Camera, landscape, Photography, Shropshire, Stone, trees

Expired Film, Lomo LC-A

Quantum Leap Sculpture
Quantum Leap Sculpture

I’ve discovered that some of my rolls of film are waaayy past their use-by date, sometimes by ten years or so.  So now my project this year is to use all the really old films before they’re unusable. They are mostly B&W, although there is some colour slide film.

The roll of Agfa APX100 here should have been used by November 2010.

Some film forums advise shooting expired black and white film as if it were half the advertised speed to compensate for the changed film chemistry.  I recently shot some seriously expired Fuji Neopan and found them to be too dark, so this makes sense.   As it turns out these shots mostly came out too bright! Luckily film is fairly forgiving.

The main problem was half of the film being blank – the batteries were failing, so about every other shot the camera’s shutter didn’t open (I didn’t discover this until I got the developed negatives back).  Some of the shots look a little soft, that’s a ‘feature’ of the lens on the Lomo LC-A.

Here then are a few shots of Shrewsbury.

language, Poetry, trees, Uncategorized

Securus

sundappled riverSecurus. Just seeing that word can make me smile.

I cannot now recall where I first saw or heard it. But I rushed to note it down (all the better to capture it and keep it close?) once I read its gloriously uplifting definition:


securus (latin; adjective)

– free from care, fearless, composed, cheerful, bright, serene, safe.


Have you ever heard a more perfect description of a good life, a happy person, a wonderful aim?
My blogs are usually wordy, but this one single word, this marvellous little dose of lexical soul-medicine… well, I reckon it can just be a blog in its entirety. Because I can literally add nothing more to a word like securus.

May the good people of this world be forever securus.

PS.  please, Latin purists, please don’t get on my case about cases.  I know.  But right now, I only want one version of securus. Because life really is too short, too important, and too complex to be fretting about case-determined inflections.  This time, grammar can wait.

 

(photo by Daisy – no reproduction without permission, please)

Avebury, landscape, Nature, Photography, trees

Threads Through Time

Avebury - the chalk path atop the mound, seen from between the Magic Trees
Avebury – the chalk path atop the mound, seen from between the Magic Trees

The magic trees, I call them.

Threaded into the chalk mound with criss-cross roots in patterns as delicate as crochet, but a grip as strong as boot laces, they stand and endure the endless tugging winds of Avebury.

These beech trees scatter beech-masts like blessings to the devoted; modern pilgrims have festooned their branches with ribbons and threads, feathers and beads, sweets and travel tickets. All manner of secret prayers and imprecations have been bound to the out-stretched arms of these trees: the spiritual and the physical combine to spin a potent web of modern magic.

The Magic Trees of Avebury hold fast like friends or sisters. embracing
The Magic Trees of Avebury hold fast like friends or sisters. embracing

The trees gather round as if embracing; sisters maybe, born of a long-departed central mother tree. The Avebury winds are strong enough, relentless enough, to make survival hard. Most days, the trees thrash and sway, sighing as they yaw from foothold to fingertip.  These trees cannot dip their roots into fertile, sweet-watered soil. They must battle through shell-bone chalk, hand-thrown metres high and trodden down over the millennia. Avebury’s trees must hold fast, endure attrition, and grow slowly; no wonder they fascinate and beguile the hopeful modern visitor as much as the stones attracted the ancients.

The joy and fascination of a long tradition connects us with our ancestors like threads through time.
The joy and fascination of a long tradition connects us with our ancestors like threads through time.

The magic trees, I call them. They are a visual, tactile, aural reminder that Nature maintains her place in the world as the provider of a woven tapestry of hope: threaded through time, memory and dreams.

Through Nature, at least, we are connected.