How I, to paraphrase Sherlock Holmes, have learnt to observe and not simply to see things
I’m a keen but definitely amateur photographer and have for a few years focused (bad pun intended) on taking shots of flowers. They are always around and don’t answer back.
I have, to paraphrase Sherlock Holmes, learnt to observe and not simply to see them; to take a little time to notice their variety, their colours, the interplay of shadows and light that lands on them and which their leaves cause.
I love the variety, complexity and beauty of the plants more than I did before. The magical, geometrically perfect structure of a dahlia, the transient beauty of a poppy whose delicate flowers can sometimes only last a day or two.
I’ve had the chance to see the often surprisingly rapid growth of different plants – from little seedlings to established plants, from first buds to full bloom, from blossom to fruit. I’ve seen flowers that bloom once to those that seem to be marathon runners, flowering continuously for months.
It has encouraged me to open what I call my photographer’s eyes. If you’re looking for a ‘photo opportunity,’ you look at things a little differently. You look at things more closely. You notice light, shade and shadows, how the sun shines through a rose petal, how a raindrop sparkles on a leaf. You see particular little details like the shape of stamen, the fallen pollen on petals, the slight dis-coloured imperfection or the nibbled edge of a leaf. You see the sensuality and even sexuality in plants, something captured in the paintings of Georgia O’Keefe.
You look at a plant from different sides and angles. You start to understand different perspectives. Try looking at a fuchsia from directly above and then from directly below and notice how it changes from a bright pink star to a rich purple chandelier.
When I started my trips to the lakes, I brought my photographer’s eyes with me, focusing originally on the plants, the trees, the water and wonderful reflections, but the lake was alive with birds and soon my eyes were trained on them.
I have enjoyed spotting and trying to identify the many, many varieties of birds but, as with flowers, I was drawn to particulars.
The soft down on a gosling, the sheen on a crow’s wing, the light through the feathers of a magpie in flight, the iridescence of a kingfisher’s plumage. The outline of a cormorant.
The appeal ranges from the exotic colouring of an American Wood duck or a Mandarin duck to the equally appealing features of many of the more ‘common’ birds, the pearlescence of a Mallard’s neck, the yellow belly of a Blue Tit, droplets of water running off a duck’s back. a robin singing loudly
From minor details like the ruffles on a Grey Lag’s neck to the splashes of water that a Coot makes scuttling over the water like a skimming stone.
The contrast of a black headed gull and the poses it strikes makes me smile. I compare and contrast elements like the different crests on a Lapwing, a Firecrest and a Grebe.
I had long thought that there was a majesty to birds of prey and watching Red Kite, Buzzards, Osprey and Sparrow hawks has merely confirmed my belief.
In these strange and, to use the cliché, unprecedented times, the beauty of nature has been a simple pleasure.
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