Getting the Dingle Tingle

A beautiful walk with the dogs this morning up through Clyro Dingle, which is a short walk from the house. There are five of these steep sided secret places within a mile or two of the village. Each has been cut to the bedrock by water and each still carries water from the hills down into the River Wye.

Much as I love our dogs they do not make good companions when I’m trying to make photographs, so I have learned to leave the gear behind and just enjoy the walk and their company. I do take my iPhone, which comes in handy when I see something interesting and want to record it for a later visit – without the dogs. Such was the case this morning: two excited dogs, water and the time to explore further up stream than we have been before. Sam our Labrador loves water and tends to charge on ahead and disappear; but in a confined space like the dingles I can generally tell where he is by the noise, and if he finds something scary: pile of rocks, odd shaped stick, a shadow, he is always back very quickly. Millie our 14 year old Terrier is, by comparison, stoic. She doesn’t see the point of water except for refreshment. She is a very agile, fit, little dog who enjoys a walk and exploring new territory, but prefers dry land to water. Having to follow me this morning produced a look of silent suffering as we trudged, splashed and slipped our way up stream. Her thought bubble clearly saying “I love him but he is a complete idiot”.

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Millie has a habit of standing on anything small that you might be studying. I found what I thought was a Yellow Nettle and was kneeling to get a better view, when she comes trundling past and true to form tanked all across the poor plant, which was surprisingly robust considering it had just had 10 kilos of dog on it.

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These places are unique and so important for the preservation of species. Fortunately our dingles still seem to be clean: the water smells fresh and there is no evidence of farm slurry or poisoning by pesticide run-off. Places like this will only remain safe if those responsible for the headlands above behave responsibly. Fortunately a large area of the hills above is owned by the National Trust (God bless’em) so no risk there. All the surrounding farms grow sheep and most seem to favour permanent pasture over the questionable benefits of the annual ploughing and resowing with rye grass regime favoured by so many lowland farmers. So hopefully we will be exploring and enjoying these wonderful little oases of wildness for a long time to come.

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An algorithm that reads images poetically

“They smelled the strings,” said Manson and he said, “I’m going to have a beer.”

Sometime ago I came across the work of Ross Goodwin and his extraordinary WORD.CAMERA project. The extremely talented Mr Goodwin has developed a free web application which, when you capture or upload a photograph to it applies algorithms to determine the objects and concepts present in the image and then produces a text passage in response to what it has identified. It is very clever with obvious images of ‘things’ but when presented with more complex, less obvious, images ‘things’ can get really interesting. Take this image of sand and mud washed by a beach stream; the algorithm does very well when generating nouns to describe what is there but when it then attempts to write a short piece of prose poetry based on the image we move quickly into the sureal – or the world of William Gibson, I’m not sure which is odder.

WORD.CAMERA has, I think, considerable potential as a keyword generator, producing a much wider range of nouns than I would ever come up with – not all useful perhaps, but an interesting way to stimulate how I think about my images and much more fun than using a theasarus.

On a previous visit to WORD.CAMERA using a very different image it gave me the word ‘Woodsy’ which I treasure.

nature, outdoors, fabric, snow, no person, desktop, wear, pattern, mountain, geology, art, abstract, color, eruption, wave, rock, desert, texture, stone, volcano
A no person, a desktop, and a pattern.
“They smelled the strings,” said Manson and he said, “I’m going to have a beer.” “How do you know?” “Well, I can’t believe he was the sixty-new Commander.
A texture, a rock, and a nature, a predator’s meaning to the dark, Now the doctor is real lady and not blood in his hands.

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