It is only when you walk around arable land a lot that you really see how industrialised and unnatural much of the countryside has become; there isn’t much room for nature here. This land is very wet, so there are deep drainage ditches and square ponds like this one dotted around among the fields. I took this picture in early October 2018, just as the leaves were starting to fall from the trees. The farmer had recently dredged this pond, and cleared the ditch that drains into it, chopping down, or grubbing out, many small trees in the process. For some reason, this dead tree was left untouched.
For the past eight years or so, I have been working with poet Rebecca Goss on a collaborative project in which we combine her poetry with my photographs. It began quite informally. At the time I was experimenting with a Soviet-made Jupiter-8 lens, and the early photographs were all made with that lens, so it became an occasional online collaboration known as the “Jupiter Project”. But over time our conversations about the relationship between image and poem, and our way of working, became more interesting, more rewarding, and our occasional collaborations became a book.
Carousel is now available in a limited edition of 200 from Guillemot Press.
Most people who grew up before the age of the selfie will have some memory of family group portraits taken using the self-timer function on somebody’s camera. Most film cameras had a prominent lever or an obvious button somewhere, to trigger a clockwork mechanism or an electronic delay. The camera would be positioned on a chair or table, while the group arranged itself, leaving space for the photographer whose job it was to frame the image, set the timer, and run to take up position and say “cheese”. Timers always took longer than you imagined, and you never quite knew when they would stop. The photographer, trying to avoid becoming a blur in the photograph, would arrive in the group flustered, yet by the time the shutter clicked, everyone’s smile would have been held a little bit too long. This photograph was taken with an Ondu pinhole camera on the beach at Low Newton in Northumberland. There is no timer on the camera, but the twelve second exposure gave me time to open the shutter, run to join my three friends, hold still for five or six seconds, then run back to close the shutter again. I like the effect long exposures create of being there, but not there; this is a record not of a moment, but of time passing, visibly.
When you get up early enough on a summer morning to see the sun sideways through the trees, and the mist still rising from the river, it feels for the rest of the day as if you have been let in on a secret. This is the river Rothay from the stepping stones, at about 6.30am.
I've just spent a week on the island of Sao Miguel, in the Azores, in the middle of the Atlantic. Unusually for me I didn't take a film camera, largely because the gear we took for whale watching and wildlife (including binoculars) was already quite bulky and heavy. Sadly, a heavy film camera and a bag of film was going to be too much.
Anyway, for general walking around I took the Fujifilm X100T, which is small, light, and unassuming, and therefore just about perfect for travel. This is especially true when the weather is warm, making heavy, bulky gear uncomfortable to carry. On one of our non-whale watching days we took a walk along the ridge of the giant volcanic crater above the village of Sete Cidades. It's worth noting that this crater is just the very top few hundred metres of a large group of volcanoes that rise from several kilometres below the sea. If it was all visible above sea level it would be on the scale of Mount St Helens, or Mount Fuji. This is a place of big skies and wide views, and even the fairly wide lens on the front of the X100T didn't really cut it: the answer was panoramas.
The X100T's in-camera panorama mode is an excellent, quick, and generally reliable way of making these wide photographs hand-held. The camera puts a line through the middle of the frame on the viewing screen and asks you to sweep the camera across the view, keeping a little arrow more or less on the line while the shutter chatters away. Lots of cameras can do this kind of thing, including (perhaps especially) phones, and the result can be seen above: it's a perfectly acceptable snapshot of the view, delivered as a jpeg with the dimensions 6400x1440 (the exposure mode is, obviously, automatic).
Of course, if you want to make a proper high-resolution panorama, you need to shoot a series of overlapping portrait oriented images on a carefully set up tripod. You also need understanding companions who don't mind waiting while you mess around with camera gear; it's not really compatible with a happy family holiday. But as a backup I did what we sometimes did back in the olden days, and took four overlapping images side by side, thinking I might want to do something with them later.
Back then we would get the prints back from the lab, and lay them out on a table to see the panoramic image, ignoring the different exposures between frames, and the jagged edges top and bottom from not holding the camera perfectly level. It was an amusing thing to do, but I doubt anyone did it more than once, which meant three or four prints from that batch were just badly-composed snaps of more or less the same view. Once they were mixed up, they made no sense at all.
Anyway, I backed up that day's photos to my phone, and thought nothing of it. Then after a while I received an alert of the kind that makes technology seem like magic: would I like to make a panorama? Google Photos had noticed those four images were a series, and had worked out what I intended to do. The resulting image, stitched together automatically from the four, is below. As you can see, it includes more of the scene than the camera did, possibly because the camera was being more conservative about cropping away from the edges.
The Google Photos panorama is better in several ways than the one created in camera, notably in dynamic range (less of the sky is blown out), and composition (I was able to choose with more accuracy where to begin and end), and in the overall proportions of the image. The fact that it was done automatically was a very pleasant surprise, but it also has some issues, which I'll come to in a moment.
Since I had those four files, I thought I would make a panorama for myself, and see how it compared. My preferred software for doing this is an open source, cross-platform (Linux, Mac, Windows) application called Hugin. This is free to download, and offers a huge range of manual options, but I've always found the three-step automated process offers a good balance of quality and speed. I have the RAW files of course, which should give a step up in quality if I put some time into it, but to be fair to the other two images, I used the jpegs straight from the camera. And looking at the result below, I'd say Hugin has done quite a good job.
Although Hugin also had to match the colours and exposures across the four images, it has done a better job than Google Photos of maintaining the Fuji colours across the panoramic frame (Fuji's Classic Chrome film simulation to be precise). The automatic Google Photos version is slightly desaturated, and has a strange vignette in the top right hand corner. Google's automatic panorama has cropped very slightly wider, resulting in some distortion and reduced quality at the extremes, while Hugin has provided a more natural-looking (to my eyes anyway) image, which is nevertheless very wide (7343x2080). Although it wasn't spookily automatic, it still only took a minute or two to create.
So what would I conclude from this? Well, I wouldn't print any of these on a large scale, but for larger display purposes, and possibly a printed family album, I'd say the in-camera panorama and the Hugin version are probably acceptable. The final, Hugin version is clearly the best of the three. The next time I find myself in this kind of situation, I'll definitely make sure to take four or five separate overlapping images, rather than rely on automatic panorama modes, however magical they may seem.