#261 – Cheadle Bleachworks

For reasons that are, at best unclear, and at worse, downright weird, I have this thing about industrial ruins. Not so ruined that you can’t tell what it was, but ruined enough to be beyond repair. Proper mongy old crap – roofs caved in, doors hanging off and such like. They’re usually quick to explore as there’s not much to see, and quite often mostly inaccessible, but from an aesthetic perspective, they can throw up some interesting photographs.

Cheadle Bleachworks was one of the most ruinous places I’ve stumbled through. The history of it is pretty vague as quite understandably, no-one has been bothered to spend that much time researching it, and it’s a pretty insignificant place anyway.

Not being burdened with much in the way of roofing, the strong directional sunlight shining through the remains of the decrepit structures made for some interesting shadows, and if anything, these are best displayed on the monochrome images. These are true monochrome inasmuch as they were taken on proper black and white film (Ilford XP2) using a Nikon FM. If anything, I think I prefer these to the ones I took of the same scenes in colour, but the colour images were better out of the direct sunlight. I also experimented for the first time with selective colour (see the first image), which at the time in 2007 was quite a popular technique. It’s fallen out of favour since somewhat, primarily in my opinion, because like HDR, people either overdid it or used blatantly unsuitable images. I’ve done very few other selective colour images, but I like to think that this one has stood the test of time and still works. It’s certainly done well in competitions.

‘PLEASE KEEP THIS DOOR CLOSED’

The site was a fairly unremarkable explore that doesn’t stand out in my memory, other than the crunching of broken glass and roofing material underfoot (which is why I always wear boots or safety shoes on explores), and the drums of unidentified chemicals that had been left / dumped in one of the rooms.

Company records still on site, although slightly singed after someone indulged in a spot of arson.

Boilers

Despite the apocalyptic devastation, it’s somewhat ironic that this site was bought by a developer who intended to convert some of the buildings to housing.  Mystifying to me as none of the buildings, in my opinion had any architectural merit whatsoever, but kudos to the developer for tackling this site and making a silk purse out of a real sow’s ear.

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

Hard to imagine, but this is now a rather nice property, complete with a 100 foot tall red brick chimenea in the back yard, a talking point if nothing else.

# 259 – Staffordshire Collieries Part 1 – Chatterley Whitfield

Another one from the archives here, this was an ‘official’ visit to this crumbling edifice on a so-called open day. Actually, that’s being harsh and doing a disservice to our guides from the Ffriends of Chatterley Whitfield, who are probably more disappointed about the condition of this place than anyone else, and I’m sure have the best interests of the place at heart.

The colliery was one of the last in the Staffordshire coalfield, and upon closure, became a museum. however, this closed in 1993 due to drainage problems, but I’ve also heard that there were some other financial issues. However given the amount of infrastructure on site, the upkeep of the site must have been massive. That’s a great shame, because compared with other preserved collieries such as the National Coalmining museum in Yorkshire, it’s almost completely intact. Well, sort of. The majority of the site is out of bounds due to it being in such poor condition, indeed, I was speaking to a former NCB surveyor, who is now a consulting surveyor, and although he’d been asked to do a survey on the site, some bits they wouldn’t let him into due to it’s condition. THat it’s been allowed to deteriorate to such an extent is scandalous, and English Heritage have already listed it as being ‘At Risk’ and requiring at least £25million to repair (although given that you have to use a cartel of suppliers named by English Heritage to repair listed buildings, that might be somewhat inflated?).

 Platt Shaft

The worry is that the place will either just collapse, or end up having to be demolished. Given the lack of money around at the moment, especially amongst the public sector, I really cannot see how this place can be restored, at least not in its entirety. It would be a huge shame if it ended up as a watered down, stripped out museum like the National Coal Mining Museum (enjoyable though it is to visit).

Industrial landscape

So as we walked through the miles of Herras fencing with our hard hats and an unusually high number of escorts / guides, we had to contend with looking at the buildings and headstocks from something of a distance. Yes, yes, I know all about H&S considerations, insurance, etc, but it would have been nice to have been allowed a bit closer or even in some of the buildings.  The saving grace were our main guides, both former colliery workers, whose stories helped put a lot of the site into context, and it was worth the visit just for this alone.

Decay

The only buildings we actually entered were the lamp house and the semi-restored bath house, where I was fortunate to be able to capture one of my favourite photos, ‘Colliers Boot’.

Colliers Boot

Sinke – this being Stoke, I’d presume they were locally made

If you do get the chance to visit this place in one of the increasingly rare open days, do so, but don’t expect to see a great deal.

Former glory – probably taken some time in the 60′s or 70′s. Pretty much everything you see in this picture is still there.

#257 – Riverdance

I posted this photograph of the MS Riverdance a couple of years back, but seeing the recent posts on Geotopoi of the wreck of the MV Carrier brought back a few memories.

The story is well documented - storm force winds hit Britain at the end of January 2008, and overnight, the cargo ferry Riverdance was hit by a huge wave while trying to make it to the Lancashire port of Heysham. This cause the cargo to shift and the ship started to list at 60 degrees. Mayday was called, and the crew and passengers were airlifted off, before the ship ran aground on the beach at Cleveleys.

The next day, residents awoke to see this huge ship lying on the beach, just off the prom, and pictures of it were all over the news channels. The weather the following day remained wet and very windy, but overnight, it had become something of a tourist attraction.

I’d just returned from a holiday in sunny Australia, but despite being severely jetlagged, I decided that this wasn’t the kind of thing that happens everyday round these parts, so I made the short trip up to Cleveleys to see what was going on. The town centre somewhat overrun with cars, but I’d already got a photo in mind looking back down the coast towards neighbouring Blackpool, so I headed north for some easier parking and set off down the beach in the face of a strong, bitterly cold wind throwing rain and hail at me off the Irish Sea.

This being the first day of February, the light was very low in the sky and somewhat weak, and as I headed southwards down the beach into the sun, the light seemed to be constantly changing as the strong winds continued to blow dark clouds across the sky.

Seeing the ship lying on the beach at a jaunty angle was a strange sight. It’s hard to articulate why – maybe it’s because your typical image of a shipwreck is one you’d see on TV news of a ship at the bottom of a steep cliff being smashed apart by the waves, or of a ship taking in water at sea. But to see a completely intact ship on a flat beach, a few hundred yards from houses and shops, with lean so severe that it’s cargo of articulated lorries were falling into the sea, was somewhat surreal.

Part of the reason I’d headed north from the wreck was because the photo I had in mind was inspired by a great photo on the BBC news websites ‘Big Picture’ feature., and I wanted to capture something similar. Using the telephoto, I was able to achieve exactly the composition I had in mind, although I had to get the positioning just right so that I could get a recognisable Blackpool Tower in to give the picture some context. Without it, well it could have been anywhere really couldn’t it? But I suppose that’s the art of the photojournalist, to tell a story in one picture.

Having a picture in mind was one thing, but the execution of it was another matter, thankfully, I was using a 70-300 VR lens that I’d just picked up in Hong Kong, en route to Australia, and the stabilisation was a real boon when using the lens at 300mm in a strong wind with what felt like frostbite eating my gloved hands.

With my main planned shot in the can, I started to see what other opportunities presented themselves. Getting close to the ship wasn’t going to happen as the Coast Guard were actively enforcing a 400 metre exclusion zone, so I was forced to look from afar. Just then, a yellow Sea King clattered into view and made it’s way to the ship. Hovering above the superstructure, the winch descended and lowered a man onto the precariously angled deck. On board must have been like a 1960’s Adam West era episode of Batman, and he didn’t appear to hang around for very long, before ascending back into the Sea King.

As I got closer I began to realise just hoe many people had turned out to gawp at the spectacle. Like a giant steel beached whale, the ship became a magnet for thousands of people. And not just from the shore. Ignoring the exclusion zone, the local kite surfers took advantage of the strong winds to get some spectacular height on their jumps, much to the frustration of the Coast Guard who couldn’t do much about them as they had no access to boats.

Walking back along the beach close to the sea wall, I noticed something that I’d missed on the way down the beach – millions of chocolate biscuits! I neglected to get a photo unfortunately, but amongst the shingle and flotsam and jetsam washed ashore in the storm were piles of soggy chocolate digestives that had previously been in one of the storm damaged artics on the deck of the ship. I didn’t salvage any as I’m not a fan of pre-dunked biscuits with my brew!

What became of the ship? After several attempts to refloat it failed, it was declared a total loss. I suspect this was partially due to its age, as it looked substantially intact, however, I’ve also read somewhere that a ships structure will weaken after a prolonged period of time aground at an angle. This is because the forces acting on it are different to what it was designed for, and so stresses are caused which could be terminal. So the decision was taken to break up the ship where she laid. This was no small task as clearly the beach is subject to the tides and whatever weather the Irish sea could throw at it. And with gravity eventually kicking in, the ship toppled onto its side which I would imagine isn’t the optimum position for shipbreaking. Demolition was eventually completed in October 2010, and I’ll try to dig out a few images I took on later visits.

Since 2008 there have been no more shipwrecks on the Fylde, indeed, there were only actually three in the 20th century. Whether this is due to advances in navigation technology, improvements in the seaworthiness of ships, or a decline in coastal traffic I don’t know, but that wild night in January will stick in local memories for years to come.

# 235 – Best of 2011 Part 1

In an idea shamelessly ripped off from Martin Creese’s excellent blog, I’ve decided to post up some of my favourite photos from the past year. Regular readers will probably recognise these pictures, but I’m halfway through writing half a dozen posts currently, so this seemed like a quick and easy way to fill in the gap until they’re ready!

On reflection, I’ve been less prolific in my favoured industrial / mechanical themes in 2011, as I have a lot less time on my hands than previous years, and this isn’t going to change, so there will be a lot fewer posts this year. However, I want to try to get up to #300 this year, but we’ll see.

Fernhurst Mill – Inside

This was one of my two explores of the year and was an old-fashioned (although hurried) through the fence and wander round explore around the now demolished Fernhurst Mill. I got some nice pics from the place, pity I didn’t get chance to see the fabulous engine house though. This one is very much my style and the kind of thing I look out for when exploring.

Fernhurst Mill – Outside

I like this as although it’s a fairly standard shot, the converging verticals emphasis the size of the place, and the piles of rubble and dark skies give a foreboding sense of what is to come for the doomed mill.

Zeebrugge

My only time spent overseas this year (unless you count The Isle Of Wight as being overseas) was a mini-cruise to Zeebrugge with the dreadful P&O. Well, the standard of service was poor on the ship, but at least Brugge was nice as was the weather. Taken from the deck of the ship as we left Zeebrugge.

The Driver

I took a whole series of similar photos at the nightshoot at the East Lancs, and it’s hard to pick a favourite. This once edges it for inclusion as it’s the most popular of the set on Flickr, although I still think the crop needs tweaking. Must remember to take my telephoto to this years so I don’t have to crop as much.

Vulcan

As a lifelong plane nut (as well as working in the aerospace industry), the Vulcan is my favourite plane ever and has been since I first saw it at airshows in the 1980′s. Various airshow cancellations and no-shows meant our paths hadn’t crossed since 1989, but finally, at the 2011 Southport Airshow, my famine ended. Charging down the coast at low level, a large black silhouette erupted from the wings of the stage that was Southport beach to perform its exquisite,  noisy ballet against a beautiful blue backdrop.  Perfection. But I converted it to black and white anyway to emphasis the elegance and menace that this endearing shape provides.

Ryde

A fairly average holiday in the Isle of Wight at least afforded me the opportunity to take a quick look at the crumbling remains of the paddle steamer Ryde. Due to its location it’s not possible to get an interesting camera angle on it like I could with the Duke Of Lancaster, so this is more of a record shot, as I can’t see it being there for much longer.

# 223- Derelict Mills 11 – Oakwood Mill

Some places are so derelict that they aren’t even worth spending much time photographing, let alone trying to find a way in. I’d spotted this place near to the old Railway Warehouse hidden in the woods in Mossley, so after mooching round there for a while, I thought I’d have a look at this place.

It was in even worse condition than I’d expected. It even made Ivy Bank Mill  look structurally sound. I’ve seen reports on this place since by people who’d bothered to find a way in, but I didn’t even make the effort, it really did look on the verge of collapse. And it didn’t even have any of the photogenic charm of Ivy Bank, it was just a ruin. I even wondered if someone had started to demolish the place, such was it’s abject state. It’s hard to believe that in 2010 places like this still existed, it’s the kind of place I remember seeing being demolished in the 1980′s.

These are pretty much all the photos I took of this place, normally I’d take many more, but this place wasn’t worth the bother.

Frankly I’d be more worried about it collapsing on your head than being prosecuted.

Not sure if this is the result of fire, decay or demolition.

This tends to be a bad sign.

Ablutions.

Best thing for this place is demolition. Can’t believe that it’s lasted this long.

Interestingly, the chimney was still standing, they’re often the first things to be demolished once a mill falls out of use. I guess stone chimnies last better than brick ones.

# 201 – before and after – articulating your vision photographically

“It is impossible for a photographic print to duplicate the range of brightnesses (luminances) of most subjects, and thus photographs are to some degree interpretations of the original subject values. Much of the creativity of photography lies in the infinite range of choices open to the photographer between attempting a nearly literal representation of the subject and freely interpreting it in highly subjective ‘departures from reality’ My work for example is frequently regarded is ‘realistic’, while in fact the value relationships within most of my photographs are far from a literal transcription of actuality. I employ numerous photographic controls to create an image that represents ‘the equivalent of what I saw and felt’ (to paraphrase a statement I heard on a number of occasions from Alfred Stieglitz – the great photographer of the early twentieth century). If I succeed, the viewer accepts the image as its own fact, and responds emotionally and aesthetically to it. It is safe to assume that no two individuals see the world about them in the same way.”

Ansel Adams, The Negative

Ansel Adam’s trilogy of books The Camera, The Negative and The Print are now decades old but while the darkroom techniques are now largely irrelevant to anyone using digital, the principles behind the creation of creative black and white images remain true.

For Ansel, the negative was just the starting point. In his book ‘The Print’ he describes how he printed his famous ‘Clearing Winter Storm’;

“During the main printing exposure of 10 second,, I hold back the shadowed cliff area near the right edge for 2 seconds, and the two trees in the right hand corner for 2 seconds…..After the basic exposure, I burn the bottom edge for 1 second and the lower left corner for 3 seconds. I then burn the left edge of the print for 2 seconds and the right edge for 2 seconds, in each case tilting the card to favour the sky.

Burning is required from the base of the sun lit forest areas, near the waterfall, to the top of the image, with three up and down passages of 3 seconds each. I then burn the sky along the top for 10 seconds, continuing with the 2 and 4 seconds at the upper left corner. Then using a hole 1 inch wide, I burn the central area (between the two cliffs and the clouds above) for 10 seconds, and then bring the hole closer and burn the smaller area of cloud for an additional 10 seconds.”

Phew!!! a testament not only to his vision (and being in the right place at the right time), but also his ability to translate that vision, using his knowledge of exposure, film, paper and developer properties and of course his printing expertise.

But the parallels are starting to become clear with the digital darkroom. Where before there was a negative, there is now a raw (or possibly a jpeg) file, while the variables of development and printing are practically eliminated.

The images of The Duke Of Lancaster that I’m using are ones I’ve used several times before in this blog, and I’ve even gone into my thought processes, but here I want to explore them a bit deeper, more the why than the how.

I started with some research – the internet is a godsend for this kind of thing! I looked at the location on Google Earth to get an idea of the topography, as well as look at loads of photos on flickr and Geograph http://www.geograph.org.uk/gridref/SJ1779. Photos on Geograph are rubbish from a creative perspective, but do give a good idea of the surroundings, whereas the flickr ones are more variable. While good from an inspiration perspective, none of them really moved me, although some of the night photographs are superb! However, on this occasion, night photography wasn’t what I was doing. While it would have been nice to have chosen the optimum time of day, light and weather conditions, I didn’t have that luxury as I don’t exactly live on the doorstep, neither do I have unlimited opportunities to go out and photograph.

So what did I have in mind? I wanted to interpret the scene as I felt it. How do you ‘feel’ a visual scene that you have no emotional attachment to? To me a scene is not just the sum of the elements you see before you, that’s just composition. So what did I see and feel? I saw a sad scene before me, a proud old liner slowly rotting away in a forgotten old dock. The paint was rusting, the flags weren’t flying and the happy travellers had been replaced with the occasional urban explorer. It’s future is uncertain, but whatever happens the old ship isn’t likely to be sailing very far, or to a happy ending.I felt quite sad that this graceful old liner was marooned here so I wanted to portray something dark and dramatic, that had a sense of place. This brings me to the coastal landscape – I’ve always found estuaries a bit weird. There’s something about places where the land fades into the sea that is slightly surreal. Maybe it’s because they’re the only landscape that is constantly changing, or the lack of people and buildings, I don’t know.

Creative choices started at the location – lens choice (16-35 to get foreground, 28-70 to get the wider scene) composition (placement of the ship in the frame, how much sky to include, how much foreground) and exposure (underexposed to capture some detail in the sky). I then took 30 or so different images of slightly different compositions to give myself plenty of choice later on.

When I got back, I uploaded them to Lightroom and viewed them all sequentially in a slide show, ranking them 1-5 as I went on, and then just viewed the ones with 4 and 5 stars. I then switched the computer off and left them for a few days and came back to take another look. It’s surprising how you see things differently once you come back later. I then made my final selections, based on what ‘looked right’.

As someone far wiser than I once said, every image contains a hundred others. I now had my starting point, but I now wanted to transform it into something which communicated what I had in my head. As the image was a raw file, it all looked a bit dreary and flat, so I had to start the processing in Lightroom. I had in my head a high contrast black and white with a dramatic sky, so I needed to recover some detail in the sky first of all. Thankfully, I’d underexposed so there were no burnt out highlights.

This left a muddy looking image, but you can only do global adjustments in Lightroom, so I had to move to Photoshop to start the buggering about with layers and making local adjustments to curves, sharpening, etc.

Once in Photoshop, I converted to black and white using Nik Silver Efex. There are loads of ways of converting in Photoshop, none of which I can be bothered with as I foind the Nik plug in both easier to use and provides a better result. In Photoshop proper, I made separate selections for the sky, foreground and ship, which are the three key compositional elements. The sky was adjusted using curves, as was the foreground. I also created a duplicate layer of the foreground and changed it’s layer type to multiply to give it the contrast I was looking for. I also adjusted the brightness of the ship slightly to make it stand out against the dark backgrounds, as well as giving it some extra sharpening.

Result: well if you read this blog regularly, you’ll have seen it before, but I’m most pleased with it, and recently got it put on a 30 x 20 canvas by Vista Digital in Longridge near Preston, who I can highly recommend, as inkjet printing of monochrome images is difficult and they did a superb job of it! My own print of it also came second in the Brownedge Arts Festival Photographic Competition, the prize money more than off setting the cost of the canvas!

So what are the lessons I learnt from this?

1) Think about how the scene in front of you moves you.

2) Think ahead when choosing your exposure.

3) Where possible, do some research in advance. Some photographers prefer not to view other images of the scene as they want the photograph to be theirs, not influenced by someone else. I can understand this point of view, but you’re missing out on potentially some great ideas for compositions. You don’t have to copy, the creative choices will always be your own!

#192 – Beauty in Decay?

 “Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it”.

Confucius

 “Bleak factory buildings and billboard-cluttered avenues look as beautiful to the camera’s eye as churches and pastoral landscapes. More beautiful by modern taste”

Susan Sontag

Wabi-sabi is a somewhat nebulous Japanese term without any straightforward definition. In this context, Wabi has come to mean humble and simple, while means rusted and weathered, thus combined, the two words suggest what Zen scholar Daisetz T.Suzuki called ’an active aesthetical appreciation of poverty’.   I was intrigued to read about this concept in ‘The Photographer’s Mind’ by Michael Freeman, and it got me thinking.

The camera is a tool unique among those used with artistic intent (if not skill), in its use to record images that are not considered universally beautiful. While I will concede that an artists palette, canvas and brushes are arguably not the most practical things to take when exploring abandoned buildings, and that the timescales involved in creating a photographic image vs a painted or drawn image are vastly more convenient, I’ve yet to see a painted or drawn image of modern decay. Sure, there have been painters such as Caspar David Friedrich in the 19th Century who painted ruins, but modern ruins tend to be less romantic structures than those depicted in days gone by. And yet, a good photograph can be just as evocative as a painting.

Maybe it is the romance of ruined ancient temples and fortresses, the magnificence of ruined abbeys that make these attractive to painters, and the mundanity, functionality and commonality of modern decay that make them less attractive to painters. Or maybe it’s the fact that ruined churches and castles are far more symbolic than a wrecked mill – a place of worship are sacred places where people go to be closer to God, while castles are a form of military might, a stronghold dominant on the landscape built to defend against any enemy. A wrecked mill will never come close to evoking the emotions of church and fort, yet, why do people like myself photograph them? People are drawn to decay for many reason, but I’m thinking of the people who go in for aesthetic reasons rather than any other, be it nefarious or curious. Maybe it’s that in our modern times, where the economics of commerce and industry have replaced religion and feudal warfare as the dominant influences in our societies, we look at these ruins of factories, hospitals and other institutions with a degree of pity, pathos even, and feel a desire to record them.

One of my favourite images is this one of Griffe Mill, near Haworth. It’s been abandoned since the 1920′s, and its thick stone walls reminded me of a castle. I think this is as close as I’ll get to a romanticised view of an abandoned building. Sitting peacefully at the side of a stream at the bottom of a quiet Yorkshire valley, it almost vanishes in the summer behind a swathe of trees and undergrowth. I like this particular image because of the proximity of the tree, it’s almost as if it is putting a protective arm around the shoulder of a friend in distress, and yet the tree has been there much much longer than the mill, and will probably still be there when the walls of the mill finally come falling down. I’m sure it would make a grand painting!!

#181 – Thorpe Marsh Revisit part 5 – Self Portrait

Unlike many explorers, I rarely do self portraits, in fact I’m rarely photographed at all, as I’m usually on the other side of the camera. Plus, I rarely bother to take a tripod out when I explore, without which self portraiture is troublesome. Hence, I suffer from a crippling lack of imagination when I do it, so here’s me and some, err cooling towers.

#180 – Thorpe Marsh Revisit Part 4 – 3 Kings

Similar to a photo from my last visit, but with a slightly different sky, I captured this just as the mist was clearing. It’s still a colour photo, but you’d be hard pressed to tell as it’s a somewhat monochromatic scene.

#179 – Thorpe Marsh Revisit part 3 – Railway Miscellenea

Like pretty much all power stations, Thorpe Marsh was rail linked, in fact it sits alongside the East Coast Main Line. For some reason, the sidings are still intact, albeit heavily overgrown with those trees that seem to grow spontaneously on all disused railway lines. Intriguingly, there are also bits of the signalling insfrastructure still intact (just) as well, although all the switchboxes have predictably been stripped of all their copper.

I can only think that the sidings were left en situ for any potential future use of the site, but until they figure out how to bring the cooling towers down, time stands still.