Bliain - Part 4
15th February 2021
Part four of my project to make a photograph every day for a full year, or bliain in Irish. Find Part 3 here.
2nd February
Cloch an Riaisc (The Reask Stone), the centrepiece of what remains of the monastery at Riasc. It’s probably a bit of a stretch to imagine that the top of this stone purposefully mirrors the top of the distant hill, but I know of one other example of a standing stone near here that also seems to mimic the shape of a distinct and distant mountain. In all likelihood it seems a bit fanciful, but it’s certainly not impossible given how so many ancient monuments are aligned with landscape features and celestial events. This early Christian monastery was probably founded in the 6th century, during that period when the new faith was gaining a foothold in Ireland. In fifteen hundred years from now I wonder what physical remains will endure from the current major religions of capitalism and consumerism? Plastic, probably. For an excellent read on the idea of what kind of ancestors we’re being to future generations get a copy of Underland by Robert Macfarlane. It’s easily one of the most brilliant books I’ve ever read.
3rd February
Today was another reminder of how beauty can be found on even the most miserable of weather days. Even if it’s hard to make the effort to get the waterproofs and wellies on it’s always worth it. While walking the beach in lashing rain and strong wind I noticed how textured the sand looked, much more so than on a dry day. All of the surface water slowly trickling down the gentle slope to the sea was creating thin, filmy rivers, and the different sized grains of sand were being sorted and separated into lovely patterns, all the more visible under the wetness, same as a stone in the tideline that catches your eye but fades to a dull lump of rock once it’s home and dry. Or that’s what I reckon was what made the sand look so interesting anyway. Maybe it was just the fact that all the wind and rain meant I couldn’t look up much and be distracted by the wider views around. Either way, I reckon this would make a lovely rug.
4th February
Foxglove leaves in a rough coil around which the stem will start to emerge as the spring progresses. After getting home and processing this image two things sparked my curiosity. The first was the Fibonacci spiral, a mathematical concept about which I have only the most rudimentary understanding but is very fascinating for how often it appears in the natural world, on every scale; from the arrangement of cells to the shape of galaxies. It’s a shape and ratio closely linked with things most of us perceive as being aesthetically pleasing, and as such it can be found in the composition of many paintings and photographs (including this one). I won’t attempt to explain it but you can find some nice introductory articles about the whole idea here and here, and see how it relates to plants in particular in these nauseatingly fast-paced but excellent videos. The second thing I got to wondering about was all the white ‘hairs’ on the leaves. It turns out that the technical term for these in the botany world is not hairs, but trichomes. They have a multitude of functions, like creating a shield against UV light, increasing surface area to gather water in dry environments, and providing protection from herbivores by being either physically or chemically unpalatable. Typing questions about why some leaves have so many trichomes compared to others or whether younger plants produce more trichomes than older ones brought up quite a few articles about growing weed; apparently potency and trichome cover are directly linked when it comes to cannabis. So my quick search offered no answer to my questions about hairy foxglove leaves, but given that any part of a foxglove is potentially fatal if ingested I can understand why cannabis is more popular.
5th February
Golden light on Gallarus Oratory. I had been waiting for this image for a few weeks. Throughout the winter the northern wall of this little chapel stays in shadow at sunset. I knew if I was here in the right light that the contrast between that shadowed wall and the sunlit western gable would show off the curving corner beautifully. The trick was to pick the right evening, a relatively easy task as this is well within walking distance of home. This particular evening was my second attempt, and I arrived shortly after a brief moment of strong light and wished I’d left home ten minutes earlier. The heavy clouds in the southwest didn’t look to be going anywhere, and more rain coming in from the north sent me into the oratory for shelter (it’s been dry in there since it was built in the 7th or 8th century.) As I stood hunched in the doorway I noticed the sun trying to make another appearance. It seemed there was too much cloud for it to cast any light but all the same I went back out to frame the scene while the heavy shower lashed down. Luckily a strong wind at my back kept the rain off the glass of the lens. And sure enough, the sun emerged from behind the cloud and the dripping stonework took on this lovely golden glow, and I was thankful I left the house exactly when I did. Looking around it seemed as though the sunlight was focused solely on this little patch of West Kerry, and before long it was gone altogether. These kinds of moments are what landscape photographers dream about. They’re probably not very exciting to read about, and sometimes, as in this case, the images aren’t even that spectacular in the end, but the photographs are always secondary to the experience of enjoying these surprise moments of nice light.
6th February
Inspired by the previous evening’s surprise sunset I woke early and walked down to the beach in the hopes of crossing another local image idea off the list. The conditions I had in mind never materialised, and though the clouds took on some lovely subtle colours and heavy textures after sunrise the only thing I came home with on the camera is this dark and moody scene from before the dawn. Funny how much more offensive and oppressive barbed wire fences appear when they’re higher than you and the sharp cold lines are clear against the sky instead of blended in with the background. Given how farming these days is driven by subsidies and grant schemes it would be wonderful if there was money going for hedge planting. Aside from the obvious wildlife benefits it would be nice to do away with this militaristic style of dividing of the land. Though I’ve no doubt that the vast majority of farmers place more store in the practicalities of keeping their animals where they want them than the aesthetics and ideologies of environmentally friendly land use.
7th February
An abandoned home in Baile na nGall taking the idea of houseplants to the extreme end of the spectrum. Today was one of the days when making an image felt like a chore rather than a process to be enjoyed, but I had this simple scene held in mind for just such an occasion. Strange how there’s a certain charm in this kind of sight. I’m not sure why peeling paint and sagging windowframes are more attractive for a photo than a functional, modern design (apart from not wanting to be the random stranger pointing a camera into somebody’s living room), but it does seem that somewhere along the way we got it into our collective mind that there’s something comforting about the past. The “good old days” of draughty, leaking windows may look nostalgic but I think most of us are happy that double and triple glazing have since become the norm.
8th February
I wrote in the early part of this project about how unsettling I find southeasterly winds to be. It seems a strange thing to have a certain wind direction affect your mind, but given the violence it seems to arrive with where I live it’s not a purely ideological notion. Even when only forecasted in light strengths the southeast wind seems to come rushing off the hill behind the house here and slam into it in a way that’s hard to ignore. It’s what we’ve been getting the past two days, along with unbroken grey skies, and it’s what’s given for as long as the forecast is showing at the moment. But can I blame the wind for my lack of motivation recently? Probably not. It’s funny having to accept images for a project that usually wouldn’t even make it out of the camera, though I fully accept that it’s just impossible to make a photo you’re really happy with every single day. I think one a month is more likely if you’re really trying to hold yourself to a high standard, and even that could be a stretch sometimes. All the same, I need to keep reminding myself that these challenging days offer better potential for learning than easy days do. Or potentially more potential anyway. If you can tap into it. I don’t think I tapped into the fullest potential today but here’s my lame attempt; the windswept dunes at Cúl Dorcha.
9th February
Welcome sunshine lighting a male chaffinch in an ash tree at home. More strong winds and cloud cover but the sun peeked out for a spell before setting and it was amazing the difference it made to the mood of the day. There were a lot of chaffinches at the feeders today, and the males were looking particularly vibrant. With breeding season starting for many of the garden birds now’s the time to start dressing up and looking good if you want to find a mate.
10th February
Today the air was choked with smoke from a few big fires nearby. The continuous days of dry weather and drying winds have the hill farmers out to set fire to the scrub their sheep can’t eat. Grass will grow on the scorched patches later in the year. The legal cut-off period for this burning is the end of February, after which time the scant few birds that can breed on the barren, overgrazed hills have started nesting, and the invertebrate world comes to life again. All the smoke wasn’t very conducive to landscape photography so today’s photo is a close-up of a slowly unfurling specimen of St. Patrick’s cabbage. From inside that dark core a red stalk will emerge, topped by delicate white and pink star-shaped flowers in May. The lane behind home is bordered by extravagant gatherings of this plant and walking by in early summer is almost as impressive for me as strolling through a bluebell wood.
11th February
The southeasterlies still scour the land, tearing away what isn’t fixed down by roots or weight or mortar. I was blown off balance three times today, which either means I’m getting old and doddery (at 33 years of age) or my dislike of this violent wind is justified and isn’t just a figment of my imagination. Still, it’s what we’ve got and after so many consecutive days of unexciting photography conditions I was determined to try and work with it. A small bit of rain quenched the hill fires last night and the clouds were interesting, making up somewhat for the flat light while I was out. I headed down to Cúl Dorcha to watch the wind whip mare’s tails off the small waves and set the dune grass to mad fits of wild dancing in the gusts.
12th February
More sand patterns for another dull, windy day. There were some really beautiful designs and displays on the beach at low water, partly due to the loose sand being whipped across the strand and gathering in the tiny troughs left by the receding tide. I like how this one looks like strands of kelp floating in a shallow sea. A nice idea given that a few hundred metres from here that very scene exists.
13th February
Earlier in the week my choice photo from the day was a colourful male chaffinch in bright sunshine. Today’s pick is a drab female chaffinch under an overcast sky. There are a few different theories as to why most female animals tend to be less vibrantly coloured than males (though it’s worth noting that how we see as humans is not how most other animals see). The obvious one is for camouflage, as is very much on display here; squint and the bird blends in very well indeed. As females carry young, and often do most, if not all of the rearing, it makes sense for them to be able to blend in with their surroundings to avoid predation of the more vulnerable offspring. Another reason could also be to do with females carrying the greater reproductive burden. Showy colours and body parts that serve no function other than for sexual display (such as the male peacock’s extravagant tail) all cost extra energy (i.e. food). Given that females already have to acquire more food than usual to feed the young growing inside them, the additional energetic cost of looking more magnificent than necessary would probably be too much to manage*. A more recent theory on plain-looking females is that it helps to avoid unwanted attention from males, particularly during the breeding season. Which makes sense too, given how most species’ couplings are very far removed from the human idea of a loving relationship. In general, all of these ideas are probably part of the answer. More anecdotally, I can confirm that Cork and Kerry chaffinches have slightly different accents. When I lived in my parents’ house I would hear a chaffinch singing first thing every morning during spring. After moving to Kerry I noticed the same sound, or at least the same pattern of notes, but the tone was slightly different. And why wouldn’t it be? After all, we’re animals too, and if you’ve ever heard the dissimilarity between people from Ballyphehane and Baile an Fheirtéaraigh you’d know how much difference a hundred miles can make.
* It’s interesting to think about that idea of energetic costs as a human in a wealthy part of the world. The word energy isn’t synonymous with food for most of us, because it’s generally assumed we always have enough. Unless you’re an athlete you probably don’t consider having to make sure you eat enough to match the energy your body uses. Most of us have more food than we need, to the point that excessive eating is a contributing factor in a huge proportion of human mortality. For most animals, it’s a daily mission to make sure you keep that energy balance in check, and the idea of gluttony is almost absent.
14th February
Possibly the laziest attempt for the project yet, though that's not to suggest that putting hours of effort into making an image guarantees greatness either. For various reasons I let the day get away from me without taking the camera anywhere. It’s amazing how quickly the time passes when you sleep in late. Just as I resolved to head out and shoot some night scenes later in the evening a nice, hazy sunset started to emerge and I took a few minutes to climb a ditch at the edge of the garden and snap this quick one. Good to see a bit of colour in the sky after days and days of grey. I’m very lucky to have views of distant hills and big skies from home.
15th February
A grey heron flying by against an overcast sky. In reality the cloud wasn’t this bright but I quite like these types of ‘high key’ images. It’s one of the rare times I’m ok with purposefully editing a photograph to look different to the scene as I saw it. I was going to add a heron poem by Robert Macfarlane to this post but I'm not entirely comfortable with publishing somebody else's work on my own website. You can very easily Google it, or better yet, buy a copy of The Lost Words, an absolute treasure of a book he produced with the artist Jackie Morris. Anybody with a love of the natural world should have a copy of this extraordinary collection of poems and art. I really can’t emphasise enough how special it is.
Find Part 5 here
2nd February
Cloch an Riaisc (The Reask Stone), the centrepiece of what remains of the monastery at Riasc. It’s probably a bit of a stretch to imagine that the top of this stone purposefully mirrors the top of the distant hill, but I know of one other example of a standing stone near here that also seems to mimic the shape of a distinct and distant mountain. In all likelihood it seems a bit fanciful, but it’s certainly not impossible given how so many ancient monuments are aligned with landscape features and celestial events. This early Christian monastery was probably founded in the 6th century, during that period when the new faith was gaining a foothold in Ireland. In fifteen hundred years from now I wonder what physical remains will endure from the current major religions of capitalism and consumerism? Plastic, probably. For an excellent read on the idea of what kind of ancestors we’re being to future generations get a copy of Underland by Robert Macfarlane. It’s easily one of the most brilliant books I’ve ever read.
3rd February
Today was another reminder of how beauty can be found on even the most miserable of weather days. Even if it’s hard to make the effort to get the waterproofs and wellies on it’s always worth it. While walking the beach in lashing rain and strong wind I noticed how textured the sand looked, much more so than on a dry day. All of the surface water slowly trickling down the gentle slope to the sea was creating thin, filmy rivers, and the different sized grains of sand were being sorted and separated into lovely patterns, all the more visible under the wetness, same as a stone in the tideline that catches your eye but fades to a dull lump of rock once it’s home and dry. Or that’s what I reckon was what made the sand look so interesting anyway. Maybe it was just the fact that all the wind and rain meant I couldn’t look up much and be distracted by the wider views around. Either way, I reckon this would make a lovely rug.
4th February
Foxglove leaves in a rough coil around which the stem will start to emerge as the spring progresses. After getting home and processing this image two things sparked my curiosity. The first was the Fibonacci spiral, a mathematical concept about which I have only the most rudimentary understanding but is very fascinating for how often it appears in the natural world, on every scale; from the arrangement of cells to the shape of galaxies. It’s a shape and ratio closely linked with things most of us perceive as being aesthetically pleasing, and as such it can be found in the composition of many paintings and photographs (including this one). I won’t attempt to explain it but you can find some nice introductory articles about the whole idea here and here, and see how it relates to plants in particular in these nauseatingly fast-paced but excellent videos. The second thing I got to wondering about was all the white ‘hairs’ on the leaves. It turns out that the technical term for these in the botany world is not hairs, but trichomes. They have a multitude of functions, like creating a shield against UV light, increasing surface area to gather water in dry environments, and providing protection from herbivores by being either physically or chemically unpalatable. Typing questions about why some leaves have so many trichomes compared to others or whether younger plants produce more trichomes than older ones brought up quite a few articles about growing weed; apparently potency and trichome cover are directly linked when it comes to cannabis. So my quick search offered no answer to my questions about hairy foxglove leaves, but given that any part of a foxglove is potentially fatal if ingested I can understand why cannabis is more popular.
5th February
Golden light on Gallarus Oratory. I had been waiting for this image for a few weeks. Throughout the winter the northern wall of this little chapel stays in shadow at sunset. I knew if I was here in the right light that the contrast between that shadowed wall and the sunlit western gable would show off the curving corner beautifully. The trick was to pick the right evening, a relatively easy task as this is well within walking distance of home. This particular evening was my second attempt, and I arrived shortly after a brief moment of strong light and wished I’d left home ten minutes earlier. The heavy clouds in the southwest didn’t look to be going anywhere, and more rain coming in from the north sent me into the oratory for shelter (it’s been dry in there since it was built in the 7th or 8th century.) As I stood hunched in the doorway I noticed the sun trying to make another appearance. It seemed there was too much cloud for it to cast any light but all the same I went back out to frame the scene while the heavy shower lashed down. Luckily a strong wind at my back kept the rain off the glass of the lens. And sure enough, the sun emerged from behind the cloud and the dripping stonework took on this lovely golden glow, and I was thankful I left the house exactly when I did. Looking around it seemed as though the sunlight was focused solely on this little patch of West Kerry, and before long it was gone altogether. These kinds of moments are what landscape photographers dream about. They’re probably not very exciting to read about, and sometimes, as in this case, the images aren’t even that spectacular in the end, but the photographs are always secondary to the experience of enjoying these surprise moments of nice light.
6th February
Inspired by the previous evening’s surprise sunset I woke early and walked down to the beach in the hopes of crossing another local image idea off the list. The conditions I had in mind never materialised, and though the clouds took on some lovely subtle colours and heavy textures after sunrise the only thing I came home with on the camera is this dark and moody scene from before the dawn. Funny how much more offensive and oppressive barbed wire fences appear when they’re higher than you and the sharp cold lines are clear against the sky instead of blended in with the background. Given how farming these days is driven by subsidies and grant schemes it would be wonderful if there was money going for hedge planting. Aside from the obvious wildlife benefits it would be nice to do away with this militaristic style of dividing of the land. Though I’ve no doubt that the vast majority of farmers place more store in the practicalities of keeping their animals where they want them than the aesthetics and ideologies of environmentally friendly land use.
7th February
An abandoned home in Baile na nGall taking the idea of houseplants to the extreme end of the spectrum. Today was one of the days when making an image felt like a chore rather than a process to be enjoyed, but I had this simple scene held in mind for just such an occasion. Strange how there’s a certain charm in this kind of sight. I’m not sure why peeling paint and sagging windowframes are more attractive for a photo than a functional, modern design (apart from not wanting to be the random stranger pointing a camera into somebody’s living room), but it does seem that somewhere along the way we got it into our collective mind that there’s something comforting about the past. The “good old days” of draughty, leaking windows may look nostalgic but I think most of us are happy that double and triple glazing have since become the norm.
8th February
I wrote in the early part of this project about how unsettling I find southeasterly winds to be. It seems a strange thing to have a certain wind direction affect your mind, but given the violence it seems to arrive with where I live it’s not a purely ideological notion. Even when only forecasted in light strengths the southeast wind seems to come rushing off the hill behind the house here and slam into it in a way that’s hard to ignore. It’s what we’ve been getting the past two days, along with unbroken grey skies, and it’s what’s given for as long as the forecast is showing at the moment. But can I blame the wind for my lack of motivation recently? Probably not. It’s funny having to accept images for a project that usually wouldn’t even make it out of the camera, though I fully accept that it’s just impossible to make a photo you’re really happy with every single day. I think one a month is more likely if you’re really trying to hold yourself to a high standard, and even that could be a stretch sometimes. All the same, I need to keep reminding myself that these challenging days offer better potential for learning than easy days do. Or potentially more potential anyway. If you can tap into it. I don’t think I tapped into the fullest potential today but here’s my lame attempt; the windswept dunes at Cúl Dorcha.
9th February
Welcome sunshine lighting a male chaffinch in an ash tree at home. More strong winds and cloud cover but the sun peeked out for a spell before setting and it was amazing the difference it made to the mood of the day. There were a lot of chaffinches at the feeders today, and the males were looking particularly vibrant. With breeding season starting for many of the garden birds now’s the time to start dressing up and looking good if you want to find a mate.
10th February
Today the air was choked with smoke from a few big fires nearby. The continuous days of dry weather and drying winds have the hill farmers out to set fire to the scrub their sheep can’t eat. Grass will grow on the scorched patches later in the year. The legal cut-off period for this burning is the end of February, after which time the scant few birds that can breed on the barren, overgrazed hills have started nesting, and the invertebrate world comes to life again. All the smoke wasn’t very conducive to landscape photography so today’s photo is a close-up of a slowly unfurling specimen of St. Patrick’s cabbage. From inside that dark core a red stalk will emerge, topped by delicate white and pink star-shaped flowers in May. The lane behind home is bordered by extravagant gatherings of this plant and walking by in early summer is almost as impressive for me as strolling through a bluebell wood.
11th February
The southeasterlies still scour the land, tearing away what isn’t fixed down by roots or weight or mortar. I was blown off balance three times today, which either means I’m getting old and doddery (at 33 years of age) or my dislike of this violent wind is justified and isn’t just a figment of my imagination. Still, it’s what we’ve got and after so many consecutive days of unexciting photography conditions I was determined to try and work with it. A small bit of rain quenched the hill fires last night and the clouds were interesting, making up somewhat for the flat light while I was out. I headed down to Cúl Dorcha to watch the wind whip mare’s tails off the small waves and set the dune grass to mad fits of wild dancing in the gusts.
12th February
More sand patterns for another dull, windy day. There were some really beautiful designs and displays on the beach at low water, partly due to the loose sand being whipped across the strand and gathering in the tiny troughs left by the receding tide. I like how this one looks like strands of kelp floating in a shallow sea. A nice idea given that a few hundred metres from here that very scene exists.
13th February
Earlier in the week my choice photo from the day was a colourful male chaffinch in bright sunshine. Today’s pick is a drab female chaffinch under an overcast sky. There are a few different theories as to why most female animals tend to be less vibrantly coloured than males (though it’s worth noting that how we see as humans is not how most other animals see). The obvious one is for camouflage, as is very much on display here; squint and the bird blends in very well indeed. As females carry young, and often do most, if not all of the rearing, it makes sense for them to be able to blend in with their surroundings to avoid predation of the more vulnerable offspring. Another reason could also be to do with females carrying the greater reproductive burden. Showy colours and body parts that serve no function other than for sexual display (such as the male peacock’s extravagant tail) all cost extra energy (i.e. food). Given that females already have to acquire more food than usual to feed the young growing inside them, the additional energetic cost of looking more magnificent than necessary would probably be too much to manage*. A more recent theory on plain-looking females is that it helps to avoid unwanted attention from males, particularly during the breeding season. Which makes sense too, given how most species’ couplings are very far removed from the human idea of a loving relationship. In general, all of these ideas are probably part of the answer. More anecdotally, I can confirm that Cork and Kerry chaffinches have slightly different accents. When I lived in my parents’ house I would hear a chaffinch singing first thing every morning during spring. After moving to Kerry I noticed the same sound, or at least the same pattern of notes, but the tone was slightly different. And why wouldn’t it be? After all, we’re animals too, and if you’ve ever heard the dissimilarity between people from Ballyphehane and Baile an Fheirtéaraigh you’d know how much difference a hundred miles can make.
* It’s interesting to think about that idea of energetic costs as a human in a wealthy part of the world. The word energy isn’t synonymous with food for most of us, because it’s generally assumed we always have enough. Unless you’re an athlete you probably don’t consider having to make sure you eat enough to match the energy your body uses. Most of us have more food than we need, to the point that excessive eating is a contributing factor in a huge proportion of human mortality. For most animals, it’s a daily mission to make sure you keep that energy balance in check, and the idea of gluttony is almost absent.
14th February
Possibly the laziest attempt for the project yet, though that's not to suggest that putting hours of effort into making an image guarantees greatness either. For various reasons I let the day get away from me without taking the camera anywhere. It’s amazing how quickly the time passes when you sleep in late. Just as I resolved to head out and shoot some night scenes later in the evening a nice, hazy sunset started to emerge and I took a few minutes to climb a ditch at the edge of the garden and snap this quick one. Good to see a bit of colour in the sky after days and days of grey. I’m very lucky to have views of distant hills and big skies from home.
15th February
A grey heron flying by against an overcast sky. In reality the cloud wasn’t this bright but I quite like these types of ‘high key’ images. It’s one of the rare times I’m ok with purposefully editing a photograph to look different to the scene as I saw it. I was going to add a heron poem by Robert Macfarlane to this post but I'm not entirely comfortable with publishing somebody else's work on my own website. You can very easily Google it, or better yet, buy a copy of The Lost Words, an absolute treasure of a book he produced with the artist Jackie Morris. Anybody with a love of the natural world should have a copy of this extraordinary collection of poems and art. I really can’t emphasise enough how special it is.
Find Part 5 here
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By Jasmine: Love the heron Rich ☺️