Yearly Archives: 2009

Spirituality and photography…

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pebble ripples, reflection, loch eck

Another couple of drives around Argyll in the last few days. On Tuesday we drove to Oban to see William sing in the Mod. This is the annual festival of Gaelic language, music and culture. Will was entered in a solo unaccompanied singing competition, and did himself (and me of course) proud, finishing just three points behind the eventual winner.

Yesterday was a bad day for photography- the weather was poor, and I was too nervous to photograph William. Sometimes, it is best just to be in the moment, without the enforced detachment of a lens between you and the action.

But today, I drove to Lochgilphead on a day of Autumn mists and still reflections. I left for an early meeting, and had no time to stop, but on the way home I slowed down.

And took some photographs.

Which set me thinking about why I do it, what the practice of photography brings into my life and how it interacts with the spiritual side of who I am.

I mentally made a list-

  • It allows me to be creative, and in creating, we encounter the Creator
  • It allows me to be appreciative- of the wide vistas, but also of the tiny small things- like the catch of dew on a leaf, or the light falling on yellow sea weed at low tide
  • It makes me look deeper, and that the more I look, the more I see
  • It slows me down and forces me to be more aware of the interplay between sun and scene and settings- the where I am, and the moment I am in
  • It teaches me patience- good photographs rarely happen in a hurry
  • It teaches me discipline- the need to understand how to do something
  • But it also teaches me that despite the acquisition of skill, there is still so much room for spontaneity and the seizure of opportunity
  • And that out of 500 attempts to capture something beautiful, then you might have just one photograph that captures the essence of something…
  • The rules of composition are useful, but are always meant to be played with
  • The capturing of images is a futile pursuit unless shared

Any more suggestions? Sit down a while and think…

chair, symmetry, St Conan's Kirk, Loch Awe

Blonde

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My daughter Emily is clever.

Clever in the get-her-sums-right kind of way. And also in a see-the-stuff-below-the-surface socially aware kind of way.

I am VERY proud of her. She is 13 going on 35 and in every way wonderful.

But- she is also rather… blonde.

Now I am not into judgmental stereotyping of folks as a result of outward appearance- it is against everything I stand for. But sometimes,  I wonder.

There are lots and lots of blonde jokes out there- the sorts of things that everyone finds funny (unless you happen to be blonde that is…)

For example-

So earlier, I was talking to Emily about Kuala Lumpar, and she asked me if it was in Spain. Fair enough- many of us would struggle to be sure about the whereabouts of Kuala Lumpar (Malaysia by the way- for the Blondes amongst us.)

When I rather harshly chuckled at the possible Spanish connection, and asked her what city she thought might be the capital of Spain, she replied ‘Portugal?’

Again rather unkindly, I laughed, and suggested that that would be like saying that France is the capital of Germany, she said ‘Oh right- and they are not even close to one another are they?’

I corrected her about the location of these European neighbours, and then told her that Madrid was the capital of Spain.

‘Oh right’ she said ‘I thought Madrid was a football team.’

On the other hand, perhaps she has a blonde geography teacher…

Benmore and the restored Fernery

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We took a walk around the gardens at Benmore yesterday.

The colours that can be seen in the tree collections are astonishing at this time of year- and of course there is the Fernery- a recently restored folly half way up a cliff, housing a collection of rare ferns. It is such a lovely space- and makes me think of my friend Simon McGoo- he would love it.

So for his and your benefit- a few photographs…

The sanctuary of small landscapes…

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edge of the woods, autumn

I woke early this morning- the old black dog is stalking me again, so sleep has become a little erratic. So I took the camera, and went for a walk.

Behind our house, there are woods. Squelch your way in there, and you are in a small pocket of wilderness- deer have squashed flat all the bracken, and the dappled forest floor is alive to all sorts of smaller creatures who live in the leaf mold. If you listen carefully you can almost hear the noise of their lives- chattering, fighting, consuming and copulating amongst the spoors of the autumn fungi.

leaf mold

And I am reminded of an old way of coping- from boyhood. The temporary exile into green spaces. To look for who I am, and to stand on the edges of the world looking in from the outside.

fallen branches

There are big landscapes hereabouts. Huge eyefuls of mountain and sea- vistas that swallow you whole and allow you to disappear.

But for now, I need the small ones. I need the nook and the hollow. I need the shadow cast by sun in trees. And the dance of the falling leaf. I need to tread carefully around mushrooms and step over the tracks left by something small and furry.

beech leaves

I am reminded of an old poem- written a few years ago, in a similar frame of mind, if in a very different season-

When I was a child
I saw as a child
Small
In the small things of landscape
Deep in the tickling grass
Held in the hollow of slow summer days
Now, like the grasshoppers
Ghosts of memory
Gone forever

But now I am grown
And the woods are no longer wild

My dragons died through education (at least for a while)
And the noise of cars on the B6139 heading for Newstead
Drove away the bears.

Instead I lift my eyes to the high places
Where horizons roll from ridge to ridge
Always higher, always further north
Crossing the high, hard won corrie
Blood pumping
Free for a while
From the baser motives-
Above it all.

Slower now
At the end of heavy days
And in good company
I look again beneath my feet
And try not to trample flowers

Michaela’s favourite view…

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A gorgeous autumn day today- and I took a drive round to Lochgilphead to meet with some colleagues. Lovely.

As ever, the camera traveled with me, and I took this shot along Loch Fyne, into the afternoon sun.

It is Michaela’s favourite view, and I always struggle to do it justice, as the vistas are so broad and wide, ringed in the far distance by the hills of Kintyre.

But I am enjoying the wide angle of the standard 18-55 mm lens on my camera- partnered with a polarising filter, that teases out some extra texture from clouds and colours, given the right angle to the light. But this one was into the sun, and I kind of like it…

Hope Michaela does too.

lochfyne from strachur, 1

And with a rough nod to the ‘two thirds rule’, here is a shot with the horizon in the other place…

loch fyne from strachur 2

Sharon Shoesmith- trial by media…

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Sharon Shoesmith is in the news again. check out this piece from the Guardian which describes some of the twistings and turnings  in the lead up to her sacking.

I have written several pieces about the event in Haringey around the tragic death of a baby called Peter at the hands of her mother and two men, whilst under supervision of the social work department. (See here and here for example.)

Shoesmith was paid a lot of money to manage a complex and pressured social care system for children. Her performance was regarded as exemplary- in bringing positive change in a council not unfamiliar with scandal. She had the full support of experts, local political leaders, and her own staff- that is until a poor performance at a press conference in front of tabloid journalists baying for blood. Blood that was duly served up.

You could say that a leader of a system that fails has to take the consequences.

But again I find myself asking questions of a society that appoints social workers to care for it’s most needy and vulnerable members, then vilifies the profession at every opportunity, whilst at the same time, services remain underfunded, and undervalued.

And there is a chronic shortage of staff who are willing to place themselves in the firing line as social workers doing child protection.

It remains to be seen as to whether Sharon Shoesmith will win her case in the High Court. But many people will hope that out of this process will come some clarity, and debate over the real issues.

Because the idea that kids die in our country because of a bad set of professionals not doing their job properly- it may sell tabloids, but it will not protect children.

My Uncle Napoleon, and Iranian culture…

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I recently confessed to an attempt to find a deeper understanding of Islamic cultures through reading literature.

The books I read were wonderful, but very much from a western perspective. I needed to adventure a bit further- and given that this was around the edges of bits of leisure time, I needed it to be reasonably digestible.

This evening, I watched two programmes on BBC 4 about Iran. One of them was about this book–

my uncle napoleon

This book (and this programme) deals with a different part of Iranian history- that we British people are very ignorant about- that is the occupation and manipulation of Iran as part of the power struggles first with Imperial Russia, and later as a way of ensuring the continued flow of oil to fuel our battleships. 4 separate invasions, and 100 years of political manipulation.

And we wonder why Iran today has no trust of western powers whatsoever?!

The second programme (also available on the i-player, here) follows a BBC foreign correspondent on a journey through his homeland- again Iran. It shows the beauty of the countryside, then richness of the culture, and the vibrant life of the people. It paints a picture of a country a million miles from the dark satanic oppressed place that we may have been led to understand. The film was almost certainly made under reporting restrictions, and does seem just a little too air brushed- almost like a tourist board film- but it is well worth watching.

And it reminded me that it was time I read some more Persian poetry- Rumi, Hafez and Saadi for example. 600 years of distilled beauty, spirituality and culture both alien, and yet so very familiar. The turning of seasons, and the preoccupations of love and and the approach of death…

Two young girls jump to their deaths…

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erskine bridge

Along the Clyde from where we live is a bridge over the river, connecting Paisley to Erskine, and therefore known as the Erskine bridge.

It is notorious as a spot where people go to commit suicide.

So much so that there are four telephone boxes on the bridge with information about the Samaritans helpline service.

And yesterday, two young girls, aged 14 and 15, left the residential educational unit they lived in, stood on the parapet, held hands, and jumped off together.

Soon the fingers of blame will be pointed. Something surely should have been done to avoid this terrible waste of life?

But for now, the shock will be on families, friends and care workers.

My heart goes out to them all.

Meeting and hoping with friends in Largs…

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We just spent a lovely couple of hours meeting with some people in Largs.

This was a networking meeting set up by Dave Wilson, to give  an assorted bunch of people the chance to meet up, share stories, and begin to imagine what being a Christian might mean for those of us who find ourselves longing for a more real and authentic way of expressing our spirituality and mission in the 21st century.

There were a couple of folk there who are members (companions?) of the Northumbria Community– a new monastic group that I knew little about, beyond the name. I hope to get to know more.

Then there were a couple of others who had found life in or around Charismatic Catholic organisations.

And many of our stories included much brokenness and pain- the damage that we can do to one another in the name of doctrine and denomination.

There were 4 of us at the meeting from Dunoon too- we set up a few worship stations, and Nick and I played a little music, but to be honest, the conversations were the important bit.

Dave asked the question ‘What next?’, and there was a reticence about wanting to name this as a ‘new thing’- rather people just wanted to meet again, and see what might happen- see what links begin to be made, and where the Spirit will lead us next.

I love meetings like this- full of hope…

If you are in the area (West Scotland) and want to be part of future meetings, drop me a line…