The story in the stones

There are a few houses at the top of Saltaire's Victoria Road, built of stone blocks that I find fascinating. (There may be others similar in the village, though I can't say I've noticed if there are.) The blocks have a striated pattern, presumably caused when they were originally quarried. Over the years of air pollution in the 19th and early 20th centuries, the stone has become blackened. (Some of Saltaire's building have had their stonework cleaned back to the original honey colour but these don't appear to have had that treatment.) The striations show up really clearly and almost look like some ancient written code. There is actually an early medieval alphabet called Ogham - found primarily on stones and monuments in Ireland, though I saw some in a church in Wales (see HERE). The striations remind me of that. 

The red dress

 

Apologies if you remember seeing this photo before. I came across it again the other day and I still like it. I posted it way back in 2010 and I may even have reposted it since, but I appear to have lost the original image file. I took it at a fashion show in the Victoria Hall, in the early days of my photographic journey. It was dark and my camera wasn't coping with the lack of light and the movement of the models so it ended up blurred. That, however, is one of the reasons I like it, as you can sense that 'swish' of the dress. I once entered it in a camera club competition and the judge slated it. (No soul, these judges!)

Anyway, no apologies for filling up a blog space with it; it's just to preserve a memory. 

RIP David

I’m saddened to hear of David Hockney’s death. (Perhaps not surprised given his well-known smoking habit, though one could have imagined he might have made his centenary, he was such a stubborn chap and such a lively mind.) 

Ironically, today, I was intending a post about Martin Parr, another great artist (photographer) who died in recent months. I’ll save that for another time. Just now I’ll use this space to say my own ‘thank you’ to David Hockney, for the pleasure his work has given me over the years, for his legacy to Bradford (his home city, where he attended Bradford Grammar School and Bradford’s art college) and for his championing of Salts Mill. He was a personal friend of the late Jonathan Silver, the mill’s rescuer and reinventor after the textile business closed. It’s in a large part thanks to the priceless Hockney works and exhibitions that Salts Mill holds that the mill - and Saltaire - are ‘on the map’ and draw visitors. Hockney turned down a knighthood in 1990. He always was a radical, a non-establishment guy, but I actually think it’s sad that he isn’t publicly ranked among our creative ‘Sir’s.

Ironically I’m away this week and don’t have access to my photos, so I shall have to try and work out how to illustrate this with a suitable image. Whether I manage that or not, I say: Rest in Peace David Hockney, paint heaven in all its glory. And thank you for your brilliant, curious, irreverent mind and all the beauty that flowed from your skilled hands through all the media you experimented with. You’ve greatly enriched my life and I shall always be grateful for the privilege of being able to see your artworks in our mill. 

Just a weed...

Just a weed - Red Valerian. Originally from the Mediterranean, it's been found in the UK since the 1600s and is now naturalised across the county in cottage gardens, derelict sites and on walls and pavements. It prefers well-drained, poor, chalky or alkaline soils, and full sun, meaning it's pretty hardy. It flowers profusely from May to October and attracts bees, butterflies and moths. 

I saw this one growing from a crack at the base of the rough stucco wall behind a small local factory. Just a weed - but I really like the shapes, colours and textures here. Maximalist minimalism. 

More of my art works

More of the artworks I have in my home...

The first image is a photograph by a Yorkshire-based photographer, Lizzie Shepherd. Called 'Broken birch, Hodge Close', she says: 'This damaged birch tree, with its wonderful mix of colours and form immediately caught my eye when exploring near Hodge Close Quarry in the Lake District. It was an overcast day, with soft light and low cloud offering the perfect conditions for woodland photography. Hodge Close, Cumbria, England.' 

Lizzie is brilliant at making sense of complicated woodland scenes, as well as mastering landscapes in general. I've long admired her work. I've had the good fortune to attend a couple of her workshops and watch some of her presentations to my camera club. I've been inspired by her and have learnt a lot from her, as well as enjoying her company. I bought this print when she offered it to raise money (as far as I recall) for a fellow photographer who'd had a serious accident. So for me that was a double bonus. 

I display it alongside a small print that I bought from the Skipton 'Art in the Pen' exhibition years ago. It's a painting rather than a photograph but it seems to me to echo some of the same qualities and tones as Lizzie's image. I had it framed and it's so well sealed that I cannot now see any label with the artist's name, which is a bit silly as I can't recall who I bought it from! I do like it though. Both of these pieces have given me pleasure for several years now. 

Frustration

I spent a frustrating morning in Skipton, trying to find some new walking trousers. Those I have are old, shabby and baggy, so I decided I could do with some more flattering ones! There are at least five shops in Skipton that sell outdoor clothes and I visited them all... Annoyingly, I could not find a single pair of trousers that fitted me properly and looked decent. I need quite a small size - UK 8 or 10 - and either I have shrunk or everyone else has grown taller because, whereas I used to be able to buy a regular length, now they're all way too long so I need a specialist short length. Of course there aren't many of those in stock. I cruised round, trying various styles, expanding the amount I was willing to pay with each failed attempt but no joy whatsoever, so I came home empty-handed. I shall just have to look like a bag-lady on my forthcoming walking holiday!

On my way back to the car, I snapped two shots from one of Skipton's canal bridges, one in each direction. There was a party of elderly coach-trippers patiently waiting to board one of the day-cruise boats. Some of them were having a little difficulty hoisting themselves aboard, so it was slow progress. Once settled, I'm sure they would enjoy their canal cruise. 

 

Garden gnomes

The hot weather stopped me from venturing out and then I've been preparing to go away on holiday so I'm running out of photos, at least until I've uploaded and processed my holiday snaps. I was looking back to some of my blog posts ten years ago and this one popped up. I remember it well and it still amuses me. 

'My local Asda are selling these cheery garden gnomes and have them lined up on the windowsill - I think they're hilarious! (Someone must be buying them, as the line is getting shorter week on week). On Friday night there was a small boy, aged about six, sitting on the windowsill at the end of the row. He was sitting very still and had one hand raised, palm out, just like the gnomes. So cute, made me smile - made my night, in fact. (Though I didn't dare take a picture of him.)'

To be honest, I'm not fond of gnomes and garden ornaments in general - though there is a very old and faded gnome in the garden outside my flat (see below) that someone obviously once liked. Even so, there was something very heart-warming about the scene in the supermarket. 

Line side

Another collage of five 'lines', as part of the little project I've been challenging myself to try. It's good occasionally to free yourself up and just play with ideas. I quite like the colour palette here, as well as the lines. 

Be Reyt

When I'm chewing something over in my head, a walk usually helps me to gain perspective, especially when there is calm water to soothe my spirits. I think there are probably good reasons why fresh air, water and trees are restorative. Google AI tells me that: 'Urban environments demand constant, concentrated focus, which depletes cognitive energy. Nature provides 'soft fascination'—interesting but undemanding stimuli—allowing the brain’s directed attention network to rest and recover... Plants release airborne chemicals called phytoncides that have been shown to reduce stress and boost immune cell function.'

Whatever the reasons, a walk reminds that 'all shall be well' or as we say in Yorkshire: 'be reyt'.

Fusedale

Another of my long-cherished artworks on display in my home: a beautiful photo, sadly not authored by me. It was taken by a renowned Lake District photographer, John Gravett. I met John when I attended one of his workshops at Lakeland Photographic Holidays way back in 2011, not all that long into my own journey into photography. I didn't even have a very good camera in those days; in fact it was John who encouraged me to take my photography more seriously and invest in a decent DSLR camera. I learned a huge amount from him in the space of a week, about composition and about the technical side of camera skills and post-processing. I also learned that I haven't the patience to be a dedicated landscape photographer! John is now retired, though still taking beautiful photos. (Photographers never stop developing!) 

This particular monochrome print is the remnants of a barn in Fusedale, just south of Ullswater in the NE Lake District. I particularly enjoy the drama of the sky and the way the shape of the ruined building mirrors the contours of the surrounding hills. 

Tangled

A tiny, tangled front garden on Victoria Road, full of texture and colour. The lilac paintwork is a bold choice but I think it works quite well.

I took the bottom photo first but a few days later the roses were even more extravagant so I took another picture! 

Learning my lines

I subscribe to a few newsletters by photographers, and about photography. One of them recently suggested a project to take five photos of 'lines', which seemed a bit of a different challenge. So I set off around Saltaire looking for 'lines'. Here's one set of five that I found. 

It's fun to try different things, outside one's usual 'box'. 

The sky show

I've mentioned before that I find being able to watch the sunsets from my west-facing balcony is a real delight. It's not always spectacular, of course, but every night is different and I find that mesmerising and wonderful. Here are a few recent ones.

 

Thornton

Thornton, where the Brontë birthplace is situated, was once a separate village but is now a commuter suburb of Bradford, and in truth is a little run down in parts. Apart from the newly rescued and renovated parsonage where the Brontë sisters were born, perhaps its best known attraction is the collection of 19th century workers' cottages known as South Square, renovated in 1982 as a community arts centre with studios, a gallery and a café (above). 

Up on Market Street, quite near the Brontë birthplace, is the curiously shaped building known (for obvious reasons) as 'Coffin End'. This was once the Star Inn. One of its former landlords was transported to Australia for the crime of stealing ten shillings.

A signpost in the village points to various local places of interest, including the adjacent hamlets of Egypt and Moscow. Established in the early 19th century to house local stone quarry workers, their quirky international names were inspired by British military victories during the Napoleonic Wars. They are not far from the hamlet of Jerusalem and the Walls of Jericho, originally massive stone walls that held back the quarry spoil heaps. The walls have now been demolished for safety reasons but I remember them from my younger days - high, dark and forbidding. 

One of the nicest things, in my opinion, about Thornton is that it sits on the hillside overlooking Bradford dale, where streams come together to form Bradford Beck, a river which ultimately runs down to and under the city centre. There's a massive Victorian railway viaduct and far-reaching views from the village streets. 

The Bell Chapel

Following on from yesterday's post, here is the Bell Chapel in Thornton. It was originally built between 1587 and 1612 and had undergone many changes by the time Patrick Brontë became its parson from 1815 to 1820. (He later said this was 'the happiest time of his life'.) In 1872, after he left, a new church was constructed and the Bell Chapel fell into disrepair. The font, where the Brontë children were baptised, has been relocated to the new church of St James, just across the road. Now all that remains of the chapel is one wall and a small anteroom, and the cupola that once graced the roof. It has been tidied up and made safer by volunteers since I last visited. It's now a rather attractive and romantic ruin, sitting in its graveyard, which was full of bluebells.