In a (New) World of My Own

I’m still way way within my comfort zone on this, but it felt good doing it nonetheless…

There’s been too much bleakness in my life lately, both in front of and behind the camera, so I’ve made some effort to inject a little colour into this scene. Taken during the midst of a rainshower on the Dyke Road near Terryland.

From a sodden, wet photowalk on Wednesday last up to Terryland. That old new bridge over the River Corrib.

I’ll start with an obligatory props to Julie and her family for taking me around the Atlantic Drive on Achill.

I came to Achill Island expecting to be profoundly stirred. I was. From the moment that we climbed the hill to face (for the first time in my life) the full fury of an Atlantic winter storm, to getting caught in a flash shower on the pier at Mallaranny, I was completely awestruck by the sights on the island. With that came a problem, a horrible burning question in my mind that shone brighter the more that day’s light faded: How could I adequately capture the majesty? It wasn’t a case of equipment. While I’d have appreciated the presence of a 50mm lens, I had good coverage of the focal range and the know-how to employ it. Instead, it was vision. I’m sitting on a clifftop while being battered by hundred kilometre an hour winds and sea-spray tossed up from the sea that was (technically) a few hundred feet below me. To my left I have a a majestic mountain rising right out of the sea. To my right I see the kind of broken shore that inspires prophets, poets and madmen. I thought I might emulate the spectacular Kerry landscapes of Danny O’Brien, but after one half-arsed attempt I swerved away because I’d be selling myself short.

Instead I chose that other stable of the west coast: Dull resorts where I spent my childhood holidays hiding from the rain, fighting with my sister and watching mum and dad occasionally enact the next few world wars. So here’s to you, childhood inanity.

(Yes, I went to Achill Island)

I’d like to thank Julie and her family for both taking me in on Saturday night, showing me around the island on Sunday, and for also putting up with the occasional odd silence from myself.

Bad – better – best? You tell me. Shot on the grounds of NUIG earlier this afternoon.

My infrared binge continues, but a trip up the Dyke Road is beginning to show me that even I have my own limits…

If I do the same thing somewhere new, is it something new? Street photography is something that normally holds little interest to me for three reasons:

1. The famous landmarks of the world have already been photographed to death by thousands and thousands of people. I feel I have nothing to add.
2. My personal tastes run to more open vistas. I wander up and down streets but find little in them to personally put my finger on the button as I prefer bleak, open vistas that look like scenes from your last nightmare.
3. There are men and women who specialize in this area and turn out the level of breathtaking work that simply puts my own efforts to shame.

But this afternoon I set up to break from the norm and try to capture a different view of Shop Street in the heart of Galway City. I got looks. I had a chat with a Garda who was endlessly bemused by thirty second exposures. I had catcalls and requests. And for being someone who is so shy, I had no problems sitting out in front of hundreds of strangers and taking photos with my tripod.

I captured my image and I’m broadly happy with the results: Galway as a ghost town.

I paid Salthill and Blackrock their threatened visit this morning (lunchtime), and in the face of strong winds and high seas I proceeded to face off the wilds on the Atlantic winter weather in order to capture these scenes. Bless me.

I’ll have none of that ‘Woods’ nonsense on my blog, thank you Jennifer! Meet my niece, Ella, offspring of Joe and Jennifer.