Put TLC in YOUR PHOTOGRAPHY

THE ITALIAN JOB
HOLDING THE FUTURE
THE FLORAL DANCE


If you are as passionate about photography as I am, passion as in LOVE? Then HOW can so many be so sloppy today? With all the wonderful 'tools' that we have at our disposal, all meant to make it 'easier'?
How can anybody upload an image with the spots from dust bunnies not removed?
How can anybody upload an image with a skew horizon?
Too many good photos are being 'spoiled' by overcooking or just not bothering to remove the dust specks or small eyesores?
What you are hearing is pure frustration!
If you are one of those who claim to have fallen in love with the medium, then, treat it right!
Treat it tender and with respect.
Treat it with the love it deserves.
Treat it with care!

ALWAYS clean up your bg( THE FLORAL DANCE)! After taking a portrait, we all have small blemishes/ mosquito bites, small cuts or wounds, take care of it, yet not something like a mole which is a characteristic of a person (HOLDING THE FUTURE). If you don't ENJOY it, don't do it!
However, even if it means a lot of work( THE ITALIAN JOB)! If you think it is worth it! Do it!
NEVER upload an image that is not 100%. Treat each site as you would a gallery, because that is what it is, you put up an exhibition! People come visit and judge!

So THINK AND CHECK before you put any photo up anywhere!
Thanx, M, (*_*)

THE ENCHANTED WOOD

THE ENCHANTED WOOD



THE ENCHANTED WOOD 2

To my grandchildren, on a visit from the Continent, this was an enchanting and enchanted wood!

They collected coloured leaves, ran through the rustling carpet, conkers and chestnuts, pinecones, saw the squirrels race up the trees, all the things that kids love.

They already are quite used to the smaller digital cameras most people have and how to take photos, This was taken on my Nikon F4, with 400iso film, it has a ‘special’ back so each time I took a shot, they came running to ‘see’, I had a lot of explaining to do!

Soon, there will be a generation that will not know what film is, a darkroom, negs?

Now that they have more of ‘an understanding’ about photography, my lovely bunch are more and more interested and more curious in some of the ‘tricks’ and creativity, especially my granddaughter.
After the ‘normal’ shot, with my camera on the tripod and while the shutter was open I moved the camera upwards creating the blur effect (Enchanted wood 2). They thought it was magic!
I like it because it’s such a lovely blend of the autumn colours with the tree trunks so strong.

The ‘essence’ of autumn. I am trying to be continuously and consistently creative in my photography. Trying out things, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t… I learn from both experiences!

And the joy (forever) and the feeling when it DOES work, is to be felt, cannot be explained, hihi.

I wish you all a clear day and THANK YOU, Magda (*_*)

CREATIVITY, PHOTOGRAPHY, MAKE IT YOUR OWN!

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There are no secrets in photography; you can find EVERYTHING in books, and now on line, on courses...

First the ‘learning’ process, and yes, I still think it is of the utmost priority and necessity that you know the basics about light and photography, after that it only took me years of experimenting in the studio. That’s where the individuality comes in!

When you start out in the beginning, you hit it with everything you've got, like all things in life, hihi, now it is less and less.

Just one spotlight set up in the position so that the light catches the edges and part of the flower... until I'm happy... a black bg.

A BLACK bg has been a 'signature' for over 10 years now when virtually nobody did that, you can see it all through my pf, good to see so many 'enjoy' it.

Just to EXPLAIN how it came about FOR ME?

It stems from my paintings, one day I did a flower border against the black painted bottom of a house in Flanders (used to be very common), for a client.

I moved the idea on from oils on canvas to soft pastels on black, from there to the studio-photography.

I use cutters and flags to shield and play with the light.

Photography can be a creative Art, a way of life and seeing life. For me, it also very often an urge, when I get that feeling, the embryonic idea, then the need to take it further, a passion seems to take over, I can rationalise everything else (except clients) away, without any sense of guilty responsibility, And everything has to ‘wait’ till I have the desired ‘result’!! Mental and emotional nourishment, great satisfaction or enormous frustration at my inability and shortcomings, I don’t always win!

All I can say is experiment, experiment, experiment... the camera, the lens, the exposure are irrelevant because each subject (in this case a flower), the material, circumstances, light source is different. Make it your own!

Have a wonderful day, filled with love and thanx for your visit, M, (*_*)

Included images:

1. Sensual: the petal of a red tulip, just some edge lighting.

2. I made this photo with a giant slinky.

Another eyeteaser, I really had a lot of fun with it, always the child at heart... thankfully.

I love all the vibrant colours in this funky and temperamental 'model', it is 'alive', misbehaved a lot and got entangled quite a few times, oohh give me children and animals any day, tee hee!
Mind your eyes, don't jiggle this about...

3. Oil and vinegar. Glass is one of the most difficult substances to photograph; my challenge is to use the reflections in a positive manner so that they add to the image.

I love using different oils and vinegars in the kitchen, so over the years these glass beauties have now become part of a collection, the first was the 'ball' cruet in front.

4. The painting where the idea originated from, now almost 20 years ago.

5. This is one in a series for an exhibit; the series was called Secret Garden.
No model was harmed during the making of this image.
These are flowers believe it or not, like little lanterns, about the size of a tennis ball. Very prickly.
I've always loved the reflection on the back.

MEDITATION ON THE SUBJECT OF PHOTOGRAPHY.

1. A BIT OF NOSTALGIA

2. 2 with water, 1 with sand

3 the way it used to be.

4 The station master with a display of old luggage

5 Engine 30926 leaves.


6 I ran alongside as the steam train was leaving the station..., it made the driver smile,

7 The stoker

8. The stoker's hand, looks like a charcoal drawing...

9. FROM A BRIEF ENCOUNTER, an air of mystery and romance forever linked with that classic A Brief Encounter...
The driver was smoothly reversing the train out of the station,


10. The driver11. Bye, off in smoke.

All in good cheers, I’m writing this with a big smile.
PHOTOGRAPHY comes from the classical Greek
Photon=light
Grafein=to write, to paint.

PHOTOGRAPHY:
1: the act of taking and printing photographs.
2: the process of producing images of objects on photosensitive surfaces.
3: the occupation of taking and printing photographs or making movies. (Dictionary.com)

Like everything else, you need the tools of the trade…
Camera, light and ACTION!
Note I wrote camera, no distinction, it is my firm conviction that it is the person using the tools that is responsible for the result.

So that whole squabble and debate about film/digital, I WILL NOT EVEN GO INTO THAT NOW! Because it is irrelevant, just like the whole 'debate about brands', Canon versus Nikon, how silly.... I have and still do use both, often. Oke, digital is winning, but I still think that film has a 'natural' moody (colour/grain) quality that you have to 'put in' digital? Digital has other qualities, but that is really for another blog.

My camera HAS to be me my partner, I must love it straight away, I must love the feel of it immediately, we are going to work and have fun together, I must be able to rely on it, make it give me the results I have in my minds eye, my creative brain!

Give me any camera and I’ll do you the job, that’s a fact not a boast, been there, worn the T-shirt, bla-bla-bla!
Personally, far more important, a good portrait depends on my ability to communicate with the subject, my rapport. No matter the person, age, country, religion or any other circumstances, the success rests on how I approach the situation, the light and most importantly, my state of mind. Surprised? You shouldn't be!
The Greek have a lovely word: logiki... people sense the mood you are in and will respond accordingly.

It does not come easy to me, because I’m a shy person.
BUT, IT IS A BARRIER I OVERCOME EACH TIME.
If I can put them at ease, often simply by empathizing about the fact that I do understand, because I also do not like to be photographed, relax them, often by explaining what is going on, why a specific light or lens, they get interested and into it. Be strong but not overpowering, be kind and understanding but keep that gentle strength (and when it is a NO, ACCEPT IT! Nothing can work in such a situation).
You always have the hopeless ones (like, for example, hihi, photographers, radio-people, now I know why they are just a voice!!), but the TV-people are difficult in a different way, as soon as they sense the lens, they give you the ’stereo-type, standard' smile, which is also not what I want.
Often on sites, portraits are less appreciated; I think most people are scared? On the other hand on the website it is by far the MOST VIEWED section!

I had a comment once;
“I usually don't click on portraits because I don't know much about them (but I hope to someday). But this is a classic that gives me lots of ideas on how to do them!”
Someone else wrote:
“And Magda is a professional with many years experience. Most of us amateurs (enthusiasts=the new title recently) are still learning and finding our feet.”

Do you think I’ve stopped learning? I probably work harder at it than most, trying out different, new light settings and techniques.
You must all realize that, like in everything else, there’s also an ever changing TREND.
You only have to look at the family/school/wedding portrait of 50-20 years ago!!!!!!!!
I say it time and time again, there are no secrets!

I upload some images of portraits I took last Saturday! The steam train was late, I'd been told: 'no luv, not t'day anymore'. I photographed some details at the old station, I heard the whistle, Had to run all the way back. By the time I got to the driver and stoker, they were about to reverse away, I was able to 'establish' a quick rapport (often people get a fright when they hear I have a foreign accent, which is an additional obstacle, some freeze!), give them a card so I'd be able to send them some prints, took some portraits, ran alongside, a few more... It was over, right out of A Brief Encounter.

Enjoy your photography, make good use of, play and paint with light, in your FREE photography take images ONLY for YOU, overcome barriers if you have to...if you can...
Thanx, M, (*_*)

ALL ABOUT TIME AND TIMELESSNESS

In West-Flanders, one of the provinces that form Belgium, small as it is, it is still divided.

Here I was in ‘de Westhoek’ (the West corner); it is the area of the North French border, the corner between the North Sea and the Flemish Ardennes named so because the landscape changes from flat to hilly.

Yes, Le plat pays, where I was born…

It was the first of August, at the height of summer.

A gentle breeze came from the sea, the distance shimmering with the heat from the land rich in harvest.

The light was too harsh to photograph ‘well’.

But it was now or not, what would you choose when you are there?

In this world where everything is in the fast lane and rushed, where we have no time to ‘stand and stare’ anymore so it seems …

I see so many arriving at some beauty spot, jump out of the car, stretch their arm, look for a couple of seconds, take a few shots and off, on to the next.

Meandering along the tiny canals, the old waterways, aimlessly, wherever, taking in the beauty, we arrived in a typically Flemish village. The small church in the middle, surrounded by an old graveyard, a few houses circled around, to the left the road ends at a Belgian military cemetery.

If you want to hear the sound of silence, that is the place to go, or so one would think?

The rustling of the poplars and light breeze waves the leaves of the trees and we can hear sparrows twittering nearby, their chorus changes into a chirping frenzy, probably to warn of danger to the birds sunbathing in the soft earth, between the carpet of green and the rows upon rows of headstones, uniform, with the Belgian flag enameled into the stone, above the names, the age, the rank.

All those young lives curtailed, so much sadness, the silence has descended within me.

Under a row of poplars is a bench, I sit and day dream and wait for Paul to take his images. It is so peaceful.

We head back to where we left the car, not saying much, thinking a lot.

We try the small church, to our joy the heavy door creeps open with a low groan, a coolness greets us, the scent of incense, and more silence.

Except, there is music playing, hardly disturbing the silence, it is a soft classical melody, with the waves of the sea.

The soles of our rubber shoes squeak on the cold shiny blue stone ashlars floor as we walk around.

I go and sit on the front row, the sunlight streams through the windows, creating pools and patches of warmth and colour. I sit and stare once more, soaking up the atmosphere, looking, seeing new things constantly. In places of worship there's a special mood, a serenity that envelopes one.

The light patterns of the donated window attract my attention, families used to give out of gratitude, if someone had survived a grave illness for example, their prayers had been answered.

The walls are white with some stone left visible in places, it all speaks of sobriety.

How many were baptised in this little old church, how many got married… how many were buried here, part of the Roman tower under which I’m sitting dates from the 12^th century?

It is hard to believe that during the Great War this church survived, in the middle of the battle-fields.

Time has stopped, I am at a zenith of peace.

After a while I pick up my camera, check the settings and from where I sit, I take my images, the altar with the fresh flowers, the organ with the shiny pipes and rich wood… the shutter of the camera sounds like a gun so loud.

I walk around and see the wood-carved ‘family’, an old silver lamp without the candle, but the door is open, I photograph the holy-water font which looks cracked and sober.

I look back one last time before the heat and brightness hits us, we pass the old graves with the rusted crosses and fading portraits.

We drive off in silence, still tasting the timeless moment.

My advice to any photographer here is, if it is something that is not ‘a moment’, absorb the mood first, look and you will see, then, take your photos with the emotion and attention they deserve…

Thanx, M, (*_*)

RIP MY FRIEND FROM FLAMBOROUGH

1 The Yorkshire Heritage Coast



2. Different in winter.

3. Different in summer. Fishing from high on the cliffs.

4. Autumn, it can get rough and even more beautiful.


5. Always something to photograph!


6. Robert with the man who used to build his boats.... had come to pay him a visit and talk about the old days.

7. The boats get tied up and secured firmly during the high tides.

8. Lovely names and colours.

9. Their pride...

10. Robert, my friend

11. The tear...

R.I.P ROBERT EMERSON.

Flamborough, on the stunning North- Yorkshire Heritage Coast, one of our fave haunts around here, just under two hours away it is a place that is special, the rugged white cliffs, its inlets and coves, the clear blue water, the sounds and smells now so familiar, we need our regular dose of it. WE ALWAYS find something new to photograph, the sea is ever-changing as is the sky and the light, the seasons.

You can go to Flamborough Head with the light house, but we love Smuggler’s Cove… You arrive through the small village, the road opens up, the gulls welcome you, there’s a big parking, and that’s where his van stood, always the first thing you saw, winter summer, always a fire going in a drum, the back doors open, people…

I took many portraits of this beautiful man, gave him copies the next time for which he was always grateful, but being a true Yorkshire man… I always had to pay for my crab! Hihi. Gladly, because these people deserve every penny, such a hard life!

This is about Robert, my friend, who is no more; I just heard he died last month.
All his life, except for the war, he lived in Flamborough, born into a proud family of fishermen; he was also a life long volunteer of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution.
He eyes shone when he told me that all the boats belonging to him and his family had lovely names like ‘Madeleine Isabella’ and their signature is a white rose, the Yorkshire symbol!
He still went out to inspect his crab pots every early morning, well in his eighties, the women cleaned, prepared and dressed them, most for the fishmongers on markets, the rest for the back of his van, parked in his place at Smuggler’s Cove, where he sold them, that’s how we met.
I love fresh crabs and he loved people…
If you're lucky, you encounter some people in your life that are special, add something, who leave a lasting impression even if you met them only occasionally enrich you forever, Robert was such a man.
I remember the times we sat together, chatting and laughing, wonderful. He loved holding my hands in his huge, rough, calloused hands.

When he heard I was from Belgium, he grabbed my hand; in front of his distant, watery eyes he saw the horrors of war, as we sat next to his dressed crabs, in silence.
I grew up hearing about it; I grew up amongst the many graves in Flanders.

It was a winter’s day, bitingly cold, I’ll never know if the tear on his cheek was the icy wind or …
His kind face etched by the tearing wind and salt and sun and conditions of the North Sea, his pale blue eyes damaged by glare, here he is squinting, but, he had the most amazing gaze. I can't go back there yet, I need some time, give him a place in my heart...

Time is precious, best use it for good, have a lovely day and thanx for your time, Magda, (*_*)

WHY DO YOU STILL MARCH OLD MAN,
WITH MEDALS ON YOUR CHEST?
WHY DO YOU STILL GRIEVE OLD MAN,
FOR THOSE FRIENDS YOU LAID TO REST?
WHY DO YOUR EYES STILL GLEAM OLD MAN.
WHEN YOU HEAR BUGLES BLOW?
TELL ME WHY YOU CRY OLD MAN,
ABOUT THOSE DAYS SO LONG AGO?
_________________________________
I'LL TELL YOU WHY I MARCH YOUNG MAN, WITH MEDALS ON MY CHEST.
I'LL TELL YOU WHY I GRIEVE YOUNG MAN, FOR THOSE I LAID TO REST.
THROUGH MISTY FIELDS OF GOSSAMER SILK
COME VISIONS OF DISTANT TIMES.
WHEN BOYS OF TENDER AGE LOST LIVES
AND ALL THEIR MOTHERS PINED.
WE BURIED THEM IN A BLANKET SHROUD,
THEIR YOUNG FLESH, SCORCHED AND BLACKENED.
A COMMUNAL GRAVE, NEWLY GOUGED,
IN BLOODSTAINED GOURSE AND BRACKEN.
AND YOU ASK ME WHY I MARCH YOUNG MAN?
I MARCH TO REMIND YOU ALL.
THAT FOR THOSE APPLEBLOSSOM YOUTHS, YOU'D NEVER HAVE KNOWN FREEDOM AT ALL.

This poem is published with the kind permission of Brian Hutson.

A FEW HOURS WITH WILLEM VERMANDERE

Please do not COPY or use any of my images on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved.

Willem Vermandere is a famous Belgian Artist.

He is a sculptor, singer songwriter, musician, writer, poet and painter, but also a wonderful philosopher and raconteur. His style is a quiet sobriety, he writes his texts from the heart and his deep beliefs and convictions and humanity.

I have followed his career over the years, been to some of his concerts, my boys grew up with his music, he sings mostly in Flemish which they loved. They were used to hearing French, Dutch and English, but thought it hilarious that someone was singing in our dialect, using our pithy language in such a juicy and story telling way.

As a professional photographer, it had always been a dream to photograph him, but somehow the wish was strong but the courage weak to even try and approach him. Except for this time...

A couple of months ago I heard an interview on the radio, and I suddenly felt: It is NOW or NEVER!!

This man has no internet I was not surprised to hear!

Without too much hope, I pleaded my case, I obviously found the right words. I had a great understanding and respect for the fact that Artists and 'well-known' people have an absolute right to their privacy.

I was not insistent (opdringerig), I'm still surprised today that we got permission!

It is not something he'd often agree to ...

Now, I know that Willem only has time, in his very busy schedule, for recognised media professionals like us.

A one off, that we still cherish.

A date was set, we could go around. I had written that I did not want a 'set-up' portrait, that I would photograph him at whatever he was doing.

It turned out above anything I'd hoped for.

He lives in a small lovely and typical village in Flanders.

As we parked our car, he arrived pushing a wheelbarrow.

He put it down and came to us, pointing his finger, ‘AAAhhh Groot Britannie!’

I could see he was ‘dressed’ for sculpting, the blue cloth cap and pants streaked with the white dust of exotic stone.

He told us to follow him, we walked the side path of his house, it was a lovely day, the sparrows chirping away in the warm loamy soil. Round the back, he showed the piece he was working on, he returned with a pneumatic chisel and whilst talking above the infernal noise, he was roughly chipping away. I smiled tongue in cheek and told him how disappointed I was, he turned and came back with the hammer and ‘proper’ chisel, went to the hands he was sculpting, the finer details…

Next he took us to a piece of beautiful granite, which was in a further stage of finish.

He showed his wooden sculptures, his hands caressing as he stopped or passed, he pointed out materials, walking through, we arrived in his studio, where he kept all his paintings and lithographs, one after one he proudly exhibited them in front of us. Having also painted, we conversed about different techniques and pigments and papers.

I looked at his hands, no callouses I noticed, a few knicks... being a musician, he told me he has to take care of them!

We moved on back outside, he was just back from a few days in Burgundy, where he had visited the quarries and handpicked new stones, he showed us some of the smaller ones, the larger ones would come…

A tall structure he was also working on, 3 tons it weighed. A pick axe he lifted, which at the moment he wasn’t happy with, it was too blunt. Another chisel, another stone, it was like he had been starved and needed to chop, the stone chunks and chips were flying everywhere, a big one hit me on the chest, we all stepped back as the possessed artist hammered away.

Of course I was worried for my lens!

We returned and entered the coolness of his house, he talked about his instruments, his music... and played and sang for us, the bit he had composed that morning, whilst he was waiting for us to arrive.

By that time, since we were in such close one on one conversation most o the time, I had lost the nerve to lift my camera and stick it into his face, I’d nodded at Paul, like so often, he understood, we work so well together. He was going to do the reportage!

Here is Willem, surrounded by some of his collection, his clarinet on the table; it was the instrument of his father who taught him. In the bg you see some of his smaller wood carvings.

My granddaughter walked into my shot, she was mesmerized by his mastery on the different guitars and string instruments, an accomplished musician.

He picked up what I think was a more recent acquirement of which he was very proud, the bass clarinet. The sound of it is still beautifully vibrating in my bones, deep and rich, but played in a hauntingly nostalgic way with a tone heard in Hebrew music. An unusual instrument that he uses on his latest CD, stories and songs all about the GREAT WAR... people who survived it and that he used to know and listen to... I can recommend it, but it IS IN FLEMISH...

Here is a poet who can bring the pearls of tears from the depth of my soul.

We reminisced about being born, as I call it, ‘in the shadows of the poppies!’

He took his house keys and informed us (and his wife, probably in the kitchen) that we were off for a pint to the corner pub, well, the village only had one, I told him, ‘our treat’, ‘then I’ll have two’ he laughed.

It was visible that he was well known and liked there amongst his people.

Sitting around the table, he concentrated on Paul when he realised by the accent in the Flemish that hey, here was something… yes he was born in Cape Town, no his mother tongue was English. He stroked and scratched his beard, well well, of all the… you know what, a South African lecturer and storyteller asked my permission to translate some of my texts, he’s done some of Jacques Brel.

He insisted we accompany him back so that he could photocopy the texts for Paul.

It was the midday, the heat of the day, cool in the house, I spotted his wife, she always kept outside of his public life.

Not often have I seen such kindness in a face. We had a wonderful moment together, so this was his muse, she rayed with a confident intelligence, one of those people, tell them half a word… they know the rest…

We left each other somewhat reluctantly, feeling good and close, it was clear we had all enjoyed the experience.

Me, that day I met the 'MENS' Vermandere!

His website: http://willem-vermandere.be/

ANOTHER (later) STORY 2009: http://magdaindigo.blogspot.com/2009/09/let-me-tell-you-story-once-upon-time.html

All the best, thanx, M, (*_*)