Abstract (I)
The Image
This (semi) abstract shows a collection of small observations from churches in York, in York Minster and in Ripon Cathedral.
Small Observations
The Story
The first image Rachel showed us – bands of shadows by Paul Strand – reminded me of a similar one I’d produced; it was taken in the cloisters of Lincoln Cathedral, with the sun shining through the slats of a wooden bench, casting shadows onto the stone paving. And that prompted me towards an ecclesiastical theme for my first abstract, using images in my back-catalogue because lockdown and shielding precluded any new photographic opportunities.
In Retrospect
With Ian’s passion for medieval history and my interest in architecture, it’s inevitable that we visit a lot of medieval churches, cathedrals, priories and abbeys. They also reconnect me with my church upbringing, my church schooling (I was student-sacristan for a year), our church wedding. And I have fond memories of Mum and our Matthew sharing her church-cleaning duty when he was pre-school – with the intimacy, fun and solemnity of a grandma and grandson, together with a feather duster. And, although I no longer retain a religious leaning, I find the experience and familiarity both soothing and refreshing. As I've written before, it’s like green therapy without being green(!!) – a mindful experience.
I've taken thousands of digital photographs over the last decade – both exteriors and interiors – but they’re dominated by my ideas of what constitutes ‘good photography.’ Thus, they concentrate on the monumental, on the fabric – on towers, spires, cloisters, arches, flying buttresses, piers and columns, doorways and windows. And I ‘follow the light’ – as a ‘good’ photographer should – aided by the repetition of the (near) east-west orientation of the buildings. In fact, I use the light better in a church setting than in the open landscape!
In contrast, the quieter images I take, the close observations, rarely get a second thought once I’m back at home – shouted down by the loud monumental ones. I quickly lose any connection with their relevance – the reason, the emotion and feeling, when I took them. Only my habit of keeping every photograph I've ever taken saves them from a sorry end in the elephants’ graveyard of the digital dustbin. Thus giving primacy to these ‘voice-less’ images in ‘Abstract (I)’ is a great departure for me – an exciting, and exhilarating one – full of potential.
In many ways, this isn’t really an abstract – except for the stained-glass window, the images clearly indicate their locations – and hence I now feel that it’s more of an intimate landscape. But its significance is that it’s helping me to reinforce my changing definition of ‘good photography’ – an idea which started to develop during Ruth’s course – and, importantly, it’s given me an entrée into ways in which I might explore my experience of that ‘still small voice of calm’ in an ecclesiastical setting, and the ways I might express it.
Might it also be a transferable idea? Might it give me another, more intimate way of expressing my feelings about our woodland walks?
An Entrée?