Chickens

After a few weeks of feeling on top of the world, I suppose it is only typical of life to remind you of who really is in control and land one heck of a sucker punch. As I write this, it looks very likely that the beautiful and very timid Deirdre won't be around by morning. Our little love is one of five ex-battery hens that have lived with us for almost three wonderful years.  A few days ago she was her usual happy garden roaming self. Last week she managed to find her way through a slight opening after the kitchen door was left ajar to halfway up the stairs, a mischievous sense of accomplishment in her clucks and swagger; from digging and playing on grass and soil, hiding under apple trees and raspberry bushes, to an everlasting supply of water and variety of food on tap with not a worry in the world or a need to remember or remind herself of just how bad it was before, she really did have it all. This morning, her body began shutting down.

For the best part of the day, we took turns in nursing her. The other Chickens carried on with their day, though I did feel they knew what was happening. I sometimes don't give them enough credit in their understanding of life events and every day goings on, but when they've seen me clear up a ridiculous amount of poop from the kitchen floor over the past few years, I do have to wonder.  To this day they still continue pooping here and there, laying that a minefield of mess in just the right place to catch you off guard. Yet I can't shout at them or get angry, they are what they are and I love them to pieces for it. Today was absolutely heartbreaking.

After nearly five years of looking after to losing many ex-battery hens, you'd think it would get easier, that over time this would be something you would just get use to, accept even.  Yet you don't, and while you know it will happen eventually, it doesn't help the fact that their short lives have already been made shorter by such a horrid life before. All you can do is the best you can, give them everything they need to be content, safe and happy. It just gets harder with each and every passing.

The state many of them are in when we pick them up from a release centre is utterly disgraceful. For that reason alone, you really wouldn't give them many more than a few weeks and months at best; a severe lack of feathers, many with limps and crooked bodies, tumours, all manner of aches and pains, the list of awful woes literally goes on. Yet weeks and months later, after they settle and find comfort in their new surroundings, it is almost like their new found happiness begins to cure their ills.  

It surprises me just how resilient these little creatures are. To think that before they arrived at a loving home, they had never seen anything of the outside world. From noisy cramped conditions and incessant noise caused forgivingly by every other hundred/thousand or so Chicken that has zero clue of why they are there or what they have done to deserve such a fate, to constant 24/7 artificial light, seed on timers and non stop conveyors, that unnerving battle just to get ounce of feed is not something you would wish on your worst enemy, yet here we are, maybe not wishing but actually making this a full blown reality for pretty much every species on this planet. If its not meat it is Ivory, or fur, or skin for boots, fins for soup, the list goes on.  

I understand very well that I am somewhat of a hypocrite.  For most of my life I have eaten meat, loved KFC's and not really considered the poor quality of thought and life that goes a long way in making the fast food business into more of a pandemic.  My new photography project even looks at the livelihoods of fishermen in their pursuit of source to plate. I am as much part of the problem so for that reason alone, I won't be making this too much of a lecture. Nowadays, if I can find a good medium, I guess I can live with that.  

Throughout 2015 I have not eaten meat and I continue to do so today, preferring a healthy (and surprisingly nice) Quorn/Soya alternative.  I still eat fish though, a pescatarian I believe it is called and while out on the trawler I would be lying if I said I didn't eat meat; 50 miles from the coast, there is little point making a song and dance about such menu matters, you either eat or you don't. I did draw the line one evening when Chicken was about to be served; a potato and veg sandwich seemed a more pleasing choice.

One of the many wonderful rescue centres across the country (instagram)

Dixie.  The condition they can be in after being rescued is simply appalling

Dotty.  We thought we were going to lose her days after being rescued.
Thankfully she is still with us (instagram)

Every day I see it on the news and every day I can't imagine that tomorrow can be any worse than yesterday. I wonder why those that commit the various and disgusting crimes that they do, often get another chance to do it again and again. I honestly can not bring myself to believe that we are living in a century where beheadings actually still do happen, that there are those out there that bring down planes, incite hatred, instil violence to the uneducated streets.  Here I have this beautifully sweet Deirdre, the most perfect and considerate of creatures, finally in her own lovely little utopian dream, loved and cared for, only to have this taken away so suddenly, without even an apology or a warning. But hey, some scumbag be it the lowest of the low can still look forward to a fame filled morning on Jezza or at the other end of the spectrum, spending x amount of time in a prison version of the Ritz or cheered on for killing hundreds in a split second. I just don't get it.

There is no point being bitter though. If anything, it is just a way of creating further negative energy. I know I can't change a damn thing. No one can, and I think for so long that has always been the problem. While conversation and intent may have always been good, the idea of changing the world will forever be an impossible task. She will gracefully spin on with just as much good and bad as there always has been.  It is a shame it took me half a lifetime and a flock of Chickens to understand and accept this.  In the end, while you will never change the way the world is, you can make a difference, however great, to whatever small, and I hope the next however many years of my life, I will continue to do so.

I had planned to do a Chicken blog for some time now, yet I didn't want it to come across as what it is probably appearing, like some rant and rave about the state and play of our world. I wanted this post to solely reflect on how wonderful these creatures are and concentrate solely on the strength and spirit of these characters.  It may sound strange to some but these little madams have bought so much good into my life and very soon, another will leave me with just as much pain as the last. From the original trio of Dolly, Daisy and Dixie, to the wonderfully inquisitive Delorus, to Doris who only lasted a week, far too traumatised by what came before, to Daenarys, the feistiest and bossiest of them all, fine one day and suddenly gone the next, to Daphne, Deborah, Delia, and Dana, each has left their mark on me and my world.

Daisy

Dana

Daffodil

Deanna (instagram)

Daisy (foreground) & Dolly

Daphne (left) & Delorus

Dana #selfie (instagram)

Deanna enjoying a mud bath (instagram)

Diane, Dotty, Deanna, Deirdre and Daffodil (instagram)

Dotty.  Even a box of straw can keep her happy for hours (instagram)

Diane

Summer time chilling with Diane, Dotty, Deanna, Deirdre and Daffodil (instagram)

Deanna (left) & Deirdre #besties (instagram)

After spending an almost sleepless night with Deirdre in my room, one claw clutched around my finger, her head awkwardly resting on my arm, it was clear nothing could be done.  By morning she became somewhat stressed with what appeared to be a series of panic attacks.  Despite her legs finally giving way, she still had a desire to move around; the amount of power in her wings was incredible given how weak she was. I managed to calm her down each time this happened with a soothing cuddle, but we knew she couldn't keep on going like this. A few hours later, Deirdre was taken to the local vet and put to sleep.

She is at peace now, buried in the garden alongside the rest of the beautiful tribe we have lost over the years. A day later and I still feel so utterly empty; a few more tears trickle down my cheek is testament to that. Yet she did have a lovely time with us and this is what I should and always focus on. I just wish she could had a few more years with us, or at the very least, passed away in her sleep without having to endure whatever suffering she may have experienced on her final day.

The other four women are all just as old and I know soon, each one of them will break my heart all over again. I don't think it matters who or what it may be, attachment to anything in life will hurt a great deal when it is gone. Life is so short and while it may hold so many magical moments, the pain it can also bring at times is simply unbearable. I wonder if this is really what being human is all about?  That the only way we will ever live and learn is through love and loss.

Perhaps one day we will make the world a better place.  A world built on peace and harmony, where religion doesn't preach or dictate that their God or message is the one true whatever but instead underline and explain the principles of what is good or bad through common sense, communication and clarity.  Where politics is actually about forming a better way and means of life instead of simply belittling the opposing party.  Where terrorism or despicable acts are nothing more make-believe than the monsters under your bed.  And where long term goals are not forever battered by a short term way of thinking, of making and destroying millions of lives in an instant through a thoughtless pursuit of the quick buck.

As the most intelligent and dominant species on the planet, we certainly have a huge responsibility; with great power, well you know the rest. Maybe if we saw life through the eyes of those we hold with little or even no regard, things would be different. The very notion that I can love something so vastly different to myself, where language and understanding is literally as alien as our appearance to one another seems as profound as it is beautiful. They have earned the right to be here just as much as we have.  Some even have a stronger case than we do in that right. I really do believe the world has a lot to learn from all creatures, whether great or small.  In these last five years, I know I have.

In memory of Deirdre

The Power of Colour

The more I think about it, the more I firmly believe emotion and the way someone is feeling at that particular moment governs the way we take and edit photographs.  

In a previous post, I mentioned how the hard drive on my Macbook Pro fatally crashed during Christmas 2014, and that losing all my edited work resulted in having to go back through hundreds and hundreds of RAW files and re-edit, only his time with additional years of knowledge and experience I acquired through the latter stage of my degree and the subsequent months following graduation.  What I don’t understand is why I suddenly began to edit my work in black and white.  

I am not saying that this was a bad move; from the sudden change at the beginning of the year in how I was producing my images, I did get a further two exhibitions from a newly completed and highly praised project, work as a contributor for an online publication, as well as a few emails and new contacts that I will soon (and very excitedly) talk about.    

I just found colour strange to look at.  For a good while, tones and spectral range just seemed considerably off and whatever the issue was, I simply could not put my finger on it.  It wasn't just in my images either.  Everywhere I seemed to look, imagery just didn't seem quite up to the standard that I was aware of during my degree.  It was as if I was now viewing imagery with production values firmly focused on saturation and vibrance through sliders turned up to 11 or lost within some convoluted mess of HDR exposures.  I got immensely tiring of seeing so much of the same export, wherever I looked; beautiful scenes seemingly altered to the point of no return.  Had photography become solely art over documentation?   

Perhaps this is why I began to play around in black and white, and for a good few months thereafter, a newfound interest and control over what could be done with an image began to present itself.  Shadows and blacks easily masked noticeable issues, while contrast could be ramped up in a way that if copy pasted in colour, the result would likely look entirely horrendous; perhaps this was how I was viewing things prior, though here in black and white, it seemed to only add further to the beauty of a piece.  There was also this interesting element that when producing work in black and white, imagery became somewhat and immediately timeless, as if the only way to view history was via this format.

Tsavo was bought to life during those few months, along with many other images taken during my time at university.  As I began to lay the ground work with regular visits to Sutton Harbour at the beginning of my trawler/life at sea project, and despite early attempts to edit in colour, I decided that long term I would continue to produce work in this way; the idea to exhibit solely in black and white while still retaining some form of commerciality in selling certain images in colour. It got to the point where I believed the only way to be a good photojournalist was to present your story in black and white.

Of course this is not and never will be the case, but try telling that to someone who is having difficulties in understanding the imperfections of colour; is this the point in which emotion comes storming in?  For example:

Imagine there is a person you have cared about for a number of years.  Perhaps something happens, nothing too serious but certainly a wake up call.  Suddenly they don't appear quite who they were.  You try and put your finger on it but the answer lies dormant.  From this point forward you begin to look at them a little differently.  Whatever the reason, you believe that this new look is for the better, despite your opposite now devoid of what it was that made them so special in the first place.  For a while you forget about the before and concentrate on the now, until a series of reminders and new opportunities quickly reflect on that green grass other side notion and you wonder why you ever did alter the one thing you've always viewed, loved and produced.

While I am often known for going off on a tangent, hopefully you get my point. A few months ago I was approached by a San Francisco based company (I'll go into more detail about this in a later post, to coincide with their website launch). They were interested in my Tsavo series, though when they approached me, 'Tsavo' was still in black and white.  Around the same time I found out I had been shortlisted in the Birds and Bees categories for the Zoological Society of London's Animal Photography Prize 2015, with my image of a Wake of Vultures. Despite 'Tsavo' being in black and white, I exported 'Carrion' (the title of the piece) in colour.  I was over the moon with the news and while I didn't go on to win my category, the acknowledgement does look pretty nice on my LinkedIn as a strong end to my first year as a practising photographer.

With my Emily Rose project now in full swing, I submitted a previous blog post, 'Emily Rose - A Week @ Sea' to Fishing News.  The editor of FN, Dave Linkie, soon replied back.  He seemed very impressed with the series of black and white images from my first outing, though he did finish by asking if I had these in colour.  I didn't.

Still, this and the last month or so did give me much to think about.  I was adamant that I was going to continue exhibiting in black and white; at least I think I was, though perhaps this was becoming more of a case of stubbornness washing over me.  I had pretty much settled on what prints I was going to showcase for my next exhibition (less than a week away as I write this), yet with multiple opportunities presenting themselves, I had a bit of a headache on my hands.

I began first with Tsavo, creating Virtual Copies of each RAW file and went from there.  Was it simply a case that right now, I was feeling on top of the world?  I still can't put my finger on it, which is why I do believe certain emotional factors do have such a huge impact on photography.  Whatever the case maybe, by the end of the week, Tsavo had never looked better. 

There were a few images I felt didn't work - Tsavo went from 51 images to 42 - but as a series, it certainly did look so much stronger.  Colours were awe inspiring; oranges, blues and greens looked positively alive, just as they were when I was there during those magically four days.  I could feel the change; bubbling and stirring inside, like getting home from a cold winter's day to thankfully sitting by a roasting fire, there was this beautiful warmth returning my work.

Emily Rose was next, and it gave me immense pleasure to not only reproduce my new project in this way, but to also create a series of new prints for my forthcoming exhibition at the National Marine Aquarium in Plymouth.  I think Dave Linkie was pretty happy with the change too.

The feedback so far concerning my 'Emily Rose' has been fantastic, and I definitely believe reproducing the series in colour has had a lot to do with it.  In less than a week, this series gets its first exhibition and I'm very sure this will not be just a one off.  Around the same time, Fishing News will be including a series of prints, plus a write up by yours truly over three fantastic pages; a huge thanks to Dave Linkie and the team.  'Emily Rose' will soon be submitted to Viewfind, the San Francisco based company, and I hope their interest in me as a photographer continues.  I suppose when I say I have quite a bit going on and much to tell you about over the next month, I think you'll agree.  Plus round two of my 'Emily Rose' project is coming up, with a second week out to sea in early November.  I really can't wait to get back out there, and this time on cold winter seas.  No rest for the wicked.