A Sun Set

"Ducks a l'Orange" © Glyn Davies 2012 - Purchase link is HERE

"Golden Slither" © Glyn Davies 2012 - Purchase link is HERE

"Wave Front Release" © Glyn Davies 2012 - Purchase link is HERE

"Around Sunset" © Glyn Davies 2012 - Purchase link is HERE

"Naked Flame" © Glyn Davies 2012

I was looking at another professional photographer's Tumblr site today, a really nice American guy from Florida, and he was extolling the virtues of the Tumblr blog format as a way of just posting up new images, often without any form of wording, just new pix.

As I get busier and busier in the gallery, with customers, shoots, project discussions with other artists, printing or advertising, it becomes increasingly hard to keep on top of fully worded stories to accompany each and every trip out (problem with being prolific) and therefore many new images are simply not getting seen. So I thought, actually it's not a bad idea, to just post new pictures here on Blogger from time to time, with little textual context.

So this is perhaps my first post, when I basically just post a set of images from a recent shoot, without even needing much of an intro anyway. They were just shot for fun, in the company of my wife, when the sun suddenly 'did it's wonderful thing' for half an hour!

All words and images are strictly copyright © Glyn Davies 2011 - All rights reserved
Glyn's landscapes are all available as 200 year archival prints on his website at www.glyndavies.com

"Close to My Dad" - A shared landscape

I was going to post a series of images from this walk, but so much is happening here at the gallery at present that I am posting this right now as a one off image, as the moment is and was important, to me at least.

"Close to my Dad" © Glyn Davies 2012 - Link to purchase page HERE

"I'd headed for Dinas Dinlle simply because I'd heard my Dad mention that he and Mum might be "going there later", but the car park was empty. I geared up anyway and sat for a short while looking at the amazingly bright and stormy sight before me, whilst salt spray covered the windscreen and the van rocked by the gusts, "winds of almost 100 mph in the UK today" they said. Jeremy Vine was on the radio chatting with those trapped by the gales, but there was sunlight here, intense and positive, the wind felt like a heart beat and the pull of the outdoors was greater than the force used to seal the van door closed!

As I sat there a small black car turned up, and there was my Dad, smiling at me through the front window, Mum waving at me lovingly from the passenger seat. Dad (who is recovering from an operation) and I went for a walk together, whilst Mum sheltered in the car. Although I'd sort of 'hoped' to meet them, I was nevertheless intent on taking pictures, so Dad was doing his best to keep close but not too close so as not to get in my way (family know these things!) I watched him as he huddled over debris washed up on the high tide mark, beach-combing like he'd always done with us as kids, and I suddenly felt very sad. My Dad is getting older, mid 70s now, and he struggles more with things he'd once have taken in his stride. He won't admit this, and told me so the other night, but I sensed it that day at least.

After a while he said he was going to head back to the car and go to the café for a coffee with Mum. I said I'd take a few more shots then join them as the light and waves crashing on the shore were superb photo potential, but as I watched his slightly unstable retreat away from me, blown sideways by the wind, I couldn't take any more images, they seemed more important, and the opportunity to just go and be with them, so I made my way back to join them (via the hill fort viewpoint I should perhaps guiltily add !). The café was shut so they made their way home anyway, whilst I stayed for the last of the light on this stormy beach. It was a day where I was being torn apart, emotionally, physically and spiritually.

I called in on them on the way home, and chatted for hours. It's funny isn't it, that even the most stunning things on the planet, pale into significance when you consider real love, and the awareness of real loss."

Prints of this very personal image are available HERE

All words and images are strictly copyright © Glyn Davies 2011 - All rights reserved
Glyn's landscapes are all available as 200 year archival prints on his website at www.glyndavies.com