Death of a Duck

Death of a Duck

Even to this day, I still feel 'Death of a Duck' may just be the saddest photograph I have ever taken. It was shot a month into my first term at Plymouth College of Art, while out on one of our regular out of class, exploring Plymouth with a camera kind of sessions. Through much of the first year, there seemed to be far more emphasis placed on freedom to express oneself via imagery rather than the importance of subject matter and context (which did indeed come later), helping me as new student to find a true sense of exploring this medium without ever overcomplicating my practice.

As with many of our weekly activities back then, we were given a starting point to build from - colour, rule of thirds, etc - for this particularly session it was all about depth of field. Generally, as long as we kept to the basic structure of what was determined of us, the end result could be as open and varied as one could make it.

After a lovely Autumn morning of messing around and attempting to understand various aperture settings, I came across this rather emotional scene upon the rocky seaweed shores of the Barbican. Within seconds I was transfixed, lying on the ground without a care for my jeans, capturing the moment. There was nothing staged or constructed about the above either; the rubber duck tilted on its side was photographed exactly as I found it. I also  left it as it was for anyone else to discover before it would inevitably wash out to sea.

For some time I continued to wonder about this plastic duck and its final resting state and what possible (artificial) life may have led before this moment, and from that moment forward, I slowly began to notice that there was a potential story in almost everything around me, and that these instruments I used to capture could be perceived as a method of storytelling. I do miss the inquisitive nature one has as they begin a journey so special. Back then it didn't seem to matter what I was taking, it just mattered that I was taking something; when I got it just right, when all the elements finally came together, there was an undeniable sense of achievement, cementing further reason as to why I had chosen this career path.

The decision this week to re-edit 'Death of a Duck' in Lightroom has certainly been very rewarding and I firmly believe the outcome of this image is far better than it was before. As a first year student all those years ago, I was often quite heavy handed with my edits, pushing various levels a little too much this way and that, for no reason I can think other than perhaps because I could. With a great deal of practise and tuition from a wonderful and supportive group of lecturers, those four years spent studying certainly helped me develop a sensible level of control. 

Just as I find it important to continue to develop new material (such as I am with my Emily Rose project, featured again recently in Fishing News as a two page spread), I think it is equally importantly to look back on what you have already taken. With fresh eyes, looking back on the past can often make for a better and more interesting future. 

Two page spread in issue no. 5300 - 10th March 2016 of Fishing News

Found Photography

In May 2012, during the final term of my second year of the Foundation Degree at Plymouth College of Art, I began work on my very first personal project.  As anyone who knows anything about me, then you know I do not do these often, preferring to hide behind the camera than put myself out there for others to point at and dissect.  Yet what I had seemed to perfect not to pursue.  Neatly hidden away, having been unknown to me for so many years was a wonderful box of slides, featuring a series of negatives showcasing various family members; from my mum in her early years to when she first met my father, his time in the military, their first home together, the car they took on holiday, a little Jack Russell dog that passed away when I was only a baby, to many more incredible images of their beautiful lives together, along with dozens of photographs of other people I had no clue about.

While work continued on my final major project of the Foundation year, all students were given a choice of various topics to apply for that would essentially make up around eight weeks of this last term and labelled Complimentary Studies.  It was designed as a way of breaking up the general pattern and flow of your particular major and allow an individual to work on something entirely different for a limited time only; for instance, a fashion student may decide to take up an opportunity and study underwater photography for a few months.  Stubborn as I am, I preferred to continue my photographic journey of discovery and opted for Found Photography, considering I had only recently found this box of slides.  At the time it seemed like a very good idea, except much to my dismay after signing on to the module, I found out that Found Photography was more about defacing photographs and various imagery than actually finding photos; the purpose being to create interesting collages and unique ways in presenting an end result.  Well, you can imagine my reaction to the idea of cutting up these slides.  Not a blooming chance dear!

Thankfully the lecturer was quite accommodating to my concerns and I think she quickly realised that I had something special in front of me with this sentimental collection of family history and I was allowed to take my work along a different path; one less print-barbaric compared to the rest of the class, though I was still asked to present my final body of work in some kind of unique fashion.

Over the following weeks I quickly fell in love with my box of slides, yet I wondered how to go about creating and presenting a project out of my found photographs.  My early attempt seemed to follow a typical route in projecting the slides onto a wall and photographing the image thereafter.  Yet despite looking quite beautiful in large format, I didn't quite feel any sort of connection or closeness with the result.  Different textures and materials projected as a backdrop didn't seem to change my thoughts and feelings on the matter and whilst this module was more about fun and expressing oneself than something that would actually affect grades, I still wanted to do my level best and produce a project as fitting and important as the subject matter itself.  Late one evening, whilst holding up a slide to my bedroom ceiling light, I suddenly realised I had exactly what I wanted; my eyes had become the camera and the photo in front of me was picture perfect.

Moments later and I was holding a slide in one hand with my Nikon D60 in the other.  It was incredibly difficult at times achieving a crisp focus but after a few hours of work, I had nine images which quickly became the main body for this mini project.  I decided to represent each image with a caption as a way of narrative, though I admit looking back on this now, my choice of font was a little off.

At the time though, I truly loved what I had created and I felt this mini project was a huge success, not only in terms of the response I received from lecturers, but more so in how it made me feel inside.  There was a definite sense of cathartic pleasure resonating through my work; simply put, it was actually nice to hold my father close once again.  

Having lost such a prominent figure in my life at such a young age certainly didn't help the many years that soon followed, yet despite the negativity I contained for so long, as you get older, you realise time does heal and I try and imagine that there are positives in loss.  After all, I did get fifteen wonderful years with the greatest man I will ever know and it is him, along with the gift of photography that has shaped who I am today.  I suppose you could say this is all somewhat of a blessing, if not wrapped in the strangest of bitter disguise.

With my next venture out at sea being early January, December gave me an ideal chance to revisit this mini project.  During this festive season I have been laying the various groundwork and take the initial idea and develop this to a far great level, with additional years of photographic experience, along with superior equipment and a greater sense of purpose.  

In my next post, I will cover the changes made to the images above and how my final major study, 'i am Alive' shaped the eventual look of this new personal project of mine.  For now, I do hope you all have a lovely Christmas and a fantastic New Year and I will see you all very soon, with work from my new and revised project, 'They Live on in Light'.  

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