Jupiter Artlands

 

Jupiter Artland is a sculpture park found just outside East Calder in West Lothian

I’ve had the pleasure of visiting on a few occasions: enjoying not only the art, but the quietude. The landscape offers a haven from the madness of modern life – one of those places where I believe that taking out your phone, even just to look at the time, is a desecration of the habitat.

Add to that personal ‘deep breath out’ feeling I always gain when visiting, are the artworks themselves. They are found positioned at points along the meandering paths which snake easily through the park. Some of them have been there for years, but a few are changed each year – one reason why I look forward to returning each time.

www.jupiterartland.org

Strathbrock Parish Church

 It's almost two years, now, since I took the camera for a walk around this little church which lies nestled in the heart of Broxburn, West Lothian.

I've passed the church entrance way loads of times over the years; always noting it with a quick glance as I drove by. Then, having newly retired from work, and with a little time on my hands, I decided to visit.

It's a small Church: robust and staunch looking in its square frame stonework. The doors were locked and there was no one around - there were a couple of cars in the car park, but they may have been dog walkers who had journeyed further on.

The graveyard is very extensive for a small church. One of the graves is marked for a David Hamilton who was laid to rest in 1773. The church building has, I believe, gone through a few constructions - possibly having its beginnings in a wooden building in the 7th Century. The first stone church in the parish dates back to the 12th Century.

Its well worth a visit.

She made me wear my racing colours!

Honestly :-)  Some of the characters you come across while travelling!

Having stopped for a cold beer on a particularly hot afternoon, June and I spotted this lady wending her way through the busy streets of Cadiz's Cathedral District.

I had to snap her; her little dog looked as though it had been forced to wear some sort of racing colours, and wasn't best pleased.

Another odd thing: why would you want to dress a dog up in that heat in the first place?

You do have to laugh :-)

The beautiful coastal enclave of Melilla.

 

I snapped the very arresting monument captured in these two photos within the Historic Old Town of Melilla la Vieja; an autonomous Spanish city bordering Morocco on the North Coast of Africa, and one of just two Spanish enclaves sited on the African mainland; the other is Ceuta.

As you would expect, Melilla has a huge history: a Spanish enclave, freeport and military base, it has stood at the crossroads of mainly European and African and Middle East cultures for thousands of years. Of 7^th Century Phoenician origin, it later became a Roman colony and achieved a golden age of prosperity as a fortified port under Arabian rule. Its strategic geography cemented its position as a key military and commercial outpost. It was captured by Spain in 1497 and has remained under Spanish rule ever since.

With a population, today, of some 86,000 souls it has become popular as a beautiful and very dynamic travel destination. Not only does it benefit from its warm climate and its proximity to the coast, but it also harbours some of the finest modern architecture to be found outside of Barcelona – the legacy of feted Spanish architect, Enrique Nieto, who learned his craft under the tutelage of the Grand Master, Guadi, himself famous throughout the world for his inspirational, modernist works, which so beautifully blend architecture and art.

I digress, though; back to the pictures:

This grand monument – the work of sculptor Vincent Cayuela – was installed in The Heroes Plaza on Jaun Carlos Avenue in 1941. It’s themes of soldier and attendant Lion suggest National Power with a large nod to the Spanish Civil War and the Nationalist uprising of 1936.

Like most historical statuary, context is a required tool in understanding why they were commissioned. There is much controversy over Cayuela’s rendition: some criticise it – saying it glorifies the violence associated with Franco’s brutal Nationalist rise to power - while others interpret the piece kindlier, ascribing it as a fitting monument to those who fell for Spain. I prefer the latter interpretation.

For real context, you should read George Orwell’s, “Homage to Catalonia” – an excellent read from a man who fought in that conflict against the forces of National Socialism.

Balmaha Road Trip.

Tuesday, 25^th November. 5.17pm. Gartfairn Farm, Balmaha, nr. Loch Lomond.

It’s not quite 5.30pm and, already, it’s ‘countryside black’ outside Valhalla (our new motorhome). I think I’ve pretty much forgotten just how extraordinarily dark it gets out here beyond the towns and cities; no streets; no street-lights; no cars to speak off, though one will very occasionally pass, its headlights shafting through the pitch black.

I kitted up a few minutes ago (it’s currently minus 1 degrees) to go outside and see if there’s a star-field above. There are a few points of light but, with the promise of rain tomorrow, I guess the clouds are already beginning to gather. Also, while it’s very dark looking West towards Balmaha, it’s a lot lighter to the East, which is probably down to the light pollution emitting skyward from Drymen and surrounding villages such as Milton of Buchanan. This particular site is situated next to a working farm, and there are a couple of floodlights stabbing into the void, but I don’t suppose they will make much of a difference to the darkness. The last time I saw a proper starfield was years ago: June and I were camping in Cobleland Camp Site with Robert and Dave. I’d pitched a tent for the boys while June and I slept in the old blue van. Well after midnight, I stepped out to go for a piss … and then looked up; the heavens were ablaze with stars. As I said, I’ve never seen anything like that either before or since. It was a phenomenal sight: Mother Nature decorating the sky for our enjoyment.

Back to the start of the day, though: June took me up to the caravan/motorhome storage park at Westwood. She helped me get Valhalla into shape: sorting out the fridge, clothes and towels, while I checked out the motor. We parted ways around 11.30: I, heading off to the Trossachs, while June planned to go and spend some of her birthday vouchers in M&S.

I got to the site at around 1.30pm and busied myself getting the electrics connected, getting the heating on, and filling up the fresh water tank. When I was pretty much sorted, as promised, I called June to let her know I’d arrived safe and sound. Turns out her own plans had changed: she went to M&S but didn’t see anything she liked so she’d gone home – doubtless enjoying the fact that I wasn’t under her feet.

I then got the bike sorted. I’d stored it in the bedroom for this trip and it was as much a pain in the arse getting it out of Valhalla as it was getting it in. June has ordered a bike rack for my birthday, but it hasn’t arrived yet. Anyway, I got it out, blew up the tyres and put a bit of oil on the front axle. Then I sorted out the camera: I brought a 40-70mm and a 70-200mm lens with me, and I got them secured in the panniers.

All done, I set off for Balmaha, a short 1.5m journey.

There’s not much to this little village – if indeed it is a village, it feels more like a very small hamlet. In all the Main Street is probably ¼ mile long, so it’s a classic case of ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ if you were passing in a car. Mounted on a bike saddle, it took a little longer to pass through. But it was worth it: a number of good visuals looking over the Loch; a couple of boats at anchor and a trio of paddle boarders navigating between them. Typical of my poor preparation though, I’d forgotten to take my polarising filter with me, so I couldn’t compensate for the light hitting the water at a very oblique angle, caused by the position of the Sun as it began to set low in the distance. On top of that, the sky was almost perfectly clear, so I was getting a lot of burn-out above the horizon; the polariser would have helped a little with that as well.

So, I returned to Valhalla with a pretty thin haul of pics; I’m not sure any will survive the cull when I get home.

It’s now just gone 6.30 pm. I should have something to eat, but I ‘m not sure I want much; I have tins of soup and lots of cold meats. I also have a Pot Noodle, but those things will kill you in the end. I’ll sort something out later … maybe.

11.08pm

Oh, such excitement! The electrickery went off a couple of hours ago.

To be fair though, the heating has been on the highest of three levels since I first parked and got the electrics hooked up. Seems the internal power supply couldn’t take anymore and tripped and, in so doing, tripped the exterior supply as well. Since, I’ve kept the heating at mark two and opted to compensate by wearing my jacket.

While I was outside, I noted that the ground – quite slushy when I arrived – is now frozen solid, and the hap I’ve placed over the bike is shimmering with a diamond like glistening of hard frost.

I’ve called June (I face timed her and was aghast at just how beautifully warm is her smile) and now it is time for me to check out my new sleeping bag. I’ll turn the heating down to ‘frost protect’ in the hope that it won’t trip again; though I may have to suffer a sharp cold in the morning 😟

Wednesday, 26^th November.  4.50pm. Gartfairn Farm.

Learning to be a ‘Motorhomer’ is definitely a work in progress!

Last night, I dialled the temperature setting down to just above its lowest mark, then crawled into my new sleeping bag expecting to have a decent nights sleep. I was way off the mark though. The cold woke me at about 1.30am; I was shivering crazily. Also, the sleeping bag is a tight fit, and therefore – for me – really uncomfortable. I tried to cozy myself in but quickly realised I wasn’t getting back to sleep. So, I got up, turned up the heating, and took out two blankets we had in storage and nested myself within them. It all worked well until 3.30am, when I was awakened by cramps in both my lower legs. It was really excruciating. So, again, I was out of bed and hobbling around the MH trying to loosen them off. 20 ins later I was back in bed and managed to doze through until almost 7am.

I get up, got dressed, made the bed and went through to the kitchen lounge to have a look at the world and, as the BBC weather app predicted, it was pissing down. The skies were leaden and, despite the fact that I’m parked on hard standing, pools of water were beginning to form around Valhalla.

I had a breakfast of tea and toast, then marshalled my courage and went out to prep the bike. The frost that had glittered over it last night had since thawed. I shook heavy beads of water off the hap, attached the battery and headed off for Balmaha. On the passing, I said goodbye to my neighbour, David; he was packing up for a planned trip to Penrith. I don’t know if I mentioned, before, that he and his wife have been on the road since February. They were gone when I eventually returned.

Again, the main feature of today has been the rain: I rode into Balmaha with only the G7x; there’s no way I could have managed the D5 in that sort of weather. Even so, I had to be careful getting it out: the rain was even heavier than it was when I first ventured out and, of course, tech is very adverse to water ingress. (I later discovered that some of my captures have little blotches of water droplets on them, spoiling them. But, as I said, it’s all a learning experience.)

The end of the lower road out of Balmaha terminates in a view point and pontoon. I found a couple of guys fishing there and managed a few clandestine shots of them at their sport. While there, I also discovered some old trees overhanging a very slate-grey and murky Loch Lomond and captured a few shots of them; with luck they won’t have suffered the water droplets.

I had been cycling / shooting in the rain for around an hour when my enthusiasm failed and I decided to make my way back to Balmaha. There, I called into the Oak Tree Inn, hoping for a little respite from the cold and wet; I was now soaked through; leather gloves, large raincoat, lower legs and even my polo shirt all sodden.

I wasn’t disappointed. A guy met me at the door and showed me where I should tie up the bike. They weren’t due to open for another half hour, but he asked me if I wanted something to eat and, 10 minutes later, returned with my order of bacon and egg rolls. During that 10 minutes hiatus, I had a wee wander around the bar: what a place, a real gem; the walls are hung with old pictures of locals and other artifacts. I could have spent the day examining them, but I was called back to the table when my rolls arrived.

My first cooked food of the expedition now warming my stomach, I got back on my bike and travelled the 1.5 miles back to Gartfairn Farm. There, I happed up the bike then got into Valhalla and divested myself of my sodden … everything! I then had a cup of tea before taking to bed for a half hour nap (it had been a tortured sleep the night before, and I was feeling the need for a little catch-up below the sheets).

The teeming rain put paid to any thoughts I might have had to take a further excursion. But, I really enjoyed my first photographically emphasised road trip.

 

Cold days - Cameron House.

 June and I booked four nights at Cameron House Hotel; my gift to her in celebration of her birthday.

We've been a couple of times before. It's not the cheapest break, but it is pretty luxurious.

We'd booked accommodation within the hotel on those previous visits, but opted - this time - for a Lodge. It was a great choice: the layout was excellent; well appointed with quality furnishings.

But the star attraction (other than June) was the views from Cameron Bay.

I've posted a few here.

These are views of a snow-capped Ben Lomond taken from Cameron Bay in Loch Lomond:

This is a photograph taken looking South West from Cameron Bay. You can see ice beginning to form on the water.

Back Street and Old Graveyard, Moffat.

 Found this quiet little back street while walking around Moffat; a the sleepy township in the Scottish Borders which we visited for a couple of days at the start of this week.

For me, one of Moffat's star attractions was the graveyard situated just off Holm Street in the middle of town; I couldn't (and still can't) find a name for it other than the title 'Old Graveyard' which is presented on a board affixed to the gate.

As well as containing graves going back to the 17th century, the gable end wall of a pre-reformation Church which reputedly collapsed while still in use still stands . The information board also tells that the original graveyard was covered over with 4ft of earth so they could bury another layer of locals.

I haven't post processed the majority of pics, but I will fire them up when I do.

I hope you enjoy these samples though.

Read all about it!

 Some of the characters you meet on your travels.

This street entertainer was plying his trade in an almost empty street; not sure if he'd just pitched up in the wrong place, or whether he had some insight into when the avenue was to get a lot busier.

Or maybe he read about it in the local newspaper 😉

A ride along the towpath.

   Being bored out of my skull on Saturday, I eventually levered myself out of the office chair and - picking up a camera - headed out on my bike in the direction of the Union Canal.

   It was a bright afternoon, though the early autumnal chill was much in evidence, and I had to don gloves against the breeze as I cycled at a good speed along the main roads.

   The gloves came off again, though, when I picked up the canal towpath where it crossed Newhouse Road. Much of the canal towpath between Newhouse and Ratho is covered in a canopy of trees. These break the breeze and, most welcomingly, create a wonderfully peaceful hush. There is no running water in the canal; its surface still, calm and soundless, so the only disquiet came from the slight rustling of tree branches which overhung the path and seemed to have busied themselves in laying down a carpet of orangey-red leaves to further enhance the beauty of this gorgeous stretch.

   The Canal - as is the case with many nature trails which wend their way through unbounded, (almost) uncultivated nature - is just so beautifully photogenic. While I covered 12 miles on the bike, it took me ages to complete as I was being constantly urged by my insatiably hungry camera to stop, compose and capture image after image of the wonderful vistas to be found along this alluring trail.

   It was a good outing. Back home, I couldn’t wait to download the files and review them on the larger screen of the laptop. I feel I managed to harvest a fair crop of images.

   I hope you enjoy viewing them - at least a little as much as I enjoyed gathering them :-)

 

Blackness Sunset.

 I captured these images many, many moons ago.

They are among my own favourite images: I can still recall how warm the air was that night; remember the texture of the skies and how they changed - minute by minute as the sun slid from the sky.

With luck, I'll be able to capture similar images as autumn arrives, once again.

Tiled composite.

Autumn is coming.

 Autumn is making it's approach.

You can feel it in the air and see it in the trees.

Storm Amy, the first named storm of the autumn / winter gave the trees a good shake. And the trees, delighted to be unburdened by the heavy load of their foliage, discarded as much of that burden as possible.

Leaf litter now carpets the garden; peppering the grass and sticking - wet and soggy - to all the exterior surfaces; summer-house, greenhouse, tables and chairs.

As a photographer, I welcome the coming season; its rich colours promising great opportunities for the hungry lens. But the heralding of Autumn means that winter will follow close behind: that wee chill in the air will turn to a biting cold.

But I'm ahead of myself; the vagaries of winter are not yet upon us, so I intend to enjoy as much of the autumnal months which lie ahead.

The Japanese Gardens

 I had the great pleasure of joining a small group of Togs from Livingston in a visit to the Japanese Gardens in Clackmannanshire.

What a place; absolutely beautiful!

We had a cuppa together on arrival and then, armed with our weapons of choice, went off on our individual paths to shoot this remarkable place.

We were fortunate in that there was a thin veil of high cloud - a natural 'softbox' - which afforded great shooting among the tree lined paths and pond.

Here are my favourite images from the day: