The Joy of Accidents

In my experience, accidents in photography are often a joy. Camera shake in long exposures can give ethereal or old-world effects. Shooting into the sun can produce dreamy silhouettes and halos. And overlapped frames can make for artistic montages.

The last two happened while I was bracketing images of the Monro Fountain Memorial at Machattie Park, Bathurst with my Truview (Diana clone). First, I shot into the sun — an irresistible habit of mine — which produced a perfect blue sky and almost silhouetted fountains. Second, the film winder did only half its job, creating a panoramic double image — I love the ghosting caused by the overlap, especially the bare branches in the lighter fountain.

For me, embracing accidents is about creativity, letting go of control to see what emerges. Of course, this is easy when experimenting with cheap and fun plastic cameras, such as the Diana — their limited functions and unreliability make accidents inevitable. It’s a little harder with “serious” cameras. Still, I try to shrug off those less-inspiring accidents, including the time my Pentax K1000 seized at a bull fight in Ecuador or a lab processed two days of black-and-white work in colour chemicals!

My brother-in-law Damon will recognise this image — I used it to make a writing journal for his Christmas present.

A Gargoyle’s View Over Quito

The Basilica del Voto Nacional may not have the splendid gold or fresco-clad interior of other churches in Quito, but it’s a favourite with daring travellers, who scale its grey and rough-hewn heights for the best views of Ecuador’s capital.

Construction on the Basilica started in 1883 to mark the country’s renewed devotion to Jesus Christ, as decreed 10 years earlier by president Gabriel Garcia Morena. Despite over 120 years of history, the church is new compared with others in Quito’s colonial district. In fact, it remains technically unfinished, which is hardly surprising, considering almost penniless local church-goers provided the funding.

Nonetheless, this neo-Gothic structure is magnificent, rising 112 metres from the ground to its spire top. Posed on a partly eroded hill and edged on one side with barbed wire — the Basilica emits the romantic eeriness of late 16th-century novels, emphasised by a series of bird-like gargoyles, perched and watchful, on its parapets.

Like all churches in Latin America, the Basilica is operational. Entry into its nave and chancel — the main body where services are held — is free. However, a small charge applies to climbing its skeleton of knotted stairs, gang-planks and ladders, a feat that requires considerable fitness, especially for those unaccustomed to Quito’s 3,000 metre altitude.

The journey starts with a wheel-shaped window of radiant stained-glass roses in the clerestory, the mezzanine that over-looks the church’s main body. Corkscrew stairs lead to views of the Basilica’s gargoyles, which on close inspection are ominous models of Ecuador’s fauna, including condors, monkeys and jaguars. In defiance of all notions of occupational health and safety, a trembling gang-plank and iron ladder deliver hot and dirty climbers to their final destination — the rose-bud encrusted bell tower.

Most clang the Basilica’s four bells before enjoying their reward — ninety metre high views that soar from the statuesque Virgin of Quito south of the city’s colonial Old Town over faded terraces and modern skyscrapers to the far northern suburbs, a 360-degree spectacle offered by no other location.

An edited version of this story appears in V!VA List, Latin America, a compilation of 333 Latin experiences put together by Viva Travel Guides and released this month. See www.vivatravelguides.com/viva-list/ for more information.

Three Spring Meanings

The last of October’s ornamental blossoms, a brooch of a bounding deer and a coil twisted from craft wire — this still life plays with three meanings of the word “spring”. I shot it on a wooden box scavenged from a flea market using window light and Ilford HP5 Plus (the result has surprisingly little grain for this film), before hand-colouring in Photoshop.

My digital additions are perhaps too subtle — so realistic that the image looks like it was shot in colour. Having said this, I’m proud of creating a true gold tone on the brooch, which is actually silver.

The image is calm and delicate, unlike much of my other work. I usually prefer the drama of wide-angle or cheap plastic lenses, but have opted here for detail and the pragmatic view of a 50mm lens.

The Heavenly Half-Frame

My newest camera is from the gods … almost — the Olympus brand is named after the mountain from Greek mythology, but is based in Japan. However, that doesn’t make the Pen EE.2, a half-frame camera made from 1968 to 1977, anything less of a marvel. Compact and with automatic focus and exposure, it’s essentially a point-n-shoot with the divine twist of a high quality 28mm lens. Add to this 72 pictures from a standard 36 shot roll of film, lovely grain from a smaller negative and an inexplicably darkened sky, and the result is heavenly. No wonder more than 17 million Pen cameras sold in their heyday!

I recently wandered down Glebe Street, Yass with my half-frame, snapping urban scenes, both everyday and unusual — from post boxes to a bike perched on a two-metre high fence. There’s something old-fashioned about these images — a fuzzy foreground and sharp distance, caused by the camera’s limited focusing ability. Meanwhile, its portrait format (created by slicing the regular 35mm frame in two) invites making panoramas, squashing similar or contrasting images together for heightened or new meaning.