Bliain - Part 23
09th November 2021
Part twenty-three of my project to make a photograph every day for a full year, or bliain in Irish. Find Part 22 here.
26th October
Close up detail of Xanthoria parietina, a common lichen in Ireland that actually does well from certain pollutants. Unlike most lichens, which are confined to and are thus signifiers of areas with clean, fresh air, this species is increasing from excess nitrates and ammonia. I find it interesting how the left and right sides are slightly different colours, presumably because each side of the lichen is growing atop a different surface. The left seems to be directly attached to the rock while the right is (or maybe was at some point, presuming one species can’t survive beneath another) growing over a type of Verrucaria lichen. Lichens may at first glance appear to be among the most boring life forms on earth but I’ve long admired their resilience and persistence, and earlier in the year learned how fundamental they were to the evolution of much of what lives on this planet. In a past life as an avid rock climber seeking new cliffs and boulders to climb on I often shied away from brushing off lichens to get down to the bare rock of a particular hold. The idea of wiping out such a slow-growing and ancient form of life just for me to pull off a few moves on some remote boulder somewhere just didn’t add up. Which is daft, given there are so many aspects of my privileged lifestyle that I get to enjoy because of the exploitation of places and people in far flung corners of the world...
27th October
Gloomy scenes from deep inside Poll na gCaorach, a sea cave on the wild coast west of Dingle. I’ve been waiting to photograph this scene again since the end of March, when I first encountered it. During the dry summer we had this year the walls were devoid of seepage, and looked dull without the gloss. There’s been more than enough rain recently to rewet the sides of this sea-sculpted corridor, though today was so dark and dismal that the colours didn’t quite shine through as well as I thought they might. Nonetheless, it was a respite to be out of the rain and wind in here. The idea that a place as inhospitable as this could be a refuge speaks to how foul the weather was today...
28th October
Spectacular sunset from the coast of Dún Chaoin. An amazing sky but this composition is weak – I've never found a composition here I've remained happy with despite the fact that it seems plainly obvious as a landscape photography hotspot. There always seems to be too much clutter on the jagged coast, always some rock in the way of an otherwise clean composition, or too much of a sense of disarray in the broken foreground when compared to the clean outlines of the Blaskets on the horizon. All of which is to say I’m making excuses for my ineptitude. I know there’s a nice image to be found here somewhere, and one that isn’t carried solely by the strength of a stunning sky like this one.
29th October
Twenty four hours later I find myself in West Cork as another unexpectedly colourful sundown unfolds. With Halloween just around the corner the orange and dark sky here feels particularly fitting.
30th October
Courtmacsherry pier after sunset. I spent happy childhood summers in this area. Every August at the harvest festival there was a slippery log competition here at the harbour. Some old telephone pole would be fixed to overhang the water at the fuller end of the tide and two contestants would shimmy out along its length to do battle (with pillows as far as I remember) while straddling the log. The crowd would erupt when the loser fell in. It always looked like so much fun, but I never got to do it. It’s been about twenty years since I was at the festival. I hope the slippery pole competition is still wowing audiences these summers and “health and safety” hasn’t done away with such simple fun.
31st October
A simple but fitting scene for Halloween night. In an Ireland long since gone this evening was when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead was thinnest. Halloween, and all its deathly themes, has its roots in this tradition. Long ago it was known as Samhain. Samhain means the end of summer, and it marks the beginning of winter in pagan Ireland. Though darkness and death are the obvious associations with this season there was, and still is for those who still subscribe to the ideas, an understanding that this time is as important as any in the cycle of life. Whether it be humans in the womb, or seeds in the soil, all life begins in dark and damp places. Darkness, death and winter are as necessary as light, life and summer for us, and all other things to thrive.
1st November
The standing stone at Clogher Head during a brief moment of late light after a cold, breezy day. I like how the stone fits neatly into the row of amazingly symmetrical coastal peaks from this angle. Whoever this stone was set down for is long since forgotten but just the place itself seems worthy of being celebrated. There are few, if any, places in Ireland that can rival this headland for scenic beauty.
2nd November
I had to travel to Cork for a hospital appointment today so I stopped in Mullinhassig on the way for my daily photo fix. I was a bit short on time so this simple, unexciting, image from the waterfall had to do.
3rd November
Back out to Clogher Head this evening to recycle a composition I found last winter. Quite a different kind of sunset this evening compared to the last time I was stood here, but still very beautiful.
4th November
A strange weather day of misty showers and openings of bright sun, and the two coming together now and then to make rainbows. I made this simple image as an insurance policy in case I didn’t get out again later in the day. And as it turned out I didn’t get out again later in the day...
5th November
Lichen palette from the beach boulders at An Mhuiríoch. Stumbling across a simple scene like this always feels like being given an unexpected gift.
6th November
Torc waterfall as you’ve seen it before. As I’m meeting friends in Killarney for the weekend I decided this quick and simple roadside attraction would do for today’s photo. Though I generally have no interest in repeating well-known compositions I was happy to break that personal rule today. When I conceived of this project we were all in lockdown and I had plenty of time to spare. I must have naively assumed I’d have plenty of time to spare each and every day from then on. Either that or I expected to give up before long. I certainly never imagined how much of a chore it could be to find the time or inclination to make a photo some days. And even though it is a chore I feel at this stage it would be harder to give up than keep going. Nine times out of ten I’m holding onto the arbitrary, self inflicted rule of a photo a day for a year more than I’m carrying any real desire to go make photos for the sake of doing it. I’m hoping to get something out of this stubbornness, something more than just digital image files. But maybe I’m overthinking it all. I have a tendency to do that (in case you hadn’t noticed). Maybe what I'm looking to learn is that I should just enjoy the picturesque waterfall in the trees and let that be enough.
7th November
Dingle marina on a still and drizzly evening. Speaking of repeating old compositions I robbed this idea from my good friend Jaro (he doesn’t seem to have his version on his new website). Unlike me, Jaro doesn’t bother worrying with arbitrarily strict rules for his photography (other than to be honest about his images), and that, combined with his drive and skill means he has a fantastic collection of beautiful photographs. So if you didn’t click on that link a few lines back you should do so now.
8th November
It’s hard to believe this is all the one piece of stone. I suppose at some point it was composed of different rocks that were melted together in the subsurface furnaces of a distant past. If that idea is correct then it seems like now the sea is separating it out into its constituent parts again. Whatever’s going on, it’s very beautiful.
Find Part 24 here
26th October
Close up detail of Xanthoria parietina, a common lichen in Ireland that actually does well from certain pollutants. Unlike most lichens, which are confined to and are thus signifiers of areas with clean, fresh air, this species is increasing from excess nitrates and ammonia. I find it interesting how the left and right sides are slightly different colours, presumably because each side of the lichen is growing atop a different surface. The left seems to be directly attached to the rock while the right is (or maybe was at some point, presuming one species can’t survive beneath another) growing over a type of Verrucaria lichen. Lichens may at first glance appear to be among the most boring life forms on earth but I’ve long admired their resilience and persistence, and earlier in the year learned how fundamental they were to the evolution of much of what lives on this planet. In a past life as an avid rock climber seeking new cliffs and boulders to climb on I often shied away from brushing off lichens to get down to the bare rock of a particular hold. The idea of wiping out such a slow-growing and ancient form of life just for me to pull off a few moves on some remote boulder somewhere just didn’t add up. Which is daft, given there are so many aspects of my privileged lifestyle that I get to enjoy because of the exploitation of places and people in far flung corners of the world...
27th October
Gloomy scenes from deep inside Poll na gCaorach, a sea cave on the wild coast west of Dingle. I’ve been waiting to photograph this scene again since the end of March, when I first encountered it. During the dry summer we had this year the walls were devoid of seepage, and looked dull without the gloss. There’s been more than enough rain recently to rewet the sides of this sea-sculpted corridor, though today was so dark and dismal that the colours didn’t quite shine through as well as I thought they might. Nonetheless, it was a respite to be out of the rain and wind in here. The idea that a place as inhospitable as this could be a refuge speaks to how foul the weather was today...
28th October
Spectacular sunset from the coast of Dún Chaoin. An amazing sky but this composition is weak – I've never found a composition here I've remained happy with despite the fact that it seems plainly obvious as a landscape photography hotspot. There always seems to be too much clutter on the jagged coast, always some rock in the way of an otherwise clean composition, or too much of a sense of disarray in the broken foreground when compared to the clean outlines of the Blaskets on the horizon. All of which is to say I’m making excuses for my ineptitude. I know there’s a nice image to be found here somewhere, and one that isn’t carried solely by the strength of a stunning sky like this one.
29th October
Twenty four hours later I find myself in West Cork as another unexpectedly colourful sundown unfolds. With Halloween just around the corner the orange and dark sky here feels particularly fitting.
30th October
Courtmacsherry pier after sunset. I spent happy childhood summers in this area. Every August at the harvest festival there was a slippery log competition here at the harbour. Some old telephone pole would be fixed to overhang the water at the fuller end of the tide and two contestants would shimmy out along its length to do battle (with pillows as far as I remember) while straddling the log. The crowd would erupt when the loser fell in. It always looked like so much fun, but I never got to do it. It’s been about twenty years since I was at the festival. I hope the slippery pole competition is still wowing audiences these summers and “health and safety” hasn’t done away with such simple fun.
31st October
A simple but fitting scene for Halloween night. In an Ireland long since gone this evening was when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead was thinnest. Halloween, and all its deathly themes, has its roots in this tradition. Long ago it was known as Samhain. Samhain means the end of summer, and it marks the beginning of winter in pagan Ireland. Though darkness and death are the obvious associations with this season there was, and still is for those who still subscribe to the ideas, an understanding that this time is as important as any in the cycle of life. Whether it be humans in the womb, or seeds in the soil, all life begins in dark and damp places. Darkness, death and winter are as necessary as light, life and summer for us, and all other things to thrive.
1st November
The standing stone at Clogher Head during a brief moment of late light after a cold, breezy day. I like how the stone fits neatly into the row of amazingly symmetrical coastal peaks from this angle. Whoever this stone was set down for is long since forgotten but just the place itself seems worthy of being celebrated. There are few, if any, places in Ireland that can rival this headland for scenic beauty.
2nd November
I had to travel to Cork for a hospital appointment today so I stopped in Mullinhassig on the way for my daily photo fix. I was a bit short on time so this simple, unexciting, image from the waterfall had to do.
3rd November
Back out to Clogher Head this evening to recycle a composition I found last winter. Quite a different kind of sunset this evening compared to the last time I was stood here, but still very beautiful.
4th November
A strange weather day of misty showers and openings of bright sun, and the two coming together now and then to make rainbows. I made this simple image as an insurance policy in case I didn’t get out again later in the day. And as it turned out I didn’t get out again later in the day...
5th November
Lichen palette from the beach boulders at An Mhuiríoch. Stumbling across a simple scene like this always feels like being given an unexpected gift.
6th November
Torc waterfall as you’ve seen it before. As I’m meeting friends in Killarney for the weekend I decided this quick and simple roadside attraction would do for today’s photo. Though I generally have no interest in repeating well-known compositions I was happy to break that personal rule today. When I conceived of this project we were all in lockdown and I had plenty of time to spare. I must have naively assumed I’d have plenty of time to spare each and every day from then on. Either that or I expected to give up before long. I certainly never imagined how much of a chore it could be to find the time or inclination to make a photo some days. And even though it is a chore I feel at this stage it would be harder to give up than keep going. Nine times out of ten I’m holding onto the arbitrary, self inflicted rule of a photo a day for a year more than I’m carrying any real desire to go make photos for the sake of doing it. I’m hoping to get something out of this stubbornness, something more than just digital image files. But maybe I’m overthinking it all. I have a tendency to do that (in case you hadn’t noticed). Maybe what I'm looking to learn is that I should just enjoy the picturesque waterfall in the trees and let that be enough.
7th November
Dingle marina on a still and drizzly evening. Speaking of repeating old compositions I robbed this idea from my good friend Jaro (he doesn’t seem to have his version on his new website). Unlike me, Jaro doesn’t bother worrying with arbitrarily strict rules for his photography (other than to be honest about his images), and that, combined with his drive and skill means he has a fantastic collection of beautiful photographs. So if you didn’t click on that link a few lines back you should do so now.
8th November
It’s hard to believe this is all the one piece of stone. I suppose at some point it was composed of different rocks that were melted together in the subsurface furnaces of a distant past. If that idea is correct then it seems like now the sea is separating it out into its constituent parts again. Whatever’s going on, it’s very beautiful.
Find Part 24 here