You can nominate a post too. Just leave a comment here with the URL or link - and tell us the name of the blogger you are nominating. Righty-o, then, it's over to you ....
See my photography at Images Sans Frontiers and Red Bubble.
Showing posts with label Mrs Nesbitt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mrs Nesbitt. Show all posts
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Post Of The Day
You can nominate a post too. Just leave a comment here with the URL or link - and tell us the name of the blogger you are nominating. Righty-o, then, it's over to you ....
See my photography at Images Sans Frontiers and Red Bubble.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
M Is For Melbourne
Q Up Here For Your Refresher Course
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
About six years ago, after Princes Bridge was refurbished here in Melbourne, someone observed a small but very significant problem.
After the re-painting, it was noticed that the Latin motto for the city of Melbourne, which is painted beneath each coat of arms on every ornate lamp post across the span of the bridge, now contained an induced error.
Despite the meticulous project, the letter Q in the motto was showing up as an O instead. The city's motto is ''Vires acquirit eundo'' or "we gather strength as we go". But the fresh gold paint rendered the second word as "acouirit" instead.
Understandably, there aren't too many Latin scholars around in these times, so the revelation caused a flurry of activity, followed by verification processes, which in turn were followed by some hasty fresh paintwork.
According to the City of Melbourne website, the motto was suggested by a Judge Willis, a Latin scholar who served as the inaugural judge of the new district in the colony.
So when I walked across the bridge recently, I was reminded of how the error crept in. As you can see from these shots, we have been minding our Ps and Qs.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
About six years ago, after Princes Bridge was refurbished here in Melbourne, someone observed a small but very significant problem.
After the re-painting, it was noticed that the Latin motto for the city of Melbourne, which is painted beneath each coat of arms on every ornate lamp post across the span of the bridge, now contained an induced error.
Despite the meticulous project, the letter Q in the motto was showing up as an O instead. The city's motto is ''Vires acquirit eundo'' or "we gather strength as we go". But the fresh gold paint rendered the second word as "acouirit" instead.
Understandably, there aren't too many Latin scholars around in these times, so the revelation caused a flurry of activity, followed by verification processes, which in turn were followed by some hasty fresh paintwork.
According to the City of Melbourne website, the motto was suggested by a Judge Willis, a Latin scholar who served as the inaugural judge of the new district in the colony.
So when I walked across the bridge recently, I was reminded of how the error crept in. As you can see from these shots, we have been minding our Ps and Qs.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
I Is For Incendiary
Looks Like Someone Just Dropped A Bombshell
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
On Friday night I was at the 2009 Australian International Air Show and things didn’t quite go according to schedule. I had planned to get to the Show by about 4pm or 4.30pm at the latest. I’d been monitoring the weather reports for a few days and I knew it was going to be a hot day, which in turn meant I would be able to shoot under a clear, cloudless sky.
And as the week progressed, the weather seemed to be tailor-made for what I wanted to do. There was a chance of a storm late in the evening, which meant after shooting several frames in clear, bright light, I would be able to shoot several sequences in cloudy conditions at dusk - which would have been perfect, given that most of my subjects would be metallic in nature, even though most are hi-tech alloys.
So it looked as if I’d get a couple of hours in bright light and at least an hour and a half in soft light. Just before darkness fell, I would pack up and head for home. But that was not quite as it turned out. A couple of unforeseen glitches meant that I only walked through the entrance to the show at about 6.45pm, with the light fairly murky in thick cloud.
This in turn meant that I stayed on longer than I had planned to - so I was treated to this display of high explosives in a great display of precision use of armament. The weather had been assessed very carefully because of the fog that rolled in with the heavy cloud, so for a while there was a real question mark over whether any night flying would be possible.
There is, as I was about to discover, a very interesting discipline in photography of this nature. It was stygian blackness all around, save for the runway lights, and I quickly computed what settings to use on my camera. I had opted for the 70-300mm lens, just for the need to shoot over people’s heads for a clear close-up.
So picture this. You’re waiting in the darkness, not knowing which side of the runway the aircraft will approach. In addition, you have no idea where the armament will be dropped, so even if you were using a tripod (I never do) there is no knowing where to point your camera.
Flexibility is everything in this sort of situation. Because I’m so tall, I’m lucky enough to get a clear view over most people’s heads. And when the firewall began, I was quickly able to capture the pyrotechnics.
Someone who saw these images before they were published asked me if this sort of photography requires a lot of skill. My honest answer was, "Not really, but you do need a lot of patience and a certain degree of luck".
Sometimes it pays to be kept in the dark.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
On Friday night I was at the 2009 Australian International Air Show and things didn’t quite go according to schedule. I had planned to get to the Show by about 4pm or 4.30pm at the latest. I’d been monitoring the weather reports for a few days and I knew it was going to be a hot day, which in turn meant I would be able to shoot under a clear, cloudless sky.
And as the week progressed, the weather seemed to be tailor-made for what I wanted to do. There was a chance of a storm late in the evening, which meant after shooting several frames in clear, bright light, I would be able to shoot several sequences in cloudy conditions at dusk - which would have been perfect, given that most of my subjects would be metallic in nature, even though most are hi-tech alloys.
So it looked as if I’d get a couple of hours in bright light and at least an hour and a half in soft light. Just before darkness fell, I would pack up and head for home. But that was not quite as it turned out. A couple of unforeseen glitches meant that I only walked through the entrance to the show at about 6.45pm, with the light fairly murky in thick cloud.
This in turn meant that I stayed on longer than I had planned to - so I was treated to this display of high explosives in a great display of precision use of armament. The weather had been assessed very carefully because of the fog that rolled in with the heavy cloud, so for a while there was a real question mark over whether any night flying would be possible.
There is, as I was about to discover, a very interesting discipline in photography of this nature. It was stygian blackness all around, save for the runway lights, and I quickly computed what settings to use on my camera. I had opted for the 70-300mm lens, just for the need to shoot over people’s heads for a clear close-up.
So picture this. You’re waiting in the darkness, not knowing which side of the runway the aircraft will approach. In addition, you have no idea where the armament will be dropped, so even if you were using a tripod (I never do) there is no knowing where to point your camera.
Flexibility is everything in this sort of situation. Because I’m so tall, I’m lucky enough to get a clear view over most people’s heads. And when the firewall began, I was quickly able to capture the pyrotechnics.
Someone who saw these images before they were published asked me if this sort of photography requires a lot of skill. My honest answer was, "Not really, but you do need a lot of patience and a certain degree of luck".
Sometimes it pays to be kept in the dark.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Post Of The Day
You can nominate a post too. Just leave a comment here with the URL or link - and tell us the name of the blogger you are nominating. Righty-o, then, it's over to you ....
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
G Is For Ganesh
Wishing You Prosperity, Through The Elephant God
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
At first glance, I guess this photograph of Ganesh, the Hindu god of prosperity, looks as if it has captured four carved figures, placed back-to-back. But it's actually only two figures with a mirror behind them. Naturally, I had to compose the shot just as I saw it.
This series was shot on a hot, humid afternoon in Singapore. I had spent a couple of hours walking the streets, shooting as many scenes as I could - and some of that time had been spent sheltering in arcades as thunderstorms lashed the area and cleared, only to return with torrential downpours through the afternoon.
I grew up in Calcutta, and even though I am a Christian, I was always fascinated by the quality of work produced by the city’s clay artisans, who were famous for producing thousands of images of the Hindu gods. Probably the most famous of them all were the artisans of an area known as Kumartuli - and the next time I return to the city of my birth, I’ll take my camera there to try and capture their amazing work.
These shots were taken on Clive Street, near Singapore’s Little India zone. These beautiful figures were displayed on the footpath and the owner of the shop readily gave me permission to photograph them.
I didn’t get a chance to meet the craftsmen who actually created these figures, but if I’d had more time, I would have waited there to watch them at work. Some years ago, I photographed wood carvers in Bali, Indonesia - and was fascinated to see works of art appear, as if by magic, from the stunning way in which they wielded their chisels.
Ganesh or Ganesha, the Hindu deity with the head of an elephant and the body of a human, is the lord of success as well as the conqueror of evil. Easily identifiable, he is the son of Shiva and Parvati and is regarded as the god of education, knowledge, wisdom and wealth. The size of Ganesha’s ears is central to his connection to those who worship him, because they denote his ability to hear the petitions of all his worshippers.
I wish I'd had the opportunity to meet the artisans, because I would have asked if these were custom-made figures. If you look closely at these shots, you’ll notice that the Ganesh replicas do not include the customary broken tusk - regarded by Hindus as a symbol of sacrifice - held in one of his hands.
This final frame (below) includes some of the equipment used by the craftsmen. If I hadn't been so pressed for time, I would have enjoyed sitting down and watching them at work. There is no greater privilege than watching a true artisan at work.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
At first glance, I guess this photograph of Ganesh, the Hindu god of prosperity, looks as if it has captured four carved figures, placed back-to-back. But it's actually only two figures with a mirror behind them. Naturally, I had to compose the shot just as I saw it.
This series was shot on a hot, humid afternoon in Singapore. I had spent a couple of hours walking the streets, shooting as many scenes as I could - and some of that time had been spent sheltering in arcades as thunderstorms lashed the area and cleared, only to return with torrential downpours through the afternoon.
I grew up in Calcutta, and even though I am a Christian, I was always fascinated by the quality of work produced by the city’s clay artisans, who were famous for producing thousands of images of the Hindu gods. Probably the most famous of them all were the artisans of an area known as Kumartuli - and the next time I return to the city of my birth, I’ll take my camera there to try and capture their amazing work.
These shots were taken on Clive Street, near Singapore’s Little India zone. These beautiful figures were displayed on the footpath and the owner of the shop readily gave me permission to photograph them.
I didn’t get a chance to meet the craftsmen who actually created these figures, but if I’d had more time, I would have waited there to watch them at work. Some years ago, I photographed wood carvers in Bali, Indonesia - and was fascinated to see works of art appear, as if by magic, from the stunning way in which they wielded their chisels.
Ganesh or Ganesha, the Hindu deity with the head of an elephant and the body of a human, is the lord of success as well as the conqueror of evil. Easily identifiable, he is the son of Shiva and Parvati and is regarded as the god of education, knowledge, wisdom and wealth. The size of Ganesha’s ears is central to his connection to those who worship him, because they denote his ability to hear the petitions of all his worshippers.
I wish I'd had the opportunity to meet the artisans, because I would have asked if these were custom-made figures. If you look closely at these shots, you’ll notice that the Ganesh replicas do not include the customary broken tusk - regarded by Hindus as a symbol of sacrifice - held in one of his hands.
This final frame (below) includes some of the equipment used by the craftsmen. If I hadn't been so pressed for time, I would have enjoyed sitting down and watching them at work. There is no greater privilege than watching a true artisan at work.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
D Is For Desolation
The Savage Beauty Of A Bushfire Landscape
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
The first thing that strikes you when you walk through an area after a bushfire is just how quiet it is. There are no bird calls. The sounds of the Australian bush have vanished. There is not even the sound of wind.
There is nothing. Just the smell of residual smoke, the odour of burnt gums and eucalypts and the sight of blackness everywhere.
There are no bird calls because there are no nests left. The sounds of the Australian bush have gone because the animals have disappeared and the cicadas have not returned - simply because there is nothing for them to return to.
And why can we not hear the wind? Because there is no rustling. Can you guess why there is no rustling? Because there are no leaves. Just as beautifully crafted wood provides the sounding board for a grand piano, the leaves around us are what make us aware of the breeze we cannot see.
Several bloggers asked me last week what happens to wildlife in a fire. Those animals and birds that can move swiftly manage to escape. Those that cannot, perish in the flames or are claimed by the intense radiant heat that accompanies a bushfire.
Even some animals that escape the area in which they live are sometimes claimed by the fire because flames move so quickly and because flying embers, blown ahead of the forefront by intense winds, start new blazes that advance in several new directions.
Any bushfire zone also contains injured animals. These are now cared for swiftly, because of an initiative between the Country Fire Authority (CFA) and accredited volunteers. In the past, it was difficult for volunteers to enter a bushfire zone because of several operational reasons - not the least being their own safety - but this has changed.
Today, the trees are black carcasses. It is as if I stand alone in the forest of Hades.
The bushfire that swept through here last week claimed everything. Like all wildfires, it was capricious. It jumped a road, it burnt along a fence line, but here and there are little havens of greenery where the wind changed and blew the fury of the flames away.
These images were shot at dusk on Monday, in the Churchill National Park area of southeast Melbourne. I rang the Country Fire Authority (CFA) and the police before I headed off to take these photographs. I left my contact details and vehicle registration with them.
Why? Not just for safety, as there is a far more important reason. With arson suspected as the cause for some of Victoria’s fatal bushfires, I do not want anyone to mistake me for a firebug.
My son points out a sign that has been burnt. I turn the car back and photograph the scars. Not only is the wooden support post damaged, but the fire has eaten through the metal as well.
One of the broader trees near the Churchill Park gold course has obviously been marked out for some kind of attention. Around its trunk it sports distinctive red-and-white tape bearing the letters DSE, for the Department of Sustainability and Environment.
The tape is upside down. Little details like this do not matter in a bushfire zone, where experts must assess the charred remains quickly. The red-and-white tape stands out like a beacon among the twisted black tree limbs.
The sun is setting now. There can only be hope that tomorrow will bring cooler weather and some respite for the volunteer CFA firefighters who are our guardian angels.
But here in the black landscape, there is an invisible miracle of which we cannot yet see tangible evidence. There will soon be regrowth occurring.
Strange though that might seem, it is true. The seed pods of these native Australian trees are only opened by intense heat. A bushfire is nature’s way of regeneration. In a fortnight or so, there will be a new leaf here, a tentative young branch there.
The landscape will reveal patches of growth. By mid-autumn, this place will be a concerto of colours and there will be fresh green emerging from the blackened trunks.
Tomorrow, as they say in the classics, is another day.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
The first thing that strikes you when you walk through an area after a bushfire is just how quiet it is. There are no bird calls. The sounds of the Australian bush have vanished. There is not even the sound of wind.
There is nothing. Just the smell of residual smoke, the odour of burnt gums and eucalypts and the sight of blackness everywhere.
There are no bird calls because there are no nests left. The sounds of the Australian bush have gone because the animals have disappeared and the cicadas have not returned - simply because there is nothing for them to return to.
And why can we not hear the wind? Because there is no rustling. Can you guess why there is no rustling? Because there are no leaves. Just as beautifully crafted wood provides the sounding board for a grand piano, the leaves around us are what make us aware of the breeze we cannot see.
Several bloggers asked me last week what happens to wildlife in a fire. Those animals and birds that can move swiftly manage to escape. Those that cannot, perish in the flames or are claimed by the intense radiant heat that accompanies a bushfire.
Even some animals that escape the area in which they live are sometimes claimed by the fire because flames move so quickly and because flying embers, blown ahead of the forefront by intense winds, start new blazes that advance in several new directions.
Any bushfire zone also contains injured animals. These are now cared for swiftly, because of an initiative between the Country Fire Authority (CFA) and accredited volunteers. In the past, it was difficult for volunteers to enter a bushfire zone because of several operational reasons - not the least being their own safety - but this has changed.
Today, the trees are black carcasses. It is as if I stand alone in the forest of Hades.
The bushfire that swept through here last week claimed everything. Like all wildfires, it was capricious. It jumped a road, it burnt along a fence line, but here and there are little havens of greenery where the wind changed and blew the fury of the flames away.
These images were shot at dusk on Monday, in the Churchill National Park area of southeast Melbourne. I rang the Country Fire Authority (CFA) and the police before I headed off to take these photographs. I left my contact details and vehicle registration with them.
Why? Not just for safety, as there is a far more important reason. With arson suspected as the cause for some of Victoria’s fatal bushfires, I do not want anyone to mistake me for a firebug.
My son points out a sign that has been burnt. I turn the car back and photograph the scars. Not only is the wooden support post damaged, but the fire has eaten through the metal as well.
One of the broader trees near the Churchill Park gold course has obviously been marked out for some kind of attention. Around its trunk it sports distinctive red-and-white tape bearing the letters DSE, for the Department of Sustainability and Environment.
The tape is upside down. Little details like this do not matter in a bushfire zone, where experts must assess the charred remains quickly. The red-and-white tape stands out like a beacon among the twisted black tree limbs.
The sun is setting now. There can only be hope that tomorrow will bring cooler weather and some respite for the volunteer CFA firefighters who are our guardian angels.
But here in the black landscape, there is an invisible miracle of which we cannot yet see tangible evidence. There will soon be regrowth occurring.
Strange though that might seem, it is true. The seed pods of these native Australian trees are only opened by intense heat. A bushfire is nature’s way of regeneration. In a fortnight or so, there will be a new leaf here, a tentative young branch there.
The landscape will reveal patches of growth. By mid-autumn, this place will be a concerto of colours and there will be fresh green emerging from the blackened trunks.
Tomorrow, as they say in the classics, is another day.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
B Is For Bungee
Make Mine A Singapore Slingshot
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
Sorry, mate, I’m busy today. I only have a day and a half in Singapore and I intend to get around the city on foot and shoot as many photographs as I possibly can. It’s mid-December and the city looks beautiful and the sun is shining and yes, it’s too warm for me, but I’ll turn my collar up, sip iced water and continue walking because each step brings me another image for my camera.
Yes, I’m sure it’s great to do a bungee jump. But I’ve got another international flight to catch tomorrow afternoon, followed by a road trip of several hours on northern Indian highways, then a family reunion and a wedding to attend. Then I’ve got to get into reverse gear and do it all again and get home in just five days. That’s a lot of travel and not a lot of time.
Yes, I do have the spirit of adventure flowing in my veins. Honest, I have. I never blink when I’m faced with a challenge. But next time I’m in Singapore I promise to come straight here, pay my money and do the Xtreme Swing slingshot. No, I won’t go shopping first. No, I won’t even go sightseeing. I’ll get into a cab at Changi airport and tell him to bring me straight here.
No, of course I’m not scared. Mate, did I ever tell you about the time I faced a charging grizzly? I did not flinch. I did not take a backward step. I just stood there, switched on my camera and took a shot of him as he accelerated soundlessly across the dry ground.
Yes, I know the bungee slingshot is safe. But what happens if my wallet falls out of my pocket while I’m doing this caper? Whaddya mean, you’ll take care of my false teeth. I don’t have false teeth. No, I don’t have an artificial leg. Yes, I have normal heartbeat. And yes, of course I have a healthy spine. No, I don’t have a pacemaker.
Let me make a deal with you. Have you ever had a customer who’s done this gig and held onto a camera to shoot photos while he’s strapped in and flailing wildly? No? You haven’t? Okay, I want to be the first. Here’s my down payment. See you next time I’m in Singapore. Don’t forget a special harness to tie my camera to me.
You see, I’m a sucker. You can rope me in to anything. Well, almost anything.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Sorry, mate, I’m busy today. I only have a day and a half in Singapore and I intend to get around the city on foot and shoot as many photographs as I possibly can. It’s mid-December and the city looks beautiful and the sun is shining and yes, it’s too warm for me, but I’ll turn my collar up, sip iced water and continue walking because each step brings me another image for my camera.
Yes, I’m sure it’s great to do a bungee jump. But I’ve got another international flight to catch tomorrow afternoon, followed by a road trip of several hours on northern Indian highways, then a family reunion and a wedding to attend. Then I’ve got to get into reverse gear and do it all again and get home in just five days. That’s a lot of travel and not a lot of time.
Yes, I do have the spirit of adventure flowing in my veins. Honest, I have. I never blink when I’m faced with a challenge. But next time I’m in Singapore I promise to come straight here, pay my money and do the Xtreme Swing slingshot. No, I won’t go shopping first. No, I won’t even go sightseeing. I’ll get into a cab at Changi airport and tell him to bring me straight here.
No, of course I’m not scared. Mate, did I ever tell you about the time I faced a charging grizzly? I did not flinch. I did not take a backward step. I just stood there, switched on my camera and took a shot of him as he accelerated soundlessly across the dry ground.
Yes, I know the bungee slingshot is safe. But what happens if my wallet falls out of my pocket while I’m doing this caper? Whaddya mean, you’ll take care of my false teeth. I don’t have false teeth. No, I don’t have an artificial leg. Yes, I have normal heartbeat. And yes, of course I have a healthy spine. No, I don’t have a pacemaker.
Let me make a deal with you. Have you ever had a customer who’s done this gig and held onto a camera to shoot photos while he’s strapped in and flailing wildly? No? You haven’t? Okay, I want to be the first. Here’s my down payment. See you next time I’m in Singapore. Don’t forget a special harness to tie my camera to me.
You see, I’m a sucker. You can rope me in to anything. Well, almost anything.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A Is For Airport
Being Late Is A Departure From The Norm
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
Since the age of 24, when I was lucky enough to be given the gig of a globe-trotting sports journalist covering cricket and tennis at the world’s most famous venues, I have caught more flights than I could ever count. I was never late for any of them.
Since I became a father and revelled in taking the Authorbloglets to wonderful cities, we have been fortunate enough to fly to some truly memorable places. Once again, we have never been late for any of our flights.
But there was one solitary occasion in 1986 when Mrs Authorblog came close to derailing my record for punctuality. We were in London and we were due to fly to Brussels for a week and we had non-refundable, non-changeable air tickets.
It was the 23rd July. If the date doesn’t exactly ring a bell, let me remind you of its significance. It was the day that Britain’s Prince Andrew married Sarah Ferguson. Mrs Authorblog was delighted to be accompanying me to Belgium, but she was not exactly over the moon about the fact that we were travelling on the day of the royal wedding.
Let me put this in context. Mrs Authorblog was a flight attendant for a major international airline, and was accustomed to check-in desks, time zones and airport protocol. But she was also (understandably, I hasten to add) not best pleased about travelling on a day when she would rather (I suspect) be standing with the throng of bystanders outside Westminster Abbey.
So we struck a deal. She would watch the start of BBC TV’s coverage of the wedding and as soon as Prince Andrew entered the church, we would leave for the airport. We had a long way to go. We were in South Wimbledon, which was a long haul (and a couple of Tube changes) to Heathrow.
Prince Andrew arrived. But Mrs Authorblog wasn’t budging. I was looking at the clock. Then a new deal was struck. We would wait until the TV cameras showed Fergie leaving Clarence House in the famous glass coach. I agreed.
That came and went. Then Mrs Authorblog asked if she could wait until Fergie walked down the aisle to meet her prince. Looking nervously at the clock and mentally computing the Underground routes and schedules, I agreed. But now I was getting rather edgy.
We sprinted to South Wimledon station, ran down the escalator to the train and Mrs Authorblog, who was suddenly rather pale at the prospect of missing the flight to Brussels, asked me in a very inconspicuous voice if we would make it to Heathrow on time. Gallantly, I said we should have about five minutes to spare – as long as the train did not stop between stations.
Sure enough, it stopped between stations about ten minutes later. By now we knew that even if we got out at the next station and took one of the London black cabs, we would still not get to the airport any quicker than if we stayed on the Tube.
When we eventually pulled into Heathrow, Mrs Authorblog led the way. As we raced towards the airline check-in desk, she just had one single piece of advice for me. "Don’t stop to help any little old ladies with their suitcases," she said.
About fifty metres later, there was – you guessed it – a little old lady struggling with her suitcase. So I did what anyone would do. I stopped and helped her – and told Mrs Authorblog I would catch up with her.
We made our flight with only seconds to spare – as they announced our names over the PA system for the third time.
Now, each time we make travel plans for the family, I always check the calendar – just to make sure no royal weddings are scheduled the same day.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Since the age of 24, when I was lucky enough to be given the gig of a globe-trotting sports journalist covering cricket and tennis at the world’s most famous venues, I have caught more flights than I could ever count. I was never late for any of them.
Since I became a father and revelled in taking the Authorbloglets to wonderful cities, we have been fortunate enough to fly to some truly memorable places. Once again, we have never been late for any of our flights.
But there was one solitary occasion in 1986 when Mrs Authorblog came close to derailing my record for punctuality. We were in London and we were due to fly to Brussels for a week and we had non-refundable, non-changeable air tickets.
It was the 23rd July. If the date doesn’t exactly ring a bell, let me remind you of its significance. It was the day that Britain’s Prince Andrew married Sarah Ferguson. Mrs Authorblog was delighted to be accompanying me to Belgium, but she was not exactly over the moon about the fact that we were travelling on the day of the royal wedding.
Let me put this in context. Mrs Authorblog was a flight attendant for a major international airline, and was accustomed to check-in desks, time zones and airport protocol. But she was also (understandably, I hasten to add) not best pleased about travelling on a day when she would rather (I suspect) be standing with the throng of bystanders outside Westminster Abbey.
So we struck a deal. She would watch the start of BBC TV’s coverage of the wedding and as soon as Prince Andrew entered the church, we would leave for the airport. We had a long way to go. We were in South Wimbledon, which was a long haul (and a couple of Tube changes) to Heathrow.
Prince Andrew arrived. But Mrs Authorblog wasn’t budging. I was looking at the clock. Then a new deal was struck. We would wait until the TV cameras showed Fergie leaving Clarence House in the famous glass coach. I agreed.
That came and went. Then Mrs Authorblog asked if she could wait until Fergie walked down the aisle to meet her prince. Looking nervously at the clock and mentally computing the Underground routes and schedules, I agreed. But now I was getting rather edgy.
We sprinted to South Wimledon station, ran down the escalator to the train and Mrs Authorblog, who was suddenly rather pale at the prospect of missing the flight to Brussels, asked me in a very inconspicuous voice if we would make it to Heathrow on time. Gallantly, I said we should have about five minutes to spare – as long as the train did not stop between stations.
Sure enough, it stopped between stations about ten minutes later. By now we knew that even if we got out at the next station and took one of the London black cabs, we would still not get to the airport any quicker than if we stayed on the Tube.
When we eventually pulled into Heathrow, Mrs Authorblog led the way. As we raced towards the airline check-in desk, she just had one single piece of advice for me. "Don’t stop to help any little old ladies with their suitcases," she said.
About fifty metres later, there was – you guessed it – a little old lady struggling with her suitcase. So I did what anyone would do. I stopped and helped her – and told Mrs Authorblog I would catch up with her.
We made our flight with only seconds to spare – as they announced our names over the PA system for the third time.
Now, each time we make travel plans for the family, I always check the calendar – just to make sure no royal weddings are scheduled the same day.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Z Is For Zoom
How Far Do You Want to Go?
Image #1. Focal length 18mm. Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
This series of three photographs was shot on a dull, grey day – simply to illustrate the distinction between a standard lens and a zoom lens. Yes, I could have done the same experiment on a cloudless, sunny day, but the tougher the light conditions, the greater the demands on your lens.
Until about three or four years ago, zoom lenses were the exclusive territory of professional photographers. Amateurs who bought SLR (single-lens reflex) cameras generally bought standard 35mm lenses. But as digital SLRs grew in popularity and the prices fell from around $3000 to the $1200 mark, it became more common for amateur photographers to turn to single compact lenses with adjustable focal planes.
Then came the biggest – and most far-reaching - revolution for the MND (mum ‘n’ dad) photographers. As they embraced digital SLRs and the price of memory cards fell from $200 for a one-gigabyte SD card (late 1995) to $30 for a four-gigabyte SD card, a new school of thought took hold.
As the MND amateurs began looking for more than simply a standard 35mm lens, manufacturers found a new market – complete amateurs who were willing to spend some money on the popular 18-55mm lenses or even the larger multi-purpose 18-125mm lenses.
Logically, the camera manufacturers embraced the new market. It’s been more than a year since the big names started to package novel deals for the home photographer, as opposed to serving only the professional photographers.
Image #2. Focal length 125mm.
Previously, when an MND photographer bought a digital SLR, it came with one lens. Now, Canon, Nikon, Pentax and the other big players are enticing brave new consumers to invest in packages that are tailored to the one-body-two-lenses option.
If that sounds like jargon, let me explain it in the simplest terms. You buy one camera body, but the manufacturer entices you (and a brilliant marketing option it is, from everyone’s point of view) to buy not one lens but two.
Each camera body has a bayonet-type screw-in for a lens. If your standard lens is an 18-55mm lens, you can also buy a second, longer lens and swap between the two. Swapping lenses is a quick and simple process that only takes a few seconds. More crucially, it makes a lot of commercial sense for manufacturers and for the 21st-century buyer as well.
When I bought my Pentax K100D, I bought a wonderful 18-125mm Sigma lens. Then, about eight or nine months ago, I saw a 70-300mm Sigma lens advertised and after mulling over the possibilities for a few weeks, I took the plunge and have never looked back. I carry both lenses wherever I go and to put it quite simply, I revel in the choice.
Now to the specifics of this photo exercise. All these shots were taken from the eleventh floor of a city building here in Melbourne, looking out towards Port Phillip Bay. All three shots were taken from exactly the same spot, with different focal lengths.
In the first shot, with a focal length of only 18mm, the dominant features are two apartment buildings, a set of vertical blinds and an old-fashioned CRT-type computer monitor.
The second shot is also taken with my 18-125mm lens, fully open to a focal length of 125mm. Now you can actually see what looks like an expanse of concrete in the distance but is actually the sea under a leaden, grey sky.
Image #3. Focal length 300mm.
In the final shot (above) taken at the maximum focal length of my 70-300mm lens, you can actually begin to discern the slim grey outline of a container ship several miles away, deep in the Bay.
It’s almost like sittin’ on the dock of the Bay.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
This series of three photographs was shot on a dull, grey day – simply to illustrate the distinction between a standard lens and a zoom lens. Yes, I could have done the same experiment on a cloudless, sunny day, but the tougher the light conditions, the greater the demands on your lens.
Until about three or four years ago, zoom lenses were the exclusive territory of professional photographers. Amateurs who bought SLR (single-lens reflex) cameras generally bought standard 35mm lenses. But as digital SLRs grew in popularity and the prices fell from around $3000 to the $1200 mark, it became more common for amateur photographers to turn to single compact lenses with adjustable focal planes.
Then came the biggest – and most far-reaching - revolution for the MND (mum ‘n’ dad) photographers. As they embraced digital SLRs and the price of memory cards fell from $200 for a one-gigabyte SD card (late 1995) to $30 for a four-gigabyte SD card, a new school of thought took hold.
As the MND amateurs began looking for more than simply a standard 35mm lens, manufacturers found a new market – complete amateurs who were willing to spend some money on the popular 18-55mm lenses or even the larger multi-purpose 18-125mm lenses.
Logically, the camera manufacturers embraced the new market. It’s been more than a year since the big names started to package novel deals for the home photographer, as opposed to serving only the professional photographers.
Previously, when an MND photographer bought a digital SLR, it came with one lens. Now, Canon, Nikon, Pentax and the other big players are enticing brave new consumers to invest in packages that are tailored to the one-body-two-lenses option.
If that sounds like jargon, let me explain it in the simplest terms. You buy one camera body, but the manufacturer entices you (and a brilliant marketing option it is, from everyone’s point of view) to buy not one lens but two.
Each camera body has a bayonet-type screw-in for a lens. If your standard lens is an 18-55mm lens, you can also buy a second, longer lens and swap between the two. Swapping lenses is a quick and simple process that only takes a few seconds. More crucially, it makes a lot of commercial sense for manufacturers and for the 21st-century buyer as well.
When I bought my Pentax K100D, I bought a wonderful 18-125mm Sigma lens. Then, about eight or nine months ago, I saw a 70-300mm Sigma lens advertised and after mulling over the possibilities for a few weeks, I took the plunge and have never looked back. I carry both lenses wherever I go and to put it quite simply, I revel in the choice.
Now to the specifics of this photo exercise. All these shots were taken from the eleventh floor of a city building here in Melbourne, looking out towards Port Phillip Bay. All three shots were taken from exactly the same spot, with different focal lengths.
In the first shot, with a focal length of only 18mm, the dominant features are two apartment buildings, a set of vertical blinds and an old-fashioned CRT-type computer monitor.
The second shot is also taken with my 18-125mm lens, fully open to a focal length of 125mm. Now you can actually see what looks like an expanse of concrete in the distance but is actually the sea under a leaden, grey sky.
In the final shot (above) taken at the maximum focal length of my 70-300mm lens, you can actually begin to discern the slim grey outline of a container ship several miles away, deep in the Bay.
It’s almost like sittin’ on the dock of the Bay.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Y Is For Yellow
Never Be Scared Of A Photographic Challenge
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
The shots for today’s post were all taken at a single spot, the historic Sandridge Bridge that joins the north and south banks of the Yarra River. This was initially the site of a timber bridge but by the late 1980s it was derelict and its future was the subject of lively debate.
In 2006, just before Melbourne hosted the Commonwealth Games, it was re-opened as a pedestrian footbridge, cutting diagonally across the river. A series of unique giant figures that move across the bridge and back each day; as well as a set of towering glass panels pay tribute to Melbourne’s multicultural past.
The significance of the figures, and the migrant spirit they evoke, was detailed in my photo essay Action Figures.
Because the bridge is painted in the distinctive hues of gun-metal grey and vivid yellow, I made my way there on a recent morning. My self-imposed challenge was to shoot a quick series of images for this post in a) less than five minutes and b) to do so in just a single crossing of the bridge.
This first shot was taken at the southern end of the bridge, where I was looking for an unusual angle and noticed that someone had wedged a green milk crate between the metal sections. Naturally, I had to take the shot not just because of the unusual object, but also because it gave me an extra colour and a bit more structure in the frame.
I was walking across the bridge at parade ground speed when I noticed the end of this chrome handrail. There was a pedestrian walking towards me, so I had to compose the shot and hit the trigger very quickly, or else he would have walked into the frame.
As for this view, I have absolutely no idea what the original purpose of these circular devices was. Maybe there’s an experienced engineer out there who can explain what they’re for. Certainly, it’s part of the original structure of the bridge, and they are placed at regular intervals, so I guess they served some long-forgotten purpose.
Right now, they’re simply an intriguing shape, size – and colour, of course.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
The shots for today’s post were all taken at a single spot, the historic Sandridge Bridge that joins the north and south banks of the Yarra River. This was initially the site of a timber bridge but by the late 1980s it was derelict and its future was the subject of lively debate.
In 2006, just before Melbourne hosted the Commonwealth Games, it was re-opened as a pedestrian footbridge, cutting diagonally across the river. A series of unique giant figures that move across the bridge and back each day; as well as a set of towering glass panels pay tribute to Melbourne’s multicultural past.
The significance of the figures, and the migrant spirit they evoke, was detailed in my photo essay Action Figures.
Because the bridge is painted in the distinctive hues of gun-metal grey and vivid yellow, I made my way there on a recent morning. My self-imposed challenge was to shoot a quick series of images for this post in a) less than five minutes and b) to do so in just a single crossing of the bridge.
This first shot was taken at the southern end of the bridge, where I was looking for an unusual angle and noticed that someone had wedged a green milk crate between the metal sections. Naturally, I had to take the shot not just because of the unusual object, but also because it gave me an extra colour and a bit more structure in the frame.
I was walking across the bridge at parade ground speed when I noticed the end of this chrome handrail. There was a pedestrian walking towards me, so I had to compose the shot and hit the trigger very quickly, or else he would have walked into the frame.
Right now, they’re simply an intriguing shape, size – and colour, of course.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
X Is For X-Factor
It's So Easy To Describe, But So Difficult To Attain
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
As a photographer and a writer, it's not every day of your life that you come across an image that produces a "look at me now" photograph, just as writing a memorable blog post or newspaper article can be highly elusive.
But therein lies the joy. Were they easy, then they would be far too commonplace. And that is precisely why a great photograph or a great piece of writing is one that you tend to remember, or that you keep in a special place, to bring out and share with people who matter.
All it takes is the ability to look at something differently, or the ability to present it differently. That is where The Big Difference lies.
I work on the most simple ground rule of all. If something catches my attention, I photograph it. Very often, someone will ask me why on earth I'm photographing something - but when I show them the image on the LCD screen of my camera, they "see" the beauty through my eyes.
And, my friends, therein lies the reward. Every time I take a photograph, I am inviting you into my own personal world, to share my viewpoint and to look directly at the sight I've captured, from the exact angle I've captured it. You see, in the image, precisely what I see through the viewfinder of my camera.
A few days ago, we were in the Bourke Street Mall here in Melbourne to check out the Myer Christmas windows. Above us, the entire street was covered by alternating cables of miniature lights and silver stars. As you can see by the shot below, it was a striking sight against the azure-blue of the darkening sky.
But the first two shots on this post were taken from a slightly different vantage point, with the focus deliberately blurred. In the first of the four shots, the vertical frame shows three street lights in the guise of golden globules. In the second of the four shots, the horizontal frame shows the same intriguing shimmer, with only a solitary street lamp looking like a mysterious golden pearl.
This final shot (above) was taken as we were leaving. In order to give you an idea of just how far the lights stretched down the street, I actually stood in the middle of Bourke Street, astride the tram tracks to hit the trigger very quickly before moving to safer ground.
And now, my final question for all of you - please let me know which of the four shots gets your vote.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
As a photographer and a writer, it's not every day of your life that you come across an image that produces a "look at me now" photograph, just as writing a memorable blog post or newspaper article can be highly elusive.
But therein lies the joy. Were they easy, then they would be far too commonplace. And that is precisely why a great photograph or a great piece of writing is one that you tend to remember, or that you keep in a special place, to bring out and share with people who matter.
All it takes is the ability to look at something differently, or the ability to present it differently. That is where The Big Difference lies.
I work on the most simple ground rule of all. If something catches my attention, I photograph it. Very often, someone will ask me why on earth I'm photographing something - but when I show them the image on the LCD screen of my camera, they "see" the beauty through my eyes.
And, my friends, therein lies the reward. Every time I take a photograph, I am inviting you into my own personal world, to share my viewpoint and to look directly at the sight I've captured, from the exact angle I've captured it. You see, in the image, precisely what I see through the viewfinder of my camera.
A few days ago, we were in the Bourke Street Mall here in Melbourne to check out the Myer Christmas windows. Above us, the entire street was covered by alternating cables of miniature lights and silver stars. As you can see by the shot below, it was a striking sight against the azure-blue of the darkening sky.
But the first two shots on this post were taken from a slightly different vantage point, with the focus deliberately blurred. In the first of the four shots, the vertical frame shows three street lights in the guise of golden globules. In the second of the four shots, the horizontal frame shows the same intriguing shimmer, with only a solitary street lamp looking like a mysterious golden pearl.
This final shot (above) was taken as we were leaving. In order to give you an idea of just how far the lights stretched down the street, I actually stood in the middle of Bourke Street, astride the tram tracks to hit the trigger very quickly before moving to safer ground.
And now, my final question for all of you - please let me know which of the four shots gets your vote.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
W Is For Wreath
We Wish You A Merry Christmas
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
I’ve never seen wreaths as elaborate as these, photographed at the famous Raffles Hotel in Singapore exactly a year ago. I had an eastbound flight to catch but I was determined to cover as much ground as possible – on foot – around the city before picking up my bags and heading to the airport.
I had already made up my mind that I would call a halt when I reached Raffles, one of the most historic buildings in the former British colony. Time was really ticking away and I didn’t realise how heavy the pre-Christmas traffic would be and that I would lose precious minutes on my way to the airport.
But I found the time to shoot these wreaths in a courtyard at the hotel. The stained glass in the shot above had me fascinated, for it threw an interesting range of colours into the mix as well.
It was early afternoon and there was the feeling of so much history on these flagstones as I tried to get as many photographs as possible. I knew that time was ticking away, but I tried not to think about it.
Eventually I made my way round to the hotel’s main entrance, where I made another pit stop to take photographs. Eventually, I knew I had run out of time and hailed a cab. But just as I was about to get in and tell the driver where to take me, I spotted this huge Christmas ribbon on a light pole. If you want to figure out how large it is, take a look at the huge palm fronds to the left – and that’ll give you a fair idea of its dimensions.
Yes, I caught my flight. But a good friend of mine, who knows how punctual I am, couldn’t believe her eyes when I arrived a few minutes late to meet her at the Singapore Airlines check-in desk.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
I’ve never seen wreaths as elaborate as these, photographed at the famous Raffles Hotel in Singapore exactly a year ago. I had an eastbound flight to catch but I was determined to cover as much ground as possible – on foot – around the city before picking up my bags and heading to the airport.
I had already made up my mind that I would call a halt when I reached Raffles, one of the most historic buildings in the former British colony. Time was really ticking away and I didn’t realise how heavy the pre-Christmas traffic would be and that I would lose precious minutes on my way to the airport.
But I found the time to shoot these wreaths in a courtyard at the hotel. The stained glass in the shot above had me fascinated, for it threw an interesting range of colours into the mix as well.
It was early afternoon and there was the feeling of so much history on these flagstones as I tried to get as many photographs as possible. I knew that time was ticking away, but I tried not to think about it.
Eventually I made my way round to the hotel’s main entrance, where I made another pit stop to take photographs. Eventually, I knew I had run out of time and hailed a cab. But just as I was about to get in and tell the driver where to take me, I spotted this huge Christmas ribbon on a light pole. If you want to figure out how large it is, take a look at the huge palm fronds to the left – and that’ll give you a fair idea of its dimensions.
Yes, I caught my flight. But a good friend of mine, who knows how punctual I am, couldn’t believe her eyes when I arrived a few minutes late to meet her at the Singapore Airlines check-in desk.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
V Is For Velocity
Whatever Happened To Service With A Smile?
Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON
I always obey highway speed limits. Always. But let me tell you about the time I was once clocked at 147 km per hour. Yes, that's right. At 147 km an hour. That's 91 miles per hour.
But I wasn't driving.
I was serving - a tennis serve.
You see, it was during the Australian Open tennis fortnight some years ago. While I checked out the tents that fringed the playing arena, my attention was drawn to one zone where any member of the public could rock up to have the speed of their service measured by the same mechanism that functions courtside for the stars.
From memory, you just paid a couple of dollars and you got three serves – and the pleasure of seeing your speed recorded on a huge digital screen.
Just the sort of callenge I love - and yes, I love a challenge or three.
I leant how to play tennis by hitting against the garage wall when I was a little fella. I went to Wimbledon from 1981 to 1987. Okay, so it was not in the role of competitor - I went there as a tennis writer, covering the tournament that I dreamed about as kid.
I've even got a couple of tennis trophies to my name. So I'm not just a mug player with two left feet. I can actually play. But allow me to get back to the story, instead of meandering.
It was a long line. It was a hot day. I didn’t have much time before play got under way at Centre Court. But as a clay courter with a decent serve and a (slightly) erratic baseline game, I just couldn’t resist the lure of a finite figure. So I stood there in the queue that didn’t really seem to be moving.
I was a bit self-conscious for the first serve. Pressure, y’know. All those people watching. Okay, so there were a couple of hundred spectators. I couldn’t believe my eyes when the digital screen flashed 142. That slow?
The second time around, the ball toss wasn’t perfect. I should have caught it and tried again. But equal measures of pride and stubbornness fuelled my attempt to make amends. Hmmmm. 135. Not good.
I really concentrated on the final serve. Racquet head steady. Knees flexed. Clean toss. Rotate at the hip. Wham. Surely that was up around the 170 mark. But it was only 147.
Dang speed cameras. Never work correctly when you want them to. Not happy when they say you're too fast. Even more disgruntled when they say you're too slow.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
I always obey highway speed limits. Always. But let me tell you about the time I was once clocked at 147 km per hour. Yes, that's right. At 147 km an hour. That's 91 miles per hour.
But I wasn't driving.
I was serving - a tennis serve.
You see, it was during the Australian Open tennis fortnight some years ago. While I checked out the tents that fringed the playing arena, my attention was drawn to one zone where any member of the public could rock up to have the speed of their service measured by the same mechanism that functions courtside for the stars.
From memory, you just paid a couple of dollars and you got three serves – and the pleasure of seeing your speed recorded on a huge digital screen.
Just the sort of callenge I love - and yes, I love a challenge or three.
I leant how to play tennis by hitting against the garage wall when I was a little fella. I went to Wimbledon from 1981 to 1987. Okay, so it was not in the role of competitor - I went there as a tennis writer, covering the tournament that I dreamed about as kid.
I've even got a couple of tennis trophies to my name. So I'm not just a mug player with two left feet. I can actually play. But allow me to get back to the story, instead of meandering.
It was a long line. It was a hot day. I didn’t have much time before play got under way at Centre Court. But as a clay courter with a decent serve and a (slightly) erratic baseline game, I just couldn’t resist the lure of a finite figure. So I stood there in the queue that didn’t really seem to be moving.
I was a bit self-conscious for the first serve. Pressure, y’know. All those people watching. Okay, so there were a couple of hundred spectators. I couldn’t believe my eyes when the digital screen flashed 142. That slow?
The second time around, the ball toss wasn’t perfect. I should have caught it and tried again. But equal measures of pride and stubbornness fuelled my attempt to make amends. Hmmmm. 135. Not good.
I really concentrated on the final serve. Racquet head steady. Knees flexed. Clean toss. Rotate at the hip. Wham. Surely that was up around the 170 mark. But it was only 147.
Dang speed cameras. Never work correctly when you want them to. Not happy when they say you're too fast. Even more disgruntled when they say you're too slow.
For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.
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