With the year drawing to a close it's time to look back (as well as forward) and try and pick out one photograph that I regard as my own personal favourite. No easy task. If you go to my Facebook page you will be able to see my four favourite pictures taken in Oslo, and each of those is in a way worthy of holding the main honour, but here, having to choose just one picture, I have gone for a photograph taken just a few weeks ago when the first big snowfall came. The picture is taken from a footbridge crossing a road outside of Oslo where I used to live, and it's both a bridge and a view that I have known since childhood. The straight road always and the way it stretches into the distance always seems to represent to me a metaphor of life –its opportunities and the forward-going draw of time. This year, I turned 50, which I found a surprisingly tough "achievement", so the road sign here has a very personal connection. Indeed the whole photograph is very personal as it expresses "me" as I am right now. Hopefully, it's also quite a nice picture to look at. It's rendered in monochrome, but the colour versions I took looked very much the same, for the day was dull and grey and the little green of the trees was so subdued and dark that they appeared almost black. Besides, I've always felt that snow and trees always look best in black and white! Next year, I shall try to post pictures more regularly (that's a resolution!) and I hope also to expand more into portraits –an area of photography I have always been a little cautious about so far, but now feel confident to explore more. I also have a number of series-projects that I shall be sharing pictures from as the year goes by, and now and again dipping into my archive to find some interesting pictures of old. In the meantime, may I wish you all a very Happy New Year, and thank you as always for bothering to drop by to glance at these myriad pictures of mine.
With Christmas rapidly approaching here's a feisty collection of "nisser", or elves if you prefer (gnomes, perhaps too?) with a heritage stretching back for at least a century. Many of these rosy elves are from Sweden, but one or two are German, Norwegian and perhaps even further afield. You'll notice also that they all seem to be male. Or are they? It is quite rare to see a female Christmas elf, but one has managed to infiltrate this otherwise masculine crowd –can you spot her? (clue: she's the one without a beard!). The setting here is a local market that sells bric-a-brac and antiques most of the year, but close to Christmas focuses on more seasonal fare. The abundance of red gave me an instant injection of Christmas spirit, and it's somehow always satisfying to photograph a collection of things that are similar in one respect yet diverse in another. I hope your own Christmas elves treat you well, and that you treat them well in return!
Another glove out on its own in the big world. You'd think that one this bright would have been too conspicuous to lose, but it clearly has a desire to escape and explore. All it needs to do first is to cross this sea of slats. Perhaps in search of its partner, which surely must be equally lonely? wherever it is.
The third in my series of "Gloves and Mittens Gone AWOL" -and once again one that has climbed up into a tree to display itself to the world. The leaves may have fallen, but the gloves continue to ascend -or did this one perhaps fall from the sky? Who knows.
A fairly hazy but pleasant autumn day on the south coast of England with the sun going down and bathing the beach and surroundings in a gentle, pale luminosity heightened by the haze. The sunset has been more spectacular and vivid earlier, but noe people are heading home as the air is turning chilly. These benches would have been occupied earlier by people looking out to sea, taking in the salty air, calmly contemplating... Now the benches themselves get to contemplate. I was intrigued by the way the light hit the slats, lifting the ordinariness of the benches to something special and perhaps a little bit magical (helped by the haze). They invite, yet one almost dares not disturb. There's also a nice line into the distance with the slats and the railings contrasting with the lines out into the sea of the breakers and pier.
The second in my series of "Gloves and Mittens Gone AWOL" -and in this case a particularly fine knitted mitten with a traditional Norwegian design. The mystery remains, how can anyone lose just one of these? And how helpful is it really that people drape them across branches or fences? More to follow.
One of my casual ongoing projects is to photograph all 33 bridges that cross the River Thames in Greater London. I'm around halfway there now, and you may have some of the earlier posts featuring those bridges I have so far covered. Here's a new one –the often forgotten Lambeth Bridge, so often overlooked by its more illustrious neighbour a little further down the river (Westminster Bridge. But Lambeth Bridge is as equally an essential crossing and has charms of its own, not least the views of the Palace of Westminster from the other side, and a good deal fewer tourists. It's also a good place to cross over to explore the quieter end of the South Bank, excellent for a good walk either along the riverside or down into Lambeth itself. Interestingly, the red colour on the bridge is meant to refer to the colour of the seats in the House of Lords, which is closest to the bridge, whereas the more green Westminster Bridge refers to the colour of seats in the House of Commons, which is closest to that bridge! Though there's been a bridge here since 1862 (and before that a ferry crossing at this point), the present structure opened in 1932. It has some nice features, like the lamps seen here, and the bridge has now been listed and therefore protected. As is my usual whim, I have photographed the bridge with a red double decker halfway across –for few things symbolise London to me more.
With temperatures slowly sinking as the year heads towards winter, I am once again starting to observe the fascinating phenomenon of gloves and mittens gone AWOL. This is quite a curious phenomenon, but once you become aware of it you will begin to notice it more and more, and –in my case– start to collect examples of it, until now it has become a bit of an obsession; whenever I see a case of it, I have to take a photograph. In short, it's the curious discovery anywhere in the urban or rural landscape of a single glove or mitten that has somehow managed to escape its owner (and companion glove or mitten) and gone off on its own, then left or sometimes placed somewhere and seldom reunited with anything other than the elements. Now I can quite understand how someone may lose or forget a pair of gloves, that is very easily done even though that may look like carelessness, but one...? Can that be simply regarded a misfortune? I prefer to think the gloves/mittens are up to something –perhaps one of each pair is sensible and well-behaved and the other is reckless and eager to roam. I will be presenting the evidence under the label "Gloves on the Loose". Not as a public service designed to bring gloves back to their owners (though that would probably be a worthwhile venture), but to show the variety and ingeniousness of these rogue hand garments! Look about you - they're everywhere; perhaps they're even planning to take over the world!
It's my favourite time of year again –autumn, or fall if you're American– and no season is more inviting for anyone with a camera. I'm taking lots and lots of pictures at the moment as Norwegian autumns are relatively short but condensed, so that the changes in colour from day to day can be quite dramatic and certainly increasingly splendid, but then it's suddenly all over and winter sets in. The colourful display of nature at this time somehow informs the way I look at other things too –like here the hues and textures of rooftops and buildings close to the city centre of Oslo. What I love about this view is the higgledy-piggledy character of the collection of buildings and the way their variety nonetheless creates a sort of unity. I feel all of these buildings has a story to tell, and I'm fascinated by each of these windows. The charmingly irregular colours and textures of some of the brickwork and tiles mirror a little those of autumn leaves, some of which have already begun to fall, creating golden trimming on the building in the centre. I have increased the saturation of the picture a little for effect, but not that much -autumn doesn't really need it.
Berlin is one of my favourite cities both to visit and to photograph. And, without quite knowing why, I have always felt the city looks best on pictures when the sky is bedecked with cloud. Perhaps it's an emotional reflection of the city's dramatic history, perhaps the relative flatness of the terrain is better served against a backdrop of ever-shifting cloud; perhaps it's to do with light. Probably it's a mixture of all three. Don't get me wrong, I love blue, clear skies (anywhere), but my photographic genes are always doubly excited or activated when I see turbulent cloud formations in the sky –and, especially in Berlin. Here, the sky is vivacious but not at all threatening –there had been drops of rain before and more were to follow, but these showers was light. Somewhere behind the clouds the sun was trying to poke through, but its bright light is gently subdued and disseminated –illuminating the facade of the Berlin Dom quite splendidly and vibrantly without harshness. The camera I was using had a bit of a lens issue which has caused the left side of the picture to be a little blurry, but I liked the rest of the picture so much that I've overlooked this deficiency. I wanted to capture the magnificence of the cathedral without it appearing too domineering or even oppressive (which can often be the result when photographing such buildings). Therefore I've taken the picture from a low angle but at some distance, capturing both the building itself but more importantly its setting in the city and against the lovely, moody Berlin sky. Location: Berlin, Germany
Like many people, I have been following with concern the trail of havoc caused by Hurricane Irma as it pushes through the Caribbean, and heads towards mainland USA. And having in the past spent many happy days in Florida, I'm thinking about places I have visited there, people I have met, and the dreadful helplessness of battling such a fearsome storm, knowing that it is on its way. I remember seeing the after-effects of that previous huge hurricane that bears my name, but I keep my fingers crossed that this storm may change direction, and that any damage anywhere be minimal. Yet as I write, Miami seems to be directly in its path, including even more exposed Miami Beach, and much of the city is being evacuated and boarded up. I've seen temperamental weather conditions there myself; sometimes they can even be exciting. But this is something else. Here, however, I'm posting a picture of the Miami I like to return to in my thoughts: of warm evenings at sunset, with mad but mellow colours spilling over the familiar beloved architecture of South Beach, palm trees standing languidly in repose, peace and yet a thrilling vibrancy. The air sweet and soft, with the day's heat lingering but without the harshness The evening is just starting, but this is the best time. And I hope I shall be able to experience many such moments here again. Location: Miami Beach, Florida, USA
Whenever I used to imagine what Dublin was like, I conjured up in my mind a picture of narrow, cobble-stoned streets with quaint old lamp posts and bicycles –and always in black and white. Perhaps this image came to me from some painting I'd once seen, or (more probably) some book I'd read; maybe I'd been influenced by an old film. When I finally got to visit Dublin, I was delighted to find parts of it that corresponded totally with those pictures in my mind. Dublin is, of course, a lot more besides and a city of myriad views, but I was drawn to streets like this as a moth is drawn to a lamp. And talking of lamps, what is it about old lampposts that fill streets with dignity and character where modern ones merely seem to be a necessary eyesore! The only thing missing here is people –this was early on a quiet morning; the kind of quiet morning that is the inevitable tailpiece to a lively Dublin evening –is there any other kind?! Location: Dublin, Ireland
Here is a little group of boats on a calm blue lake in Germany. It is a hot summer's day with a light, pleasant breeze and one would think that all these boats would be occupied and out on the water, but here they remain waiting, guarded by a pair of ducks. I liked the way the two boats at the front mirrored each other, their bows almost kissing, and the little splashes of red and yellow add a little vibrancy to all the blue, which I find quite appealing. A nice "summery" picture in other words, with no pretension of being anything else, but yet I am a little intrigued as to why there should be a barbecue out on the quay... Location: Nuremberg, Germany
This photograph was not taken at the height of summer - if it were I think you would see quite a different scene and lots more life here, for this is a busy seaside town that thrives on its summer visitors and then goes into a sort of hibernation off-season –which is a time I have always found particularly alluring, especially at seaside resorts. I don't know why this is, perhaps it has something to do with the emptiness and the grandeur of the sea and sky and vast, empty beaches. Things that are closed up have an interest of their own, I find, and I love photographing places like this out of season. Here, the long line of beach huts (that peculiarly English tradition) stretches into the distance, but none of the brightly painted doors are open. One or two people are out walking but otherwise all is calm and sedate. Yet it is easy to imagine the chatter of excited bathers, squabbling children with buckets and spades, families set out to enjoy at day at the beach and a dip in the sea. The clouds are a little moody but not at all malignant, and there is a stretch of low, late-afternoon sunshine giving a promise of hot summers to come... Location: Lowestoft, England
Being hooked on cycling, it is perhaps not surprising that closely following the 21 stages of the Tour de France has meant my mind this month has been full of exciting moments, gruelling mountain climbs, exhilarating sprint finishes, frenzied commentary and the whizz of bicycles flashing by. But the event is so much more than just the cycling -there's theatre, circus, history, geography, comradeship and a closeness between spectator and participant that is unlike that in any other sport. I have even had dreams about cycle races these past few weeks. Today, sadly, it is all over for 2017, but perhaps as a timely salute to France for putting on this spectacular undertaking year after year, the sun shone brightly through a couple of bottles on the white window-sill of my living room, creating the distinctive and proud Tricolore. Vive la France et Le Tour –À la prochaine!! Location: Oslo, Norway
Sometimes what is missing from a picture says more than if it is included. Here, on a very hot day, two benches face each other on a vast field of grass. There are no people, but their absence is incidental –we can imagine any number of pairings or conversations that have taken place here earlier. But this is a bit like a bench stand-off –or perhaps it's a nostalgic chat, an interview, a date? The benches certainly have personality –one of them even seems to have a face (or is that just my imagination?) and there is something untypical but refreshing about their location and position. It's an image that opens up to all sorts of interpretations and somehow draws you in. Location: Hovedøya (Oslo), Norway
I found this little moment of an urban summer both charming and irresistible. In front of an ornate and somewhat extravagant fountain sculpture, a man is playing a guitar. His main audience is three little children standing seemingly mesmerised by his music. Other people nearby are enchanted as much by the children as the melody. I don't know which of them, if any, are their parents, but I love the span of life that is indicated by the elderly man on the side looking at them, perhaps remembering his own childhood with fondness. And who could not be captivated by these sweet children -only the ones smoking and checking their mobile telephones! (I wish I could erase them from the picture, but they are part of the moment too.) What I like above all else about the picture is the contrast of the bombastic lavishness of the statue and the simple yet epic moment of the human interactions. I'm tempted to say "All of art and all of life in one picture" but that would be stretching it a little too far. I am just glad I was able to capture such a magical little scene, even though technically the shot is not as sharp as I would have liked it to have been; sometimes (most times, perhaps) the content of an image and what it signifies is what really counts most. Location: Augsburg, Germany
This is one of a series of photographs I took when I visited Deal in Kent last September, another stop on my quest to photograph 100 coastal towns around Great Britain. I had not visited it for many years, but it is where the English side of my family comes from and I spent quite a lot of time there as a child. In front us is the English Channel, and to the left can be seen the end of the pier. But it is the simple imperfect beauty of the telephone box along with the ornate streetlights that form the real subject of the picture. There is something odd about the telephone box's location, and of course its stance, but its iconic bright red form is somehow reassuring and optimistic, and the continuation of the red with the flowerbed backed by the white wall and above that the blue water forms a gentle manifestation of the French flag (on its side) –which is appropriate because France itself is right there on the horizon. I like the clean simplicity and becalming quality of the whole image. No cars, no people, blue sky. Location, Deal, England
Summer is upon us, and with it comes the prospect of myriad outdoor activities under (hopefully) blue skies. One of my own favourite things to do at this time is hiking in the forests and hills surrounding the bowl that is the city of Oslo. This beautiful area is only a short distance from the city –there's even a tram that takes you right to the start of one of the many trails– yet you can walk for miles without seeing a single person at this time of the year. Quite different to the winter season when these same forests teem with people skiing, with queues even forming at weekends! However, in the summer most people seem to prefer being at the beach or along the coast, but personally I find the forest far more agreeable: views are frequently stunning; if the temperature is hot you are cooled by the trees, and a dip in any number of lakes will equal the sea for a relaxing swim. You can be out in the wild for days on end, but there are numerous huts and cabins that can be visited, or you can pitch a tent or sleep under the stars. There's nothing like it! Fortunately all the trails are clearly marked and signposted, (red for winter and blue for summer use) and as you can see, the only problem is deciding where to go... Location: Oslo, Norway
There's not really a story behind this picture –though I am sure this little boat could tell a tale or two if it were graced with the power of speech. However, I was attracted by all the little details, and the way the bright sunlight played on the murky water and the various textures seen here. I was particularly fascinated by the peeling surface of the quay, revealing a lighter paint beneath and giving the impression of a coastal map. The two brick-shaped objects a little further along are haphazardly placed but perfectly harmonious with the rest of the setting, and the colour is mirrored in that of the oars –another pair. There are also numerous circles here that contrast with each other thematically. I also find it a very calming image –you can feel the warmth of this particular day, and the water is totally tranquil. One of my favourite pictures. Location: Portsmouth, England
Now here's a picture that may at first glance not seem all that interesting (though personally I am always intrigued by blocks of flats and how each identical apartment and balcony present themselves so differently). We're in the residential area of a coastal town in southern Albania, of all places, and though there is enough blue sky to tell us that it's a bright summer day little sunlight manages to reach this rather confined little backstreet. But look up at the top of the picture and you'll see something unusual, if not downright disturbing! A young woman is cleaning her windows, and to do so she has climbed out of one to reach the other and is hanging on to the side of the building, unsecured, with a sheer drop of at least five floors below. Now I know all about wanting to have clean windows and how it can become an obsession, but observing this manner of going about things made my stomach turn. And until I saw what she was actually doing I was worried she was about to throw herself out of the window. Yet she seemed to be in total control and unaffected by the height or potential danger of her undertaking, and who knows, maybe this is the preferred way of cleaning windows in Albania –either that or she's an off-duty acrobat. Personally, I would rather use a very long squeegee! Location: Saranda, Albania
I often like to -as it were– "frame" photographs within themselves. A view from a window may be interesting, spectacular, stunning or grand, but sometimes a more interesting effect is created by stepping back a little and including the window itself. Admittedly, here there is no actual window, for this is a glassless opening in the side of one of the towers of Oslo's City hall, but effect is similar. We are inside a cool, dark space looking out on a glowing, warm city, bathed in evening sun. It's perhaps not a particularly outstanding view in itself (most views of Oslo will typically face the other way, towards the west, or out across the fjord) but we're high above the streets and can see out in to the suburbs of the hills in the distance. For me, the dark frame represents the winter that has finally disappeared, opening out onto warmer days of spring and summer –which have been most appreciatively enjoyed over the last few days. And it's always fun and intriguing to be able to look down through other people's windows, even though they're far away. Location: Oslo, Norway
Edward Hopper (who incidentally died one day day before I was born) created numerable enduring and iconic images of America with his paintings and I have long been a great admirer of his work. Many of his paintings show single individual figures, captured in a moment's isolated loneliness in an urban setting. Yet other picture celebrate the urban settings themselves, and his particular mix of simplicity and emotional poetry in colour has very much influenced the way I often see things like streets and buildings, especially when in America. I suppose you could say this photograph is a kind of homage to Hooper –the clean simplicity is there, and the bold colour; perhaps the loneliness too, though to have been truly "Hopperian" I wish there had been someone leaning against the red wall enjoying a cigarette. Aside from the striking red walls, I like the low buildings themselves and the sprawl of telephone wires above creating a sort of jungle-like canopy. The telephone pole itself is almost exactly dead centre, which as a motive is something one should be a bit wary of in a photograph, but I think it works, not dominating the picture too much thanks to the brightness of those two red walls. The windows are interesting too. Location: Hollywood, Ca., USA
Train stations never cease to fascinate me and of all places to photograph, they are probably my favourite, for there is almost always something of interest going on, and even if there is not the stations themselves lend themselves to inspiring our imagination with their combination of history, functionality and sense of adventure, discovery and romance. As a photographer (and sometimes as a traveller), a quiet station is as magical as a busy one is invigorating, especially, I find, those with glass roofs. When the sun shines through the often dusty or grimy panes of many of these stations the patterns cast onto the platforms below such as here create a sort of spider's web look. This can sometimes be dramatic and even chilling, but here the muted effect is benign, and this is enhanced by the "friendliness" of the yellow truck. This contrasts pleasantly with the red vending machine behind it and the distant figures between show that the station isn't completely empty. Also, the doors to the train are still open, enticing us in... All aboard, please! Location: Brighton, England
To contrast a little the last post, here is a different park, in another country, in a different season and with people as its main subject this time rather than trees (though the observant visitor will notice a number of these too!). The point is really that contrasting two images, however slightly related, often works as a rewarding form of presentation, an interesting access point to seeing and appreciating similarities and difference, yet with a common foundation –in this case the concept of "the park" and what that means for different people. Here we have a warm summer afternoon, evening really, but the sun is still up, and you can almost feel the pleasant lazy warmth and smell the grass. Everyone is in their own little blissful world, some dozing, some having a picnic, others reading, greeting a friend, sharing a special moment. They are dotted about like little islands in an ocean of greenn; there is a communal atmosphere but privacy is respected and cherished. The elegant building in the background and the neatly trimmed bushes and beds give a sense of peace and order to the scene, but not too much; the mood is mellow and summer is glorious... ahhhh, may it come again soon. Location: Vienna, Austria
Telephone boxes are rapidly becoming obsolete in many parts of the world now that almost everyone seems to have a mobile telephone. In many cases they seem to have more of a nostalgic than a practical value, and none so than the iconic British red telephone box, no less than five of which are pictured here. Coming across so many boxes in one place was a bit of a photographer's treat, for things in groups are often more interesting subjects that single examples. There is something essentially British about these gorgeous constructions, with their comforting solidity and bright colour. London has been particularly good about retaining large numbers of its telephone boxes, realising no doubt their value as visitor attractions –as recognisable as double-decker buses and Buckingham Palace. It's been a long time since I myself used one of these boxes, but I have photographed them a great deal over the years. Attempts at modernising the exteriors by creating one large window on either side failed miserably; there's something special about all those little panes that gives an illusion of privacy yet still allows those inside to see out and, back in the day, those impatiently queuing outside to glare in! There are no queues here now, only a pigeon debating whether to make a call... Location: London, England
