Hiding Place
By this time next week my home county will be in the spotlight all over the world. It seems strange to think that seven of the most powerful people on the planet will convene for a weekend beano a few miles down the road, but I suppose the G7 Leaders' Summit has to happen somewhere doesn't it? For weeks already there have been road signs up in the area around Carbis Bay and St Ives reminding the locals (as if they needed reminding) that things were going to get a bit awkward if they accidentally drove up the wrong road. Just across the road from us the Scorrier Estate is apparently hosting a pack of security specialists, and in my home town of Falmouth, Events Square has been repurposed as a base for journalists from here there and everywhere. There are places all over the county where demonstrators have been told they can protest against the injustice of it all "peacefully." Meanwhile, the locals just carry on - most of us are more concerned about about whether the Cornish Oven will run out of flaky steak pasties before lunchtime on Saturday.
The strangest thing for us is that the seven leaders of the democratic world will be staying in a complex where Ali and I attended a family wedding a couple of years ago. It was rather more upmarket than we're accustomed to. Will Mr and Mrs Johnson be staying in the same suite that we visited? Will Mr and Mrs Trudeau be persuaded to join in when the DJ plays "La Macarena" on Saturday night? Will Monsieur Macron and Frau Merkel go for the rum and raisin ice cream or the salted caramel? Will Mr and Mrs Biden take off their shoes and socks and have a paddle in the sea? Although they call it wading in the United States - I still remember the confused look upon the faces of my friends from North Carolina as they asked me where my boat was after hiking the east bank of Loch Lomond and stopping along the way to cool off my tired feet in the water.
I was going to share another image of Godrevy from Tuesday evening, just across the bay from where those famous tourists will be ordering their fish and chips from Becks next weekend, but just like politicians do with matters of international importance, I still make endless mistakes behind the viewfinder. I'd been experimenting with my exposure values so as not to lose foreground detail by shifting the histogram dangerously to the right. The result was that I had a foreground worthy of sharing with you, but the highlights in the sky were completely burnt out. I puzzled over the result for some time last night until the error finally dawned on me. Honestly, you would think I'd have worked it out by now.
I don't think I'll be heading for Godrevy next week though - it's a little bit too close to all of the excitement for me. I'll probably be here instead, in my favourite hiding place under the trees. On the same evening, Dave, Lee and I had already visited the magical woodland with no name just outside Camborne once more, to look for patches of golden light among the evening shadows. In contrast to the second part of the evening I'd had the histogram to the left for this visit, deliberately dropping by two stops or more to darken all but the brightly lit subject. It was an improvisation that delivered something I really liked, setting illuminated patterns and forms against backgrounds that were almost black. The bluebells are well past their beautiful best now, but the ferns are truly magnificent. Woodland photography continues to inspire me right now as I attempt to unlock its mysteries and produce more compelling images. I'm pretty happy with this effort.
Today the recent spell of good weather appears to have broken. It's still, grey and damp - probably good conditions for a visit to the woods again then. Have a great weekend everyone.
Hiding Place
By this time next week my home county will be in the spotlight all over the world. It seems strange to think that seven of the most powerful people on the planet will convene for a weekend beano a few miles down the road, but I suppose the G7 Leaders' Summit has to happen somewhere doesn't it? For weeks already there have been road signs up in the area around Carbis Bay and St Ives reminding the locals (as if they needed reminding) that things were going to get a bit awkward if they accidentally drove up the wrong road. Just across the road from us the Scorrier Estate is apparently hosting a pack of security specialists, and in my home town of Falmouth, Events Square has been repurposed as a base for journalists from here there and everywhere. There are places all over the county where demonstrators have been told they can protest against the injustice of it all "peacefully." Meanwhile, the locals just carry on - most of us are more concerned about about whether the Cornish Oven will run out of flaky steak pasties before lunchtime on Saturday.
The strangest thing for us is that the seven leaders of the democratic world will be staying in a complex where Ali and I attended a family wedding a couple of years ago. It was rather more upmarket than we're accustomed to. Will Mr and Mrs Johnson be staying in the same suite that we visited? Will Mr and Mrs Trudeau be persuaded to join in when the DJ plays "La Macarena" on Saturday night? Will Monsieur Macron and Frau Merkel go for the rum and raisin ice cream or the salted caramel? Will Mr and Mrs Biden take off their shoes and socks and have a paddle in the sea? Although they call it wading in the United States - I still remember the confused look upon the faces of my friends from North Carolina as they asked me where my boat was after hiking the east bank of Loch Lomond and stopping along the way to cool off my tired feet in the water.
I was going to share another image of Godrevy from Tuesday evening, just across the bay from where those famous tourists will be ordering their fish and chips from Becks next weekend, but just like politicians do with matters of international importance, I still make endless mistakes behind the viewfinder. I'd been experimenting with my exposure values so as not to lose foreground detail by shifting the histogram dangerously to the right. The result was that I had a foreground worthy of sharing with you, but the highlights in the sky were completely burnt out. I puzzled over the result for some time last night until the error finally dawned on me. Honestly, you would think I'd have worked it out by now.
I don't think I'll be heading for Godrevy next week though - it's a little bit too close to all of the excitement for me. I'll probably be here instead, in my favourite hiding place under the trees. On the same evening, Dave, Lee and I had already visited the magical woodland with no name just outside Camborne once more, to look for patches of golden light among the evening shadows. In contrast to the second part of the evening I'd had the histogram to the left for this visit, deliberately dropping by two stops or more to darken all but the brightly lit subject. It was an improvisation that delivered something I really liked, setting illuminated patterns and forms against backgrounds that were almost black. The bluebells are well past their beautiful best now, but the ferns are truly magnificent. Woodland photography continues to inspire me right now as I attempt to unlock its mysteries and produce more compelling images. I'm pretty happy with this effort.
Today the recent spell of good weather appears to have broken. It's still, grey and damp - probably good conditions for a visit to the woods again then. Have a great weekend everyone.