Writing with Light (Photography)
Sitting the other morning having a coffee in the precincts of Bath Abbey, I watched people with small pocket cameras taking photographs of the magnificent frontage of the building.
Above the Abbey was the brilliant mid-summmer sun. It was blazing straight towards the photographers, straight into their camera lenses.
I was sitting in the shade. I wanted to race over to them and drag them into the shade because, with the sun shining into their lens they would get a dark, almost featureless Abbey and some funny splodges of unwanted light all round it; I wanted to tell to them to have another go from my shady spot. The Abbey would be bright and full of detail.
This is important: I'm referring only to simple and inexpensive pocket cameras. You might be lucky enough to have one that can compensate for sun-into-the-lens. Many are not.
Yes, you will sometimes see professionals shooting straight into the sun; they’ve made quick, manual adjustments to their professional cameras that will actually use the blast of sunlight to produce for them a stunning picture. But you can’t do that with your little compact. Either (look at the top picture) keep the sunlight behind you - that is, keep your own shadow in front of you or (look at the bottom picture) if you can’t do that, go and stand where the sun does not shine on to your camera.
The Flash Question
Still referring only to simple pocket cameras with just the one button to press: I also noticed that most people’s cameras had tiny flash units; I saw them twinkle as the button was pressed. The light from these little flash lights is not powerful enough to light-up anything more than a dozen or so paces away.
This fact was unknown by a certain lady visiting Athens.
I was standing with a group of sightseers at one of the popular viewpoints for the distant Acropolis, with the sunlit Parthenon against the skyline. I had my camera to my eye when I became aware of a tapping of the left forearm.
It turned out to be a woman standing close beside me. I greeted her, muttering something about how glorious it all was. She interrupted me.
‘Last year, sir, last year I came up here to see the Parthenon by full moon. And I took pictures. I took a whole lot of pictures. And you know what?’
I shook my head.
‘No pictures! All black!’
I was tut-tutting when she gave me an extravagant wink. ‘But I shall be up here tonight, sir -’ and she tapped the front of her little camera.
‘Flash!’ she said. She gave me a knowing smile and re-joined her friends.
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Text and illustration ©Paul Wigmore 2010