The small things
Posted on June 11, 2012
The man with the magnifying glass… is a fresh eye before a new object [….] it gives him back the enlarging gaze of a child. With this glass in his hand, he returns to the garden, where children see enlarged. […] The details of a thing can be the sign of a new world which, like all worlds, contains the attributes of greatness.
Miniature is one of the refuges of greatness.
Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space
It is the task of the phenomenologist, and the photographer, to open our eyes. To shift our viewpoint. To make us look at the world from a different angle, and appreciate the small things. It seems, perhaps, that this is a task that has become more urgent in recent times. As the virtual possibilities of our world expand and distort, seemingly out of our control, there is a contrary need to find some kind of anchor or pivot point – to gain some perspective. And so we turn our gaze to what we know and to what is real; simultaneously precious and vulnerable, yet strong and vigorous.
Everything has its contrary point. If we find it we can see the world with greater clarity. To see the big picture, we have to look closer, find the detail. And maybe then the answer might have been there, much closer to home than we thought, in our own back garden.
The world carries on producing with overwhelming abundance every year, every season, every day, every minute. Maybe one day it will stop being so, but though the humble spider may seem to balance precariously on the petal of a flower, he finds sure footing there. He knows nothing of these concerns and will continue to strive to survive from one moment to the next. It is all he can do. It is all we can do.
To see the world in macro is to see up close, with a magnifying glass. Like a child playing detective the clues are there to be found if we look closely. Bachelard understood that in order to understand the big things, we must first develop the ‘enlarging gaze of a child’ and turn to the small things in which they find their origins. In miniature the world is the richer, more intense and alive. It is the nucleus, the centre of life.
Thus the beauty that nature’s bounty continually throws forth season after season, year after year can be found if we look in close. Herein lies the rich, ripe, brilliant, voluptuous, fullness of late Spring….
…. A fluffy downy feather in a child’s hand. Almost too light to hold.
A spider’s web sparkling in the moist air. Almost invisible.
A pendulous pair of ripening cherries glinting provocatively in the morning sunlight
Velvety-soft almond pods begging to be stroked
Tall camomiles standing proud and erect as their perfectly rounded golden pads strain towards the life-giving sun, petals dangling elegantly
And then there are the smells which carry on the gentle breeze: fragrant lavender, and most powerful the sweet honey-scented clover, whose heady scent fills your nostrils at every turn
As I wander the gentle murmur of busy buzzing insects contrasts with my lazy mood
The endlessly undulating folds of a full blooming peony
Oh and the poppies! So vibrant and joyful they punctuate the landscape with their translucent orange-red glow, their delicate, torn, paper-thin petals swaying gently in the breeze….
… Nature creates its own glorious poetry. If we look for it.
PS – I wish these had been taken in my own back garden, but they were actually taken near to the b&b we stayed in on holiday in Italy last week, where it seems the sun still shines occasionally unlike here!
© Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012
Fabulous Monsters (I believe in you)
Posted on May 22, 2012
… he was going on, when his eye happened to fall upon Alice: he turned round instantly, and stood for some time looking at her with an air of the deepest disgust.
“What – is – this?” he said at last.
“This is a child!” Haigha replied eagerly, coming in front of Alice to introduce her, and spreading out both his hands towards her in an Anglo-Saxon attitude. “We only found it to-day. It’s as large as life, and twice as natural!”
“I always thought they were fabulous monsters!” said the Unicorn. “Is it alive?”
“It can talk,” said Haigha, solemnly.
The Unicorn looked dreamily at Alice, and said “Talk, child.”
Alice could not help her lips curling up into a smile as she began: “Do you know, I always thought Unicorns were fabulous monsters, too? I never saw one alive before!”
“Well, now that we have seen each other,” said the Unicorn, “if you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you. Is that a bargain?”
“Yes, if you like,” said Alice.From the chapter “The Lion and the Unicorn”, Alice Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll
I have just finished reading Alice Through the Looking Glass to my children. The moments when I read stories to them are probably some of my favourite moments of motherhood. I hope that they never stop wanting me to read aloud to them. Storytime is a cue for winding down; time to be still, to stop and listen, to just be content at the end of the day in our weary bodies. It is time to take ourselves off into a different world. I love hearing their gentle warm breath next to my ear, feeling their little chests rise and fall to the gentle rhythm of my voice. Their limbs sleepy and still, relaxing, in concentration and anticipation. Eyes wide with wonder. Warm heads snuggled under my armpits.
I love to play the role of the storyteller. It’s so much fun getting into character and doing all the funny, silly voices; making them laugh, making them scared, intrigued, confused, or just desperate to find out what happens next. I relish introducing them to the wonder of worlds which exist only on the page in words, pictures, and which fizz and sparkle, bursting into life in that moment inside our heads. There are no limits – only the far-reaching parameters of our own imaginations.
The bewildering range of things which a 6 and 4-year-old can conjure up in their make-believe worlds never fails to astound me: mermaids and sorcerers jostle with knights and princesses, dragons and fairies… Disney, God, the tooth fairy, Father Christmas… it’s all there, jumbled and confused maybe (and it’s all pretty much on level pegging), but it all provides such rich and wonderful material for little heads thankfully yet innocent of the onerous reality of the adult world. I’m glad they have all these characters to turn to and provide them with some comfort, and some answers which we adults sometimes fail to.
In childhood I see such urgency, such presence and promise, such embodiment of humanity in all its wild energy, passion, cruelty and innocence.
I don’t believe in so many things as I used to when I was little, but I believe most fiercely and passionately in them, those fabulous monsters. In everything they are in their lively, questioning minds and bodies, and everything they might be.
A walk in the woods
Posted on May 16, 2012
I’ve been sick all week with a horrid virus so haven’t had the energy to even get dressed let alone think about blogging. Still, I do have some new photos to post. Before I got ill we went out for a walk in the woods on Saturday. It was so green and lush and moist (on account of all the rain we have been having). Totally magical.
I focused in on interesting leaves, played around a bit with exposure and focus, and reflections. I quite like the results, I think. They are a bit dreamy. Very me, anyway!
© Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012
Nephology
Posted on May 10, 2012
Recently, I’ve been doing a lot of cloud gazing. We’ve had plenty of moody skies which makes for interesting and dramatic cloud formations. I haven’t felt much like photographing them, though, strangely.
I just want to look.
The master of all cloud photographers was, I think, Alfred Stieglitz. He made his series of Equivalents as a response to a critic who believed that he had some kind of hypnotic power over his subjects, and claimed therein lay his photographic talents. Affronted, he set about to prove unequivocally that he could take good pictures of other things. Things which couldn’t be hypnotised by his lens. He turned his camera upwards and looked to the sky, to the clouds.
Alfred Stieglitz – Equivalent
Alfred Stieglitz – Equivalent
Alfred Stieglitz – Equivalent
Alfred Stieglitz – Equivalent
His mother was dying at the time, and these beautiful images are also a moving and emotional tribute to her. Abstract art has such power to both convey and reflect human emotion, holding up a mirror to our souls.
Was he searching for the truth? An escape from reality? Or blessed relief from the pain of losing a loved one? Was he looking for God?
We will never know exactly, but of course part of their appeal and potency is their universality. We can all find our own solace – our own answers – in them.
Clouds induce in me a lazy state of daydreaming – one of my most favourite past-times. My children enjoy that age-old past-time of spotting recognisable forms (animals, flowers, trees) in the clouds, and mostly when I think about clouds I think about childhood, although I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because my children are so fascinated by them, or maybe because I was as a child.
And children are fascinated by clouds aren’t they? Usually I think of them as quite friendly and fluffy. Though sometimes they can be scary and menacing like the Cloud Men in Roald Dahl’s James and the Giant Peach.
The other day, walking my son home from school in the rain (again) he commented on a discussion he had had with some friends at school about the rain. He said he thought that when it was raining it was God having a shower, but another friend thought that it was God’s tears. “Mummy”, he sighed, “either God is having a lot of showers lately, or he is very sad.”
I wrote these two poems about cloud-gazing from a child’s perspective (and please forgive me if they are very bad I know I am not a poet but I am trying out some new things, and perhaps they are not quite done I’m not sure yet):
Nephology
Evapotranspiration. Troposphere. Stratosphere. Mesosphere. Cumuliform. Cirrocumulus.
I say the unfamiliar words out loud
Try them
Roll them around thoughtfully, clumsily in my mouth
A sugary boiled sweet clattering against my teeth
Nacreous: very high clouds. Exhibit lustrous, rainbow colours like mother of pearl
Noctilucent: night clouds. The highest clouds in the atmosphere. Illuminate during deep twilight
A new pair of too-tight leather shoes
Not easy
Not comfy
Nephology: the study of clouds
An other language
Beautiful, strange
Not mine fluently tripping off my tongue
With a skip and a hopscotch: 1… 2-3… 4… 5-6…. 7… 8-9… pick up the stone – and back again.
Can I say it backwards?
Ygolohpen (eeee-jolo-pen)
I’m stuck
Standing still
I suck
The sweet deposits itself in the hollow of my left cheek
Oozes gently filling my mouth with a burst of sickly syrupy lusciousness
I look up
Smile to myself
After a while, I turn around and hopscotch back
My once shiny shoes now scuffed and worn
Moulded to my feet
Things that once were new become part of me
Cloud kisses
I watch the clouds up in the sky
Feel the sunshine on my face
Wonder: can they see them up in space?
I watch the clouds up in the sky
White-whipped marshmallow kisses
Heaped moody-grey wishes
I watch the clouds up in the sky
I watch the thin vapours drift, I watch them roam
Restless puffs of foam
I watch the clouds up in the sky
Sheet-like fold me up a letter
Swaddle me a soft dove-grey angora sweater
I watch the clouds up in the sky
Send me surfing on a halo-hazed rim
I follow them to nowhere on a whim
I watch the clouds up in the sky
I skip a rainbow trip
Reach out to grip
Does God take his strong ancient hands
And wring each raindrop from the clouds
Until they are spent?
I watch them fall
Feel them splash upon my nose, my eyelashes
I stick out my tongue to taste
The tang of His salty-sweet tears
© Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012
For reference, these are the websites I took the images from:
http://theindecisivemoment.wordpress.com/2010/11/17/inspired-by-a-master-alfred-stieglitz/
http://phomul.canalblog.com/archives/stieglitz__alfred/index.html
http://www.moma.org/collection/object.php?object_id=44200
Posted on May 8, 2012
How amazing is this? I would love to see it!

Heather Benning’s life-size dollhouse- a popular entry in last year’s Contact Photography Festival – is now a burned ruin. The western Canadian artist torched it, saying she plans an exhibition called Death of the Dollhouse. See more on the WP blog ReadReidRead, where the story about Benning’s act of fire originated. (The rest of this post is Canadian Art Junkie’s original piece on Benning’s work, last year)

Benning’s life-size dollhouse began on an abandoned farm in rural Manitoba and was on exhibit in Toronto’s Contact Photography Festival last spring. Her 30 photos provided a look through an entire wall of Plexiglas, revealing rooms now restored with decor from the time the house was abandoned in 1968.

-Reshingling the roof

–Kitchen Sideboard before Restoration
The contrast in the exterior and interior speak to themes surrounding the passage of time, childhood play, memory, reclamation and nostalgia. The Dollhouse delves deeply…
View original post 104 more words
The space in-between: Reflections of a passenger
Posted on May 7, 2012
Continuing on a theme, which I first blogged about here on photographing the spaces in-between; I thought I would share with you some pictures from a project I did for my MA. I am copying and pasting the pictures, and the introduction to the book as I wrote it (almost 7 years ago now!), although there is probably much I would change now.
These images are all taken on car journeys, through the windscreen or passenger window, whilst travelling on various motorways up and down the UK. They are very low quality I’m afraid as I can’t find the original disc (they were scanned from transparency film) so I took them from the book proof pdf.
The intimate is not a space but a relationship between spaces.
Beatriz Colomina
The space in-between is a space between here and there, between dreams and waking.
It is invisible; a kind of nowhere, somewhere, anywhere… a place which harbours our daydreams.
Through these narrow chinks new possibilities emerge to dazzle the eye like sunlight glimpsing through a cracked wall, and we can dream a different story, or imagine another journey which our fate does not follow for a fleeting, precious instant.
These intimate, indulgent moments in which we (if only temporarily) dwell, offer us shelter, escape, hope, despair, contentment and yearning.
These images chart a period of being a passenger; of frequent journeys I have made, places I have been transported to and daydreams I have had along-the-way.
As the window frame fills with transient scenes I freeze them in an instant, drink them up greedily, and then erase them with one click of the camera shutter. Now they are mine.
Blurred by my eye, they become something other, these non-landscapes of my journeys; not here, not there, not quite anywhere. But they are stored forever in my dreams.
The quote is from Privacy and Publicity: Modern Architecture as Mass Media by Beatriz Colomina
© Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012
After the rain
Posted on April 30, 2012
At last! The rain has given us glorious pause and the sun shone all day. There were times I thought she would give up and let the grey clouds swallow her up again, but she didn’t. How welcome was this sunshine after two dreary weeks of rain! I decided to go for a walk into town via the scenic route and I took some snaps with my trusty ‘phone along the way.
I hope you don’t mind, I just wanted to share this moment with you:
Somehow, after the rain, the air feels fresher. New smells fill my nostrils. The warm musty sweetness of Spring reawakening. Earthy-mineral tones rise up and mingle with the honey-rich blossom. There is nothing more delicious than the smell of the world waking up after the rain. The colours are vibrating, reinvigorated. Everywhere is animated and teaming with life generously renewed by the rain. The trees stand taller; the grass prouder; the bees are buzzier; the blossom frothier.
Welcome back fluffy white, cornflower blue, lush green, sunshine yellow and candyfloss pink! It’s been far too dull here of late! Welcome back Spring!
© Emily Hughes and searchingtosee, 2012
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