It's cold. My default weekend outfit is an Aran poloneck, jeans and boots. My fingers don't really want to be outside, and I have a pair of outdoor photography gloves sitting in my Amazon basket, though frugality is procrastinating the actual purchase.
But this weekend it's spirit-liftingly bright and the better half of the year seems finally within sight. Yesterday I was at work till early afternoon, but the camera was in the boot of the car, waiting for a quick getaway to the beach.
I chose Millisle, gateway to a Peninsula circuit. The tide was almost fully in, and the shots I'd envisaged weren't going to happen. But there's always something beautiful to photograph, and my eye was drawn to the patterns on the sand at the edge of the water, where waves and sun combined in elegant sculpted textures.
I took a series of almost abstract shots in gentle focus, until my fingers started expressing too much displeasure at the temperature. Time to click the button on my Amazon cart.
Sometimes when I go out with my camera I know exactly what it is that I want to shoot. And most of my best images probably result from careful planning and research, though there's often a little happy coincidence in the mix as well.
But sometimes it's nice just to go out and see what appeals to my eye. Yesterday was a day like that. It was a dry, dull September afternoon and I felt like walking on the beach to clear my head. I did my customary round-the-peninsula drive. The seas and skies weren't looking particularly photogenic except in the most minimalist of ways. What drew my eye instead were the fading, drying sea plants all round the coastal route, seedheads and skeletal stalks standing delicate against the bleached blue-grey sky.
You can't see the sea in most of my images, but I like to think I've captured a little of the mood of the afternoon and the way the understated light can calm and revive.
Silas Fretwell, banjo player.
Boxing day, over a month ago. Northern Ireland was at its winter best, and the very game J went along with my styling ideas and posed moodily on a range of beaches round the Ards peninsula. Also in the alleyway behind my house, where one thoughtful neighbour has provided a beautiful weathered black backdrop as his garden wall.
I love projects like this. The combination of developing the concept, imagining the styling, finding the clothing and props, chasing the most beautiful weather, and trying to get everything right on location is an inspiring challenge.
And this particular day was a good one. Sometimes what I've imagined looks really stupid in practice, but I was happy with this combination of content and locations.
We ended up having tea at the Portaferry Hotel, as J tried to regain feeling in his fingers, which were sadly unused to playing metal strings for such a length of time. I think it was worth it, but that's easy to say when I was hiding behind the camera, properly dressed for the cold day, and pressing nothing more aggravating to the fingers than a shutter. Maybe I owe him more than afternoon tea.
I blame the government for my lack of photographic and blogging action recently. This school year we have a new syllabus in place for two year groups, which makes for a much heavier workload than usual. I'm missing my weekends driving round the country - I seem to be spending far too much time sitting at my dining room table surrounded by A level notes instead.
But I did escape briefly from the Renaissance church anthem last weekend to drive one of my nieces along the County Down coast for an afternoon. It was a beautiful cold November day, ideal for a ten-minute walk every time we came to a harbour or a beach. Also ideal for eating at the Mourne Seafood Bar in Dundrum the instant the light went. We had salt and chilli squid, whitebait and mussels, all fantastic.
It's funny how a short outing like that can completely revive your spirits. It's something to do with the sea, I think. I had to sit down with my notes the instant I got home, but it didn't seem quite such a chore as usual.
Sometimes, what you need to make things right is to lie on your back in the grass, in the sun.
It's best if all you can hear is birdsong and waves.
You should close your eyes for a while. Fall asleep if you need to.
Later, look more carefully at the grass, the weeds, the insects.
Contemplate the sky.
Breathe.
It's a fabulous late summer afternoon. The sun is warm and the clouds are dramatic, so I race out to practise my landscape photography and see if there are enough blackberries ripe to be worth gathering.
Ballymorran Road, near Killinchy, is always a good place for both these endeavours, and it's certainly on form today. I stop everywhere that I can fit the Micra (triumphant from its recent MOT success) onto a verge. It's nice to have a car that won't look noticeably different after it's been scratched up in a hedge (a couple of years ago the police came to my door, having been alerted by neighbours to the likelihood that my car had been damaged by passing vandals, but the officers and myself circled the car carefully and I didn't see anything particularly different from usual...).
I compose my landscapes carefully, trying to find foreground interest, shooting with more sky and then more sea to work out which is best, looking for good reflections. I'm reasonably pleased with what I'm doing. But I'm half aware the whole time that I need plenty of good images for my Instagram feed - I'm nearly at the end of my current series and I'm under pressure to plan the next one.
The pressure is entirely of my own creation. Nobody else cares at all. But I have my self-imposed schedule of one new shot a day. I alternate landscape and portrait formats. They're properly edited. That's quite a lot, when for most of the year I can only shoot on fine weekends.
Then I catch a grip. Even if I never stray far from home, Northern Ireland has more than enough beautiful places and things to keep me going on this plan for ever. There'll always be something lovely or poignant to show. It's not going to run out.
Thus philosophising, I head for the blackberry hedges. I find a fantastic bank of them, where the top few berries on each stem are perfectly ripe, juicy and sweet. I gather enough for the next three days - they'll be superb for breakfast with Greek yoghurt and toasted flaked almonds.
But I don't want to stop at three days - I want go gather enough for a week. For two weeks! Which is ridiculous. They wouldn't be fresh. And there are thousands more right here, and there will be some more ripe in three days. And the three days after that. I'll return, and they'll be ready for me.
Clearly, I have an attitude problem. It makes me think of the Israelites in the wilderness, scooping up their lovely fresh manna, but determined to gather more than they need for today. But manna doesn't keep - it's mouldy by the morning. I would have fit right in with them.
I catch another, firmer grip and feel happy with my current blackberries. The words "sufficient unto the day" float into my head. It's a totally inappropriate motto, because it actually continues "is the evil thereof", but perhaps, taken out of context, it's the way to go.
I'm dying to update you on this weekend's trip to Fermanagh for the first stage of my Following Frances project.
But it's going to take a few days to write it all up and edit some photographs, so in the mean time, this was another grand day out last week.
A new lens (Canon EF 24-70mm f/4 L IS USM), sun peering as best as it could round massive clouds of hail, and a fast drive down the peninsula after work to shoot straight west.
Not a single drop of rain fell on me, and I got a very nice beef and mushroom in black bean sauce from the Good Fortune on the way home. A top class outing.
