The small museum at Santa Barbara Castle at Alicante hit upon a wonderful way of displaying some of the fragments of pottery found on the site. I am almost tempted to adopt a similar approach to the stones I find in my garden although I suspect it wouldn't be half as colourful.
Monday, 28 October 2013
Sunday, 27 October 2013
On the ramparts of Santa Barbara Castle in Alicante. This could have been six hundred years ago ..... if it hadn't been for the monochrome image (monochrome was a nineteenth century invention after all), if it hadn't have been for the safety railings, if it hadn't been for the t-shirts, if it hadn't been for the foam padding on the balsa wood trebuchet. In fact it was a couple of weeks ago.
Friday, 25 October 2013
Thursday, 24 October 2013
The City of Alicante is dominated by the Castle of Santa Barbara which sits on top of a massive rock outcrop. Conveniently, there is a lift to the top which is reached by walking down was seems like an elongated stainless steel tube. The light bounced off the sides like marbles in a pinball machine creating patches of light and dark.
Wednesday, 23 October 2013
|Alicante : October 2013|
All along the garden pathways in Alicante there are seats put out for the old citizens of the town to sit and gossip. Each day in the sun they gather to catch up with old friends, read the newspapers or just nod off. It's a kind of alfresco community association, full of the activity of people being inactive.
I am never quite sure what makes me take a photograph. Some half-thought, some snatch of an untold story, some incongruous pattern - who knows? It has a meaning at the moment I press the electronic shutter but it may be long forgotten in the part-second it takes the image to appear on the viewing screen.
These two women were walking along the harbour wall in Puerta Banus with all the energy of a pair of climbers tackling the South Col of Everest. For a moment in time it made a good image. Now it makes a good memory.
We are back after our trip to Spain but it will take me a few days to get my blogging ducks into a row. We had a marvellous time in southern Spain and on one glorious day we were taken on a visit to the Andalusian city of Ronda. With its ancient bridge and spectacular views, the city is a magnet for photographers. Nevertheless, out of the hundreds of photographs I took that day, perhaps this picture of a tiled pictorial map on a wall sums up the city best of all.
Some years ago, the artist David Hockney abandoned Los Angeles and moved his main studio to the East Yorkshire seaside town of Bridlington. His wonderful East Yorkshire paintings seem to capture the landscape and scenery of the Yorkshire Wolds so well. I am no Hockney, but, over the years, I have also found Bridlington a powerful muse. This is a picture I took back in the 1970s : recently rediscovered and scanned. No Hockney - but pleasing.
This is a photograph of Charles Street in Elland taken back in the 1980s. Most of the buildings are still there today, but the cars are different and the cigarette vending machines have long gone. Scanning my old negatives is like taking a stroll through history.
On Sunday we went for a walk around Hollingworth Lake. On the way we passed an old man, bent over, sat by the edge of the water. There was something about the shape of his back that recorded a lifetime of work. He deserved his moment of contemplation.
I was having some problems with my camera on Friday, and believing that I had fixed it (note to self : take off the bloody lens hood) I took a few test shots. At the time I was down in Brighouse and close to the area called Thornhill Briggs. One of the shots was of Thornhill Briggs Working Men's Club which was taken for no other reason than to test whether the shutter was working properly. Experience from the photographs I took forty or so years ago suggests that it is such throw-away shots that are the most fascinating to look back on a few decades later. They provide a record of reality, a picture of normality.
Just back from a few days away on the North Yorkshire coast. Beautiful weather, jigsaw-puzzle clouds and sea as blue as a Muddy Waters song. I took this photograph at Ravenscar on Tuesday morning. Even the sheep are clean in this corner of paradise.
It was a lovely day. In Castletown in the Isle Of Man. The sky was the kind of blue you normally can only find in a Photoshop palette. We had walked around the town, taking in the sights. We walked back to the railway station and next to the station was the kind of pub that only normally exists in your imagination. White walls. Hanging baskets of blossom. Inside there were shady rooms and a row of hand-pulled real ales as long as your thirst.
The Isle of Man still has a steam railway. It is not a pretend heritage line run by well-meaning volunteers, but a proper, functioning, steam-spurting, iron-clunking, brass-polishing railway line run by the Island's Transport Department. As we travelled from Douglas to Port Erin, the sun was shining, the skies were blue, there were rabbits hopping in the fields and a some children enjoying a picnic waved to the engine driver. It was like a cross between Thomas The Tank Engine and an Enid Blyton novel.