Must you have sunshine?

 See the new pictures uploaded to the album this weekend! Click HERE and then click 'Photography'.

The next time you go for a walk, take the camera. Whatever the weather, sunshine gives you bright colours, yes. And sharp, interesting shadows that can help build the picture. And physically, it's usually more pleasant. But don't despise the misty morning. Or afternoon.

Don't be overwhelmed by the whole scene - murky, cold, grey-ish. Look for the single object, imagining a frame round it. You could use the age-old trick of the movie-makers - put your two forefingers together and your two thumbs, make a rough square with them and then sweep that 'frame' slowly round the landscape. You could discover a tree, a hut, an animal.

In this shot I was lucky enough to have struggling sunlight coming down on the scene. And then I saw the tree. Then a bonus - the sheep. But the sheep was way over to the right, much too far from the tree. So I walked sideways to the right (not a pretty sight) until the sheep was working in nicely with the tree. I took several shots, moving backwards, forwards and sideways.

At home, looking at all of them, this one stood out as the best. The invisible line from the sheep up and across to the tree creates that very powerful thing: the oblique line, the top of it and the bottom linking the two objects together.

The cardboard box

 

The ubiquitous HMV label

 

 

O ne Saturday afternoon in 1936 my father, who was a great second-hand shopper, was browsing in a local shop and came across a cardboard box on the floor, crammed with gramophone records. 8-inch, 10-inch and 12-inch. He liked military band music, and male singers who sang songs like 'Annie Laurie'. He felt that this enormous collection must contain something he liked. So he bought it and, balancing it on his bicycle saddle, walked it home. He dumped it in our 'front room', the room in our little semi-detatched house in Bushey Heath where the piano and the gramophone were kept.

I began rifling through it and found all sorts of things, titles that meant absolutely nothing to me, funny foreign words on the brown labels.

And then I saw it. A 10-inch HMV, with their picture of the dog listening with its ear at an ancient gramophone 'loudspeaker'. It was the label, the gilt lettering, that caught my eye. It said, 'Jesu, joy of man's desiring'. Then it said, 'Johann Sebastian Bach.' And the pianist's name was 'Dame Myra Hess'. Well, I knew a lot about Jesus. We heard about him every Sunday. I loved Jesus. But here was somebody called 'Jesu'. Who could it be? If it was the same Jesus, why wasn't there an 's' at the end? Curious, I put it on the turntable, wound the spring, released the brake and put the needle on the first groove.

A piano began to play, softly. Single notes picked out in a steady rhythm that was nothing like dance band or jazz rhythms but steady, measured, with more notes falling beautifully into place and creating harmony underneath it. I stood there, marvelling. It was like nothing I had ever heard before. A sensation ran through my body. The feeling was indescribable.

I found I had discovered music. The sort of music that has been my joy for nearly 80 years.

Reflections

 

 

 

Reflections

 

A short story

 

J eremy LeFeuvre woke, swore, stretched out a hand and groped for the phone. It was George, his editor at the agency. He sounded a bit on edge, Jeremy thought. Unusual for George. On the day he joined the agency he was assured by the others that if George were to be confronted by a rattlesnake he would shake hands with it and offer it a drink.

‘Leafy? Urgent job in the morning.' He named a local museum. 'Deadline, midday. Greek vase - apparently it’s suddenly become significant. Relates to current excavation work in Greece. They’ll be quivering a bit in the museum so - gently, gently. Anyway, they agreed to close the room to the public while you're shooting. Go get it, Leafy.'

Professional photographer Jeremy LeFeuvre always got his pictures, whatever the odds. He re-set his alarm, turned over and slept.

In a taxi shortly after sunrise next morning and weaving through heavy traffic he kept looking at his watch and muttering. The museum had been told of his brief so at least he’d be able to get on to the job as soon as he got there. But that vase - it would more than likely be in a tricky lighting position. And he remembered his last assignment in another museum; a jittery director and nervous guards.

The traffic ahead had stopped and a police motorbike came up from behind, heading for the front of the queue. Jeremy whipped out his phone and rang the museum, telling them about the delay and that he would be very short of time to do the job and would they very kindly make sure he could get straight to wherever the vase was and begin work. They assured him they would.

He looked at his watch.

It was an hour before he pushed the door to the museum main entrance. A guard was detailed to take him to the exhibit and to remain with him until the job was done. They went up a flight of stairs and into a long room lit by two rows of windows high up on both facing walls. Three rows of eye-level display stands filled the room. The guard pointed to the exhibit at the end of the row; the Greek vase, inside a domed glass cover. It was only a few inches high and the drab colour of something unsavoury.

Jeremy put down his case. ‘Right. Thanks. That glass dome thing. I shall need that taken off, of course.’

The guard was shocked. ‘The cover? Off? No, no, no! The cover is not to be moved. My orders from the Director, sir.’

‘Sorry, I have to insist - see, the reflections of those windows,’ he pointed behind and up to the row of sash windows, ‘see how they're reflected in the glass cover? I can hardly see the vase, let alone make a photograph of it! Please tell the Director now that the cover must come off - wait a minute, though.' He went round to the side and peered through  the glass. No window reflections but none of the interesting bits either. 'No, that's no good. I must have the cover off.'

‘But -’

‘Please tell the Director! And quickly! I’ve got half an hour to do the job.’

The guard started to say something, decided against it and got the director on his mobile. Jeremy cursed himself for not bringing with him the very thing that would have saved the situation - the huge black umbrella that was made for jobs like this.

The Director entered and approached slowly, pointing at Jeremy’s chest.

‘You,’ he said, ‘are not allowed to move or even touch any of the protective covers in this room. Do you understand this?’

‘Look, suppose you do it for me? Or him?’ He indicated the guard. 'Just for five minutes.'

‘On no account. The covers are not moved.'

'That means I've got to cover all the windows - black paper or something!'

'If you are having difficulty you may cover the windows. We will provide a ladder. We can give you black paper.’

‘All these windows? That would take far too long!’

The Director produced an enormous shrug of the shoulders and spread his hands.

‘That is all. You must understand - this room is sacred to us. The least sign of anything bad happening in this room means immediate emergency action.’ At the door he turned. ‘The ladder and paper will be brought to you.’ Minutes later the door slammed open. A guard brought in a ladder and, under one arm, a huge roll of black paper. He leaned paper and ladder against the wall, stood back and watched. One by one Jeremy covered the windows. It took him something short of twenty minutes. As he was finishing the the last window an idea occurred to him and he grinned. Then his phone rang.

‘Leafy? What the hell’s going on? I’ve got to have that image in ten minutes. What’s happening?’

‘George believe me, you don’t want to know. Tell you later. Just finishing getting the set ready - doing the shot in five minutes.’ Sweating in the heat of the room he was aware of the door opening and somebody coming in. He swore softly, then saw that it was only a workman of some sort, wheeling a trolley.

At the camera he examined the image on his screen. He banged off a dozen pictures, each from slightly different angles, downloaded them onto his phone and sent them to George. Then he climbed up to the end window and began removing the paper. The guard watched him from below. When he was finished he came down and approached the guard. The man stiffened, clearly expecting trouble.

‘Those window frames.’ Jeremy pointed, then, grimacing horribly and wagging his head he stared into the man’s eyes. ‘Bad. Very, very bad.’

‘Bad?’ The guard took a step backwards. ‘Bad? You mean - what?’

'Very dangerous. The whole windows  thing could collapse any minute.'

'Blimey!' The guard turned to leave, then hesitated as a voice behind Jeremy spoke. 'You finished here?' It was the workman.

'Yes.' He watched as the man reached out to the glass dome. He very gently lifted it off and placed it on his trolley. He selected a length of cloth.

Not believing his eyes Jeremy said, ‘You mean - you mean you're allowed to do that? Take covers off?’ He swivelled round to the guard but he had left.

Speechless with fury he picked up his gear and went down to the entrance hall. He tapped on the ‘Enquiries’ window.

The face behind the window smiled up at him. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Ah. Yes. Name's LeFeuvre. Just finished my job. You might give the management a very important message.’ He leaned close to the oval opening in the glass. ‘All those wooden window frames upstairs -’ his voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. ‘Deathwatch beetle.’