Light and shade

Tredington Church

The Church of Saint Gregory, Tredington, contains the tiny plot where my father willed his ashes to be buried nigh on twenty years ago. In his brief, thankfully early retirement, he regularly gave up some of his free time to tend to the grassy churchyard, mowing, pruning, weeding and generally keeping this peaceful, ancient plot of land looking smart and tidy for visitors and parishioners alike.

The ancient village centre lies off to the side of a still busy main road, one which takes the traveller from Stratford-upon-Avon, down through Woodstock (home to Blenheim Palace) and on to Oxford, by an older, less direct, if more attractively bucolic metalled route than the contemporary slash of the concrete motorway much farther to the north.

If I’m driving by, and the mood takes me, I’ll pop in to check that whoever is volunteering to control nature’s relentless encroachment is doing at least as good a job as my dad did in his day. I know he would have been happy to hear that I had no complaints.

Time

I feel as though I’ve lost a lot of time recently, since being laid low by a vicious virus a couple of weeks ago. It left me lacking energy for all but the most basic of tasks. My camera and guitar have lain unused. Today was the first time in what seems like ages that I felt like writing anything more than essential correspondence, or workaday reports.

Just before I fell ill, I spent a pleasant afternoon walking round an old market town called Shipston-on-Stour. At one time my parents lived there in their retirement; now my son works there, forging his new career.

While waiting to meet him for lunch, I took full advantage of the brilliant, early spring sunshine to wander hither and thither, noting that which had changed since my last visit, and that which had not. The horologist’s emporium was still ticking along nicely, as usual.

Prodded

Even when my mind is drifting in neutral gear, miles away from all thoughts of picture making, two of my top personal photographic affirmations can be forceful enough to push me into having fun.

 They were, in this case: 

1) Always carry a camera

and

2) Recognise groups of three 

This image was made at the weekend, in the home of my two dear old friends, Al & Jan. Their house is an Aladdin’s cave of random, creative artefacts. I was stacking some cans of booze, in a post-party, morning after a very late night, clearing-up sort of a way, when I spied these three pieces of skewered ceramic, gently bathed in soft skylight filtering from above, down through the milky way of the conservatory roof above me. 

The picture was made in seconds. The tidying up took rather longer.

Downsizing

I printed one last photo gift today, airmailed it, then advertised two of my exhibition quality printers for sale. One does colour, the other black and white: both have continuous inking systems.

Sparkly and I are downsizing, looking for comfort, warmth and low maintenance in a new, much smaller home, in readiness for whatever the next decade brings us.

When I set up my Lightroom (so named to distinguish it from the years it spent as a darkroom), the only way to get the image quality on paper I needed was to manage the process myself.

Recent changes in on-line print ordering technology mean that I can now get perfectly acceptable prints made for relatively low cost. For example, I designed my latest business cards entirely in a virtual space, at a cost of one new penny each, in mere moments. So, I can now afford to give up the demanding care and feeding of these two wonderful beasts, using the time and space so saved for more creative endeavours. Regular guitar practice is one of the many which spring to mind.

Technical note: the bizarre tonal qualities of this picture came about as a result of copying and pasting them from a Word document into a photo editing package. It just goes to show how Microsoft Windows can mangle a decent jpeg file, without me even trying.