View From A Hill

When you look at a photograph, what do you see?

I once went to a photography exhibition at the museum in Chelmsford, I was drawn to a quite plain, black and white picture of an old work bench. It was in complete contrast to the bright, full colour view through the window next to it. I had no immediate thoughts or feelings towards what I was looking at, apart from the secret feeling that this was a curious subject.

I stepped closer, and read the description that the photographer had added underneath in a small, unassuming box.

“This was my late father’s work bench”, the description read, and went on to explain that he had used this same bench all his life. The description gently pulled the viewer deeper – “.. if you look closely, you can see the marks and cuts of decades of hard work embedded into the wood”.

I stepped closer still, the bench took on a new meaning, melancholy and warmth. Suddenly what was through the window had less colour than the stark, black and white photograph on the cream coloured wall inside. I could see all the marks created by years of woodworking tools. The picture had meaning after all.

It was 2002, early summer, and the last night of our stay in Cornwall. Each year I hoped to capture the elusive perfect sunset to pin the holiday to my mind forever. I gathered together my camera, filters, tripod and a bottle of beer and started the short walk up the hill from our house to the edge of the cliffs overlooking the sea at the far end – the quiet end  - of Fistral Beach as dusk descended.

This was my time. My moment of peace and quiet, to gather my thoughts and memories of the past week – and some silence. The air that I breathed was still warm with the heat of the dying day. I craved one moment of magic each holiday..

I set up the tripod, attached a sunset filter to the lens, set the camera on the tripod and opened the beer. And waited.

A few surfers were drawing their day to a close, as they removed themselves from the ocean one by one, I could see they were building a small fire on the beach below. I sat still, silent waiting. Would the sun just fizz into the ocean? Or would it explode into a spectacular sunburst and give me what I was waiting for..

The yellow light from the fire and the distant lights of Newquay flickered. The surfers briefly looked up at me perched on the edge of the cliff in the increasing twilight, too far away for me to hear anything, the lightness of their faces changed to the tops of their heads once more.

Out of the corner of my eye to the right, something moved. A majestic bird of prey was hovering, patrolling the cliff top. I couldn’t move for fear of disturbing him, he was now just five feet away, almost silent in the sky, head rapidly scanning left to right – this was his territory. I looked at my camera without turning my head, then looked at the bird once more, who with a dip of his right wing, swooped and soared way off across the cliff tops. I had found a moment of magic.

So when you look at a photograph, what should you see? A moment in time, frozen. Just after something has happened, and just before something else will happen.

Sky watching

On a stiflingly hot, silent day over Easter, I went for a walk. I ended up on the local village green listening to music and sky watching. As the sun dipped behind a white cloud, it cast eye-dazzling rays out from behind it. The sky around the cloud went deep blue.

I was reminded of a moment many years ago, laying on the grass in a park with a friend..

“Do you sometimes see things in the sky?” he asked. “What sort of things?” I replied. He was laying on his side, twiddling with the grass, facing me. So I looked at the big blue sky and in particular where he was facing. He didn’t say anything.

Half behind a cloud, and half in the blue, I saw something silent and still, glinting occasionally in the sunshine. We watched it for a bit in silence, then we couldn’t see it anymore. My friend looked confused.

It was as though the not easily explainable sat uncomfortably with him. It was probably a satellite.

Today, now that the sun had hidden itself behind a cloud, I could easily see something high up in the silence, black and barely moving. A bird was sweeping and circling it, then moving away, then back again. The object didn’t react, but moved just slightly and gracefully in the sky.

Both the bird and the object were the same size. I thought that the object must be a bird of prey, watching the ground for a victim. But no. It was far too high for that, surely.

As I collected my things and started to head home, I glanced up occasionally to see if it was still there. Sometimes I could see it, other times I couldn’t.

I thought that when I got home I would grab my camera and zoom in and take a closer look. But eventually, like the glinting object all those years ago, it was no longer there; just the warm sun and a few lazy clouds. I carried on walking, and passed a woman who faintly smiled at me. She smelt slightly of fresh fish as she passed by.

*photography by sean neylon