The Surfleet Walk from a different artistic perspective

Those who take photographs (or what the less well- educated folk call “snaps”) are of course artists, and need to be recognised exactly as such, as they measure up the distance, consider the light, establish the reflective qualities any water appearing in the illustration may possess, peruse the horizon, and indeed if there is any, take in the sky.

All of this is a matter of high contemplation and deep consideration, for the artist must not be harried, hassled or hurried in her or his consideration of each element of the work that will result.

Thus for example the water to the photographic artist is not just water, but is a background on which the entire composition is to be played out in order to reflect the deep nature of natural creation as it evolves through time. 

Indeed herewith and one might say heretofore we have the issue all in one fell whatnot.  For, without a sense of perspective then the meaning of the photographic illumination is lost.  For how is one to measure the magnitude and indeed magnificence of the bank if one does not have a boat moored (as those of a nautical bent would put it) alongside the river’s edge so that one can see just how particularly

small is the vessel compared to the natural world within which it sits?

Only the distance gives us perspective as that infamous doctor of Infinity Dr Erasmous Overthere so distinctly put it in a lecture on “What’s round the corner” at the Unversity of Certain Things, to whom we owe so much.

And yet how grand doth not the riverside cottage (although cottage seems forsooth too grand a word in itself if you catch my drift) but there uponside the house (“uponside” being a new word of my invention for this occasion) we have water vessel of minuscule proportions.  And yet I would vouchsafe that it is grand enough for a human of average proportions to fit within, thus revealing once more the scale upon which life does operate.

But does the swan, delicately placed in the foreground seem interested or bothered either by our photographic expert passing by, or indeed by the house and boat upon the opposite shore? Seemingly not as it is either having a snooze or a peck, one cannot tell.

Yet herewith and heretofore we have the issue all in one fell whatnot.  For without a sense of perspective then the meaning of the photographic illumination is lost.  For how is one to measure the magnitude and indeed magnificence of the bank if one does not have a boat moored (as those of a nautical bent would put it) alongside

the river’s edge so that one can see just how small is the vessel compared to the natural world within which it sits?  Or not.

But whether tis so or contrary it affecteth not the flowing water, as life, and indeed creation, meander its way along and eventually we imagine reaching the sea and thereupon having a different population of creatures feasting upon its wealth (although hopefully not on the oil as I suspect we’ll have need of that for quite a while to come what with the production of wind farms being at a capacity that is perchance less than required, if I may be so bold).

And yet the difficulty thus arising in my task of writing up these notes because no one who was on what seems to

have been a most glorious and wonderous walk has provided your most devoted scribe with details of what was going on, why it was going on, and what the passers-by did about it.  I am of course ever volunteered to “make of it what you can” but what does one make of such creation and creativity combined which if not literally on the doorstep may metaphorically be so considered?  Indeed I ask that most profound of questions.  What?

Illuminations by Jonathan Bridgland; commentary by Bert Wordsmith and a poodle.

Footnote: I find myself writing these notes once again for although a walk may produce more than one individual of a photographic bent (if I may use the phrase) it produces no such writers.  If I am given text, text I shall publish.  If not, well!  Indeed I say again, “Well!”

Part One is here