Rainbow in infra-red

Most usually, when processing infra-red photographs, they are converted to black and white; basically because infra-red doesn't have any colour that we can see. In black and white, white means lots of infra-red, and black means little or none - it's a convenient representation of something we can't actually see.

However, our cameras have sensors that capture light in three channels; red, green and blue. Even values of infra-red radiation get captured in these three channels though infra-red wavelengths have very little red and no green or blue at all. So, when we process an infra-red picture, it is still made up of red, green and blue data and, if we produce a picture from these three channels of data, it is usually known as a 'false colour infra-red' - which can look quite unnatural; hence why black and white is often favoured.

However, when a rainbow appeared today, I wondered how it would show up if photographed in infra-red and the colour channels were retained. So, because every man woman and child in the world are dying to know the answer to this question, here it is:

Rainbow over Oxford - false colour infra-red photograph

3 out of 3

Our third and last geocache on this sunny winter afternoon found us at the start of the Lees Valley Road. A smart walk uphill (goodness, I made it!) and Bethany found the little capsule hidden behind a large rock.

Fortunately, I had 'Irene' (the InfraRed Canon A590) in my pocket, as I felt that the play of light and shade on the folded hills would come out well in the IR spectrum which, I think, it did.

Canon A590 IR, 1/80 sec, f7.5, ISO 80, 60mm efl.

No, the white isn't snow; just the tussock reflecting the IR. So, with the light and the temperature both fading fast, we decided not to venture further along the road but headed home to light the fire and settle down with a warm cup of tea.

Maruia Falls

The Maruia Falls have always seemed quite impressive to me; well worth a stop on the way from Christchurch to Murchison. Fortunately, the falls cannot be seen from the highway otherwise the road would have a rather high accident rate. But a pull off into the carpark and a few lazy steps brings you to this magnificent sight.

What is even more remarkable is that these falls did not exist prior to 1929. In the Murchison earthquake of that year, a landslip diverted the course of the Maruia River so that it rejoined its self further down stream, falling over its own bank. At that time, the falls were about one metre high. However, in the succeeding years the falls eroded the base of the river until, today, they plunge a good ten metres to the river below.

We tend to think that such things happen over thousands of years but, in the case of the Maruia Falls it has all taken place in a rather short 86 year period. Great productivity, New Zealand!

Cafe 51

Cafes tend to come and go - sometimes very quickly; more like fashion statements than places to hang out, drink coffee and eat. Cafe 51 is an exception; we have been frequenting this establishment for the last 21 years. Somehow, Cafe 51 has remained Oxford’s ‘place to go’ over all this time, despite the town having at least three other good eateries (one with a rather well known name).

The Cafe 51 experience starts at the door knob - it’s a loosely fitting brass thing that seems only vaguely connected to any opening mechanism. Don’t wrestle with it; just give it a gentle enquiring turn and the heavy wooden door will open into the early 20th century - very much in keeping with the exterior.

The whole Cafe 51 experience is like that door knob - it all seems too casual, the staff too friendly, the atmosphere almost homely. Can this really be a modern cafe delivering the victuals we expect in 2015? Yes, it can; like that questionable door knob, it just works - great coffee, great food and great service. It’s why Cafe 51 has remained our favourite Oxford haunt for 21 years and why, on occasions, it can be so busy that we reluctantly have to try somewhere else.

Give it a try when you’re next in Oxford. You’ll find it at: 51 Main Street, Oxford. Or on the web at: www.cafe51.co.nz

Soul of a Pilgrim

It is customary to have finished reading a book before writing a review. But having traversed this book line by line, cover to cover, I am sure that I have not finished reading yet - this is one of those books that needs to be ‘absorbed’ rather than simply read. Christine Valters Painter describes the pilgrimage of life as more like a spiral than a linear journey. And so it is with this book; there is something to be found within whether one might be on the first, or the twenty-first, loop in the the spiral.

The book describes eight practices to help the pilgrim on the road. Don’t worry, these are not eight ‘disciplines’ designed to break the back of those with a less than iron will - think of ‘attitudes’ that need to be nurtured and grown. We don’t need to come to this book already ‘perfected’. Rather we come as learners, ready to traverse the spiral as many times as it takes.

The sixth practice is one that I especially liked - “the practice of beginning again”. Stumbling and failure are a part of the journey, but always we begin again. However, regardless of whether we consider a part of our journey to have been a success or a failure, the nature of the spiral is that we will pass this way again. Each time we need to come again as beginners, without preconceived ideas of our competence or incompetence.

Christine’s voice is not the only one you will find in this book. There are contributions from her husband, John and from an eclectic mix of other pilgrims with a story to tell. This is not a ‘preachy’ book nor, despite the eight practices, is it a formula. Rather it is a thoughtful, and thought provoking, look at the spiritual side of a journey that we each have to make and the attitudes that might serve us well on the way.

Highly recommended.

On being old(er)

It’s taken weeks; a few bruises and a sprain or two but eventually I ventured out into the wide, wild, world. Don’t make a fool of yourself I thought as, grasping the electric unicycle between my shins, I glided down the footpath - not quite like a ninja.

And they said I should get a mobility scooter; this’ll show ‘em. I flicked right, around the bollard, a nifty move with nary a wobble. I’m da man. Across the park dodging the soccer nets, flying like superman my inner child cries, THIS. IS. SO. COOL.

I don’t usually like being the centre of attention, but past the supermarket I’m turning heads. “What’s that?” I hear. Just the coolest dude in town, I think. “Whoa, Sick” says one lad to another as I cruise past (I think that’s good, it’s hard to tell these days).

The dip down the curb with a bad camber ends my day-dreaming glory-ride, but fortunately I land on my feet. Maybe that looked deliberate? I hope. Getting up on the wheel again takes three goes - with something approaching panic rising up inside. But then I’m off again, wobbling my way towards home.

Well, the bald-old-coot turned a few heads today, and no doubt left some wishing that they could have such a cool ride. But, best of all, it was the most FUN you can have while wearing a helmet and padded in body armour; however old you happen to be.

A first fib

The fibonacci sequence is a numerical sequence that starts 1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21 where each successive number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. It is closely related to the golden ratio and to Pascal’s triangle and is found over and over in nature and in fractal forms. It is often used in art and photography as a compositional guide.

However I hadn’t realised, until this last weekend, that it is also used in a poetry form where the syllables in each successive line follow the fibonacci sequence. In poetry, this is called a ‘fib’. As I listened to a fib being read, I warmed to its simplicity (similar to Haiku) and to its open ended structure. So, of course, I had to give it a go:

Your
words
careful
written things
burdened with meaning
to cross the cold of empty space
risking storms of misunderstanding to come at last
to a sheltered port, an open waiting heart, and lips that smile, saying “so true, so true”.

A paragraph of writers

Writers are not usually known for their party habits. Though it must be said that there have been writers who’s prodigious use of mind altering substances should have qualified them. No, writers are more often known for being lonely creatures that traverse the landscape of life swathed in some private angst that mere mortals wouldn’t understand. At least that’s the common mythology.

Wanding lonely as a lost jandle, along Tahunanui beach

But this weekend, several writers descended on Tahunanui near Nelson to boldly go boldly where few writers have been before. It was the “No More Excuses, Writers’ Weekend.” My lips are sealed as to what went on (what happens in Tahunanui, stays in Tahunanui) but suffice to say that a fairly substantial paragraph of writers had a fantastic time together. We laughed, and sometimes cried, made fun of ourselves and occasionally embarrassed one another. There was heaps of writing and plenty of sharing as we listened to the new born offspring of wild imaginations.

I can’t wait for the sequel.

Ryan through the pin-hole

It is always pleasing to see a photographic show on at an art gallery. So I was naturally interested when Ryan McCauley’s show “YARD” opened at Arts in Oxford this last Saturday. The show is a substantial collection of pin-hole camera images of New Zealand back yards.

Part of the "YARD" exhibition currently showing at Arts in Oxford

‘YARD’ is an exploration of the spaces of childhood memory. I think that the medium perfectly suits the subject, with it’s slightly unfocused, heavily vignetted, images a good depiction of memories as they begin to fade. Well, mine anyway.

Ryan gave a floor-talk at the opening and discussed the intent behind the series as well as the building of the cameras and method of taking the pictures.

Ryan McCauley speaking at "YARD"

A worthwhile exhibition for photographers and non-photographers alike, that is open from 23 May to 7 June at Arts in Oxford, on Oxford’s Main Street.

The Feeling slider

There are lots of sliders in Lightroom and Photoshop but none of them are called the "Feeling" slider. It's a pity; a slider like that could save a lot of time.

Actually, what I am talking about could never be reduced to a single slider. But it's a convenient shorthand for what I want to bring up - editing a photo for creating a 'feeling' rather than a 'look'. It's something that has crept up on me quietly, until it finally announced its self a few months ago.

My own editing process has developed into a three step workflow. Steps one and two are both about making a photograph look as technically good as it can. The intention is to produce a well balanced photograph with appropriate ranges of tone and detail for the subject. However, the result of this part of the process can often be a picture which is a bit clinical; a good photograph but maybe lacking in soul.

Step three in my workflow is about bringing the picture to life, making it something that might warrant a second (or more) look. I used to ask myself the question, "what do I want this picture to look like?" But a few months ago I unconsciously began asking a slightly different question; "what do I want this photo to 'feel' like? The question taps into a slightly different vein - I don't want the picture to look the way I remember it looking, I want it to 'feel' the way I remember feeling. This feeling question can well take the picture in an entirely different direction.

Let me illustrate with a couple of examples: Here are two pictures at the end of step two:

In the first case it was a beautiful autumn day and the sun was making the whole scene alive with red, yellow and orange light reflecting off the leaves. This just seemed lacking in the photo which, though it probably had realistic colours, just didn't impart to the scene that feeling of being on fire. The second image was of the inside of the Reefton Museum. This was a cluttered, dingy space that could have done with a good clean. But the picture made it look far too clinical and well lit - nothing like the feeling of standing in the actual space.

I won't go into the actual techniques I used to impart feeling - everyone will have their own take on how to do it. But asking the 'feeling' question took me in a new direction and produced two pictures which I am sure are very different from what I would have produced twelve months ago:

These two pictures probably don't look exactly like the original scenes, but they sure make me feel like I am back there, and I hope they will allow others to feel what I felt when I pressed the shutter button in a way that the first two pictures don't do. How do you want your pictures to feel?