“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”– Vincent Van Gogh
Walking to the bus stop, I looked over at Cavehill from Knocknagoney. It was a balmy, midsummer's night and the sun had just set. Blue hour was making the outline of Cavehill seem as black as coal and a multitude of floodlights illuminated the industrial area occupied by the aircraft factory and shipyard. The night was still warm and the high temperature and crystal clear air seemed to combine to make the lights on view sparkle. Vehicles on the Sydenham bypass were creating light trails and the sky was Cobalt blue. Three large factory chimneys with shimmering red safety lights attached, positioned in the centre of the shot, provided a focal point in a sea of yellow tungsten lights. It was the kind of view that stops you in your tracks to enable you to take it all in. I had witnessed the scene many times as I had made this short walk for a few years. My then girlfriend (and now my wife, Viv) lived in Garnerville, a neighbouring estate to Knocknagoney and I caught the last bus most nights to travel home. But, this night was different. The view seemed to leap out at me and introduce itself more than usual.
Now, I wasn’t a serious photographer at that time and had bought a small, Panasonic compact film camera for day trips and taking random family portraits etc so capturing the beautiful vista I had witnessed would require more advanced hardware though and I decided to save my hard-earned cash for a more suitable piece of kit. Researching in Amateur Photography magazine (no internet search engine to do the work for me in 1992), I chose the Canon EOS 1000 film camera and Curry's were selling this for a reduced price with a 35-70mm AF lens (no manual switch). I excitedly parted with my earnings and purchased the device that would set me off on the path that l still enthusiastically travel today.
It was still summertime in Belfast and I was keen to get back to the scene of that wonderful, nocturnal panorama I had witnessed. The Eureka moment that was to drive a long, extended interest in this wonderful art form. I loaded up with a roll of Fuji Reala print film (Fuji Velvia slide film was the choice of champions but cost a fortune and so I settled for the cheaper cousin in my photography infancy) and I made my way to my sweetheart's residence. Blue hour arrived and I made my way to the elevated area where I had seen the target view many times. Magazines and books on the subject had promoted shooting night photography at blue hour and the sky seemed to be showing the correct shade of blue as I arrived with shiny new camera in hand. I was actually far too early to be honest! In my haste, I had hurried my arrival. The sky was cloudy and absent were the beautiful tones from the aforementioned night but I would persist anyway! Switched on and in full auto mode, I raised my camera to my eye, framed it perfectly, took the shot and made my way back to Viv's house. Yes folks, one shot! I would learn the process of bracketing at a later date when I would switch to manual mode and use the wee light meter thingy in the viewfinder to alter exposures correctly!!!
It was to be a while before I could see the results of my efforts though. No fancy flip out screens for chimping or memory card loaded into the laptop! I would waste most of the remaining film basically aimlessly shooting in a local park and pestering Viv to pose for me! Finally, I completed the roll and set about retreiving the prints from a local camera shop. On arriving home, I excitedly opened the small envelope. I could hardly contain my excitement. Snaps of swans and portraits of my beautiful other half were well exposed, if not well composed, and I reached the print I was most looking forward to seeing. If you're reading this Viv, no offence love! Well, now it seems I had obviously greatly exagerated my nocturnal image capturing abilities and underestimated the stages required for perfect exposure. The stunning cityscape I had intended to beautifully and skillfully capture didn't quite 'develop' the way I had envisaged. How was I to know that using ISO 100 film and hand holding a long exposure at night would result in a blurred, over-exposed mess that did nothing to display the midsummer masterpiece I had witnessed previously? Devoid of colour, sharpness and contrast, my 'effort' was a massive disappointment but also a catalyst for improvement. In the weeks and months after my first roll of inadequacy, I acquired a Vanguard tripod, a cable release and a willingness to greatly improve and although not masterpieces by any means, future attempts at photographic compositions did get technically and compositionally better and a passion was beginning to evolve. The moral of the story, I suppose, is to never give up! Acquire the knowledge of others who are better than you and apply what you've learned to your picture-taking. A famous photographer, Henri Cartier-Bresson, once famously said 'Your first 10,000 photos are your worst'. I set about achieving that target especially when digital cameras arrived, making images a lot cheaper to produce. Practice, practice, practice!
Bizarrely, I never returned to the place where I had taken my first shaky steps in night photography until 2019 when I had planned to record the scene again (a bit more competantly at least). Unfortunately, the area was overgrown with trees and shrubs and the view was greatly obscured, hampering any efforts of a greatly improved comparison shot. I'll return again though. Hopefully on a midsummer evening with similar conditions and I'll no doubt author a 'Part 2' to this blog for old times sake.....
