Shock + Awe

At the beginning of September, Karen and I were invited to attend a 50th birthday party of a couple of friends, and former clients, back in Newcastle.  Having accepted immediately I was asked whether I wouldn't mind taking my camera along to capture some of the atmosphere on the night.  I agreed without question.

We were offered a bedroom at the location of the party, the couple's house in Jesmond.  There was to be a large marquee in the rear garden to house approximately 200 guests.

The night started at 7:30pm and guests were soon enjoying champagne, canapes and caricatures [an artist with a broken leg had been hired for the evening].

I made my way around the crowd picking out casual conversation and laughter preferring generally to avoid posed shots whilst Karen caught up with friends.

As the crowds got heavier it became more and more difficult to move around with my 5dmkii and 24-105mm f/4.0 L USM IS lens so, rather than hold it in front of me by the body I held it behind me by the bottom of the lens barrel as I cut through groups of increasingly drunk party-goers.

After shooting approximately 100 images I was approached by a couple looking for advice to pass onto their daughter about how to select a wedding photographer.  'What should she be looking for, other than a portfolio?'.  'What sort of questions should she be asking?'.  My answers and the following discussion are maybe for a separate post but, as we were discussing, I felt the body of the camera suddenly decrease in weight significantly.  On looking down, to my complete horror, I noticed that the lens had fallen off and I saw the moment of impact when it hit the concrete [we were essentially stood on the patio, covered by the marquee].

I casually bent down and picked the lens up, as if nothing had happened, and carried on the conversation.  I tried several times to reattach the lens to the body but something was wrong, it wasn't happening.  It can often be a bit fiddly to secure a lens but this was taking too long.  I didn't catch a word of what was being said to me but just nodded and glazed over.  I cut the discussion short and headed to our bedroom for the night to inspect the damage - Karen followed me.

I could see that the mounting ring had bent and thought I could bend a piece of it back.  I tried to using a house-key.  It moved fairly easily and I managed to get it back to horizontal but the lens still wouldn't twist completely onto the body.  I started to panic, the consequences running through my mind.  Fortunately the front and rear elements were unaffected - no chips, splinters or cracks - which is more than could be said for my brain at that point.

Finally I noticed that the lens mount, where it meets the barrel, had warped from impact and there was no way I would be able to sort that out.  My photography evening was soon over and I put the kit back in my bag, headed downstairs to tell the birthday couple, and proceeded to drink myself silly.

The couple were horrified and seriously concerned - my only choice was to return to London and get a quote for the repair.  During our train ride back to London Karen found that the couple had concealed some cash in a gift of hers to cover the repair costs.

I took the lens to Fixation [www.fixationuk.com] close to Oval tube station in south London and was told that I would have an estimate within a couple of days.  The cash from the couple covered the cost and, after a week the lens was ready to be picked up.  It looked [and looks] brand new - I was seriously impressed at the speed and quality of service and, after the experience, have come to decide two things.  If ever I need a repair again I'll take it to Fixation.  If ever I hold my camera by the lens barrel again I'll cut off my right arm - I suspect that, over the course of the night, the lens release button must have been pressed and the lens gradually twisted it's way off the body.

Lesson learned.

Pressure + Time

Late last year I was asked by a friend whether I would shoot his wedding this spring.  I agreed to do it - I'd never shot a wedding before and had never entertained the idea.  I was to learn that weddings are very hard work indeed, particularly a first wedding, but that there are also some opportunities to capture people in a particular context that is worth attempting simply for the learning experience.

An advantage of our existing relationship meant that I could chat at length with the couple about what they wanted to get out of the day - that was the intention, but in truth Lee and Jane were happy to allow the photographer to 'do his thing' and to discuss anything in particular as the day developed.  One night before the wedding Karen and I had dinner at Lee and Jane's.  We were to discuss some of the particulars of the day but ended up arriving home at 6am - the wedding was probably mentioned once.

The wedding was in Rathmullan, Co Donnegal, Ireland.  A beautiful part of the country which took me 2.5 hours to reach by car from Belfast.

My gear, all packed in a Lowepro Flipside 300 comprised:

Canon 5dmkII
Canon 70-200mm f2.8 L IS USM mkII
Canon 24-105mm f4.0 L IS USM
Canon 1.8 f1.8 mkII
Canon 480ex II (2x)

...in fact the Flipside struggled to accommodate both of the L lenses so the 24-105mm was relegated to my suitcase alongside a Manfrotto 190DX tripod and suit.  Whilst I'm on the subject of the suit - I had read that wedding photographers generally opt for softer, more comfortable shoes with grip like trainers.  Really?  At a wedding?

The wedding day started at 8am with the groomsmen and others diving off Rathmullan pier into the Irish Sea.  Crisp morning light and white towels made for great photographs.  The 70-200mm was indespensible - so fast and sharp.

A quick drive to the bride's house followed where I maxed out several CF cards.  The garden provided the best photo opportunities.  Wedding dress against compost/wood/stone.

Then followed a drive to the church with a change of carriage for the bride en route.  Suitably dehydrated by this point I waited in the church for the procession.  I asked the bride how she would like the ceremony to be captured.  The church was quite small with no space up front for a photographer.  The aisle formed the only route to and from the altar so I couldn't approach from the sides.  Her only comment was 'be discreet'.  So, after capturing Jane being escorted down the aisle I moved to the rear and waited for the couple to exit.  I spent my time capturing key moments of the ceremony and guest's engagement with it.

Close to Rathmullan village is an area of landscape called Knockalla.  Following the ceremony the guests made their way to the hotel whilst I accompanied the bride and groom to the burnt hillsides for a series of photos that complimented, in particular, the bride and groom's hair colours.

Back at Rathmullan House obligatory family shots were distrupted by rain so we headed into the building for indoor group photos, speeches and reception.

The following morning I spent time around Rathmullan before heading to the north coast of Northern Ireland hitting up The Giant's Causeway en route.

The Machine Age

I recently visited a printworks on an unassuming industrial estate in Beverley (about 30 miles from York) having been set a brief to capture a series of images that could be used by the client to promote their printing services to local businesses.

There existed a definitive line between old and new technologies under the same crinkly tin roof.  Impressively large polyethylene armoured HP machines sat alongside men's machines -  workhorses seeming built from iron and fuelled by sweat.

At first glance there was little of visual interest when capturing the modern machine but once the proud operator offered to open its doors I it became clear that the same level of impressive engineering that I would find later had made its way into the modern models.  Cylinders of toner stood side-by-side leading to mixing tanks beneath, each of which was plugged into a piping system reminiscent of an automated cow-milking lineup.

The older machines revealed an interesting juxtaposition of hard and cold materials, of oil and paint, of noise and calamity, delicately handling sheets of 80 and 250gsm paper to produce glossy reports and brochures.

Value

I often have a vision - usually when I have a problem - of 'zooming out' from my position on Earth so that the virtual camera that governs my view sits at such a height to encompass the whole of the UK at once. Rarely does my camera go any further but sometimes continues further into space to fit the in the whole of the Earth.  The view is always during daylight hours.  Zooming out helps me put things into perspective - it reminds me that everything that we do is of little significance in the grand scheme of things, unless what we're doing is inventing the next h-bomb.  Closest I've gotten to that is a pretty feisty c-bomb.  Without wanting to get into an existential discussion, 'zooming' leads me onto the concept of value.

What do I value?  There are overarching notions such as fruitful relationships, family and happiness but also smaller, arguably insignificant things like making sure files are well organised on my mac or keeping my camera gear in the same place.  There's an element of practicality about those habits but keeping things organised and backed-up makes me feel good.

And so to the garage.  Man's Land.

My wife was born in France and lived there until she was 21 after which time she moved to New York where we met.  Her parents still live in France in the same house that saw her through childhood and adolescence.  The house is a typical French cottage - converted stables in fact - with an in-keeping garage extension added to one side(in-keeping except for the corrugated tin roof).  During my annual summer visit in 2010 I took my camera into the garage to record, what I think, is the crystallisation of what her uncle considers valuable.

In this space everything is kept meticulously organised.  We didn't have a garage when I grew up and neither did the majority of my friends so typically when I imagine a garage space my mind's eye is led by scenes with old televisions, white-veneered partly dismantled drawers, sometimes the typical overflow of the kitchen such as a fridge or dryer, and a series of forgotten toys and a bike.  Usually you can't move for injuring yourself on a rake/pedal.  I totally believe that anyone can, and will, fill a room with junk if there is floor area free.

Karen's uncle's garage has more clear space than occupied.  For the majority of the time there is no car but a sacred area is left untouched for those rare moments that one needs protection.  Guess it saves moving gear out of the way.

Tools are positioned at sensible heights so as to keep them out of the reach of children (though Karen recounts many episodes as a child squashing all manner of things in the vice) and are clearly visible.  Karen and I have a perpetual discussion about how I think I'm tidy whilst she's clean and neither of us are the other - her retort is always that 'it's always the same with you, out of sight, out of mind'.  I have a sat-nav in my sock-drawer.  I think of the arrangement of tools like a window into her uncle's mind - logical and sensible.  If you knew the man you'd know how inaccurate a view that window gives.

Fenwick Pit

One of the more recent buildings that I was responsible for designing was a leisure centre for East Northamptonshire Council.  Unfortunately, due to Government spending cuts, the project was axed just as it was due to be tendered by three contractors.  The design made reference to a shoe factory that stood in close proximity to the site - the factory informed the expressive pitched roof which, in turn, became a vehicle for natural way finding for the scheme.

I was told one afternoon by a colleague about an apparently disused pitched roof building that he often passed on his way into the studio.  He added that it was run down.  Sold.

Our studio is located approximately 8 miles from the centre of Newcastle on an industrial estate that was destined for better things (named after the great Robert Stephenson, no less).  The site of the 'pitched roof building' lies only a ten minute drive away.

The building is on the fringe of East Holywell in Tyne and Wear and is surrounded by a series of dilapidated buildings all enclosed by pretty sharp chainlink fencing (made sharp by the several successful attempts of trespassers gaining entry - their 'doorways' subsequently being patched up by further bits of chainlink).

It took me approximately half-an-hour to find a hole in the fence that I thought large enough to crawl through, camera in tow.  Since there were 'no trespassing' signs dotted around the estate I waited in my car until the coast was adequately clear - the site, unfortunately, lies adjacent to seemingly popular dog walking and cycling route.  I had to push several bits of debris from behind the opening in the fence which included bramble bushes and all sorts - clearly placed there to stop intruders (I replaced them on my way out).

Once inside the fence I was hit by that almost feeling of being somewhere you shouldn't be.  I've had the same feeling before - think it was when I met Karen...!  I took small steps and crept around this huge open area fearing more for bear-traps than anything else.  You should see rural Geordies.

I didn't do any research before I arrived at the site since I didn't clearly know what I was going to see - I had been directed to the location on a pixelated Google map.

The site was that of East Holywell Colliery (colloquially know as the Fenwick Pit).  The first of the two coal pits which the buildings served was opened in 1872 and closed in 1930 with the second pit closing in 1973.  The site has been disused, other than for budding graffiti artists, ever since.

Rob Roy HDR

This time last year my brother and I took a trip to Glencoe in the Highlands of Scotland.

It would be the first time that either of us had visited the Highlands - not for fear of scary bearded men in kilts mind you.  Our route took west from Newcastle upon Tyne until we reached Carlisle and then north, crossing the border between England and Scotland at Gretna, Mecca for deluded lovers.  The next 175 miles would take us past Lockerbie, the outskirts (thankfully) of Glasgow, Loch Lomond and through the Trossachs until we reached our destination.

The weather conditions were spectacular and apparently, after talking to a colleague who has made in excess of thirty trips to the Glencoe area, rare for that area of the Highlands.  Lucky us...!

My brother and I generally tend to undertake trips such as these in typical male fashion.  We don't bother with maps or any other navigational devices and NEVER book anything ahead.  Our plan was to bed down by the side of a glen in our tent, campfire for cooking and warmth.

As we got closer and closer to Glencoe we saw mountains of ever increasing heights.  We stopped several times thinking that each view would be the best that we would see during our two-day excursion, only for each to be beaten by the next.

We arrived into Glencoe at approximately 1pm.  We were using the outing as an opportunity for my brother to learn more about photography - he had recently bought himself a Canon 400d and was keen to develop a DSLR album with his sights set on a commercial return.  I used the opportunity to get a better handle on HDR photography - or at least to try it and see what the fuss was about.  Most of the examples that I had seen online looked terribly overworked and fake - I still cannot understand the creative desire that produces such images.  So, whilst my bro headed off into the headland I set up my gear which was, at that time, a Canon 350d with an EF-S 18-55mm f3.5-5.6 lens.  Beginner's kit.

Here's what I got:

ND110

As I had mentioned in my 2010 year in review I used the excuse of my birthday at the end of last year to add a circular Neutral Density 110 filter from B+W to my photography kit (http://www.warehouseexpress.com/buy-b-w-77mm-nd-110-3-0-sh-filter/p1013508).

I use the filter on my Canon 24-105mm f/4 L lens (thread size 77mm).  It allows for extremely long exposure times and is nearly black in appearance.

The black glass, of course, makes it impossible to view subjects through the viewfinder of the camera once it's attached since it has the equivalent strength of blocking 10 stops of light.  This can be problematic when setting up a shot.  Once you've framed your subject(s) setting focal length and focus, you then have to knock AF off (if you've used it) and carefully hold the focus point of the lens whilst you screw the filter into place.  Slip slightly and you've more than likely either altered the focus position or focus length.

An alternative to removing and adding the filter each time a new shot is set up would be to use a blackout fabric or hood to block out all light as you look through the viewfinder.  Still, you're going to find that you can see very little - certainly not enough to be confident that you've focussed correctly.

I've found something that helps.  Significantly.  If your camera has the functionality, as the Canon 5dmkii does, you can use Live View once the filter is applied.  Set the ISO to something in the region of ISO3200 with a shutter speed of 30s.  You'll be presented with a very grainy preview of your scene through the filter but the contrast between elements is high enough not only to frame a shot but also to focus.  The Canon 5dmkii has the ability to autofocus whilst in Live Mode by detecting contrast between elements in the scene - this works perfectly even with the filter applied.

One of my first captures using the filter: