I have done battle with the binding machine and submitted the hard copies of my dissertation. It is well and truly done.
I have already visited a few blogs and have plans to visit many more – I have missed the fun of sharing this great hobby with other enthusiasts. I have lots of plans, plenty of photographic projects in the pipeline. But I also want to share some of the photos I took during our holiday to the Channel Islands this year. This is Fort Grey, on Guernsey’s West coast. Inside, there is a fascinating shipwreck museum which I heartily recommend. It is never easy trying to do landscape photography on a family holiday. At this location I noticed the best viewpoint of all just as we were driving away and couldn’t bring myself to ask the family to stop again while I captured it. This will have to do. Mostly it was too hazy while we were there and there weren’t enough clouds to make interesting sunsets, but this evening was an exception.
Still enjoying the memory of a peaceful, understated sunset on Bournemouth beach last Friday. After the sun had settled below the horizon, the colours subtly shifted towards blue, mauve and the gentlest, lingering pink.
What a wonderful afternoon I spent on Bournemouth Beach on Friday. You have to love the British seaside out of season; gorgeous expanses of pristine sand (Bournemouth is a Blue Flag beach) and hardly a soul about. I set myself a challenge and went equipped with only my wide angled lens (16-35mm on full frame).
It wasn’t the most spectacular of sunsets but gentle, beguiling, like the lapping waves. When I came to process these images, they seemed to demand a naturalistic approach.
With the horizons more or less in the centre of the frame, these images break the rules. I think that composing with the horizon on a third often works well as the photographer thereby communicates clearly what he or she is most interested in, the foreground or the sky. However, here I found myself wanting to efface the photographer from the landscape. And, truth be told, I just couldn’t bring myself to crop out any of that view. Half is the new third?
At the risk of boring everyone, I thought I’d post some more pictures of La Corbiere, Jersey’s iconic lighthouse. Reached by a causeway at low tide (a claxon sounds to warn visitors foolish enough to ignore a rising tide), the lighthouse is attractively perched atop a granite outcrop, high above the Southwestern tip of Jersey’s coast.
It’s an attractive spot for watching sunset but, even if the sun does not put in an appearance, the view is stunning and the rocky foreshore provides plenty of nooks and crannies as foreground interest for the intrepid photographer.
One day I hope to be there in a storm to catch waves crashing over the lighthouse. In the meantime, however, here are some more shots taken at this lovely, windswept place.
We’re back from another trip to Jersey. Here’s La Corbière in rather different conditions from my August sunset shots. I dragged my poor family down to the lighthouse every evening this week and the sky remained doggedly grey until yesterday when we were supposed to be going to the airport for our flight home. A small detour was begged and granted. I only had ten minutes, but made the most of them.
Another photograph from my evening shoot on Jersey, in the Channel Islands, in August. La Corbière (in Jèrriais, La Corbiéthe), is a lighthouse on Jersey’s SouthWestern tip. We are going back there soon and I am hoping for some rougher seas for a different type of shot.
… For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things…
William Wordsworth, ‘Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey’ (1798), ll.88-102
Most photographers out to capture the sunset go home once the sun has dipped below the horizon. My fellow photographers during my session at La Corbière last week were no exception. But it is always worth waiting around for a little longer. If they had, they would have seen La Corbière lighting up. A different mood from yesterday’s shot, taken at exactly the same location only minutes earlier. Doesn’t the landscape at low tide look otherworldly?
This is La Corbière, the lighthouse on Jersey’s South Western tip. It is the shot I was taking when I posted this: Waiting for the light. Of course, there was a much better sunset the night after I was here. Hey ho.