the importance of a good title

When entering photographs into competitions, especially ‘open’ (i.e. unthemed) ones, it is critical to choose a great title for your entry. A good title can make the difference between a judge (or any viewer) looking at the image and thinking ‘I don’t know what the photographer is trying to say!’, or thinking ‘Ah, I get it’. To me, a good title adds context to something that may be abstract or in my case, something that is ugly to look at, but makes you think beyond mere aesthetic attractiveness.

This was brought home to me recently in a number of competitions, both positively and negatively. Example 1  – Luneside Landscape.  I did struggle to think of a decent name for this, but thought that it was pretty blatant and didn’t really need any further explanation.

So I just named it after the area – the Luneside area of Lancaster. The judge thought the picture was great (it got 19/20) but didn’t think the name did anything for it. In retrospect I think I agree. The Luneside bit is irrelevant, it adds nothing to your understanding of the image (unless you live in Lancaster). I’m still not sure what a better name is, but it’s worth thinking about if I enter it in any other competitions.

Example 2 – Natural Decay. This one did really well (it won) in a club competition, and the judge thought the name was particularly appropriate.

I’m glad because it took me a while to think of it, but not nearly as long as it took to cut out that damn fern, but that’s another story! Although natural decay doesn’t describe what is in the picture (a derelict steam engine and a fern), it does describe what is going on, i.e. mans creations being taken over by nature.

Here’s one from the same competition that didn’t do as well. I titled it ‘Walking The Dog’, as what I had in mind was that the walker was doing something ordinary, but with something extraordinary in the background. Alas, my intention failed miserably, the judge thought that the title gave the wrong impression, and should have directed attention to the wreck.

I can see his point, and my title maybe didn’t communicate this well enough.

Finally, another competition winner – ‘Winters Morning Express’. While the judge didn’t comment on the title, I feel that it captures the essence of the image. It’s an atmospheric image, and the title evokes something about the romance of the steam train., while at the same time describing what is in the scene.

My method for creating titles, is to brainstorm words to describe what is in the picture, and words that what is imply the message that I want to get over. I then basically write them all down randomly across a page, and stick them together to see what works. Sometimes I’m successful, sometimes I’m not.

In summary, it’s not about being clever with your titles, but choosing something meaningful and intelligent. It sets the mood for the picture and can completely change the meaning of what you are looking at, as it can point the viewers direction in the way you want, rather than them drawing a different conclusion from what you intended.

The Life Formula For Visual Variety In The Photo Essay

I can’t remember where I got this from. For a typical assignment at the old Life magazine, the editors expected the photographer on location to shoot at leat eight basic types of photos to ensure complete coverage of the situation and to guarantee enough good pictures for a layout.

1] Introductory or overall – usually a wide angle or aerial shot that establishes the scene.

2] Medium – focuses on one activity or one group.

3] Close Up – zeroes in on one element, like a persons hands or an intricate detail of a building.

4] Portrait – usually either a dramatic, tight head shot or a person in his or her environmental setting.

5] Interaction – people conversing or in action.

6] Signature – summarizes the situation with all the key story telling elements in one photo – often called the decisive moment.

7] Sequence – a how-to, beofre and after, or a series with a beginning, middle and end (the sequence gives the essay a sense of action).

8] Clincher – a closer that would end the story.

Clearly, I don’t tend to follow these religiously. However I do find that they are useful guidelines when exploring and photographing a site.

the beauty of twilight

In my eyes, the best low light photography isn’t done in darkness, it’s done just before, just after the sun has set, but before the sky goes it’s inky black. It’s for that brief period of time when the sky goes a lovely cobalt blue colour, and you can really make a feature of the sky as part of your composition. Sure, I’ve taken some very nice photos with a black sky, but I think they work well because the black helps emphasise the other colours in the scene, as opposed to adding anything to the scene in itself.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twilight

This photo I took of the Victor at Elvington is a good example of the sky adding something extra to the photo:

This one is another where the colour of the sky becomes a compositional element:

Of course, sometimes, the black of night is just what is needed to add contrast to a scene. The garish colours of Blackpool need that black in the sky, I think.

The Industrial Tourist

For better or for worse, Britain in 2009 is very much a post industrial society. The physical and economic landscape of the north (and other regions) has been transformed with the well documented decline of the traditional industries, and the rise of the service sector. The skylines of our towns are different to 20, 30 40 years ago. The giant enterprises on which entire towns and villages were reliant on for their employment and prosperity have gone. Or so I thought.

I first encountered the steelworks at Scunthorpe after taking a wrong turn on my way home from Lincolnshire . I was aware that there was a steelworks there but had never given it any thought. But there, looming in front of me was this vast complex of huge buildings, chimneys and cooling towers. I was intrigued. A quick look on Google Earth when I get home confirmed the vast scale of things – a huge black and grey area that was the east side of the town. But like many things, it’s shrunk from what it was, as two other works in Scunthorpe were closed in the 80’s. But although the inevitable retail parks and distribution warehouses have sprung up, this is still a one horse town.

Thanks to the Appleby and Frodingham Railway Preservation Society, it is possible to indulge in a spot of industrial tourism and see the place close up form the relative comfort of a steam hauled brake van. This is an excellent opportunity to see something of the enormity of the operations – 2000 acres, traversed by 70 miles of railway line and 15 miles of road. It’s like a vast trains set juxtaposed onto a strange man-made landscape. Actually rail is the best way of seeing the site, as the roads don’t go everywhere the railway does, primarily because a lot of the material on site is moved around by conveyor or rail.

Our little train was hauled by a delightful little 0-4-0 Peckett steam locomotive whose remarkably short wheelbase was ideal for the tight turns around the site. Initially we steamed alone the lines between the sheds, and even backed into the track making mill, recently transferred from the now closed Workington site in Cumbria . But then we took a ride up a winding ramp to the ‘high level’ which was a great length of track that serviced the four blast furnaces. I’ll admit to not really understanding what went on as our guide sensibly sat in  the warmth of the brake van while I stood outside on the cold of the veranda.

Watching the site go by made me feel like I was on the set of some strange science fiction movie, sat in the distant future on a huge mechanised planet – all grey metal, huge pipes going off onto the horizon, steam, smoke, miles of cable and no people. Suddenly a strange-looking loco came shuttling down the high level, looking like a railway wagon cross-bred with a stealth fighter.

As it’s great grimy mass slowed to a halt under an enormous hopper, the orange clad driver inside it became visible through it’s blackened windows. Finally, life! I was reminded of Fritz Langs ‘Metropolis’, a nightmarish vision of the future filmed in the 1920’s were huge numbers of people went underground to work the huge machines that supported the modern society above. Sure, it was a Saturday, and we didn’t go into any of the production sheds, but caveats aside, this huge unmanned mechanical landscape seemed so out-of-place in our eco-friendly world of risk assessments, play stations, space travel, consumerism and Starbucks.

As we travelled round the site, it quickly became apparent that things were picking up at the plant. Despite mixed messages on the economy from the politicians and financiers, production was on the increase. An unusual gauge of this was the number of ‘torpedo’ wagons standing idle in sidings. These huge devices are used to ferry molten iron from the furnace around the site to where it is needed, and only three were laid up. This was regarded as an improvement and a sign things were getting better. As a lot of output from the plant is for the construction industry, they have really felt the brunt of the financial crisis.

We continued around the site chugging along side the slag heaps (worked by huge trucks rather than rail, alas), and between the enormous plate mills. These vast mills formed an enormous metallic canyon, and our shrill whistle echoed down it’s walls accompanied by the thump of the machinery hidden within. We passed briefly inside as the line took us through a huge warehouse, and got a tantalising glimpse of the cavernous interior, but emerged all too quickly back into the Lincolnshire drizzle.

As we made our way back round to our starting point, the steam and the noise from our little engine almost came symbolic as a bridge between our industrial past and the present. And yet the huge site it was transporting us round has its origins in the same Victorian times as the steam age technology that was propelling us.  Which got me thinking, 150 years from now, will people be as fascinated by the retail parks and warehouses of our times? I think not.

Industrial Lines

Taken on a recent tour of a steelworks. I deliberately underexposed, and then did a bit of masking and curves adjustments to get the image I had in mind when I took it. I think they used to call it ‘previsualisation’ in film days.

Panasonic Lumix LX-3 – first impressions

After 2 years of reliable service, I’ve sold my little Fuji F31 and bought a Panasonic Lumix LX-3.

For some time, I’ve wanted a compact with a wider angle lens and the ability to shoot raw files, but the number of compacts that could do both was extremely limited – the Canon G10 / G11, the Ricoh Gr series and the LX-3. The new micro 4/3 cameras looked interesting, but are expensive and a non have wide angles. I discounted the Ricohs as they do not have a zoom lens, and the Canons were too expensive, thus leaving me with a choice of 1.

Initial impressions – it certainly looks stylish in black, and it feels well engineered. The lens zooms and focusses quietly and reasonably quickly, and the screen is large and clear. The wide angle will take some getting used to as I’m used to the 35mm of the Fuji, although 24mm is what I’m used to on the D700. The zoom range is arguably limited at 24-60, but I don’t tend to zoom much anyway, so it’s not a big deal really.

Several interesting features I’m looking forward to trying out – Auto ISO (like on the D700), auto bracketing (great for HDR), Intelligent Exposure Adjustment, and Image stabilisation. I’m also interested in trying out the B & W modes  – being a raw shooter, I’ll be able to see the image on-screen in B & W as I’m composing and still retain the colour in the raw file.

I just need something to go and take pictures of, not easy when I don’t even see daylight these days during the week! Bring on the weekend!

Industrial Throwback

It was the smell that hit me initially. A deep, slightly sulphurous smell that reminded me of the aftermath of a passing steam train. But while that is fleeting, this was a permanent, pervasive smell that could be smelt well beyond the shoulder high perimeter wall

Inside, the site was dusty and grubby, and outside on the pavement where I stood, my boots made imprints in a thick layer of slightly sodden black coal dust, doubtless washed up off the road from the tyres of the coal wagons going to and from the site.

Suddenly, three men in grubby orange boiler suits and silver flame retardant headgear appeared and approached the long grimy bank of coke ovens. A siren sounded and atop the ovens, a mobile hopper slowly whined along the top to fill one of the tall steaming ovens with coal. Working independently of the hopper, a large grimy contraption ran on rails parallel to the ovens, driven by another orange clad worker. The three approached him and a discussion ensued. A wheel barrow was produced, and the contraption started extending itself into the ovens. Suddenly, great clouds of steam started billowing from a triangular wooden cooling tower, and an orange clad worker started prodding the oven, like a kamikaze volcanologist, reaching inside an industrial Vesuvius. Flames and molten matter poured into the hapless wheelbarrow. Around the other side of the ovens, steam and dust erupted form the oven and filled a railway truck as the steam continued to billow from the Toblerone like cooling tower.

I wandered further down the road, over the slightly elevated road bridge that once took the road over an old colliery railway. To the east I saw the old trackbed leading to a series of manmade hills, doubtless the legacy of the coal industry that once dominated this landscape, both physically and socially.

Over the bridge, I turned down an old road, past a coal merchants that was massively well protected with a cluster of CCTV cameras, and scrambled up a newish, sapling topped embankment. Looking back at the Coke works, I was struck by the geometry of the ugliness – tall chimneys, long diagonal conveyors, huge hoppers and towers. It is a landscape designed by a draughtsman, a big industrial dragon, belching smoke and flames. To my right stood huge black mountains of what looked like black sand, but was more likely finely graded coal.

These were great stockpiles of coal, the raw material that feeds the plant, and what provided a living for generations of local men until the 80’s, when Maggie’s determination to crush the unions led to the demise of a  once great industry. It was stockpiles of coal like this that helped bring the strike to an end, as the power stations kept generating and the lights stayed on, unlike the 70’s.

And then a distant siren brought me back to the present, and a plume of white steam erupted form the cooling tower. This is the way of industry – regular, continuous, dirty and monotonous,, but providing works and comradeship for those brought together to undertake it.

For better or for worse, one day this industrial dinosaur will be as extinct as the coal mines that once surrounded it, and maybe then, that odour of industry will be freshened at last.

cold war victor

Trying to photograph people using long exposures is nigh on impossible, as it’s difficult to stand absolutely still for more than about, 1/30 sec apparently. It’s not too bad if the person is at a distance, as any movement is less noticeable, but even so there is a limit.

I’d taken most of the pictures at this photoshoot on exposures between 6 and 30 seconds, and I was eager to get one with this chap in. So, using a 70-300VR at 90mm, and the camera at ISO6400, I was able to shoot at 1/50 sec, and the result isn’t bad. Sure if you start to zoom into the full size picture you’ll see noise, but generally, it’s quite clean.

It was the first time I’d used the D700 with the VR lens in low light, and I’m pretty impressed. It’s not a pro lens, but it’s compact and not bad optically, and at less than half the price of the 80-400VR, it’s a useful lens to have on hand.

Full set here.

Solitude

Looking for something – meaning, inspiration, warmth on a cold day. Hoffman Kiln at Langcliffe near Settle in Yorkshire.

mechanical landscape

The smell was what took me by surprise at Welbeck Colliery. I didn’t think there would be a smell for some reason, but there was a not unpleasant one for an industrial site. I suppose it smelt, to my nose, a bit like a steam railway, perhaps not surprising with the great piles of coal. But like the steam railways, this place will soon be as much a piece of history as they are, as the final coal will be won here in the next few months, and yet another Nottinghamshire pit village will be without a pit, and the peaks, troughs and diaganol geometry of this man made landscape will be level once more.