Beyond the lens
A vase of tulips radiates beauty and warmth, lit by the setting sun as rays filter through the open door into a room imbued with history. The air is still, as if holding breath. A fleeting moment captured through the camera lens. But what lies behind the image? What stories might it tell?
This photograph, taken in spring of this year, was recently selected as part of the ‘Botanicals’ Exhibition run by PhotoPlace Gallery in Middlebury, Vermont. I’m honoured to have one of my images featured alongside those of so many skilled photographers. It seemed an opportunity too, to share its story.
For every image has a tale to tell and this is one of gardening, time and light.
Gardening, time & light
It begins with a sense of what could be and a decision to invite beauty into the garden, with tulips for spring.
But which variety to choose? What colour? Which form, single or double? How blousy will they be? (I opt for simplicity over frills, with a few exceptions) How early or late will they flower? Will they be perennial and come back year after year? And where to get the bulbs from, where they too care about the source and the ways in which the bulbs are grown?
One of the tulips I chose then was ‘Charming lady’, which has become a favourite of mine proving gorgeous and perennial. It’s these tulips that feature in the image you see, each flower subtly different in colour and form - from apricot and rose, to creamy yellow and softest orange and changing colour over time.
Yet to get from bulb to bloom is no simple feat.
These particular bulbs were planted in the winter of 2021, some in pots, others in the ground. The surface of the soil covered with branches of holly and thorned stems of roses and bramble to protect the bulbs from the many rodents that would quickly devour the lot overnight, given the chance.
Placing hope & trust in the earth
In planting anything, we do so with hope and trust - in the plant (be it seed, bulb, cutting or root), in the earth, the sun and the rain. Hope too that the conditions we have will enable the plant to fulfil on its potential, flower and bring its beauty into our lives.
In their first year, the tulips flowered with abundance and they’ve returned year on year. In 2023, tulip fire hit (a fungal disease that creates brown spots and distorted growth on the plants), followed by a very wet winter and spring, and a boom of the resident slug and snail population with their voracious appetites. Conditions that have challenged even our most perennial of tulips.
Savour each & every bloom
So this spring we had fewer tulips. Each one that flourished was savoured with gratitude. I cut some to bring inside so their beauty might last a little longer and to enjoy them as they peak and fade. If you’ve ever watched tulips as they fade, you’ll know the beauty of the drying petals and the intensification of colour before they drop.
There’s a process of learning embedded in all of this. Where and how deep to plant the bulbs. The conditions they favour (and those they don’t) in the garden. Observing the tulips as they rise from the earth, noticing how the buds swell and open. When and how to cut them – too early they won’t open, too late and their vase life is short. And what happens when tulips they are in water and continue to grow.
There’s an ongoing process of learning through the camera lens too. Honing skills, experimenting, trying things, failing and trying again.
For the photograph itself, there are choices to make.
A vase - just the right one - embodying warmth, age, and stories of its own, passed down through family. Placed on an old wooden workbench, a reclaimed gem, notched with tales from lives we know and those we don’t.
In a room that once poured with water from a leaking roof, since restored fuelled by a vision that we’ve gradually turned into reality. A room that has been walked through by many generations, with a history we will never truly know.
And a dimly lit corner, with a stone wall, that always drew me in.
A window of time as the lights floods in
It’s a narrow window of time in April, before the trees that bound us break into leaf. When the earth shifts to a point where the sun sets further west, casting its light through the open stable door.
A break in the cloud and just the right amount of haze.
Having already trialled many different angles and settings with the camera, it’s a process of waiting, as shafts of soft light filter across the room. Knowing the scene and having imagined the creative possibilities.
I wait for the light to hits vase and blooms. And when it doesn’t, the cloud passing over obscuring the light, I wait again the following evening.
All this, before pressing the shutter. The penultimate step. Before time is devoted to reviewing and processing the many images taken that evening, to get to this one.
It is a moment savoured, captured and, some time later, shared. It is anything but instant. It is about gardening, time and light, learning and connection too.
Connecting with plant, place and now with you.
It begins with possibility
We are bombarded by instant imagery every day. Yet so often what lies behind them goes unseen. The process unfolding over time, the messy middle, the mistakes and failures, and the honing of skills, creative expression and confidence to get to the moment you see.
For me, gardening and photography both start with a feeling and a sense of what could be.
It begins with possibility and taking that first small step to turn vision into reality.
I co-created Lights On Gardens to support you in taking those steps in your garden. To sow your dream, get to know your garden and the life it supports, and unearth its potential, so that you too can grow your garden in ways that nourish you and help the planet. Read more here