This week, I bring with me good news: I have signed up to the Norfolk Network. For those of you who are unenlightened as to what I am blathering about, the Norfolk Network is a marvellously well-connected hub of businesses from around East Anglia and the Irish Sea (click here, zoom out on the map and all will become clear), all threaded neatly together by the tremendous Lucy Marks. This fact means nothing to you, but a great deal to me, as it gives me a far healthier chance of taking on commercial photography on a full-time basis in the coming months (and years). It was only a pleasure to hand over the old hard-earned; I genuinely would recommend a chat with Lucy to any budding creatives out there who might have stumbled on to this page. (Halloa!)

I know why you’re really here, though. Somewhere in the depths of your character lurks a decadent, sadistic and wholesome trait, oddly termed ‘schadenfreude’, which causes you to take pleasure in reading my blog when I’ve got something to moan about. Lord, are you in for a treat this week.

I wish to step into gender criticism, you see.

Reading Bill Bryson’s Notes From a Small Island yesterday afternoon, an undeniable truism struck me. You’ll indulge me a moment while I quote our hero, won’t you:

‘I hate thinking about cars and I hate talking about cars. I especially hate it when you get a new car and go in the pub because somebody will always start quizzing you about it, which I dread because I don’t even understand the questions.
‘What sort of mileage you get? How many litres? What’s the torque? Got twin overhead cams or double-barrelled alternator-cum-carburettor with a full pike and a double-twist dismount?’ I can’t for the life of me understand why anyone would want to know all this shit… I always want to say: ‘Hey, I hear you’ve got a new refrigerator. How many gallons of Freon does that baby hold? What’s its BTU rating?’

Now. A word, please. Before I continue, I wish you to know that photography gives me all kinds of pleasure. Other photographers will attest that in our profession (and hobby too), something so small as one good photograph from a gig can make your fortnight. Getting up at silly a.m. to catch a train to the Norfolk countryside on a sunny January morning is nothing short of a glorious experience, before the thought even occurs that you have a camera with you. Capturing a moody seascape just the way you wanted it, at the thirty-ninth attempt, can be almost as satisfying as anything else being alive has to offer. I love photography, and I love the thought of doing it for a living. Understood? Right.

I quoted Bill Bryson there because photography, unfortunately, is cursed in precisely the same way as other activities involving complex technology: there is always someone in the pub ready to chunter on about it – in this case, cameras. Not photography, you understand - just cameras. ‘I’m running two SLRs at the moment, got the old Nikon fifty-five thou’ two ton’ running with a new twelve mil’, auto-folk and everything (beg pardon, sir?) with a pretty snappy polariser, you know, but of course, the battery life’s getting quite poor now so I’ll have to replace that soon. In the meantime I’m running a…’

By this time, you’re reading the pub’s licensing details nailed on the wall and reconsidering whether you truly want that last dram. I have this conversation at least twice a month, and it is enough to make me want to declare that my ambitions really go no higher than the newsagent I work in. Though I have no wish to alienate these people – if it weren’t for them, and their practically-minded ilk, there would be no photography, I actually would be stuck in the newsagent for good, and would have been denied something to moan about in this blog – I do sometimes wish that I didn’t attract that kind of conversation so darned often. Photography, like any other art, is about life, and life exists perfectly plentifully outside of Jessops cabinets.

I bring gender into this whole shambles because I have noticed that this terrible blandness is almost entirely exclusive to men. I have never had the displeasure of talking about cameras I may never touch with a woman; they know that the secret of photography is in the photographer’s personality, in the same way that most creative industry professionals value individuality and character as much as the technicalities of the equipment. This is a point about which I become morbidly self-conscious sometimes. I actually recall apologising to a friend of mine, after buying a 300mm zoom lens a little over a year ago. Chuntering on about its features, I knew exactly the sort of pub bore I was becoming. Furthermore, at its full extension, the lens takes on an unfortunate phallic symbolism reflecting the male photographer. But here I go again. I really must stop talking about the size of my zoom lens. Very off-putting. As you were…

Hopeful New Year...

Well, my dears, it’s fair to say that 2009 was quite a year, and will take some beating. As the early days of 2010 rattle by, my intentions have a sense of focus that was wholly lacking twelve months ago.

Events photography is quickly becoming a field of immense enjoyment for me. In recent months I have photographed a host of bands, both local and internationally renowned artists, and even received some kind praise from artists, bands and even their record labels. I am becoming adept at capturing moments from long practise in this respect; in recognition of this, various companies have commissioned me to photograph their own events in the past few months, including the Norfolk Network, Norwich Cathedral and Hethel Engineering Centre, while my voluntary work with the Green Party has helped to cement me as their regular events photographer. In return for this, they will soon be displaying prints of mine for sale in their shop in the centre of Norwich. All very kind. Now go and buy one.

Alongside this success, you might remember that last summer I photographed various acts performing at the Norfolk and Norwich Festival. This year I am angling to actually work for the Festival; I shall keep you posted. Some of the successful images from last summer’s flurry of activity remain favourites of mine, displayed proudly on my website.

Speaking of my website, all of the aforementioned successes encouraged me to overhaul it during the Christmas break; in addition to showcasing my photographs more effectively than its predecessor ever could, it now acts as a hub for my communications, providing easy access to this blog and also to my Twitter feed (which carries just the occasional moment of insight, in amongst the commentary on darts tournaments!) The site also represents a statement of intent – a glitzy and good-looking new medium (so I have been told) requires a special effort to provide glitzy and good-looking new photographs to occupy its space! I am working as hard as I can to keep them flowing – in the meantime, do take a couple of moments to amble around the website and flick through the images, lovingly displayed in high quality against a delightfully unintrusive background, for a change (strictly during your lunch break, please, I don’t want you fired – do I?).

As for the rest of this year, my aims are to take on further events photography, working towards taking the career path on full-time, and also to begin working in the field of commercial photography; to gain as much experience as I can in this respect, I am currently looking to join forces with creative folk across Norfolk to help portray their work with a bit of the old Watts panache. If you have a friend, or know a friend of a friend, or a friend of a friend’s dog’s friend’s owner, who could benefit from a spot of co-operation, give them my email address or phone number – easily found on my website homepage. I’d love to help, and I can come very cheaply as required.

Wishing you all the best for this year, then, strictly on condition that you return the favour,

Ryan

Snow, snow, snow

Over the last fortnight, I have been considering that snow is the environment’s answer to beer: its influence reveals elements of truth about people’s characters. In my functional, rent-paying jobs (in a newspaper and pub) I have experienced people gassing on about cancelled bus services (would you drive eighteen tons of living beings and metal over black ice?), and overheard people who appear to do little but drink complaining about ‘lazy’ gritters not gritting the pavements. This irks me.

‘You shovel grit onto the pavements, then.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Well, why not?’
‘I’m drinking. And I might scratch my car.’

I have spoken to parents in throes of disappointment because they have to play in the snow with their children, instead of dropping them into school. Never mind the memories you’ll take from making that effort with them… I have spoken to people complaining about the lack of grit on the pavements, and I have (genuinely) heard the same people complain about the grit being trodden in to their carpet, when the pavements are gritted.

I have come across stories of panic-buying. In local shops, milk currently comes at a premium, as people buy more than they need, whilst suppliers deliver less than normal in such extreme weather. In Waitrose, there are reports of silly people panic-buying herbs.

It pleases me to be able to tell you, then, that none of these complaints (so far as I can tell) have come from my lips. Snow can be inconvenient, yes. It is an issue to have clumps of snow in your hallway as you step into your house, yes. I cannot remember ever feeling colder, no. But surely – surely – a little bit of snow once or twice a year is worth appreciating for the fun to be had, and the glistening beauty it provides? I have had a fine time indulging in late-night snowball fights with UEA students, and building snow-women with my girlfriend. It is never necessary to sit there, moan and slowly allow yourself to cease functioning when it snows, just so that you have something new to moan about. If you want to enjoy snowy weather, there are countless ways to do so.

Photography is just one of them:

www.ryanwattsphotos.com