Cooke Triplet Lens
View allAll Photos Tagged Corrective
Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity; but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon?
-- Hal Borland
Chiesa di San Giovanni Battista, sec. XIX-XX
Fontanile - Piemonte - Italia
St. John Baptist Church, XIX-XX century
Fontanile - Piedmont - Italy
Nikon D7100
Porst Tele MC auto D 135mm f/2.8
1/250 sec. - f/8,0 - ISO 100
M42 adapter ring with corrective lens to infinity focus
Photo editing with:
These fragile Cyclamen flowers bloom every year on a hillside near our home. As I took a second look (no pun intended) at these two beauties of nature, I realized that they resembled Lorgnette glasses.
This bit of lorgnette history is courtesy of Wikipedia....
"From its invention to around the 17th century, corrective eyeglasses were mainly for the use of men. It was not common practice for women to use optical aids unless they were to partake in specific activities or tasks in which they were required to use them such as sewing or reading. Women wearing spectacles in public was also not considered attractive.
Following the introduction and popularisation of the lorgnette, women became more involved with the use of optical aids. The lorgnette enabled women to view their surroundings clearly, but it was also used for social and decorative purposes. A large portion of the social life of European ladies involved the observation of the people around them, especially the attendance of others at events such as opera or theatre. The lorgnette was part of the elegant games of high society. The use of lorgnettes allowed women of high society to easily scrutinize objects of interest without directly facing their subject."
Is she a cutie or what? I added a rare self portrait of me too.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
A HDR view from the lookout at Vulcan park. So much smog....so little air.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
First of all, sorry im so far behind with getting to your pictures...I will try to catch up. This is the walkway in the rose garden in Birmingham Botanical gardens.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
I love this building. I had to capture it in the sunset.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
I redone this textured shot of the Gallitin House. I added the original textured image to the comments. Hope you enjoy! On Friendship Hill, Point Marion Pa.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
Please visit my site and tell me what you think!
Back to my HDR work. I didnt set out to get this shot but it seems that my best shots are unplanned. I couldn't pass this up due to the lighting and sky.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
Please visit my site and tell me what you think!
Nobody could catch a cold by the sea; nobody wanted appetite by the sea; nobody wanted spirits; nobody wanted strength. Sea air was healing, softening, relaxing - fortifying and bracing - seemingly just as was wanted - sometimes one, sometimes the other. If the sea breeze failed, the sea bath was the certain corrective; and where bathing disagreed, the sea air alone was evidently designed by nature for the cure.
-- Jane Austen
Thank you for being friendly and kind enough to visiting and commenting on my works!.
~Tallulah Bankhead~ Im out of new material so i went into the archives for this. I took this shot of the rapids in Ohiopyle a few months ago. Not reeling very well today I will catch up tomorrow.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
Please visit my site and tell me what you think!
Loneliness is the tractor in the middle of the field. Thanks for stopping by my friends!
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
Please visit my site and tell me what you think!
Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity; but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon?~ Hal Borland
In Lakeshore quarry.
3 Exp Handheld HDR
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
❤️ A picture definitely taken in Spring, but could easily be mistaken for Autumn! It always fascinates me how the sunshine has the power to change the perspective of a photo, and (even in the absence of pretty colour flowers), I’m thinking in a good way.:). Hope you agree.
Hi, how are you all? Doing good I hope. My corrective eye surgery I’m happy to report went well! Far exceeded my expectations.
I’m not there yet however, but unless you’ve got a few hours to spare (who has!!) I’ll be brief and say it’s ongoing.
So I’m back, as best I can :-). And although I won’t (can’t) spend time responding individually to comments, you can be sure I always read and appreciate every single one! and so thankful and humbled.
I’ll do my best to visit the stream of each and every one of you, however long it takes me. ❤️
Single exposure split in Lightroom to -2 &+2 and merged to make this HDR.
Tone mapped with Dynamic HDR
Tharp Knob By Ohiopyle, Pa
Must see!!!!Please View Large On Black
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
So, this is another angle of the Mount Washington Tavern on Rt 40. The treatment is a little different to go along with the angle. May you have a fantastic week ahead!
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
Please visit my site and tell me what you think!
The dried fruit of P. alkekengi is called the golden flower in the Unani system of medicine, and used as a diuretic, antiseptic,
liver corrective, and sedative
It is a popular ornamental plant, though it can be invasive with its wide-spreading root system sending up new shoots some distance from where it was originally planted. In various places around the world, it has escaped cultivation. It has food and medicinal uses
I been doing alot of things different here lately. This is SOOC besides a crop and mark. I hope you enjoy.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
Please visit my site and tell me what you think!
A celebratory image for the art of pano-sabotage ( Rogue Pano, Glitch Pano, etc ), possibly in it's last days as an art form due to software changes at Apple.
Pano, for short, is a new photographic art form that began to appear around 2012 but really burst into the scene around the world, virtually simultaneously in 2014.
Now, as feared all these years, Apple has changed the software 'mistake' or 'failure' that allowed this form of Art to appear and be pushed by innovative and skilled practitioners in many different countries. The software 'upgrade' now fixes the very 'problem' that makes this medium possible, thereby quite possibly putting an end to a unique form of expression. Efforts are now being made to flood Apple with requests that they include in their next iOS update the option to 'override' this corrective feature.
Here on Flickr the group "PANO-Vision", co-created by Paul Ewing and myself has been alive and running since 2015. If anyone wishes to add their voice to the growing numbers of Artists who have made this new, 21st century medium their main Artistic practice they can go the "PANO-Vision" and get the contact information and details from the Discussion "The End of Pano Photography?"
www.flickr.com/groups/2892788@N23/discuss/72157721915631794/
Two pano-sabotage shots taken of the same large poster in a clothing store window and then collaged with mirrored elements using the same images.
Original shots taken in 2020. This imaged created Jan 8, 2022.
___________________________________________________
© 2022, Richard S Warner. All Rights Reserved. This image may not be used or copied or posted to another website in any form whatsoever without express permission of the creator of this work.
Title quote by me. Boredom leads to awesomeness too. These are SOOC Besides my mark. I love abstract light art.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
Please visit my site and tell me what you think!
I myself came to faith slowly through a process of doubt; I find it hard to imagine being suddenly infected by collective piety at some mass rally with banners reading JESUS LOVES YOU and cheerleaders with unbearably fixed smiles. Besides, at the time of my conversion, stadiums and circuses still served their original purposes and were not used for religious clownery. Naturally I respect the fact that there are those who feel the need to be crushed in a crowd of like-minded people to strengthen their faith. My faith would more likely be lost in a throng like that.
A touch of skepticism, irony, and commitment to critical reason as a permanent corrective to any tendency to superficial religious enthusiasm is, in my view, not only a necessary condition for mental and spiritual health, but also a prerequisite if we are not to drown out the real voice of God with our own whooping and shouting: it reminds me of the fellow in the well-known anecdote who is looking in the dark for a black cat in a totally empty room and calling out rather prematurely: “I’ve got it, I’ve got it!”
--Night of the Confessor : Christian faith in an age of uncertainty / Tomáš Halík
Playing around with some desktop photography again, which I find to be extremely easy if there are no reflective objects BUT extremely difficult when you have reflective surfaces.
This one needs so much corrective work but I no longer fear showing the bad along with the good work. I guess it's good to spot problem areas so that one may learn from them and hopefully improve their work each time.
At Dunlap Park
Fayette Co Pa
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
I have been contemplating why I have an affinity for abstract compositions and alternative image captures in my own as well as other's work. Yesterday morning as I sat outside in the pre-dawn dark holding a cup of tea, I took my glasses off for a moment and stared at the sky which revealed the blinking stars and fingernail moon as if through an impressionist's brush. I paid particular attention to the individual lilts of light in each star created by astigmatism and near sightedness realizing my near blindness may be more of a gift than a disability. Though corrective lenses can sharpen my eyesight, it takes plodding practice and a willingness to keep asking the questions to fine tune my vision.
Probably the strongest (in diopter units) reading glasses available through my usual source. Pardon the pun, but it looks like an optometrist may be in my sights once these glasses no longer serve their purpose.
From a different view.
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
"The autonomy of nonhuman nature seems to me an indispensable corrective to human arrogance"- William Cronon
Thank-you to all who take the time to comment on my photos, it is greatly appreciated <3
My heart longs to go back to the Gila, but it will be a while before I can travel again.
I'm off for the second eye surgery--an inter-ocular corrective lens implant--and am looking forward to having my two eyes working together again. So far, the operated eye is seeing at 20/30!
So, for a few days I leave you with sunflowers!
Sea air was healing, softening, relaxing - fortifying and bracing - seemingly just as was wanted - sometimes one, sometimes the other. If the sea breeze failed, the seabath was the certain corrective; and where bathing disagreed, the sea air alone was evidently designed by nature for the cure. - Jane Austen
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, we are following Edith, Lettice’s maid, as she and Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s old Cockney charwoman* north-east of Cavendish Mews. They travel along the metropolis’ busiest shopping street, Oxford Street and Oxford Circus** and past the British Museum*** where only a few weeks ago, Edith went with her fiancée Frank Leadbetter, her best friend Hilda Clerkenwell and her new beau John Simpkin. They continue north, past the grand Victorian Gothic red brick edifice of St Pancras railway station**** with its high pitched roofs, many arched windows and magnificent clock tower dominating the corner between Euston and Pancras Roads, past Camden Town to the Caledonian Markets*****. A few weeks ago in the kitchen of Cavendish Mews, Edith mentioned in passing within Mrs. Boothby’s earshot that she was going to visit the Caledonian Markets, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, to look for a birthday present for her mother, who loves pretty and decorative china that she can use in her Wilsden home. “I ‘ave a friend what ‘as a regular stall up the Cally******. I’ll come wiv you.” Mrs. Boothby had offered.
So it is that Edith, dressed in her smart mulberry skirt and jacket and black dyed straw cloche decorated with lilac silk roses and black feathers, walks arm in arm with Mrs, Boothby who looks imperious in her long, full length navy blue coat, a matching pre-war toque******* of navy blue on her head and her slightly tatty fox fur stole draped about her neck. The pair pass through the grand and impressively ornate Victorian era wrought iron gates that were erected when the Caledonian Markets was still the Metropolitan Cattle Market and join the throng of visitors all looking for that something special amongst the bric-a-brac for sale at each trader’s pitch. The stalls are arranged in long rows, allowing browsers like Edith and Mrs, Boothby to perambulate along the wide aisles at a leisurely pace, stopping at any pitch where they saw something that caught their eye and took their fancy. In the middle of the vast market, the elaborately decorative forty-six metre central clock tower dominates over all, and allows both women to keep an eye on the time from anywhere within the market’s precinct.
They walk past stalls and pitches filled with a vast array of second-hand goods and antiques, Cockney costermongers******** and vendors selling fresh produce, fruit, flowers and general groceries, and other stallholders selling delicious smelling fried mackerel, hot chips and jellied eels*********. There are Indians and Persians selling rugs, shawls and handkerchiefs in bright colours, a rather buxom woman offering love-charms that were guaranteed to make the wearer “simply irresistible to their dearest love”, Orientals selling exotic scents in dainty glass bottles, suited men with slicked hair smoking cigarettes amidst pedestals crowned with Victorian vases and epergnes********** blind men and wounded soldiers from the Great War selling laces, buttons and matches from trays around their necks and old Cockney women holding up used pairs of shoes and coats, calling out to passers-by to look at their fine wares. The air is thick with the smells of fried fish, hot chips and spices. The cries of Prince Monolulu**********, in his brilliant-coloured Abyssinian dress with high feathered headgear, as he strides up and down the aisles calling, “I’ve got a horse!” and cracking risqué jokes is swept up into the cacophony of hundreds of voices all talking at once, the barking of dogs, the clucking of chickens and honking of geese, and the sound of gramophone music playing from various stalls around the market.
“A pretty necklace for the memsahib?” a brightly dressed Indian in a silk turban asks, stepping purposely into Edith’s and Mrs. Boothby’s path and holding up an arm draped in strands of glittering beads.
“Oh… err…” Edith stammers in startled surprise, clutching more tightly to Mrs, Boothby’s arm as she does.
“’Ere!” Mrs. Boothby barks at him defensively. “Clear orf! My daughter don’t want no nasty cheap trinkets from the likes ‘a you!”
The Indian quickly backs away, but moments later, unperturbed by Mrs, Boothby’s irritation, accosts another woman a few paces behind them in the hope that she will buy something from him.
“You know,” Mrs. Boothby whispers to Edith with a chuckle as she drags heavily on her cigarette in her left hand, before blowing out a plume of acrid smoke. “They do say there were a woman what come ‘ere, what bought a string of beads for a shillin’ from a man, and ended up wiv a black pearl necklace worf a king’s ransom************.”
“Well, I’m not going to be the next one to find a strand, Mrs, Boothby.” Edith replies. “I’ve come here to find a birthday present for Mum.”
“Jolly good, Edith dearie.” Mrs. Boothby replies as they continue to walk. “We’ll go see my friend, and she’ll fix you up wiv something right loverly for your ma.”
“‘Ullo Ida!” a rather rangy looking woman, dressed in an old dust coat that looks like it has never been washed, calls out in a strident Cockney voice as Edith and Mrs. Boothby pass by her pitch on the cobbles. “All right, then?”
Edith looks at her. She has a hard, almost hungry look in her dark, sunken eyes that sends a shiver down her spine. Greasy hair straggles out from underneath a rather battered looking brown felt hat, and when she smiles a rather cunning looking smile, she displays a set of confronting gravestone teeth*************.
“Fine, ta, Flo.” Mrs. Boothby says in a slightly standoffish way as she tightens her grip though Edith’s arm. “Fanks for askin’.”
“And ‘ooo’s yer pretty friend then?” the old woman seller goes on from her perch atop a wooden crate surrounded by piles of what appear to be grubby parcels tied up precariously with torn strips of fabric sitting on the dirty cobblestones. “Don’t reckon I’ve seen you round, dearie.” She opines with a cackle that makes Edith shudder again. “I’d remember a pretty boat race************** like wot you’ve got, dearie.”
Edith blushes at the remark.
“You must need yer eyes hexamined, Flo,” Mrs. Boothby replies, still stiff and not overly friendly. “They’s free nah you know***************.” Edith notices a steeliness in Mrs. Boothby’s jaw as she goes on. “She’s been ‘ere plenty ’a times.”
Ignoring Mrs. Boothby’s comment, Flo goes on, “I reckon I got sumfink luverly ‘ere for you, dearie.” She begins to fossick about amidst her tied up bundles, thrusting one aside roughly as she pulls at the shredded fabric tie of another. She glances up at Edith with an appraising look through rheumy eyes. “I reckons youse make yer own cloves, an’ I got a nice bit of remnant satin ‘ere, wat got saved from a very nice hestablishment wat got burned dahwn hunexpectedly.”
“Oh!” Edith interjects nervously. “Oh, no thank you. I’m… I’m…” she stammers. “I’m not looking for any fabric today… thank you.”
She doesn’t like the look of the old cockney woman at all. For a start, the layer of grime that seem ingrained into every wrinkle on her careworn hands and weather face is off putting, as is the stale smell of sweat, mildew and dirty fabric that seems to emanate from her. However more concerning is that hungry look that never leaves her sunken eyes surrounded by pouches of puffy flesh. Edith doesn’t trust her, and it is evident from Mrs. Boothby’s reluctant attitude towards her, that she doesn’t trust her either, which gives Edith even more of a reason not to.
“It’s good quality stuff. Look ‘ere!” Flo hoists the bundle up onto her lap and unfolds the top layer of stained calico to reveal some beautiful russet coloured satin embossed with at Eighteenth Century pattern of garlands and musical instruments folded within it. “Nice stuff this, and I’ll do yer a good price for it, ‘n all.” She looks up at Edith again, smiling her alarming grin.
“Err… it’s lovely,” Edith manages to say, “But…”
“You got spuds**************** in your toby jugs*****************, Flo?” Mrs. Boothby asks sharply. “The laydee said she weren’t lookin’ for no fabric today.”
“Be nice for a rainy day, dearie.” Flo persists, holding up the bundle in her grubby hands. “You won’t find nicer fabric for the price I’ll sell it to yer for. Look!”
Edith shakes her head and mumbles an apologetic reply. “We’re looking for a gift for my Mum, actually.”
“And me friend ‘ere gotta save ‘er pennies to buy somefink loverly for ‘er, Flo, so ta, but no ta.”
“Suit yerself.” Flo mutters sulkily with a shrug and a sigh as she carelessly drops the bundle from her hands like it were a hot potato, and it his the cobbles before her with a dull thud.
As they walk away from the old seller arm in arm, merging again into the slowly meandering maelstrom of market stall browsers, Mrs. Boothby remarks to Edith, “You’re a clever girl, Edith dearie, with a wise ‘ead on your shoulders.” She smiles proudly at Edith. “You picked up that Flo’s a wrong ‘n.”
“You obviously don’t trust her either, Mrs. Boothby. You were polite to her, but brusque.”
“Well hobserved, dearie. You’re damn right I don’t trust ‘er.” the old cockney woman replies, drawing deeply on her cigarette, making the paper and tobacco crackle as she inhales. “Flo is Mrs. Florence Collins. She’s the wife of Arthur Collins. That name ring a bell wiv you?” she asks as she blows out smoke again. When Edith looks across at her with a puzzled look as she shakes her head, Mrs. Boothby goes on. “That probably just as well. Arthur Collins is a wrong ‘n too, ‘n all. ‘Eads up a family ring of fieves, ‘e does.”
“Oh my!” Edith raises her glove clad right hand to her mouth as Mrs. Boothby’s mouth crumples into a thin and determined line, nodding seriously.
“’E likes to keep it in the family, and what is it they says?” Mrs. Boothby ponders for a moment, drawing again upon her cigrette. “The apple never falls far from the tree******************.” She blows out a jet of greyish blue cigarette smoke. “‘E’s got free strappin’ lads… no four, and they’s all mixed up in stealin’ ‘n fleecin’ people, just like their dad, and two run a gamblin’ ‘ouse dahwn Lime’ouse*******************.” She wags her left index and middle fingers holding the glowing cigarette at Edith. “I’d bet you anyfink that goods what got ‘alf-inched******************** was wrapped up in that fancy cloth Flo tried to flog you. It’s far too good for then likes of Flo Collins to be sellin’ dahwn ‘ere at the markets. Bet you they was bed curtains********************* of some poor fella or laydee they robbed!”
“You’ll put me off coming down here to buy anything ever again, with your tales of thieving, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith opines, slightly tongue-in-cheek.
“Ahh!” Mrs. Boothby flaps her free left arm across her, thrusting her spent cigarette end away and swatting at Edith’s words. “Most everyone dahwn ‘ere is genuine, and they’s just tryin’ to earn their bread ‘n ‘oney********************** ‘onest like. It’s only a few wat you want to avoid, Edith dearie.”
“Anyone else you know I should steer clear of?” Edith asks as they continue to walk past stalls of all sorts of interesting second-hand goods set out on wooden trestle tables, card tables, or in some cases, on picnic rugs on the hard cobbled ground.
“Well,” Mrs. Boothby nods discreetly at a very tall and burly looking red headed man wearing an apron, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular boxer’s arms adorned with tattoos. “Irish over there’s annuva I’d steer clear of, if I were you.”
“Irish?” Edith queries.
“Well, it’s wot ‘e is: an Irishman, and crooked as they come.”
Mrs, Boothby delves into her blue beaded handbag and pulls out a few cigarette that she rolled at her Poplar home and then packed for the expedition to the Caledonian Markets.
Edith looks again at the man who is standing by his handcart covered in silver, brass and copper items, showing a well dressed middle-class matron in a cloche hat and wrapped in a thick artic fox fur stole, a pair of rather beautiful candlesticks. He’s polite and solicitous, and Edith has to admit, rather handsome, albeit in a burly fashion.
“He seems nice enough, Mrs. Boothby. How do you know?”
“That’s ‘ow ‘e can get away wiv it so blatantly, Edith dearie.” Mrs, Boothby says, coughing heavily before lighting her next cigarette with a match. “‘E charms the ladies with ‘is Irish accent and fancy words about wat ‘e’s sellin’, but you mark my words, all them pieces of silver on that cart is stolen.” The old woman nods sagely.
“But how do you know, Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks, as they pass close enough to his stall to be able to hear the Irishman tell his enraptured customer about the fine Neoclassical design of the candlesticks.
“’E comes around my local boozer*********************** in Poplar ev’ry week wiv a big burlap sack what’s always full of fancy silver bits ‘e flogs in its dark corners.” She taps her nose. “I know they’s no way it can all be ‘is own prop’rty to sell.”
“I hope the friend you are taking me to isn’t like Mrs. Collins or the Irishman, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith remarks, laughing a little nervously.
The old Cockney woman stops in her tracks, disengages her arm from Edith’s, causing Edith to halt suddenly, and looks at Edith with incredulity. “As if I would!” She raises a hand to her chest in mock shock, and draws herself up to her diminutive full height. “I’m as ‘onest as the day’s long. I’d never waste my time with the likes of Mrs. Collins or the Irish.”
“I was only joking, Mrs. Boothby!” Edith gasps, suddenly aware that she might have caused her friend offence unintentionally.
It is then that Mrs. Boothby’s pretence of offence breaks down, and she chuckles happily, “I was only ‘avin’ a laugh too, Edith dearie. I know you know I’s ‘onest like.” Edith sighs with relief as Mrs. Boothby speaks. “Uvverwise you’d be countin’ the silver at Cavendish Mews, or Miss Lettice would.”
“I trust you, Mrs. Boothby, and you are very knowledgeable about things I don’t know about.”
“Someone’s gotta be, dearie.” Mrs, Boothby opines.
The pair link arms again and recommence their perambulation amidst the jostling people fossicking for treasures amidst the stalls. As they draw close to the stalls near the elegant administration buildings built around base of the ornate domineering central Caledonian Markets clock tower, Mrs. Boothby pauses before a second-hand stall. Buffeted slightly by the people passing around them, she and Edith hold their ground.
“Nahw, do you remember me tellin’ you that my Ken ‘as a job, Edith dearie?” Mrs. Boothby drags on her cigarette and blows out more roiling tumbles of greyish blue smoke.
“Yes Mrs. Boothby,” Edith replies with a serious nod. “With a rag-and-bone man************************ wasn’t it? It’s thanks to him that I have my Singer************************* hand treadle sewing machine.”
“Well, Mr. Pargiter, what Ken works for, this ‘ere is the stall of ‘is duchess.”
Edith’s eyes grow wide. “There’s a duchess selling her possessions here at the Caledonian Markets, Mrs. Boothby?” Her hand covers her mouth, agape in surprise. “Surely not!”
“Lawd love you, Edith dearie!” Mrs. Boothby chuckles, the laughter deep and crackling, sending more huffs of smoke from her recently drawn upon cigarette from her open mouth . “There may well be any number of toffs sellin’ off their fine bits ‘n’ bobs to cover their debts, but I ain’t talkin’ about a real duchess.” When Edith looks at her with confusion, she goes on. “It’s a rhyming term we Cockneys use in place of wife.”
“But duchess doesn’t rhyme with wife, Mrs, Boothby.”
“Of course it don’t, Edith dearie! I know that! But the term is Duchess of Fife, and that do rhyme, dunnit?”
Edith crinkles up her nose as her corners of her mouth turn up. “Duchess of Fife – wife.”
“That’s it, Edith dearie! We’ll make a ‘onorary Cockney of you yet!”
Edith’s smile widens at the mention of turning her into a Cockney, honorary or otherwise. She knows her mother would have a fit if she started using Cockney rhyming slang around the house.
“Nahw, my friend ‘ere, Grace is Mr. Pargiter’s Mrs., and she sells fings Mr. Pargiter don’t sell in ‘is Poplar shop durin’ the week, ‘ere. So unlike Flo Collins, or the Irish, you can be assured that everyfink’s proper ‘ere.” The old woman smiles as she blows out more cigarette smoke plumes into the air around her. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
As they walk up to the stall, Edith’s mouth hangs agog again as she catches sight of the wonderful array of things Mrs. Pargiter has set up on several trestles. Old books and pictures in tarnished gold frames jostle for space with the most wonderful assortment of bric-a-brac. Pieces of matching and mismatched blue and white dinnerware, ornate jewellery boxes, odd figurines made of porcelain decorative plates printed with pretty scenes, floral vases, decorative jugs, a feather fan, and a whole drawer full of gleaming cutlery are spread across the wooden surfaces of the tables.
“Wotcher************************** Grace!” Mrs, Boothby calls with a hearty wave.
“Wotcher Ida!” Mrs. Pargiter responds in an equally friendly tone as her doughy face breaks into a broad smile. “I wasn’t ‘spectin’ to see you ‘ere today!” She picks herself up off her stool from behind the trestle and comes around to give Mrs, Boothby a big, all embracing hug. “Your Ken didn’t say nuffink to Terry ‘bout you poppin’ your ‘ead in to see me. Luverly to see you!”
Mrs. Pargiter is a short and squat woman, all curves in a serviceable chocolate brown dress and cardigan, over which she wears a bright and colourful flower sprigged pinny***************. Her wiry, curly grey hair is jammed under a floppy moss green velvet hat. She has fat sausage like fingers which sparkle and gleam with gold and jewels from a dozen different rings. Between the index and middle finger of her right hand she holds an amber cigarette holder with a gold end from which a lit cigarette hangs, smouldering and sending up a curl of whitish grey smoke. She has a round, jowly face which, unlike Flo Collins’, immediately puts Edith at ease with her kindly sparkling brown eyes and glowing apple half cheeks. She reminds Edith a great deal of her father’s mother when she was alive.
“I weren’t hexpectin’ to be ‘ere myself, but my friend Edith ‘ere,” Mrs. Boothby indicates to Edith with her hand. “Said she were comin’ up the Cally to buy a gift, so I said I’d pop along and join ‘er, what wiv Ken bein’ out wiv your Terry.”
“Lawd, it’s loverly to see you, Ida!” Mrs, Pargiter gives Mrs. Boothby another big hug. “Really loverly.”
“Grace, this ‘ere is my friend Edith, what works for one of my West End ladies as a live-in-domestic.” Mrs. Boothby says by way of introduction. She then adds, “Course ‘er mouth don’t always ‘ang open like a frog’s, catchin’ flies, but like me, she does like a pretty treasure or two, and I guess your stall’s taken ‘er fancy.”
Edith, who doesn’t realise that her mouth is still wide open in delighted surprise, hurriedly closes it, blushing with embarrassment as she does.
“How to you do, Mrs. Pargiter.” Edith says shyly, clutching her green leather purse in front of her.
“Ooooh!” Mrs, Pargiter says with a nod towards Mrs, Boothby, blowing out a plume of cigarette smoke. “Your friend ‘ere’s got nice manners.” She turns back to Edith. “’Ow do you do, Edith. You must call me Grace. No-one calls me Mrs. Pargiter, ‘cept Mr. Pargiter when ‘e’s cross wiv me.”
Edith blushes again. “Err thank you, Mrs. Par… err… Grace.”
“Nahw, wot can I do you for, Edith love?” Mrs, Pargiter asks as she moves back around behind the main trestle table of her stall, ashing her cigarette on the ground as she does. “Ida ‘ere likes my pretty statues.”
“I certainly do, Grace,” Mrs. Boothby remarks with a fruity cough. “And I spy a nice pair of ‘em right there waitin’ for me.” She steps up alongside Edith and reaches out to the trestle table’s surface, picking up a very nice pair of Dresden**************************** figures in her bony, worn fingers.
“Today’s your lucky day then, Ida.” Mrs, Pargiter remarks as she looks at the two ornate Rococo-revival figures – a man and a woman – intricately painted, decorated with hand-painted flowers, and gilded richly. “Terry only got ‘em a few days ago, and I only put ‘em out just before.”
“Well, they’s mine now, Grace.” Mrs. Boothby says with a happy smile. “Wrap ‘em up nice and proppa won’t choo? Don’t want nuffink to ‘appen to them pretty flowers on the way ‘ome.”
“Don’t I always, Ida?” Mrs. Partiger chuckles, popping the cigarette holder with her half smoked cigarette between her teeth as she accepts the two statuettes from Mrs. Boothby. “’Ave a look ‘round since you’re ‘ere, and see if there’s anyfink you fancy.”
As the two women chatter away, Edith looks at different things. Her eye falls on a pretty jewellery box with an enamelled floral lid. It’s beautiful, but after picking it up and moving it from hand to hand, watching its exquisite *****************************guilloché work on the lid ripple like water in the sunlight, she decides that her mother will fuss too much over it being too fine for her, and never appreciate its beauty for fear of damaging it. “It has to be more practical.” she mutters to herself.
“Oooh! Them poor souls on the Titanic!” Mrs. Boothby’s voice intrudes into Edith’s consciousness as the older woman picks up a jug commemorating the launch of the ill-fated luxury liner that struck an iceberg on April 15th, 1912.
“Loverly jug, ain’t it?” Mrs. Pargiter remarks, blowing up more cigarette smoke. “Want it?”
“Ta!” Mrs, Boothby nods. “Somefink nice to talk ‘bout, sittin’ on my dresser when Lil from next door comes for a nice cuppa Rosie-Lee*******************************.”
Next, Edith spies a lovely, lidded soup tureen covered in delicately painted blue roses. But her mother already has a tureen like this. Why would she want another? She looks at a print of some horses under a tree that is resting against Mrs. Pargiter’s main trestle table. It’s in a wooden frame, which would suit her mother’s less pretentious style, but it is sun faded, the greens turning blue and the browns more orange. Besides, where would her mother hang it? “Something smaller, perhaps?”
“I’ll take that too!” Mrs. Boothby says with a satisfied sigh, handing Mrs, Pargiter a pretty Delftware plate with a windmill painted on it with a delicate shade of blue. “I likes my blue ‘n white china, me.”
“Loverly choice, Ida love.” Mrs, Pargiter enthuses. “For your dresser too?”
“Pro’bly, but I might use it for biscuits too.”
“Loverly!” Mrs. Pargiter says again. “I’ll ‘ave to give you a box for all these, Ida.”
Edith continues to browse, admiring the statue of a cow next to a rose bush. It’s a beautiful piece and similar to Mrs. Boothby’s newly acquired figurines, but certainly nothing her mother would want.
As Edith continues to look with desultory glances at various lovely objects, yet settling on none, Mrs, Pargiter asks, “So Edith love, does anyfink take your fancy, then?”
“Oh, for me, yes, Mrs. Par…” Edith chuckles awkwardly. “I mean, Grace. There are so many lovely things on your stall, but you see, I’m not really looking for me today.”
“Ooo you lookin’ for then, ducks?”
“It’s a present for ‘er ma, Grace. For ‘er birfday.” Mrs. Boothby pipes up, puffing away on her cigarette as she does.
“And she’s very hard to pick for.” Edith adds. “Or I think so, anyway.”
“That’s because she’s your ma, that’s why.” Mrs, Pargiter chuckles as she pulls the remnant of her cigarette from her holder, dropping it on the ground, and slips in another fresh one from a Moroccan leather cigarette case she has sitting behind her stand of pretty knickknacks and lights it. “It’s ‘cos you want to buy ‘er the perfect present.” she continues, sucking on the cigarette to make the paper and tobacco catch, puffing out smoke like a steam locomotive as she does.
“Well Mum deserves it.” Edith remarks, looking through a stack of hexagonal plates with courting scenes of Eighteenth Century ladies and gentleman on them. “She always seems to know what to give me for my birthday.”
“Course she does, ducks.” Mrs. Pargiter goes on, blowing out acrid greyish white smoke into the atmosphere. “It’s ‘cos youse ‘er daughter, and a ma always knows what to get ‘er girl. Whatche like then, your ma, Edith?”
Edith ponders Mrs, Pargiter’s question for a moment. “Well, she likes royalty ware******************************** and commemorative ware.” she finally says, hopefully.
“Sorry ducks, I ain’t got none of that this week. It all gets snapped up quick like when I put it out anyways.”
Edith sighs and her shoulders sink as she thinks again. “She likes pretty floral teacups.”
“You gotta give ‘er somethin’ nicer ‘n that, Edith dearie.” Mrs. Boothby exclaims as she strikes a match and holds it to a newly withdrawn cigarette, her previous one now a smouldering but on the ground at her feet that she crushes beneath the toe of her shoe. “She can buy ‘erself a cup at any old jumbly sale********************************. This ‘ere’s the Cally, and my friend Grace. We’s gpotta find ‘er somefink special like.”
“Well,” Edith remarks in passing. “I did once buy her a teapot in the shape of a cottage here at the Caledonian a few years ago, and she loves it, and uses it on special occasions.”
“Hhhmmm...” Mrs. Pargiter thinks for a moment, rubbing her chin where a mole sprouting two hairs protrudes. “You mean like cottage ware, Edith love?”
Edith doesn’t really know what cottage ware is, but replies, “I suppose so. It was in the shape of a thatched cottage with the finial on lid of the pot being the chimney.”
Mrs Pargiter nods knowingly and smiles, plumes of whitish grey smoke billowing around her head like a fog. “That’s cottage ware all right.” she opines as she removes the holder from her lips and holds it between her right index and middle fingers. “And,” she remarks with a beaming smile. “Today might just be your luck day too!”
She sticks the cigarette holder back between her clenched teeth and disappears behind some large photographic carte de visites********************************** of music hall actresses whose names have been long forgotten, and begins to rummage through a box near her feet, the newspaper in it cracking noisily as she moves things in it around. “Come ‘ere you blasted fing!” she mutters with irritation through her teeth. “Aha!” she finally crows. “There you is!”
Mrs, Pargiter places an oblong pottery tray with an edge moulded to look like flowers in a garden on the trestle in front of Edith. The tray’s edges have been hand painted. She then places a dome in the shape of a cottage over the top. It fits the tray snugly. Like the teapot Edith bought her mother, the lidded butter dish is like a thatched cottage with the chimney serving as a handle. The sides are painted with latticed windows and a red front door, and foxgloves and other flowers around the base.
“There you go, Edith love!” Mrs, Pargiter says with a flourish of cigarette smoke. “Your own ‘ouse ‘n garden to give your ma!”
“Oh!” Edith gasps. “It’s lovely!”
“One of my regular buyers came up to me today wiv it. It got given ‘er by someone what don’t know ‘er tastes well and she don’t want it, so she fought I might like to buy it and sell it myself. I ain’t even put a price on it yet.”
“Oh, it’s perfect! My Mum will love this! It’s decorative, but practical enough for her that she’ll use it for Sunday lunches at least.” Then Edith’s elation at having found her mother a suitable birthday gift dissipates. “But you haven’t priced it Mrs… Grace. You probably haven’t even thought about how much you want for it.” Her glove clad hands tighten around the green leather strap of her handbag.
“True.” Mrs, Pargiter replies, cocking her head to the side like a hen, as she contemplates the decorative butter dish. “But that doesn’t mean I dunno my own stuff to know what to charge. Let’s see…”
She hums and haws, eyeing the piece, whilst Edith holds her breath in anticipation.
“Remember that Edith is my dear friend, Grace.” Mrs. Boothby remarks, gushing out a cloud of smoke as she releases a couple of her heavy, fruity coughs.
“I know Ida, love.” Mrs Pargiter assures her. “I know! I’ll take that into account, won’t I?”
“Just checkin, Grace dearie.” Mrs. Boothby winks conspiratorally at Edith.
Edith smiles back at her with thanks, as hope brightens her blue eyes.
“I reckons I could get a bob or two********************************** for it. It’s in pretty good nick ‘n all,” Mrs, Pargiter begins.
Edith’s shoulders immediately slump and the brightness that flooded her eyes dissipates as quickly as it appeared.
“But, youse a friend of Ida’s, and a good ‘n at that, wiv nice manners. Nice manners gets you a long way wiv me, Edith love.”
Edith’s breath catches in her chest and holds.
“’Ow about a bob, then?” Mrs, Pargiter proposes.
“Done!” Edith exclaims before anything more can be said, releasing her pent up breath, a beaming smile bursting across her face.
“’Appy to put it in wiv Ida’s fings in ‘er box, then?” Mrs. Pargiter asks.
“If there’s room.” Edith replies, as she opens her handbag and fetches out her purse of precious wages to pay for it.
*A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
**Oxford Circus is one of London’s busiest and most iconic intersections, located in the West End where Oxford Street and Regent Street cross. It features a distinctive diagonal pedestrian crossing, is surrounded by major flagship stores, and sits directly above a major London Underground station.
***The British Museum is a public museum dedicated to human history, art and culture located in the Bloomsbury area of London. Its permanent collection of eight million works is the largest in the world. It documents the story of human culture from its beginnings to the present. Established in 1753, the British Museum was the first public national museum.
****St Pancras railway station was constructed by the Midland Railway in 1868, to connect its extensive rail network, across the Midlands and North of England, to a dedicated line into London. After rail traffic problems following the 1862 International Exhibition, the Midland Railway decided to build a connection from Bedford to London with its own terminus. The station was designed by William Henry Barlow, with wrought iron pillars supporting a single-span roof. At 689 feet long by 240 feet wide, and 100 feet high, it was then the largest enclosed space in the world. Following the station\'s opening 1 October 1868, the Midland Railway built the Midland Grand Hotel on the station\'s façade. George Gilbert Scott won the competition to design it, with an ornate Gothic red-brick scheme. Today St Pancras International is a major central London railway terminus. It is the terminus for Eurostar services from Belgium, France and the Netherlands to the United Kingdom.
*****The original Caledonian Market, renown for antiques, buried treasure and junk, was situated in in a wide cobblestoned area just off the Caledonian Road in Islington in 1926 when this story is set. Opened in 1855 by Prince Albert, and originally called the Metropolitan Meat Markets, it was supplementary to the Smithfield Meat Market. Arranged in a rectangle, the market was dominated by a forty-six metre central clock tower. By the early Twentieth Century, with the diminishing trade in live animals, a bric-a-brac market developed and flourished there until after the Second World War when it moved to Bermondsey, south of the Thames, where it flourishes today. The Islington site was developed in 1967 into the Market Estate and an open green space called Caledonian Park. All that remains of the original Caledonian Markets is the wonderful Victorian clock tower.
******The Caledonian Markets earned the endearing nickname of “the Cally” by those who lived in the area, traders who sold there, or customers who visited there regularly.
*******A toque is a small, close-fitting, brimless hat worn by women, similar to a pillbox hat or turban. They were especially popular in the Edwardian era before the Great War, their popularity cemented by Queen Mary, who wore them regularly, and even long after they fell out of fashion.
********A costermonger is a person who sells fruit and vegetables from a cart, barrow, or street stall. The word comes from "costard" (an old word for a large apple) and "monger" (a seller or trader), and was first recorded in the 1500s as an itinerant apple seller, later expanding to any street fruit or vegetable vendor. It became a very common term in Nineteenth Century London, where fruit and vegetable sellers were known for shouting loud calls to attract buyers and using pushcarts or barrows.
*********Jellied eels is a traditional English dish that originated in the Eighteenth Century, primarily in the East End of London. The dish consists of chopped eels boiled in a spiced stock that is allowed to cool and set, forming a jelly. It is usually served cold. Eels were historically a cheap, nutritious and readily available food source for the people of London; European eels were once so common in the Thames that nets were set as far upriver as London itself, and eels became a staple for London\'s poor.
**********An epergne is an ornate table centrepiece featuring a large central bowl or basket with radiating branches that hold smaller dishes, baskets, or candleholders.
***********Prince Monolulu was a flamboyant British horse-racing tipster, eccentric showman, and early television personality. Born Peter Carl Mackay on October the 26th, 1881, in St. Croix (then the Danish West Indies), his claimed royal African lineage, saying he was a chief of the Falasha tribe of Abyssinia. He arrived in Briain in 1902 after traveling the world and working various odd jobs. His unique signature style was to wear brightly coloured robes, flags, and an ostrich-feather headdress. Known for his catchphrase "I gotta horse!", he was a colourful fixture at UK racecourses from the 1920s until his death in 1965. He also made history on November the 2nd, 1936, as the first black man to appear on BBC Television.
************As with most flea markets, there were rumours of people uncovering valuable treasures for a paltry sum at the Caledonian Markets, which served as good and cheap marketing to draw visitors there, all hoping that they would be the one to discover the next lucky find. There was the rumour of a women who bought a string of beads for a shilling from the Caledonian Markets, only to find out later on that they were black pearls worth two thousand pounds, but there was no definitive proof of it. However, there was the confirmed story of the trader who sold a bunch of old keys for a half-crown (twelve and half pence) to a lucky customer who was amazed to find out one of them was in fact pure gold!
*************Gravestone teeth (or "tombstone teeth" in America) is an old slang term with two main meanings: very large, prominent front teeth, or a row of decaying, crooked, and missing teeth that look like old graveyard markers.
**************Cockney rhyming slang for a face is boat race (which rhymes with face). To call a face pretty, a speaker will usually combine it with a standard descriptive word, as there is no single rhyming phrase meaning specifically a "pretty face", so a "pretty boat race".
***************Free or subsidised eye tests began to emerge for some working-class people in Britain in the 1920s through pioneering social insurance programs, though they were not universally free for everyone. In Britain, the state-backed National Health Insurance (NHI) scheme was expanded in 1923 to include an "ophthalmic benefit" administered by local Approved Societies. Societies with extra cash surpluses could fully cover eye examinations and provide grants for basic corrective eyewear for qualifying working-class wage earners.
****************‘Spuds’ is a very common British shortcut for potatoes, as popular today as it was in the 1920s.
*****************There are many different Cockney slang terms for ears, including “king’ (short for King Lear”, “lords and peers” and “bottle of beers”, however another one commonly used in the 1920s was “toby jugs” because it rhymes with lugs, which is another old regional word for ears.
******************The proverb "the apple never falls far from the tree" means that children tend to share the same physical traits, behaviours, talents, or personality traits as their parents. It is used to highlight family resemblances in a positive, negative, or neutral way. The core idea comes from older European sayings, most notably documented in German ("der Apfel fällt nicht weit vom Stamm") as early as 1605 (and variations in other languages like Turkish and Danish.
******************In the 1920s, underground gambling houses and card clubs in London\'s East End were found primarily clustered around Limehouse (specifically Pennyfields and Limehouse Causeway) and the Jewish immigrant quarters off Commercial Road in Whitechapel and Stepney. Those centred around Pennyfields and Limehouse Causeway (Limehouse), London\'s original dockside in Chinatown, small boarding houses and social spots hosted games like Fan Tan and pukka pew for seafarers and visitors. Though much of the 1920s scurrilous reputation was sensationalised by the press for the titillation of middle and upper-class household gossip, there were still some rather shady gambling houses still left from the notorious Victorian era.
********************“Half-Inched” is rhyming Cockney slang for the act of stealing. “Half-inch” as in to “pinch”.
*********************Bed curtains or bed hangings are fabric panels that hang around a bed from a frame, ceiling, or canopy to provide privacy, block light, and add style. They are often used with four-poster beds, bunk beds, or children\'s house beds. Dating back centuries, people used heavy bed curtains in shared or cold rooms to block chilly drafts, gain privacy from servants or family members, and keep out insects.
**********************”Bread and honey” is Cockney rhyming slang for money.
***********************Cockney people in the 1920s would have called their local neighbourhood drinking spot, either their “boozer” or simply refer to it by the specific house name.
************************A rag-and-bone man is a person who goes from street to street in a vehicle or with a horse and cart buying things such as old clothes and furniture. He would then sell these items on to someone else for a small profit.
*************************The Singer Corporation is an American manufacturer of consumer sewing machines, first established as I. M. Singer & Co. in 1851 by Isaac M. Singer with New York lawyer Edward C. Clark. Best known for its sewing machines, it was renamed Singer Manufacturing Company in 1865, then the Singer Company in 1963. In 1867, the Singer Company decided that the demand for their sewing machines in the United Kingdom was sufficiently high to open a local factory in Glasgow on John Street. The Vice President of Singer, George Ross McKenzie selected Glasgow because of its iron making industries, cheap labour, and shipping capabilities. Demand for sewing machines outstripped production at the new plant and by 1873, a new larger factory was completed on James Street, Bridgeton. By that point, Singer employed over two thousand people in Scotland, but they still could not produce enough machines. In 1882 the company purchased forty-six acres of farmland in Clydebank and built an even bigger factory. With nearly a million square feet of space and almost seven thousand employees, it was possible to produce on average 13,000 machines a week, making it the largest sewing machine factory in the world. The Clydebank factory was so productive that in 1905, the U.S. Singer Company set up and registered the Singer Manufacturing Company Ltd. in the United Kingdom.
**************************A common Cockney greeting of the 1920s is "Wotcher" (frequently spelled what-cheer or wotsher), which means "hello" or "how are you?" It is an old colloquial contraction of the phrase "What cheer? "
***************************A pinny is an informal word for a pinafore or apron worn over clothes to keep them clean, usually whilst cooking or cleaning.
****************************Dresden china is a term for delicate, highly decorative German hard-paste porcelain featuring ornate Rococo-revival styles, intricate hand-painted flowers, and rich gold gilding. Rather than coming from a single factory, the name describes artistic porcelain decorated by independent studios in Dresden using white blanks often sourced from Meissen.
*****************************Guilloché is a decorative technique of engraving intricate, repetitive geometric patterns, an architectural ornament made of interlaced bands, or a security pattern on currency. It was a popular form of enamelling patterns on jewellery and decorative objects from the 1880s until the outbreak of the Second World War.
*******************************Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.
*******************************"Royalty ware" or "commemorative ware," generally refers to commemorative ceramics, pottery, and souvenirs produced to mark significant events in the lives of the British Royal Family, and serve as historical markers for major, joyous, or monumental royal occasions.
********************************A jumble sale is a British community event, often held in church or village halls, where donated second-hand goods are sold to raise funds for charity or local organisations. Common items sold include used clothes, books, toys, and bric-a-brac at very low prices.
*********************************The carte de visite (which translates from the French as \'visiting card\') was a format of small photograph which was patented in Paris by photographer André Adolphe Eugène Disdéri in 1854, although first used by Louis Dodero in 1851.
**********************************In slang, "bob" can mean a British coin, namely a shilling.
Whilst this charming bric-a-brac stall, jammed full of treasures waiting to be discovered, may appear real to you, it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The two Dresden style statues in the middle of the scene, and the statue of the Georgian gentleman behind them, are made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces, The pair have been hand painted and gilded by me.
The cottage ware lidded butter dish has been made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson. It has been decorated authentically and matches in perfect detail its life-size Price Washington ‘Ye Olde Cottage Butter Dish’ counterparts. The central chimney serves as a handle, just like the real thing. Valerie Casson is renown for her meticulously crafted and painted miniature ceramics.
The Eighteen Century style cow statue surrounded by roses, and the Eighteenth Century gentleman surrounded by roses are made by British miniature ceramicist, Kay Lewis.
The tall cranberry glass epergne behind Kay Lewis’ Eighteenth Century gentleman has been made by miniature glass artisan Philip Grenyer.
The Delftware plate featuring a hand painted windmill was painted by an unknown artisan, and was supplied to me by Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House shop in the United Kingdom.
The floral jug behind the epergne is hand painted and gilded to very high standards. With Nippon painted on the underside of its base, this is a piece of pre Second World War export ware, probably from the 1920s, and is part of a miniature tea set I own.
The carte de visites of Edwardian actresses are all real replicas of publicity photos of them, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
The books in the crate to the right of the photograph are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, although the books’ interiors are beautiful, so too are the covers, and I couldn’t resist displaying them for you to see. What might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To produce these in such detail makes them true artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The three-pronged silver candelabra has been made by Warwick Miniatures, and the pretty pink lady teapot behind it has been made by French ceramicist and miniature artisan Valerie Casson.
The hexagonal plates featuring the courting couples, the two gilt rimmed vases in the background, the portrait of ‘The Laughing Cavelier’ to the right of the photo in the midground, the cameo to the left in the midground, and the other paintings all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The cutlery in the wooden tray come from various places, including high street stockists of doll’s house miniatures, Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop and various online stockists.
The wooden boxes and crates come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The feather fan in the background comes from Melody Jane’s Dolls’ House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.
The Titanic launch commemoration jug in the foreground was created by the English miniature ceramic artist, Rachael Munday, whose work is always of high quality and highly sought after by miniature collectors around the world.
The jewellery casket in the foreground is in reality an Eighteenth Century miniature trinket made of gold and enamel. It is so dainty. The lid opens and one could store something incredibly small in it (like a handful of diamond chips), and there is a loop (hidden at the back) which allows it to be strung upon a chain. I picked this piece up from an antique dealer in London many years ago.
The brick wall at the back is a very special piece, and one of my more recent additions to my miniatures collection. Made painstakingly by hand, this was made by my very dear Flickr friend and artist Kim Hagar (BKHagar *Kim*), she surprised me with this amazing piece entitled “Wall” as a Christmas gift a few years ago, with the intention that I use it in my miniatures photos. Each brick has been individually cut and then worn to give texture before being stuck to the backing board and then painted. She has created several floors in the same way for some of her own miniature projects which you can see in her “In Miniature” album here: www.flickr.com/photos/bkhagar_gallery/albums/721777203007...
An opportunistic take at Westbury which kind of sums up, for the visiting rail-fan, the predominant traction to be found at this freight hotspot.
Helpfully, Shed 66194 was going nowhere fast - a good thing because I was surprised at just how sensitive the image was to moving a couple of inches right / left / up / down, during my efforts to minimise the lens distortion. To be honest going 'wide' hardly helped, but I really couldn't be bothered to move over to the platform behind me and put the tele-lens on.
No surprises that, despite my best 'on location' efforts, it still needed a bit of corrective work back home in Lightroom to get it straight and true.
1.17pm, 11th October 2019
Another SOOC shot besides my mark and a crop. Shot with Canon 75-300mm F/4-5.6 USM III
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity;
but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn
on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling
hills that reach to the far horizon?
- Hal Borland
A farrier is a skilled craftsperson with a sound knowledge of both theory and practice of the craft, capable of shoeing all types of equine feet, whether normal or defective, of making shoes to suit all types of work and working conditions, and of devising corrective measures to compensate for faulty limb action.
Well, i thought i would try another SP. This time my beautiful daughter assisted me. More of my new processing.
Here is a song for you.... www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPBYLDqUwQk
Notes, comments, faves and corrective criticism are always appreciated!!! Thank you in advance! =-)
Please visit my site and tell me what you think!
So what do you do on a Saturday when you are run down with the cold, have too many cold flu tablets on board, and you don't like the 7 portait image panorama.....Well you experiement. Tried some manipulation (that I don't usually do) and I sort of like the result. The original was taken at long reef reserve with my mate Brad - it was great to catch up. I used a Cokin GND8, Circ polarizer and 3 rocks to lay on, in order to take this one. Did the manipulation using the Lens Corrective function.
Have a great weekend all.
Ps...Be harsh with the criticism as well. The tablets will make it seem lighter (hehe)
I miss autumn, I miss the leaves, I miss the colours and most of the time I miss sunshine too. So here is another one of the photos I took in my favourite nature reserve on a perfect autumn day which now seems to be years ago.
I'm behind with commenting but will try to catch up later today and tomorrow. On Tuesday I had a dentist appointment which was scheduled for two hours and in the end took five hours because of certain "complications" which were mainly due to the bad job my previous dentist had done years ago. Afterwards I felt miserable and I can still hardly eat. Next week I will have to go there again for corrective dental surgery, lovely.
This is what remains of the original concept of my Polaroid Week project. I was going to dump a bag of ice in my yard and shoot it as it melted, using my Hasselblad 500cm and Nons back. The new back changes the focal plane to get rid of the border that plagued their original back. One consequence of that is that you have to use a corrective filter to enable your lens to focus to infinity. Without it, you’re limited to close-up work. Hmmm. So the idea was to use this without the corrective filter and work close-up. I don’t think it was able to get close enough for what I wanted, and I got the bag too late in the day so I ran out of light before I ran out of ice. So the implementation became more ICE fades to black than ICE melts. I didn’t think stretching this out over the week worked. So I tried putting the shots in a matrix, and I think that makes more sense. It kinda sorta works. I have a different idea that I need to try today.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
See also: Photorefractive keratectomy
LASIK or Lasik (laser-assisted in situ keratomileusis) is a type of refractive surgery for correcting myopia, hyperopia, and astigmatism. LASIK is performed by ophthalmologists using a laser.[1] LASIK is similar to other surgical corrective procedures such as photorefractive keratectomy, PRK, (also called ASA, Advanced Surface Ablation) though it provides benefits such as faster patient recovery. Both LASIK and PRK represent advances over radial keratotomy in the surgical treatment of vision problems, and are thus viable alternatives to wearing corrective eyeglasses or contact lenses for many patients.
Bright orange when in flower, these seed pods contain a cherry coloured fruit. The dried fruit of P. alkekengi is called the golden flower in the Unani system of medicine, and used as a diuretic, antiseptic, liver corrective, and sedative. Physalis alkekengi seed fossils are known from Miocene of Siberia, Pliocene of Europe and Pleistocene of Germany. Physalis alkekengi pollen have been found in early Pleistocene sediments in Ludham east of Wroxham, East Anglia.
Anzac Day, 25 April, is probably Australia's most important national occasion. It marks the anniversary of the first campaign that led to major casualties for Australian and New Zealand forces during World War One and commemorates all the conflicts that followed.
Candid Portrait
Elizabeth Street, Sydney
April, 2019