This is an image of my maternal grandfather's pocket watch. It turned up whilst I was clearing stuff in my father's house.
I don't know much about antique watches, but I think I'm safe in my assumption that this one isn't worth anything. It doesn't even work anymore.
My grandfather was not a wealthy man - he kept a small grocer's shop in the south end of Liverpool for many years. He was deadly rivals with "Old Man Tushie" - Rita Tushingham's father, who had a shop on the other side of Whitehedge Road.
The shop belonged to my grandfather's
adoptive father and on his death, my grandfather was forced to leave, buying a
house nearby, which eventually passed to my father, and is the one that I'm now clearing.
Despite the fact that the
house was completely renovated before we moved there, stuff that belonged to my grandfather keeps turning up. For example: I can remember that he had great bundles of pencils advertising brands which have long since ceased to exist, which he brought from the shop and kept in the understairs cupboard. That cupboard was cleared so that we could add a cloakroom sometime around 1980.
Yet there, in my father's desk tidy, the other day I came across a "Golden Stream" pencil.
[It was a brand of tea, in case you're wondering. I would quite like to know when it disappeared as that would give me a minimum age for these pencils - there are a few of them knocking about.]
This is all part of the spooky afterlife of stuff that I've alluded to before. Things that we own gather round us, then escape, elude and outlive us to fetch up who knows where and when in contexts that we could not conceive of when we had the use of them.
My grandfather could not have imagined that one day I would photograph his watch and post the image on this blog - he passed away long before the Internet age dawned.
So that's my contribution to the Halloween festivities - the image of our future ghosts lurking around our possessions to see where they end up.
Yet another image from the archives. This time, its the spikes on an ornamental artichoke.
This image was made during the summer of 2011, which feels roughly like a million years ago at the moment. At the time we had several of these plants in a bed in the centre of our lawn. Subsequently, we moved them into one of the side beds and allowed the centre bed to grass over, although our son keeps on searching for treasure there and delaying the process. Most of the plants survived the transplant and one of them is flowering at the moment.
Like the previous image, this one graced my desktop, this time on my work computer. My previous employer had somewhat more lax cyber-security arrangements than the current outfit that I work for, and it was relatively easy to upload images onto their system and turn them into wallpaper.
Hopefully, I'll have some new images to post soon.
I'm afraid that the image pipeline has dried up a bit recently. This is largely to do with the fact that my spare time isn't my own at the moment - I'm having to spend most of it sorting out my father's estate.
Another reason is the decision that I mentioned a few weeks ago, which involved swapping out my A100 for my A550 for landscape photography. The simple truth is that I haven't taken a decent landscape photograph since.
So, I've decided to present an image that I made several months ago - back in march in fact - whilst the hyacinths in are garden were in bloom. At the time, I'd decided to experiment with alternative tonings - other than my usual sepia tone, that is. The image itself was taken with a really shallow depth of field and overexposed to blow out the background and simplify the composition.
Unusually for me, I added a border. I had some intention to get the thing printed to fill a large green picture frame that we've have sitting empty for a while. The events took and unexpected turn and the idea was forgotten.
I still have the image as my desktop wallpaper, however. So maybe the idea will come to fruition sometime soon.
Okay, honestly, this will be the last image of this summer's marigolds that I post. And I've managed to use an even weaker pun than last time, invoking J Fenimore Cooper's 'classic' novel.
I say 'classic' because my wife has read it and reckons it's really dull. She was expecting Daniel Day Lewis, however.
But I digress, although I'm not sure from what.
Anyway, yet again my pretensions have led me to desaturate the image, which is a shame when you consider that the flower is a beautiful, flaming orange. But needs must and all that.
So, with that, summer is over and it will be autumn when I post next.
Can you believe that I created an image just so that I could use a really bad pun? And after I wrote that I wouldn't use any more punning titles.
Actually, I've been trying to find 'interesting' ways of using the many images that I've made of marigolds this summer. Generally, I keep a fairly strong distinction between my photography and any composited images that I may make. So this image blurs that line and it makes me feel uncomfortable.
In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if I delete this post fairly soon for that very reason...
We've had some marigolds - one of which is pictured above - growing a troughs either side of our front door all summer.
Now, the environment at the front of house is surprisingly harsh. The area is open to the south, so when the sun shines, everything bakes. And when it rains, it is lashed in by the winds blowing off Mark Moor.
But these plants have survived and flowered all summer long.
In previous years, I've spent a fair amount of time making images in the garden. But this year time has been more limited and the marigolds have really been the only flowers that I've managed to photograph.
So here it is - the photographic evidence of summer, 2012 as experienced in our Somerset garden.
PS: I recently had an email from Ian Dart - link to his flickr feed above, do pay a visit - whose opinions I value on photographic matters. Ian was good enough to say some kind words about the image in my previous post, but he did take me task on the title, which is fair enough.
So, no more punning titles. Ever. Promise.
This is an image of a Record No 77A bullnose rabbet plane.
This type of plane was manufactured continuously between 1933 and 1994, although the example above was probably made in the late 1950s or early 1960s. However, the basic layout must have been in use for hundreds of years. As a piece of industrial design, it is flawless. It fits in the hand perfectly - being about four inches in length and just over a pound in weight.
The nose of the plane is removable - by releasing the screw that can be seen towards the top of the front elevation. This is to enable the user to work right into rebates or other awkward places.
The construction is of cast iron, with a tungsten blade. The cold, hard surface focuses your complete attention on the hand in which you are holding the tool. Your entire being is reduced to your mind, your hand and whatever lies in between, connecting the two.
The Record trademark - shown in the image to the left - is printed into the leaver cap. This adds to the tactile experience of using the tool, as the letters press against the palm of your hand.
The fact that this particular plane has been used is evident from the image - you can see sawdust gathered in various nooks and crannies.
In fact, it belonged to my father. After his death, I found it in the house rather than his workshop. It is likely that he used it in the days just before he died. The man is gone, but the object endures and it falls to me to decide what to do with it.
As you my gather from the above, I have a certain affection for it. But if I keep it, I won't use it and it will rust in a draw. But getting rid of it feels like some sort of dereliction. He spent time and money and took care to assemble his toolkit. Now I have it and I don't need it but I can't free myself from the associations that it holds.
OK, this is the final image that I'm going to post from the session at the National Botanical Gardens of Wales. This is because there aren't any more images that are good enough to post.
Its a dahlia - that much I know. In the flesh, it was deep orange, but I've done away with that using the channel mixer, for the purposes of servicing my pretensions.
Something different next time, then.
