Capturing the world with Photography, Painting and Drawing

Gallery

A cool Sea breeze ….



A wanderer, I explore grasses high as my knees
Far away, grey foam breaks from the stiff seabreeze
To my left, a stark mountain frames the sky
My tireless bare feet follow memories nearby

As I inhale familiarity, my heartbeat slows
And earthy remembrance kneads through my toes
I’m not scared as blossoming storm clouds appear
For I remember what happened when I was actually here

Nostalgic breaths of wind soon whip at my face
Surrounded by vastness, this awe I embrace
To a place lost in time, I’m fervently drawn
Funny how you can only miss something when it’s gone

Fabrizia Mugnatto Dec 2016


The Kings River, Kells, Kilkenny – In infrared …

Lumix GX80
17mm Olympus f1.8 lens
Urth R72 filter
F8 at 25 seconds exposure


Monday morning on the river bank …..

Monday morning on the river bank
River Barrow
County Kikenny
Ireland

The river has a silver string that runs its length,
holds it to a source in the mountains.

The river cradles its corded muscles of water
between high banks, giving the banks no thought

as it bites them with eddies,
eroding their lower flanks.

River thinks it is only water and the gristle
of currents, hay stacking surfaces

and deep, bellowing falls
running for the sea, though

it does not know it is there.
River should take more care of its banks.

Banks are what hold it a river, give
direction, keep it mitering downward.

Without banks, river loses its way,
becomes a swamp and stills.

All my life I have chafed at river banks,
fighting to spread my currents

in whatever turn needed exploring.
The high song of freedom seemed

to be a music of ‘no banks’,
and yet the whole joy of rivers is pushing,

etching the banks to join the flow,
but having them hold.


An industrial landscape : Acrylic ink on Board

My childhood was spend in Altrincham, greater Manchester, towards the end of hundreds of years of history lived within the Industrial age. I can just about remember the look of the towns industry parks like broadheath near the bridgewater canal, that passed through our town on its way into the city of Manchester.

I have been working on a personal art project for about the last twelve months, working mainly with charcoal on paper, I felt that charcoal was the perfect medium to work with as I can remember just how black these places looked as a result of the smoke created from the burning of coal used to create the energy needed to drive the factory machine.

This week I have moved onto creating a series of images painted onto timber boards, using black Acrylic ink. The boards I am using have a great pink and red feel to them and they also have a fantastic horizontal grain that adds a very likeable texture to the finished work! At first I was considering painting the board with a white under painted ground, In the end I made a great choice (I feel) in just painting directly onto the timber.

I intend now to work on a good collection of these boards, working with many different compositions, talking of which I feel this subject is all about composition and I am learning a lot in this area by doing this work, treating the factory buildings as shapes to be visually moved around in my mind, overlapping them and working them into a valuable depth from background to foreground, never letting any object rest and stand by itself until the ones that are the closest to the viewer…..


Image

Found things : Two bikes in the old farm shed …..


Springtime photo Gallery ….


The places I remember, all my life ……

Down by the canal
Altrincham, Greater Manchester, UK
Digital art work

I spent the early years of my life growing up in Altrincham in the greater Manchester area of northwest England. It was in these years, between the 1970’s and the late 1980’s that marked the end of the industrial age for the town.

This period left much of our local area with factories that became redundant and closed, some locations included empty land where factories once stood, a lot of these locations existed beside the Bridgewater canal.

I am currently working on a visual art project that is calling on my memories of these locations, working both digitally and with charcoal on paper, creating some compositions that reflect on this period of my life, places from my childhood. I am in my 50’s so this is not easy at times but I feel its a great exercise in visual storytelling…


A weekend along the river Barrow, county carlow….


Morning at the Barn …….

Panasonic gx80
Olympus M.ZUIKO 17mm f1.8
N Borrington 2021

I march this year I treated myself to a new Panasonic gx80, micro four thirds camera with an Olympus 17mm f1.8 lens. This kit is my first M/43 kit and so far I have been very pleased with the results produced by this little gem of a camera.

I have a long history of working with black and white photography going way back to using Ilford XP2 and HP5 film, loaded into a Nikon FM2. This medium sized sensor camera is the first digital compact camera I have owned that can and does reproduce the look and feel of these black and white films with its MONO-L shooting profiles.

This image of a barn on the land owned by some friends of ours, during a stay at the start of April, was taken in the early morning sunlight and is taken using a Cokin-P ND4 gradient filter to darken the sky so that the foreground of the image could be exposed as I wanted it to be. I also used this filter system to help me make as few adjustments as possible in post processing.


The Bed on the Beach, by Hannah Flagg Gould

Panasonic gx80
Olympus M.ZUIKO 17mm f1.8
N Borrington 2021

By what rude waves hast thou been tossed,
To gain this quiet beach?
What wide-spread waters hast thou crossed,
This peaceful shore to reach?

An awful secret dost thou tell
About the yawning deep,
That, while her billows war and swell,
They most profoundly keep.

Thou speakest of one whose weary frame
Has sought repose on thee;
But not of kindred, home, or name,
Sad outcast of the sea!

Thou giv’st no record of his birth,
No token of the clime,
Where he was last a child of earth,
Or when he passed from time.

And who must now, on some far shore,
Await the coming sail
Of him, they will behold no more
Till mortal sight shall fail?

For fearful things dost thou present
Before the spirit’s view;
The parting bark! the canvass rent!
The helpless, dying crew!

Of one dread scene the fatal whole,
In thought, I hear and see.
It chills my blood—it makes my soul
Grow sick to look at thee.

‘The seas must render up their dead!’
Is all thou dost reply;
While o’er thee, cold and restless bed,
The tide rolls proud and high!

The guilty deep is taking back
The witness of her wrath,
To bury it with every track
That marks its troubled path!


The Crow, a winter time art project …..

The crows
A winters art project 2020/2021
Nigel Borrington

The Crows

A winter time art project, Digital painting created using a Wacom art tablet and taken from a photographic study of our local landscape and the Crows that have made it their winter home.

I feel today’s painting is a big step closer to the final paintings I am hoping to create, I like this composition much more than my last painting and I feel that I am now starting to represent the crows and the movement they create in our winter fields much better….


Poem – Crashing Waves and Images from the Waterford coast line ….

Images from the coast
County Waterford
November 2020
Nigel Borrington

Crashing Waves

Coming through the dreaming and the real years
I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore
I shall roll on and on, and break upon your lap with laughter
And no one in the world will know where we both are.

I will be like the breeze on the ocean waves
Drinking from the breasts of the ocean deep
Dew from the glistening morning weep
And each of its longing that daybreak craves.

From side to side grows each tubular wave
Each thinking that they catch me in its worth
They allow me to completely forget
What hour comes after this instant in time.

For painful is the oceans every wave
As it doesn’t let me to sit in peace
For the days which I have taken as lease
Are passing by and leaving me alone.

Weeping clouds drifting its moments in tears
I turn to face the dark black sea to mourn
From where I find no water to save
My soul from the sound of crashing waves.

Only in my illusory freedom amidst the universal chorus
The sun shining moods that flows around its spell
Why do human souls not sing as does the sea
Why does the east wind sigh?

From the earth up to the highest stars
Unanswered is my question to this very day
A voice lamenting in the wilderness
Leaves my soul protesting despairingly.


Winter Art project … A winters Crow

A winters crow
Digital Painting
Wacom Tablet
Nigel Borrington 2020


Yesterday as the sun went down …


A Morning walk by the river bank, 30km from Home ….

A Morning by the river Suir
30Km from home
Nigel Borrington 2020

Images from a great walk this morning on the banks of the river Suir, county Tipperary some 30km from home ……


Woodland Song …..

A Woodland Song
Nigel Borrington 2020

I sense suspense and peacefulness
where light and shadows loll,
it’s there my mindful heedlessness
now frees my soul to stroll.

A forest path empowers strength
that worldly cares conceal —
then demonstrates, beyond arm’s length,
a living scene surreal.

The way the arms of trees reach out
to all that share its space;
the way they wave their leaves about
and breathe wood scents I trace.

The little birds slip ‘tween the leaves
of understories, green —
where tiny fruits and bloomers tease
with scents that go unseen.

A red-tailed hawk, perched high in pine,
alerts with high-pitched call,
while restless ravens realign
in rowdy free-for-all!

There’s more that linger here unheard
that know I’m passing through;
their many eyes watch undeterred
‘til I am out of view —

I feel their spirit walk with me
and feel a sense I’m blessed;
all offer sense of reverie
and nature at her best.

If solitude shares strength renewed
and natural for free,
I’m sure to find that interlude
promotes reality.

There is no question of just when
I’ll go again to find,
that perfect place that pulls me in
so, I can lose my mind —

The woodland song, like silent friend,
knows all I can’t resist,
and there’s no need to comprehend
its soulful kiss, when missed!

2020 Joy A Burki-Watson


The way the river flows ….. (Nick Drake Lyrics “River Man”)

The way the river flows

Nick Drake Lyrics
“River Man”

Betty came by on her way
Said she had a word to say
About things today
And fallen leaves.

Said she hadn’t heard the news
Hadn’t had the time to choose
A way to lose
But she believes.

Going to see the river man
Going to tell him all I can
About the plan
For lilac time.

If he tells me all he knows
About the way his river flows
And all night shows
In summertime.

Betty said she prayed today
For the sky to blow away
Or maybe stay
She wasn’t sure.

For when she thought of summer rain
Calling for her mind again
She lost the pain
And stayed for more.

Going to see the river man
Going to tell him all I can
About the ban
On feeling free.

If he tells me all he knows
About the way his river flows
I don’t suppose
It’s meant for me.

Oh, how they come and go
Oh, how they come and go.


I dream of you, to wake, by : Christina Rossetti

Dreams of the morning light
Irish Landscapes
Country Kilkenny
Nigel Borrington 2020

I dream of you, to wake’ by Christina Rossetti

I dream of you, to wake: would that I might
Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
As, Summer ended, Summer birds take flight.
In happy dreams I hold you full in night.
I blush again who waking look so wan;
Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
Thus only in a dream we are at one,
Thus only in a dream we give and take
The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
To die were surely sweeter than to live,
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.


Light between the trees poem: by Henry Van Dyke

The Light between
Irish Landscapes
Nigel Borrington 2020

Long, long, long the trail
Through the brooding forest-gloom,
Down the shadowy, lonely vale
Into silence, like a room
Where the light of life has fled,
And the jealous curtains close
Round the passionless repose
Of the silent dead.

Plod, plod, plod away,
Step by step in mouldering moss;
Thick branches bar the day
Over languid streams that cross
Softly, slowly, with a sound
In their aimless creeping
Like a smothered weeping,
Through the enchanted ground.

“Yield, yield, yield thy quest,”
Whispers through the woodland deep;
“Come to me and be at rest;
“I am slumber, I am sleep.”
Then the weary feet would fail,
But the never-daunted will
Urges “Forward, forward still!
“Press along the trail!”

Breast, breast, breast the slope!
See, the path is growing steep.
Hark! a little song of hope
When the stream begins to leap.
Though the forest, far and wide,
Still shuts out the bending blue,
We shall finally win through,
Cross the long divide.

On, on, onward tramp!
Will the journey never end?
Over yonder lies the camp;
Welcome waits us there, my friend.
Can we reach it ere the night?
Upward, upward, never fear!
Look, the summit must be near;
See the line of light!

Red, red, red the shine
Of the splendour in the west,
Glowing through the ranks of pine,
Clear along the mountain-crest!
Long, long, long the trail
Out of sorrow’s lonely vale;
But at last the traveller sees
Light between the trees!


Whispering Waves : A poem by – Edel T. Copeland

Whispering Waves
County Kerry, Ireland
Irish landscapes
Nigel Borrington 2020

Whispering Waves
Edel T. Copeland

Waves come crashing to grey sullen shores.
Powerful and strong, it breathes and roars.
Cascading and caressing each grain of sand,
A warm embrace between sea and land.

High above, a seagull soars high.
Wings of purity it spreads to fly.
Battling high against darkened cloud,
In a wind that blows fiercely, flying graceful and proud.

Beneath, the sand is soft and warm.
Sculpted by nature, it’s weathered the storm.
A passionate battle between calmness and rage,
A new chapter’s beginning; don’t turn the last page.

I listen again to the whispering waves,
Music of nature calming and brave.
Its power unknown, its stillness untamed,
Mysterious and magical, a treasure earth claims.


I’m Just a Farmer, Plain and Simple: By Bobby Collier

I’m Just a Farmer, Plain and Simple
By Bobby Collier

I’m just a farmer,
Plain and simple.
Not of a royal birth
But rather, a worker of the earth.

I know not of riches
But rather, of patches on my britches
I know of draught and rain,
Of pleasure and pain.

I know of the good and the bad,
The happy and the sad.
I am a man of emotions.

A man who loves this land,
And the beauty of its sand.
I know of a spring’s fresh flow
And autumn’s golden glow,
Of a newborn calf’s hesitation,
And the eagle’s destination.

I know of tall pines,
And long, waiting lines.
Of the warmth of campfires,
And the agony of flat tires.

But I am a man who loves his job
And the life I live.

I am a man who works with God,
I cannot succeed without his help,
For you see,
I’m just a farmer
Plain and simple.


October : Robert Frost – 1874-1963

Octobers trees
Lumix GX1
Black and white Landscpares
Nigel Borrington 2020

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
To-morrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
To-morrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow,
Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know;
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away;
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.


Down on the Farm , The Light in your eyes ……

The White of your eyes
Black and white Images
Lumix GX1 camera
Nigel Borrington 2020


Dandelion seeds a poem by Whitney Albright

Dandelion Seeds
Woodland nature
Nikon D700
Nigel Borrington 2020

She stands out
Against the weeds
Oh, she spouts
Her dandelion seeds

The smiling song
Of spring she leads
May the sunshine on
Her dandelion seeds

From the damp land
Her roots feed
Causing silver strands
In her dandelion seeds

Wishes she carries
Wishes she bleeds
Wishes are scattered
In her dandelion seeds