Cromwell, Henry VIII’s fixer, roofs were stripped of their protecting (highly valuable) lead, and the place, no longer watertight, literally, if slowly, began to dissolve.

Before the end though, the Priory was often a spot for some very shady dealings, forging currency not the least of them.

There’s more about the history in earlier posts Centred at Wenlock Priory and 5 Stories 5 Photos: Hidden Wenlock #2 All of which had me thinking about shadows and recalling the early autumn afternoon when I went to the Priory specifically to capture the ruins in some high-contrast light conditions. I’d taken many photos there in the past, but in the middle of the day. The end products were, without exception, pretty underwhelming.

And so for John’s Lens-Artists’ challenge I thought I’d show a series of different shadowed shots from that late-day autumn visit. I was using a point and shoot Panasonic Lumix including the dynamic monochrome setting for the sepia and black and white shots.

Lens-Artists: Shadowed This week John sets the theme and explores different approaches in his post.

The Power Of Juxtaposition

Grasses, sky and clouds on Wenlock Edge

Sometimes you need to lie down to take a photo; taking this header shot was one of those moments. I wondered how the thin stems of meadow grasses would look against the fiery sky. They had much to compete with. Some more distant treetops got a look in too. Earth to sky: we’re holding our own despite the light show.

And a different take on earthly-aerial juxtapositions; this time a barley field, sun reflecting off the tufty awns that surround the grain. I liked the contrasting textures of spiky crop and meringue-soft cloud; the green against the blue, white-grey contrast:

The colour red always makes its presence felt. Here a single red bird cherry leaf:

The showy crab apples somehow make a lowly snail all the more remarkable.

I do take an awful lot of landscape photos, but perhaps you can have too many ‘good views’. The presence of some living/moving element generally makes for a more engaging shot:

This rather strange view of a Stiperstones tor was shot in monochrome in gloomy midday light. Odd things seem to happen in this mysterious Shropshire upland: so who knows where the sky went. But then I liked the happenstance appearance of the tight-knit group of hikers. They walked into the shot, their group posture conveying group purpose: they will reach the top.

And you want to follow them.

This is another chance Stiperstones photo, taken on the same day. Despite the poor light the tor does seem to radiate something. That’s my other half on the skyline. As ever he has stopped to see what had become of me, dawdling somewhere behind. I was so pleased when he stood still. There he is – a tiny human beside a momentous stack of geology, remnant of the ancient days when this quartzite ridge was crushed and fractured during the last Ice Age.

Back then, two great glaciers (one from Ireland, the other from the heights of Plynlimon in mid-Wales) convened in the Shropshire hills. They kept the ridge company, not covering it, but nudging the tops through alternating periods of freeze and thaw. Needless to say, this would not have been a human-friendly landscape. Even now, in bad weather, it is a brutally exposed spot.

And closer to home, the not quite live elephant on Wintles Hill adds a certain something (if only viewer puzzlement) to this Shropshire autumn landscape. The different layers of sunlight and shadow also caught my eye:

#IAmNotACrop

Lens-Artists: the power of juxtaposition This week Patti at Lens-Artists asks us to consider the power of juxtaposition in our compositions. Please see her super post for guidance and inspiration.

Winter Fields And Hedgerows ~Minimalism in Black & White Photography

I’ve been missing photo-moments in black and white. Things have not been the same since my Panasonic Lumix point-and-shoot broke. It had a dynamic monochrome setting, which I used a lot. I haven’t replaced it with another Lumix because they seem prone to acquiring dust spots on the lens, and quotes to have them professionally cleaned seemed higher than the original cost of the camera.

So ever since, I’ve been using a little Canon Ixus, which is fine for snapping, but somehow its monochrome setting does not enthuse me. I can of course do a spot of post-shot editing to perk things up, and there are also times when conversions from colour turn out quite well.

All the photos here, then, are from my archives. Actually I’m quite pleased to see some of them again. The first three were taken around our previous Wenlock home.

This next three were taken in various parts of wintery Wales:

Lens-Artists: Minimalism in Black & White This week Ritva gives us masterclass in monochrome. Please pay her a visit.

2025 Favourites: Looking Back To Ynys Mon

We didn’t go far last year, but we did spend a week on the North Wales island of Anglesey (Ynys Môn). We often go for Christmas, but this time we were there in late March. As ever, the view across the Menai Strait to the Welsh mainland came with its own enthralling light and shadow show, from the sublime to the mistily mysterious. It was hard to tear ourselves away.

Last Posting For Lens Artists: The Dew Pond Walk

Green lane, hollow way, sunken road: there’s a hint of mystery in these byways, not only in the names, but in the sense of times past, centuries of footfall embedded in the earth between ancient hedges; the passing of cottage folk, farmers, drovers with their herds and flocks; times when most people only had their feet to rely on if they needed to go anywhere.

This particular green lane is one of my favourite spots in Bishop’s Castle. The following photos are ones I forgot to post, taken on a late November walk. It was a brilliant day too, following a brief snow fall and several days of hard frost.

The frozen grass and leaves were crunchy under foot, gripping boots and making the walking easy as we climbed up Wintles Hill. We were heading to the dew ponds.

There are essential landmarks en route of course: a hoar-frosty Long Mynd…

The barns with their rusty roofs that always insist on having their photo taken…

The skyline ash tree that looks like an arboreal version of Munch’s ‘The Scream’…

As for the dew ponds, there are three on the hilltop, one very much in use, as you can see from the well-pocked mud around it…

One dwindling in the next door arable field and so only used by wildlife…

And the largest in a now enclosed enclave where it is producing a fine crop of bullrushes…

I don’t know why this corner of the field has been hived off, access provided by two stout kissing gates either side of it, but the Shropshire Way footpath passes through it.

It’s a good spot for holly trees, which reminds me. Holly was once grown in farm hedges both to shelter stock and as a valuable winter fodder for sheep (and sometimes cattle) when hay was in short supply. And yes, it does seem an unlikely foodstuff with all those prickles, but apparently the leaves become less barbed as the tree grows taller. And so it was the upper branches that were lopped off for the animals to feed on, the holly trees doubtless thriving on the pollarding (if our brute of a garden holly hedge is anything to go by).

Water was the other essential in hill country where streams were lacking. Dew ponds have been used at least since Neolithic times. They were also much used in mediaeval times and in the 18th-19th centuries, both periods reflecting a vibrant market for sheep wool.

Pond construction required skill and heavy labour. First a saucer shaped depression was excavated, about 3 feet (1 metre) deep. The diameter varied between 10 feet (3 metres) to 45 feet (15 metres). The whole surface was then covered with straw followed by a layer of mud which had to be puddled to seal the surface. (Canal beds were sealed in the same way, the puddling usually done by labourers in bare feet). Once sealed, rain and field run-off duly collected in the ponds.

In the past, Welsh drovers would have driven their stock through Bishop’s Castle, and on to the town and city markets of the Midlands. This next photo shows the country they would have trekked through – not so tamed and tidy in the eighteenth century. (Wales ahead, dewponds behind me). Perhaps the flocks and herds were gathered and watered at points like these before the drovers broached the town.

And it was at this moment that thoughts of watering holes had us turning on our heels and heading downhill to town. Toasted sandwiches at The Castle Hotel suddenly beckoned, plus a glass of delicious Clun pale ale.

Cheers and happy festive season to all the Lens-Artists (and their followers).

Many thanks for setting us so many diverting challenges through 2025.

Lens-Artists: Last chance for 2025 This week Patti sets the theme: last chance to post photos that missed previous posting opportunities.

Winging It ~ Chance Encounters With Aerial Kind

In the old tales birds are often messengers, bearers of foreknowledge – for good or ill. They overhear things that humans don’t, come unbidden to help the hero in their quest, although their warnings are not always understood or welcomed.

In Kenya (and other parts of Africa) the Red-Chested Cuckoo is the bearer of good news. Its three note call says the rains are coming – ‘time to dig’, ‘time to dig’. On the other hand, in some interpretive versions, much depends on the geo-location of the call. If you are setting out on a journey and the call comes on the right of the path, then it signifies that all will be well. But if it comes from the left, then there’s danger ahead; better go home and wait for a more propitious day.

I think the two birds in the first photo are rooks. All members of the corvid family (rooks, crows, ravens, choughs, magpies, jays) tend to have a poor reputation on the bad omen front, but since I have a twosome here, I’m choosing to see them as beneficent. I’m also reminded of the magpie sighting rhyme: one for sorrow, two for joy.

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Butterflies also have spirit world connotations. In cultures across the globe they represent transformation and rebirth, joy and happiness. A butterfly may also be seen as the embodiment of a human soul, although a crowd of them might be thought an evil portent. I’m happy, then, to come upon this single tiny Common Blue butterfly, sipping at grasses on a summer’s evening.

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And as for the bees, most of us know that, as pollinators alone, they are absolutely indispensable. The value of their produce too is inestimable. They are admired for their busyness and sound work ethic; the therapeutic hum in spring orchards.

It’s not surprising, then, that in many ancient cultures they were revered. They conferred blessings even on the gods. For instance, Apollo’s gift of prophecy was bestowed on him by three bee maidens, or in older pre-Hellenic versions of the tale by a trio of bee goddesses. Other texts see the bee’s origin as dramatically supernatural. One Ancient Egyptian version has it that they arose from Sun God Ra’s tears as they fell on desert sand. What an image. I think I believe it.

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Lens-Artists: Wings This week Beth at Wandering Dawgs gives us a fabulous theme to work with.

Caught In Time…

The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.

Rabindranath Tagore

This tiny British butterfly is a male Common Blue. It’s about an inch across. And while it might be among our most common UK butterflies, having one pose like this is a rare occurrence. They’re usually pretty skittish, so you only catch a glint, a flitting chink of summer sky, and then they’re gone. This was a chance encounter on a summer’s evening.

Expectations are like clouds – beautiful from afar, yet vanishing when you reach for them Monika Ajay Kaul

The light does not stay… Tennessee Williams

There’s that moment as the sun disappears when there’s just enough light to take a photo.

So passeth, in the passing of the day, of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre

Edmund Spencer

The glory of a Morning Glory is so brief, half a day at most. And you need to be up early to catch the best of it. I’m not sure how long the runner bean flowers last, perhaps a couple of days before they’re fertilised and begin to transform into beans. I must pay more attention next summer.

mutation of weathers
and seasons,
a windfall composing
the floor it rots into

Seamus Heaney North

The wind shall blow them none knows whither

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Foolhardy or deeply ironic: a dandelion clock for a timepiece? But then it always was such fun, huffing and puffing, seeing how far those little parachutes would fly. A sure way to annoy a gardener.

Leaves are the verbs that conjugate the seasons

Gretel Ehrlich The Solace of Open Spaces

Two seasons on Much Wenlock’s Linden Walk. Watching the leaves come and go through the year is another kind of time-keeping. The quiet sort.

Lens-Artists: Ephemeral This week Tina sets the theme. Call in to see her thoughtful and inspiring post.

Tish Farrell

Writer on the Edge