Category Archives: photography

Wester

Posted on by
62

We spent the weekend up in Wester Ross. This is a truly beautiful part of the world.

And despite it being a holiday weekend, it was also incredibly quiet. For two days, we had this glorious landscape pretty much to ourselves.

One of the many lovely things about this area of Scotland is its native woodland. The trees here are many hundreds of years old, and were once part of the ancient Caledonian forest. Visitors to Scotland often think that dense plantations of sitka spruce and lodgepole pine are what makes up the “Scottish” forest but this is not the case. In fact, such plantations are of relatively recent appearance, many being the result of a Thatcherite loophole, which, a few decades ago, allowed the wealthy to shelter capital from taxation by investing it in forestry. Large swathes of the West Highlands, Sutherland and Caithness were covered with densely-planted non-native species so that Terry Wogan could continue to line his pockets.

To get a true flavour of the old Caledonian forest – less than 1% of which survives – then you need to go somewhere like Beinn Eighe, where the native woodland has been protected since 1951.

Scots pines are the ecological backbone of a woodland environment that supports many important species: capercaillies, pine martens, red squirrels, Scottish crossbills.

Some ancient pines remain short, hugging the hillside, while others grow tall and majestic. Together they lend the landscape great variety and drama.

. . .perhaps particularly on a murky, misty day. . .



. . . and these trees are just as impressive at close quarters.

I remember, on childhood holidays, how much I enjoyed collecting pebbles. The best pebbles were always wet – found in rock pools or at the waterline. When I brought my treasures home, I was often disappointed in how their bright colours faded to grey as they became dry, so I took to storing them in a bucket of water, in order to admire them as I’d found them. Many people, I imagine, don’t like being out and about in the rain, the mist, and the wet. But to my mind, they are missing something – water lends a clarity to objects that is really pretty amazing.





And a wet walk is just fine, if you have a cosy van to dry out in , some tasty fare, and a delicious glass of cherry perry to enjoy afterwards.

Thanks for the perry, Jen! Slainte!

colour

Posted on by
51

These end-of-February days are rather grey and dreich. Here is some colour to brighten them . . .

Green



Red



Blue



The yarn is my new favourite stuff to knit with. (So soft! So richly saturated! You’ll hear more about it soon!)
The swatch is one of several I’ve been making for the “Steek Sandwich” workshop I shall be leading at This is Knit in April. (That’s steek, not steak)
The daffodil bulbs are on my window sill
The bowl is from Emma Bridgewater’s new Walk in the Park range. (My favourite Bridgewater design since ‘Blue Hen.’)
The hand-coloured prints are the work of the quite brilliant Suzanne Norris. I love Suzanne’s designs – precise, evocative – and I also love the thoughtful way she writes about process. These are from her Amateur Naturalist’s Specimen Collection and you can read about the process of creating them in three parts, beginning here.

album

Posted on by
41

I have a downstairs neighbour (also a knitter) who, in the course of her work, often comes across interesting objects. She sometimes brings these up to show me, and together we will enthuse over a gorgeous set of art-deco buttons or an ancient pair of butter-pats. The other day she brought up a very special object, which I thought you’d like to see.

It resembles a small bible, but it isn’t.

One clasp is broken, but the other is in fine shape. The pages are heavy, gilt-edged.

Shall we look inside?

On the first leaf is a print of a young and grieving Queen Victoria.

It is a photograph album. A typically Victorian repository of memory.

The style of the clasped book, and the particular settings of the cartes-de-visites dates it, I’d say, to the late 1860s.

But there are many types of studio portrait in here, from the 1850s to the 1890s.

This fragile-looking woman has a face that seems to recede from the camera. Her shawl is simple and heavy – perhaps the property of a photographer who requires some drapery to set this pale and light-boned figure off against the studio background.

I love the drape of the mantle over the crinoline; the detail around the skirt; the combination of the mantle’s internal pockets with the rather elaborate corded bag.

You can almost hear the rustle of her dark, heavy silks.

His beard-quiff combo is really quite extraordinary.

And I love the jewelery and piled hair of this woman of later era, who appears in the album several times.

To whose memories do these faces, long dead, belong?

winter afternoons

Posted on by
40

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons –
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes –



Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
We can find no scar,
But internal difference –
Where the Meanings, are –



None may teach it – Any –
‘Tis the seal Despair –
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air –



When it comes, the Landscape listens –
Shadows – hold their breath –
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death –



Emily Dickinson

Sunday

Posted on by
25

It is a beautiful day today – bright, crisp, golden – the sort of Winter’s day I love.

While we were out for a walk, I took the opportunity to get some quick shots of my Muckle Mitts, which I realised I hadn’t shown you . . .

It is a very satisfying pattern – so quick! So nifty! Thankyou, Mary Jane. I enjoyed making them so much that I knit up a little cowl thingy to match.

It was lovely to work with the yarn, which I’d had in my stash for ages – Toft alpaca DK – a gift from Ysolda in, I think, 2009. Cheers, Ys!

The yarn is spun in a pleasingly nubbly and rustic way – it almost feels handspun – and the natural shades are very pleasing – so soft and muted. My Muckle mitts are ravelled here

The light was so nice today – good for taking photos. I’ve had my eye on the changes in the undergrowth during my daily walks, and it has been pleasing me in recent weeks. I have a bit of a thing for the humble rosebay willowherb – I love the shapes that it assumes in all seasons. At this time of year, last years stems and seeds are mere dried-out husks – but I find them incredibly beautiful.

Crazy, scribbled wisps . . .

. . . like a kid’s sparkler-writing on bonfire night . . .

. . . or fireworks themselves, thin forms, exploding with light.

It is so nice to feel the sun returning – - we made the most of the day after returning home, and have just now finished building our new log store – and loaded it up with gleanings from Edinburgh’s recent storms (many fallen trees about!)

Bruce has being doing his bit, of course, helping to fetch the kindling. . .

Hope you are enjoying your Sunday too!

September

Posted on by
48

It is is a lovely time of year.

of fruits . . .

. . . seedheads . . .



. . . and turning leaves.


Jesus seems even more than ordinarily contemplative. . .

. . . and Bruce enjoys sampling the Autumnal undergrowth. . .

For academics as well as students, this is back-to-school season – the moment when one puts away one’s research (one has never done quite enough), begins to prepare new lectures (groan), and faces the busy realities of a new semester. For me, this also meant hideously long days, commuting in the dark, and rarely ever getting outside to enjoy what I like most about this time of year. But this September is different: I shall continue my research and writing (huzzah) and I shall walk with my dog in the woods every day (an even louder huzzah). I no longer have the job or the commute. . . but I do have the boxes.

Forty-nine large boxes to be exact. They contain my books, which have just been sent up from my office in Newcastle. They are currently blocking the stairwell of our building because there is no room for them in our flat (which is full to bursting with my books already). Could anybody recommend a good bookseller who might be interested in purchasing a large collection of eighteenth-century literature, history, and criticism? I am completely serious. American revolutionary history and women’s writing a speciality. Anyway, I’m going to be offline for a few days while I sort through the contents of the boxes of doom. . .

flora

Posted on by
29

I am increasingly enjoying photographing wild plants and flowers – and spent quite a bit of time doing this while on holiday in Ireland. I particularly like the matt grey-green tones of coastal plants like sea holly (above) or frosted orache (below)

I also love the humble sheeps-bit, whose purplish-blues and pinks are really quite spectacular.

Perhaps the colours of Ireland’s flora will translate themselves into knitting at some point. . . .


sea bindweed


northern marsh orchid



biting stonecrop


Am I a sea carrot? Suggestions gratefully received.

1976

Posted on by
23

Here are me and my Ma in 1976. This photograph probably suggests several of my mother’s more immediate qualities – her strength, capability, and beauty – but what you don’t get a sense of here is what I most admire her for – her committed social conscience, shrewd business acumen, daft wit, and deep sentiment. Happy Birthday, Ma!