Bliain - Part 2
18th January 2021
Part two of my project to make a photograph every day for a full year, or bliain in Irish. Find Part 1 here.
5th January
As promised, another beautiful day of crisp and clear winter weather. I took a walk from home for the afternoon and admired the long shadows and strong colours cast by the setting sun. Frost still gripped the ground in shaded places, and though the air was colder than normal it was a lot more pleasant than the cool and damp climate we typically get here this season. Out near Gallarus I noticed these fiery clouds creeping in from the east and thought they looked good against the winter trees.
6th January
Sunrise on the snowcapped peak of Mount Brandon on the morning of Nollaig na mBan. I feel this composition has potential, though maybe only in my imagination. There’s something about juxtaposing the ridges and gables of the rusty sheds with the ridge of the distant hills that could work, but the hills probably need to be more curved or serrated for that contrast to have any impact. As they are they’re neither similar nor different enough from the shed for the idea in mind. I think composition is the single greatest element that can make or break a photograph. The rule of thirds and the various other ways symmetry can be used to bring balance to a scene are what most of us generally try to stick by, but sometimes a seemingly jarring arrangement of features can work surprisingly well, even if the reasons why are unclear. This one isn’t a keeper, but I’m enjoying the fact that a long-term project like this somehow makes it more acceptable to try something I wouldn’t usually go for. Most of the time these alternative approaches aren’t going to bear fruit, but failing is the best way to learn.
7th January
The carved crosses and monastery ruins at Leataoibh. This was one of my most surprising finds during the initial lockdown of spring 2020. I had passed within sight of it countless times, but as entering fields generally feels like a form of trespass in Ireland it rarely occurs to me to spend much time even looking into them. The vast majority of Irish land is private property; whether it’s neatly cropped pastures or open mountainside, it’s probably owned by somebody, or collectively owned as commonage, and access to the public isn’t necessarily a given. Thankfully this field is free to enter, on the simple condition of not acting the bollocks of course. When I first stumbled on these ruins the April sun set directly opposite the carved faces, leaving no shadows to trace the etchings. I knew a bright winter afternoon would bring a bit of life to the stones’ ancient art by casting light across the engravings. And so I returned recently, and will do so again no doubt.
8th January
I used to write down lists of potential compositions to photograph, including details of the time of year and day to make them, what specific weather conditions might work best, etc etc. At this stage I’ve mostly given up writing the lists because I’ve gone back to so few of the plans that jotting them down feels pointless. But I do have some local ideas that are easier to unearth from the clutter of my mind than they would be from some lost scrap of paper in the office. This scene was one such idea, and today was the first day seeing how it would translate from the back of my mind to the back of my camera. I like it, though obviously the light is too flat in this first attempt. Another one to return to.
9th January
The Reeks at sunset, seen through a long lens from the hill behind home. Nothing much to write about this one. It was nice to see it, especially as there looks to be a bit of a melt coming soon, but after a week of grim news and a steady unraveling of the mind I can’t say I was totally focused on taking in the scene. All the same, it beat being cooped up indoors, or confined to a city. I remember before being able to drive the feeling of longing to be out in the countryside and away from the tedium of suburbia. Living in a beautiful place is very important to me, and despite the doom and gloom of recent times I know I’d feel a lot worse if I lived in an urban area. First world problems anyone?!
10th January
One thing I’m really starting to appreciate from this idea of making a photo every single day is that it’s forcing me to go out when I usually wouldn’t. This is good for a number of reasons; firstly, it’s always good to get out for some fresh air. And secondly, going out on dull days and having to work a bit harder for an image is better for learning than heading out when it’s clear the sunset is going to be good. Because when the conditions don’t make it easy you have to engage with the creative side of your brain that bit more, do things you might not usually do, and move out of your comfort zone. And ultimately that kind of approach will aid progression and learning in any creative pursuit. This isn’t the first time I’ve touched on that point yet I still don’t have a memorable photograph for all my talk. But as I’ve said before, the learning here is more important than the files I bring home. Ballydavid pier lights and Cruach Mhárthain at dusk.
11th January
A damp, dull, grey and misty day, and the first time since starting that making a landscape photograph seemed unlikely. And so I turned my attention from the expanse of open views to the smaller worlds within walls and ditches. Flowering plants are more or less absent in January (though I have seen some very early primroses recently) but a few fern species are evergreen and are well worth investigating while out for a winter walk (or a summer one for that matter). This is maidenhair spleenwort, a very common species that grows well on shaded, lime-rich walls and cliffs. The biggest of the leaflets seen here is about 5mm long. While ferns may not have the obvious attraction of flowers they are a remarkable group of plants. In the summer of 2019 Rory Hodd, a Kerry-born bryophyte specialist, discovered a species of fern near Killarney that had never before been recorded in Europe. The closest living specimens are in the cloud-forests of some of the larger Caribbean islands. The best guess as to how this species ended up here is that its microscopic spores got carried across the Atlantic on the Gulf Stream, and, as that same tropical airflow is what gives Ireland such a mild climate despite its high latitude, some of the spores found a suitable habitat when they next touched down, in the ancient temperate oakwoods around Killarney. Certainly more impressive than anything I’ve ever heard about a rose anyway.
12th January
The house next door to me is currently being renovated, and in the past few months around a third of an acre has been dug up and levelled. I think it must have disturbed a few rats because I’ve gone from seeing one or two hanging around under the bird feeders every few days to hourly visits from multiple animals. I’ve started trying to remove them with live traps but they’re very wary of anything new on their runs and for the most part have been avoiding the bait. I don’t particularly mind, as long as they don’t get in the house. They’re very entertaining and incredibly industrious and adaptable little animals. No wonder they’ve been so successful as a species. Humans may be the reason they’re now widespread across the globe, but despite being persecuted by us wherever they go they’ve had no trouble holding on just about everywhere they’ve ever been introduced. Sadly, many of these places were islands where birds and other species who evolved without any threat from land mammals suddenly had their populations decimated or even made extinct because of rats (cats are even worse for this, and invasive species in general are one of the biggest drivers of biodiversity decline). In cases like this I have no issue whatsoever with killing rats to help protect threatened native wildlife, but for these ones in the garden I’m happy to leave the live trap out, even if most of them are too cute to fall for it. Cute in the Irish sense of the word I mean (i.e. cunning), though I think they’re pretty endearing myself. I know a lot of people will recoil at seeing at rat, but if I told you this was a picture of a mouse and you didn’t know the difference I bet a lot of those same people would probably react more positively.
13th January
A somewhat soggy house sparrow on the peanut feeder as it swings in the wind and gets soaked by the third straight day of drizzle. When you watch the birds at the feeders on enough days like this it begins to sink in how lucky a lot of us humans have it. Most animals start each day with no sure food source, usually no shelter if they’re to go about their daily business, and often with the threat of being eaten hanging over them. At least the birds in this locality have a steady source of food. Chances are if you’re lucky enough to be a human with the time and means to be reading a photographer’s blog you’ve a good deal of the basics covered, and that’s a lot to be thankful for. Though I still reckon a well-loved pet dog or cat is probably the pinnacle of living in terms of maximum comfort and minimum stress.
14th January
The mist finally lifted, leaving a blue sky morning in its wake. Nice to see the views again, and to get away from the house for a walk before dark. Cloud had come in for the afternoon and smothered a potentially nicer sunset, but it was enough just to be out. I was initially drawn to the beautiful angle of stone in the bottom left here, and was happy to let that and the crack lead out from the corner, but ultimately they go nowhere, being eaten up by the clutter in the midground. That’s a shame, as I quite like the three rising hills on the skyline, and a complementary foreground could make for a strong composition here. Maybe I’ll find something on another day.
15th January
A low motivation day. Took a stroll around the garden to see if any small detail might catch my eye and fill my need to keep the daily image project going. Which doesn’t sit well with my purist ideals of being there for the love of it instead of being there to come back with a photo, but we all have off days. It didn’t take long to notice this lichen on an ash tree out the back. I’ve seen this tree countless times. I’ve probably spent the majority of the past five years within ten metres of it. But I’d never noticed that it’s covered in this lichen. When I pulled my field of view back from that first branch and took in the whole ring of limbs rising from the felled stump I realised almost all of the bark was coloured and patterned like this, and for a brief moment it felt so revelatory to be seeing something I had missed for such a long time. It’s a great comfort to know, or remember, that even on days when the weather is grim and your mood low there is always something wonderful to find if you can open your mind to the world around you.
16th January
Curious cattle behind the dunes at the east side of Smerwick Harbour. Had a nice chat with a woman at a field gate on the walk home, who pointed out how there’s a stretch in the evenings already. And she’s spot on. Twenty six days since the solstice and the extra daylight is definitely starting to become noticeable. It’s easy to revel in the long evenings of summer but there’s a certain sweetness in the lengthening days of early spring and the hope they can bring. That said, we’re a long way from the end of winter yet, but no harm. There’s nothing can be done about the weather or the daylight hours, so it’s best to accept and try enjoy them as they are. It still blows my mind that the vast majority of modern work doesn’t take seasonality into account. It might sound a bit “new-age” to some business executives but it’s proven that the majority of people feel less energy in winter. And yet working hours don’t change throughout the year to reflect this fact. I sleep more, eat less and generally spend more time lazing around in winter, and it makes great sense to me. I know not everybody has that option, but it would be nicer for society as a whole if work worked around the natural cycle of the year instead of pretending we humans are somehow separate from the physical realities of the world we live in, and the way they affect us.
17th January
A shed near Gallarus. This scene was one that didn’t quite make the cut back in my initial Lockdown Project, but was on the list at the time in case I needed an easy option some day. It’s not a very exciting photograph but it is a photogenic thing, with all the various materials suggesting plenty of stories to be told. And something I’m enjoying about this project is the idea of moving my attention away from the dramatic sunrise/set at a spectacular location kinds of images, which are great but have been exciting me less and less, and instead focusing more on finding beauty in the ordinary and everyday things in my locality. Most of these images aren’t anything special, but collectively they document a distinct area at a certain stage in time, and I’m excited to see how that will look as a whole in the future. Plus, there is no shortage of options for the more “classic landscape” stuff around here too, there’s just not been a huge amount of that kind of weather to play with. On days when those opportunities present themselves I may well go for them.
18th January
This fortnight’s worth of images ending under the same trees it began with, though not by design. I had no plan for a picture for today, a wintry day of low mist and drizzle. I have a list of photographs to try and make, but almost all revolve around direct sunlight being present in the scene. It’s nice to hatch a plan and see it through to the finish but I generally prefer the unexpected nice moments the world throws your way. Over the last few years I have often lost faith in that idea of heading out and following my nose, leaning too heavily on certainty and sometimes not seeing the point in bringing the camera somewhere if I couldn’t see the photograph I would come home with in my mind’s eye beforehand. It’s a terrible attitude and approach that I seemed to live by some days, the tunnel vision blinding me to most of what was around. But I’m happy to be being reminded that simply heading out and looking around you is an exercise that’s always worth doing, camera in hand or not.
Find Part 3 here
5th January
As promised, another beautiful day of crisp and clear winter weather. I took a walk from home for the afternoon and admired the long shadows and strong colours cast by the setting sun. Frost still gripped the ground in shaded places, and though the air was colder than normal it was a lot more pleasant than the cool and damp climate we typically get here this season. Out near Gallarus I noticed these fiery clouds creeping in from the east and thought they looked good against the winter trees.
6th January
Sunrise on the snowcapped peak of Mount Brandon on the morning of Nollaig na mBan. I feel this composition has potential, though maybe only in my imagination. There’s something about juxtaposing the ridges and gables of the rusty sheds with the ridge of the distant hills that could work, but the hills probably need to be more curved or serrated for that contrast to have any impact. As they are they’re neither similar nor different enough from the shed for the idea in mind. I think composition is the single greatest element that can make or break a photograph. The rule of thirds and the various other ways symmetry can be used to bring balance to a scene are what most of us generally try to stick by, but sometimes a seemingly jarring arrangement of features can work surprisingly well, even if the reasons why are unclear. This one isn’t a keeper, but I’m enjoying the fact that a long-term project like this somehow makes it more acceptable to try something I wouldn’t usually go for. Most of the time these alternative approaches aren’t going to bear fruit, but failing is the best way to learn.
7th January
The carved crosses and monastery ruins at Leataoibh. This was one of my most surprising finds during the initial lockdown of spring 2020. I had passed within sight of it countless times, but as entering fields generally feels like a form of trespass in Ireland it rarely occurs to me to spend much time even looking into them. The vast majority of Irish land is private property; whether it’s neatly cropped pastures or open mountainside, it’s probably owned by somebody, or collectively owned as commonage, and access to the public isn’t necessarily a given. Thankfully this field is free to enter, on the simple condition of not acting the bollocks of course. When I first stumbled on these ruins the April sun set directly opposite the carved faces, leaving no shadows to trace the etchings. I knew a bright winter afternoon would bring a bit of life to the stones’ ancient art by casting light across the engravings. And so I returned recently, and will do so again no doubt.
8th January
I used to write down lists of potential compositions to photograph, including details of the time of year and day to make them, what specific weather conditions might work best, etc etc. At this stage I’ve mostly given up writing the lists because I’ve gone back to so few of the plans that jotting them down feels pointless. But I do have some local ideas that are easier to unearth from the clutter of my mind than they would be from some lost scrap of paper in the office. This scene was one such idea, and today was the first day seeing how it would translate from the back of my mind to the back of my camera. I like it, though obviously the light is too flat in this first attempt. Another one to return to.
9th January
The Reeks at sunset, seen through a long lens from the hill behind home. Nothing much to write about this one. It was nice to see it, especially as there looks to be a bit of a melt coming soon, but after a week of grim news and a steady unraveling of the mind I can’t say I was totally focused on taking in the scene. All the same, it beat being cooped up indoors, or confined to a city. I remember before being able to drive the feeling of longing to be out in the countryside and away from the tedium of suburbia. Living in a beautiful place is very important to me, and despite the doom and gloom of recent times I know I’d feel a lot worse if I lived in an urban area. First world problems anyone?!
10th January
One thing I’m really starting to appreciate from this idea of making a photo every single day is that it’s forcing me to go out when I usually wouldn’t. This is good for a number of reasons; firstly, it’s always good to get out for some fresh air. And secondly, going out on dull days and having to work a bit harder for an image is better for learning than heading out when it’s clear the sunset is going to be good. Because when the conditions don’t make it easy you have to engage with the creative side of your brain that bit more, do things you might not usually do, and move out of your comfort zone. And ultimately that kind of approach will aid progression and learning in any creative pursuit. This isn’t the first time I’ve touched on that point yet I still don’t have a memorable photograph for all my talk. But as I’ve said before, the learning here is more important than the files I bring home. Ballydavid pier lights and Cruach Mhárthain at dusk.
11th January
A damp, dull, grey and misty day, and the first time since starting that making a landscape photograph seemed unlikely. And so I turned my attention from the expanse of open views to the smaller worlds within walls and ditches. Flowering plants are more or less absent in January (though I have seen some very early primroses recently) but a few fern species are evergreen and are well worth investigating while out for a winter walk (or a summer one for that matter). This is maidenhair spleenwort, a very common species that grows well on shaded, lime-rich walls and cliffs. The biggest of the leaflets seen here is about 5mm long. While ferns may not have the obvious attraction of flowers they are a remarkable group of plants. In the summer of 2019 Rory Hodd, a Kerry-born bryophyte specialist, discovered a species of fern near Killarney that had never before been recorded in Europe. The closest living specimens are in the cloud-forests of some of the larger Caribbean islands. The best guess as to how this species ended up here is that its microscopic spores got carried across the Atlantic on the Gulf Stream, and, as that same tropical airflow is what gives Ireland such a mild climate despite its high latitude, some of the spores found a suitable habitat when they next touched down, in the ancient temperate oakwoods around Killarney. Certainly more impressive than anything I’ve ever heard about a rose anyway.
12th January
The house next door to me is currently being renovated, and in the past few months around a third of an acre has been dug up and levelled. I think it must have disturbed a few rats because I’ve gone from seeing one or two hanging around under the bird feeders every few days to hourly visits from multiple animals. I’ve started trying to remove them with live traps but they’re very wary of anything new on their runs and for the most part have been avoiding the bait. I don’t particularly mind, as long as they don’t get in the house. They’re very entertaining and incredibly industrious and adaptable little animals. No wonder they’ve been so successful as a species. Humans may be the reason they’re now widespread across the globe, but despite being persecuted by us wherever they go they’ve had no trouble holding on just about everywhere they’ve ever been introduced. Sadly, many of these places were islands where birds and other species who evolved without any threat from land mammals suddenly had their populations decimated or even made extinct because of rats (cats are even worse for this, and invasive species in general are one of the biggest drivers of biodiversity decline). In cases like this I have no issue whatsoever with killing rats to help protect threatened native wildlife, but for these ones in the garden I’m happy to leave the live trap out, even if most of them are too cute to fall for it. Cute in the Irish sense of the word I mean (i.e. cunning), though I think they’re pretty endearing myself. I know a lot of people will recoil at seeing at rat, but if I told you this was a picture of a mouse and you didn’t know the difference I bet a lot of those same people would probably react more positively.
13th January
A somewhat soggy house sparrow on the peanut feeder as it swings in the wind and gets soaked by the third straight day of drizzle. When you watch the birds at the feeders on enough days like this it begins to sink in how lucky a lot of us humans have it. Most animals start each day with no sure food source, usually no shelter if they’re to go about their daily business, and often with the threat of being eaten hanging over them. At least the birds in this locality have a steady source of food. Chances are if you’re lucky enough to be a human with the time and means to be reading a photographer’s blog you’ve a good deal of the basics covered, and that’s a lot to be thankful for. Though I still reckon a well-loved pet dog or cat is probably the pinnacle of living in terms of maximum comfort and minimum stress.
14th January
The mist finally lifted, leaving a blue sky morning in its wake. Nice to see the views again, and to get away from the house for a walk before dark. Cloud had come in for the afternoon and smothered a potentially nicer sunset, but it was enough just to be out. I was initially drawn to the beautiful angle of stone in the bottom left here, and was happy to let that and the crack lead out from the corner, but ultimately they go nowhere, being eaten up by the clutter in the midground. That’s a shame, as I quite like the three rising hills on the skyline, and a complementary foreground could make for a strong composition here. Maybe I’ll find something on another day.
15th January
A low motivation day. Took a stroll around the garden to see if any small detail might catch my eye and fill my need to keep the daily image project going. Which doesn’t sit well with my purist ideals of being there for the love of it instead of being there to come back with a photo, but we all have off days. It didn’t take long to notice this lichen on an ash tree out the back. I’ve seen this tree countless times. I’ve probably spent the majority of the past five years within ten metres of it. But I’d never noticed that it’s covered in this lichen. When I pulled my field of view back from that first branch and took in the whole ring of limbs rising from the felled stump I realised almost all of the bark was coloured and patterned like this, and for a brief moment it felt so revelatory to be seeing something I had missed for such a long time. It’s a great comfort to know, or remember, that even on days when the weather is grim and your mood low there is always something wonderful to find if you can open your mind to the world around you.
16th January
Curious cattle behind the dunes at the east side of Smerwick Harbour. Had a nice chat with a woman at a field gate on the walk home, who pointed out how there’s a stretch in the evenings already. And she’s spot on. Twenty six days since the solstice and the extra daylight is definitely starting to become noticeable. It’s easy to revel in the long evenings of summer but there’s a certain sweetness in the lengthening days of early spring and the hope they can bring. That said, we’re a long way from the end of winter yet, but no harm. There’s nothing can be done about the weather or the daylight hours, so it’s best to accept and try enjoy them as they are. It still blows my mind that the vast majority of modern work doesn’t take seasonality into account. It might sound a bit “new-age” to some business executives but it’s proven that the majority of people feel less energy in winter. And yet working hours don’t change throughout the year to reflect this fact. I sleep more, eat less and generally spend more time lazing around in winter, and it makes great sense to me. I know not everybody has that option, but it would be nicer for society as a whole if work worked around the natural cycle of the year instead of pretending we humans are somehow separate from the physical realities of the world we live in, and the way they affect us.
17th January
A shed near Gallarus. This scene was one that didn’t quite make the cut back in my initial Lockdown Project, but was on the list at the time in case I needed an easy option some day. It’s not a very exciting photograph but it is a photogenic thing, with all the various materials suggesting plenty of stories to be told. And something I’m enjoying about this project is the idea of moving my attention away from the dramatic sunrise/set at a spectacular location kinds of images, which are great but have been exciting me less and less, and instead focusing more on finding beauty in the ordinary and everyday things in my locality. Most of these images aren’t anything special, but collectively they document a distinct area at a certain stage in time, and I’m excited to see how that will look as a whole in the future. Plus, there is no shortage of options for the more “classic landscape” stuff around here too, there’s just not been a huge amount of that kind of weather to play with. On days when those opportunities present themselves I may well go for them.
18th January
This fortnight’s worth of images ending under the same trees it began with, though not by design. I had no plan for a picture for today, a wintry day of low mist and drizzle. I have a list of photographs to try and make, but almost all revolve around direct sunlight being present in the scene. It’s nice to hatch a plan and see it through to the finish but I generally prefer the unexpected nice moments the world throws your way. Over the last few years I have often lost faith in that idea of heading out and following my nose, leaning too heavily on certainty and sometimes not seeing the point in bringing the camera somewhere if I couldn’t see the photograph I would come home with in my mind’s eye beforehand. It’s a terrible attitude and approach that I seemed to live by some days, the tunnel vision blinding me to most of what was around. But I’m happy to be being reminded that simply heading out and looking around you is an exercise that’s always worth doing, camera in hand or not.
Find Part 3 here
Comments
By Jasmine: Nice one rich, love the rat & the curious moo’s!