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Sunday 20 December 2015

The 12 Project Days of Christmas - The Village

If you have been following this blog over the last twelvemonth I have been experimenting with a photographic calendar of sorts. Recording seventeen images near to where I live recorded over 12 months. The project ended in December but I thought it would be interesting to put each view, over that twelve month as a 12 days of Christmas - though possibly not one day after another. 

But here goes...... On the first day of Christmas my.........Wick St Lawrence village. Click on image to enlarge


        
                           January 2015                                      February 2015

 
                           March 2015                                        April 2015
 
 
                           May 2015                                           June 2015

 



                           July 2015                                            August 2015
 
 

                           September 2015                                 October 2015

 
                           November 2015                                 December 2015






Sunday 6 December 2015

6th December - Project Month 12

Well that’s it.  Twelve months in the making and the final set of 17 photographs are in the bag. The wheel of the Year once more comes to rest in December.

It seems funny coming to the end of what was a short Project really, but one I have found fascinating for reasons I cannot explain.  Though I shall try.

The reason behind this Project was two fold. Firstly I wanted to mark my time here in North Somerset over the twelvemonth period. One day, and it may be far closer than I think, my time in this lovely area will stop. Nothing lasts forever. Hopefully that ending will not be for any serious or medical reasons, more that I may just move away from this area and what is now the familiar will recede into the memory.

Secondly I have long held an ambition to photograph a view on a regular basis as an endeavour to record that subtle change that occurs day by day but without record is often missed until like the first storm of winter, we realise the seasons have changed.  Until now I had not managed to do this. But now, I have succeeded.

What this Project did also allow me to do was fine tune what works as an image, and maybe more importantly what doesn’t work.  A couple of obvious learning points here was to plan the direction (and time) of an image carefully – evening photographs into sun often resulted in silhouettes at best. The scene is also important. A few images such as the barn and road don’t really change that much. My village view likewise apart from a few rogue waste and recycling bins didn’t change much either. It is a learning curve. Work in progress.  7/10 must do better.

Looking through these images across the year, these 17 unremarkable images in a way, the subtle change over the winter and high summer were almost indiscernible.  The astonishing changes in the spring and autumn show how these Equinoxial moods change the landscape with abandon.

For the moment I shall simply post these images as before in a haphazard way for December; if time allows over Christmas I shall post each location on one posting, something like the twelve images of Christmas….  Observing the images en masse is a great way to see in an instance what had happened.

For these final images however what struck me more than anything was that it was so warm, not like the beginning of winter at all – photographing in short sleeves in December is quite unusual.

Merry Christmas (when it comes)


 
Two ducks on the river

 
The last view of Puxton church

 
For once a dramatic sky over the lane

 
No more sheep in the orchard

 
The silent river

 
Strawberry Line puddles

 
Apples have all been picked - tomorrow's cider

 
I included the car passing as a sign of life in the village

 
Quiet corners.

 
Maize now harvested the fields left to recover

 
Cold looking river

 
Bare hedges

 
The dairy cows will stay - for a while at least

 
Late afternoon on the bridleway

 
That pink trug never moves

 
Wet, wet, wet.

 
Windblown sand in the foreground