line of enquiry

I started musing about lines way back when I was designing atlases and the maps that went in them. A line is a convenience to define where one thing starts and another ends: a boundary between one area and another. It becomes something else when it has a thickness of its own. Inevitably when making maps one has to use a convention to act as a line which can be seen or detected to make the necessary changes it determines, but may not be required to show as an actual finite line at all. In the days when we were still drawing maps by hand we had to specify which side of any drawn line the end of one zone was, and ensure that the line employed had the same characteristics (colour) of the zone it determined, if not to be a visible construction in the final printed map..

Of course, what we call a line is actually one of the most widely used, versatile and convenient of graphic symbols. Sticking with the  maps and mapping example, line is used to define land height (contours), indicate route ways, (roads railways paths, canals, and many others) areas of differing land use (urban, woodland, lake, river, and many other things), boundaries both actual, political and notional,  and a host of other things. Line makes mapping possible. Beyond maps,  line facilitates painting, drawing, technology of all sorts,  the way we live on an hour by hour basis. Line is so instilled into our visual and mental psyche that we see and respond to lines everywhere, often without even knowing we are doing it.

Some years ago I developed a personal investigation about lines on the littoral – seeking line out as a mental interface that our eyes and brains superimpose upon what we perceive. I extended the meaning of some of the images I collected for this enquiry, to emphasise the line I found embedded in the pictures I was making. Some of these lines are compound as they contain differentiated light or colour or material; others are simple, notional, perceived, transient. One is a washed up tree trunk.

I concluded that line does not actually exist as such: only our perception creates line.

The resulting pictures were assembled into a sequence and shown as a digital showreel as part of an exhibition about the littoral, in Plymouth. Although all this took place some time ago now lines in the landscape continue to interest me and I seek them out where I can.

The Lines on the Littoral albums each show a portion of the original presentation: for convenience I have split the original images into four albums.

flickr: line of enquiry

The original explanatory frames that introduced the sequence to the viewer have been omitted.

shortest day

I arrive on this favourite shoreline in rapidly deteriorating weather after struggling into full wet-weather clothing and shoving my camera into a plastic bag. I am delighted that the beach is completely deserted and no figures are to be seen on the cliff path above; just a peregrine perches on a post for a moment at the entrance to the shore. It remains my exclusive coastal strip throughout my visit on this the shortest daylight day of the year. This is a satisfaction in itself: the place is mine one day in history and I rather like that. I have had the privilege here before…

It is good to review this incredibly varied stretch of coastline in really wet weather. My original intention to stride south along the sands is not possible as the south-westerly is holding the sea inshore, driving the tide in early. Instead I make it over the cliff base rockery to the place I call the paddling pool.

Rain full in my face, over glistening boulders and ridges. I find some respite from the driving rain in the lee of a cliff spur. From there I watch the waterfalls that drop over the back wall of the beach change from silver to ochre-charged cascades, those streams that the wind allows to get over the cliff lip at all. Some rock splinter from the cliff wall is shedding too so a wide berth is advisable for the return. No chance to shelter enough to eat a lunch. Reduced opportunities to do much with the camera too.

The sea becomes more frantic, shedding increasing drifts of spume, tide racing in hours before the tables say it is due. I make my return with a wary eye on the narrowing shore but still with time to pause, trying to make an image that captures the place and the day.

I have about three hours of it, keeping mostly dry. I leave by mid afternoon as the daylight is ebbing.

There is an album of pictures on Flickr:  shortest day . . .