Angels

I've noticed, whenever I have submitted photographs to the public forums, just how popluar images featuring angels are. Why this should be so, I'm not quite sure. As a piece of art, it is often slightly parisitical, since invariably one is capturing in light an image that somebody else has already shaped out of, say, marble, or stone. Art from art. And whereas that sculpting has doubtless taken many hours, my photographing it takes less than a second. It seems to me that the final image is disproportionately credited to the photographer. In the case of monuments found in cemeteries and churches, it saddenes me that the artist is so often unknown. I would like to credit the work as a joint effort, and 99% attributable to the sculpter. As for the reason for their popularity, I think angels represent something outside of us that we can fall back on for comfort, reassurance, and hope. We may not necassarily believe that they exist, but we like the idea of them. Angels are friendly, cute, mysterious. They provide a mirror for our emotions, taking our sadness from us, lifting our spirits. We can confide in them, trust in them, rely on them. They are selfless, innocent and everpresent. And they have wings

Reflections

One should never, of course, shoot directly into the sun. So, naturally, that's exactly what I want to do. Wandering around the city, the sun is reflected back and forth, from one surface to another, distorting and amplifying. Often, the sun is your enemy, but she can be tamed, and in time, understood.

Sleepers 2

Seeking to take an iconic view of the suspension bridge took my wandering down the little used tracks of the Harbour Railway. Beautifully rusting and rotting, these near abandoned tracks were once the life blood of the City Docks in times past, taking away the goods and produce of the ships that arrived and unloaded their cargos. As recently as the 60s these rails were in constant use. Today, nature has encroached on them, beautifying them and softening them. The only activity now the buzz of grasshoppers and the flitting of butterflys.

Sleepers

I recently stumbled upon a burial ground near my home whose existence I had been completely unaware of: Ridgeway Park Cemetery in Eastville Park. One section is still accessible, but, wonderfully, much of it lies hidden in a wood that has engulfed it. As I carefully crouched and stooped my way among the brambles and close knit trees, I discovered gorgeous Victorian grave stones (the earliest I saw was dated 1884), weathered and overgrown, quietly forgotten and neglected. Nature had taken the sleepers back to itself. As I always do when I visit grave yards, I made a point of reading the inscriptions and whispering the name of the occupants so they would know they had been remembered. Usually, I say 'hello' to the occupant, but sometimes, if I had to step on the grave plot to get past, I would apologise and thank them. I think they would be pleased that somebody took the trouble to visit.

Prologue

I used to keep a photoblog on Myspace, but I no longer enjoy using it, so, after neglecting the issue, I've decided to begin a new blog.

ADDENDUM: I am migrating my photoblogs on Myspace to here, so the area below this post will gradually expand with earlier posts.