Colour Collaborative: May: Photograph

It intrigues me how everyone has their own style when they take a photograph. Some bloggers' pictures are so distinctive I could tell you instantly whose they are. Wouldn't it be great if we all went to the same place and took pictures of the same things and then compared them afterwards. A subtle framing technique or a little emphasis on a detail or allowing less light into the camera. We all have our moves.

The choice of subject is personal as well. Looking back over my pictures I see a lot of green, of course, but very often stone as well. It's a combination I love. Every morning on the school run I look at the walls of the church and the castle and marvel at how they've been there for hundreds of years, throughout storms and ice and the punishing glare of the summer sun. They just get softer in appearance and more beautiful. Over the centuries they have witnessed everything; triumph and tragedy, kings and peasants, joy and bloodshed.

I'm drawn to photograph nature, but also old houses and cottages with their gardens and trees and plants trailing around them. The gentle colours of nature, with a backdrop of stone or aged brick are my favourite. The top two pictures are typical I think. Leaves of every shade, from mid green to an acid almost yellow green and a gentle dusting of white blossom. Old stone, old brick and a wooden gate. Colours so subtle I don't have names for them. And a timber framed house with a gorgeous burgundy hedge. I don't need a thousand flowers of every colour, a range of greens and browns and greys is enough. That's not to say I don't love flowers, I do. Just not a riot, more of a gentle touch.

I think my colour choices reflect my personality. I find too much colour a bit overwhelming. Fine for a while, but I don't think I could live with it. I put the bright pink house in there for contrast. I loved seeing it, loved it, but my default setting is nature's palette. My eyes would constantly be searching for somewhere soothing to rest. In my photographs I'm trying to find that place.

Tell me, what do you return to again and again in your photographs?

To visit the other Colour Collaborative blogs for more of this month's posts, just click on the links below:

Jennifer at Thistlebear

Sarah at Mitenska 

What is The Colour Collaborative?

All creative bloggers make stuff, gather stuff, shape stuff, and share stuff. Mostly they work on their own, but what happens when a group of them work together? Is a creative collaboration greater than the sum of its parts? We think so and we hope you will too. We'll each be offering our own monthly take on a colour related theme, and hoping that in combination our ideas will encourage us, and perhaps you, to think about colour in new ways.

The Colour Collaborative: April: Seedling

Inside on my windowsills, safe from the arctic blasts and sudden vicious hail showers is all the promise of the summer garden. As I write I can see cucumbers, courgettes, achocha, tomatoes and larkspur. Other rooms have different assortments. Beans, peas, squashes, kale, salad leaves, sprouts, leeks, foxgloves and nicotiana. Before too long they'll be ready to venture out into the big wide world. Right now the life of a seedling is peachy. Shelter, warmth, water and no pests. They'll need to toughen up though, the real world can be a pretty harsh place when you're green and juicy.

I've always loved to grow things on the windowsill. When I was little I'd plant anything I could get my hands on. Lemon and grapefruit pips were a favourite. My friend and I had fantastic great big citrus plants. Acorns were good too. I had a windowsill full of plants then as well. I think I must have some inbuilt urge to grow things.

I love that moment when the first seed pops its head up. The bigger seeds sometimes have the husk of the seed stuck to them. I'm always tempted to pull them off. The seeds that are as small as a speck of dust are incredible. The tiniest vibrant speck of green can turn into the most glorious plant.

There's always a hint of the final plant in the seedling. The golden colour of the yellow courgette that has just germinated. The verdant green of an achocha with its tiny tendrils reaching out searching for support. The deep maroon of a frilly mustard plant. Delicate red veins on the leaves of a radish. I love this time of year when they're all small and perfect, unblemished and full of potential. Occasionally I catch sight of a snail with his nose pressed against the window or a slug pushing against the door. They're waiting.

To visit the other Colour Collaborative blogs for more of this month's posts, just click on the links below:

Gillian at Tales from a Happy House

Jennifer at Thistlebear

Sarah at Mitenska

What is The Colour Collaborative?

All creative bloggers make stuff, gather stuff, shape stuff, and share stuff. Mostly they work on their own, but what happens when a group of them work together? Is a creative collaboration greater than the sum of its parts? We think so and we hope you will too. We'll each be offering our own monthly take on a colour related theme, and hoping that in combination our ideas will encourage us, and perhaps you, to think about colour in new ways.

The Colour Collaborative: March: Egg

I'm rather in love with birds' eggs. That gorgeous smooth roundness and the subtleties of colour and pattern. Each egg perfectly suited to its environment both in shading and shape.

The extent of our egg collection can pretty much be seen above. We have a few more fragments, but these are our best two bits. I love the little mark on the blue egg where the chick had a go at getting out before he actually managed it.

Museums tend to have vast collections shut away in drawers, but now most of our information comes from pictures. The biggest boy has a copy of the Observer's Book of Birds' Eggs which is a favourite of mine. I never get tired of flicking through and admiring the eggs. Little speckles of grey on a
chiffchaff egg or brown watercolour stains on a willow warbler egg. All nicely done according to where the nest will be.

The shape matters as well.

Long pointy eggs don't roll as easily and fit alongside each other better. But look at the little owl's egg, almost perfectly round.

I've recently been looking at the makers of replica eggs and realising what an art it is. Each bird's egg is different, so two eggs from the same species could look quite distinct from each other. A good egg painter will capture the essence of the egg and in many cases they look indistinguishable from the real thing.

I shall be on the lookout for empty pieces of shell this year and seeing if I can identify them. The humblest or smallest birds can have the most beautiful egg colouring and patterning.

And at the grander end of the scale there is the magnificent golden eagle egg. A creamy buff background touched with dark gold and brown splotches, perfect camouflage for an untidy nest of sticks and heather.

Then there's the cuckoo's egg. It has a range of colour and marking and sometimes nicely matches the eggs of the birds in whose nest the egg is laid. The chick pushes out any other eggs or chicks to ensure it has the parents all to itself. I'm not sure I approve.

The egg I shall be looking for and hoping to find this year (only after it's hatched of course) is that of the song thrush.

To quote the Observer's book, "The ground colour is a beautifully clear pale greenish-blue - almost turquoise - and the markings consist of specks, spots and blotches of a very deep olive-green, black or reddish-brown."  That pale greenish-blue is one of my very favourite colours, cool, calm and serene.

To visit the other Colour Collaborative blogs for more of this month's posts, just click on the links below:

            Annie at Annie Cholewa                 Gillian at Tales from a Happy House 

           Jennifer at Thistlebear                   Sarah at Mitenska                              

What is The Colour Collaborative?

All creative bloggers make stuff, gather stuff, shape stuff, and share stuff. Mostly they work on their own, but what happens when a group of them work together? Is a creative collaboration greater than the sum of its parts? We think so and we hope you will too. We'll each be offering our own monthly take on a colour related theme, and hoping that in combination our ideas will encourage us, and perhaps you, to think about colour in new ways.

Colour Collaborative: February: Metal

Jutting out 800' into the swirling Bristol Channel is Clevedon pier. One of only two Grade I listed piers in the country, it was called "The most beautiful pier in England" by the late poet laureate, Sir John Betjeman. It is made of 370 tons of wrought ironwork, and incredibly was moved into position by hand, before being raised by a crane. The pier is somewhere we pass by often, a landmark on this Victorian seafront, yet it came close to being demolished not so long ago.

It was opened in 1869 to facilitate the journey to Wales, just over the other side of the water and visible in the photos above. Ferries would stop at the end of the pier, at one of the docking points built to accommodate the 49' tidal range. As time went on the Severn railway tunnel opened, in 1891, incredibly taking passengers underneath the river, and meaning less custom for the ferries. Excursions in the Bristol Channel became popular though, and paddeships and steamers would pick people up for pleasure trips.

Then in 1970, disaster struck. Two of the immense spans collapsed under load testing and the pier was closed. The pier's future was uncertain for years, and moves were made to demolish it. A Preservation Trust was formed to save the pier, and Sir John Betjeman spoke in support of its restoration.

Supporters raised over £100,000 towards a feasibility study and the local authority and English Heritage also chipped in. When the decision was taken to save the pier, English Heritage and the National Heritage Memorial Fund each donated £637,000 towards the costs. Many smaller donations were also made.

The pier was dismantled and the ironwork taken to nearby docks for restoration before being painstakingly reassembled. In 1989 the pier re-opened, with the beautiful pagoda at the end being opened in 1998. It's somewhere I always love to walk. The water and the sky are always mesmerising, changing according to the weather and the season. Every shade of grey is there, and at low tide rich brown mud, beloved of wading birds who dabble about looking for worms and tiny crustaceans.

On wild days I tie my hair back and hold on to the rail while the wind whips waves into the water. While the currents underneath are deadly, waves are unusual this far up the channel. The mud is churned up into a milky cocoa colour. On days like this there are only browns and greys. It makes you forget your worries and reminds you how good it is to be alive.

When the weather is more benevolent, the end of the pier is the best place to sit and watch the sunset. Sometimes the sky above the horizon will be the palest duck egg blue and the water will be shattered fiery sun. On a really good day there will be lavender grey clouds rimmed with gold. Over the years countless people have gazed out over the water from here, taking a moment to pause and sigh and think how beautiful it all is. I'm very grateful to the people who campaigned to save this lovely landmark. I think Sir John Betjeman would have approved.

To visit the other Colour Collaborative blogs for more of this month's posts, just click on the links below:

            Annie at Annie Cholewa                           Gillian at Tales from a Happy House

             Jennifer at Thistlebear                            Sarah at Mitenska

What is The Colour Collaborative?

All creative bloggers make stuff, gather stuff, shape stuff, and share stuff. Mostly they work on their own, but what happens when a group of them work together? Is a creative collaboration greater than the sum of its parts? We think so and we hope you will too. We'll each be offering our own monthly take on a colour related theme, and hoping that in combination our ideas will encourage us, and perhaps you, to think about colour in new ways.