There seem to be a lot of virtual tripwires on the net today.

As a result, I have practiced more than usual, shooting casually as I walk along, capturing streetscapes usually, and not trying
to make too many individual portraits. Photographing people from behind gives an insight into current fashions, without having
to seem like a hunter.

There is such a body of work and analysis about the voyeuristic nature of street photography that I was put off
for a long time by what I read. Thinking that shopping centres would offer a more comfortable experience, I started
with them some years ago. The reality of the new gated city was quickly pointed out by security guards in some malls.
They are private spaces, not public like the street itself, and each place makes its own rules. The Powerscourt Centre in Dublin city centre
welcome photographers and there are some lovely architectural details there for anybody who likes Georgian Dublin.

Several years reading have made me quite choosy about where I travel. France and Quebec are non starters, due to the
draconian laws in operation there. Italy seems, so far to be very welcoming and since Italians are friendly in general photography
seems to be a good way to make new acquaintainces.
Some people on the street in England can look a bit grim when caught within my photos, so they don’t tend to make
agreeable images for uploading on the Internet. An exception is the delightful face painter in York who was really pleased when asked to post specially.
I shall never become a true street photographer as the candid aspect of the
true practitioner, where the subjects are in situations where they are outside their comfort zones make me feel uneasy, never mind
how the people in question might feel about being exposed to public scrutiny. Couples walking hand in hand, while charming,
are never uploaded, as they relationship might not last… or worse, they may be in an illicit relationship. It is not my
business to cause trouble.

In some Eastern countries, I make sure never to upload photos of people who are speaking in public. Since I don’t know
what they are saying and since they may be there without official permission, this is probably a safe measure.

Up to last week I happily uploaded the occasional shop window display, thinking that owners might be flattered.
However I had a strange experience while just snapping a particularly pretty display when a sales assistant rushed out
to ask what I was doing. The tone and general sense of suspicion, not really cured by my puzzled explanation that I was
just photographing shop windows, now ensures that, not only will that shop be avoided like the plague, I shall not feel
confident about uploading these sorts of photos in future. I could be breaching some trade copyright or other that I have not
heard about. This is linked to an experience of being at a fashion show years ago where photographs were not allowed.
This did not stop a lively visitor snapping everything on the catwalk, probably to rush with the prints to some warehouse where
the designs would be copied.

In years to come, people will think that we live today in some sort of ghastly Pied Piper’s nightmare, childless and
without any sense of joy in the friendlieness that photography is meant to bring.
Sometimes children get stuck in my line of view, but uploading photos to the internet is now such a touchy subject that
I have now come to pick up on the frightful paranoia that surrounds their iconography. I have been soundly criticised by some
for giving in to the current practice, as the freedom of expression that professional photographers value so much is being
eroded just as much by my lack of courage as it is by new laws. However, a long lecture by one matron on an Italian street
makes me remember that life is short and that I can’t spend hours placating the fears of the seriously frightened parents who
now people our public spaces. I don’t tend to photograph them much either, as they look so gloomy.

Street riots are out of the question. I did not get my hair cut for a year in order to be able to buy a good 50mm lens.
Professionals can get their cameras replaced on insurance and one excellent news hack I met explained that it was no tragedy
as covering street disorder may actually lead to a useful camera upgrade.

Australia remains the most pleasant country for street photography in my experience and I can’t wait to get there again.
The atmosphere is less neurotic than Europe and the buildings are very much to my personal taste. People don’t take much
notice of cameras in general and the Brunswick Music Festival is well worthwhile for anybody who wants to get in on
Melbourne life.

A prize for good humour has to go for the three friends I met while walking in County Wicklow a few months ago.

They even offered to pose again, so that I might get a better shot. I thought that the spontaneous sense of fun they had
displayed when they first saw the camera could not be bettered and their’s is one of my favourites, proving that all the effort
and discomfort was worth it in the end.

However, its back to flowers, statues, architecture and trees.
I can well understand why the very diffident Monsieur Atget used get up at dawn in order to photograph a world
devoid of people, which is why his work has a mysterious timelessness. Frocks and carriages are set firmly in a verifiable time.
People in future centuries may find us a dull bunch but all this ensures, please Heavens, that nobody will ever want me to take photos for money on the street.

The effort could prove fatal.

This is not a personal foible, just a reminder to myself that popularity always leads to oversubscription. Getting in and out of these systems is now awkward and time consuming and the systems that are going to succeed for me will have to be efficient and speedy.

I’m happy enough to trundle on with Flickr for the time being. The more cheerful atmosphere there is engaging and the photos are a delightful mosaic of our world, most of which I will never see in reality. People actually still exchange tips and ideas there, rather than sit in their own little universe alone.

This is purely one individual’s choice and does not cast any criticism on the very successful names that are now gathering many new users daily. In an emergency, tweeting for help might be a good strategy, though calling on one’s neighbour is still the best way to deal with a problem efficiently.

The numbing effect of the televised investigation into media practice was very helpful in revealing the problems that anybody choosing to work in that area will face. I had never heard of “willful blindness” and shall now avoid any situation that may bring an attack of such a strange condition on. In a nutshell, it seems to mean that a person is guilty of not knowing something that they should know. Manuel in “Fawlty Towers” comes to mind.

Having been bludgeoned with Knowledge and Truth for hours, I return happily to Blogger and shall continue a while more, hopefully.

Also, finding yesterday’s post even looked dull, I peppered it with some needless commas at the time, as decoration rather than for meaning.

Just goes to show what living in a cold damp climate does for writing. There’s not much else to do…

Statues are everywhere nowadays and they make large and obvious subjects for anybody who has little patience with nature’s buzzing and flapping or the impossibility of capturing a “true portrait” of people one meets.

I am always aware of the incredible effort taken to make an object in resistant materials that is meant to last for a very long time, if not forever.

The statues in the Giusti Garden in Verona disport themselves so strangely through the formal hedging that it took several hours before I could comfortably capture them. Whoever placed them where they are must have had a sense of humour, as they don’t conform to what the ordinary viewer is trained to expect.

They wanted to confuse the new visitor?
Or perhaps they did not have a classical sense of proportion?

The reason is probably lost in the mists of time.

The joint is hopping, as the pursuit of truth is always a slippery activity. I actually feel sorry for anybody caught up in the current “Hacking Scandal” and although it might not quite be “the moment”, it’s worth mentioning that all journalists are not evil and unethical… just as all members of the nursing profession are not gin swilling modern updates of Sairey Gamp.

If it were not so utterly frightening, the ability of some to gain access to other peoples’ telephones would have my undying admiration. I speak as one who, when left alone in any office I have ever entered, found it,usually, difficult to find the ‘phone in the first place and then, once staring down the uninviting mouthpiece, in search of divine intervention perhaps, to actually get a line out.

This, among the many hundred excuses I found for abandoning the workforce over twenty years ago, is probably one of the most memorable. I am a confirmed technophobe and my currect state of relative functionality can only be attributed to the age old advice to “Know the Enemy”. While I cannot yet think like a smart little spybot and have little inclination to try, there is a lot to be said for knowing enough about contemporary machines to make them less easy to trick and infiltrate.

The question I now ask myself, applying as much due diligence to the question as will match my total ignorance of the subject is:

Why do some get hacked and others do not?

As ever, this will probably take several years to answer with any satisfaction. Tin foil hats are out of fashion, but even they might have a function.

Tin foil hat wearers are probably boring people who are not worth hacking.
I think I’ll get one…

Dublin is thronged with visitors at this time of year.

One of the treasures here is the Chester Beatty Library and there is plenty of interest to photograph on the way in.

This stone head is by Edward Smyth (1749-1812) who worked with his son.

Searches for the history of the Chapel Royal in Dublin Castle will yield hours of reading on the subject.

This has set me thinking about the fact that I love, above all, photographing statues and hand crafted details in any garden I visit.

The Giusti Gardens in Verona posed a challenge.
For some reason, I found it took several hours to get my mind settled to finding angles that were not edgy and disturbing. The sculptures in this fine, formal garden are somehow not aligned in a way that easily calms the eye. I found myself jumping from one spot to another in an effort to take in views that did not make the statues look ill at ease.

Finally, it came right…