Author: Peter Peryer

This author has written 801 articles

Oakura Again

 


 
 
Above is another photograph that Jim Barr took of me a couple of weeks ago, on the beach at Oakura looking out to Australia although I seem to have turned my back on Australia and be trudging inland.
Below is a photograph that I took of Jim with Mary, on the lower slopes of
Mt Taranaki. It was the day before and the weather was quite different.
 
 

Tupare

 
On the outskirts of New Plymouth, by a clear river flowing from Mt Taranaki to the coast, a river with trout living in it, stands this Chapman Taylor house. The grounds and house are now open to the public and I do recommend a visit if you are in this vicinity.
But that is not why I am writing this post. I am writing it because it illustrates a tendency that I have when I am photographing, one could say, it is a theme of mine. I can’t help it, I don’t even think about it in advance, it just seems to happen. The question my camera often seems to ask is this: just how big is this object that we are looking at?
An example is this image of Tupare, it is actually quite a large house, but in this case has come out looking miniaturised. Typical me I say.

Here I Am

 
Last week it was quite stormy in New Plymouth. Nevertheless, with three friends I went for a walk along a beach at Oakura, a little bit south of where I am sitting, We were picked up at 7 am so it was quite early.
For the photo I thank Jim.

Lollies

 
 
I have photographed cakes before but recently I photographed lollies.
Glass, in this case. Sorry about that.

Feel Like Some Homework?

Tonight I’m clearing some items from my desk in preparation for the new week. Below is an email from a tertiary level student. In an ideal world I would answer it in full detail of course but when I look at it it’s not a five minute job. It’s called ‘research’ I know, but unfortunately it’s not research I’m particularly interested in, so what do I do?

Letter such as this come in a solid stream too of course so they have the potential to be a prob.

Still, in this case I am going to respond to this letter in detail, not sure why, just seem to be in the mood that’s all and at least the spelling is perfect and it’s polite and I can use it as an exemplar. So, if I can think of any useful angles on any of the questions I’ll post them.

——————————————————————————————————————

Hi, sorry to bother you, but i am doing an assignment for **** and was
wondering if you were willing to answer a few questions for me. I
would just like to get your opinion on a few points.
1. Is there a difference between a photo, or digital image?
2. If so how much/what type of manipulation is acceptable before a
‘photo’ becomes an ‘image’?
3. What direction do you see photography taking in the future?
4. What technological developments will impact on that direction?
5. As a professional photographer has the transition from film to
digital made a big impact on you.
Thank you for your time. I hope you can give me some insight into this
subject. If there is anything else that is related that i haven’t
thought to ask, but you have an opinion on, then please feel free to
let me know.

Your sincerely

**********

What do you photograph?

Often people who I have just met, meaning well, of course, ask me this question. There is usually a second or so pause on my behalf, and probably, a slightly stricken look on my face making the enquirer fire out a couple of quick prompts as if in a play, landscape? people? for example.

I always wish that I could give them a simple answer, to help us both bridge the divide that exists at that point. Coal Miners of the West Coast would be a good one. Lighthouses of New Zealand is another. Samoan Fa’afafine is also one that I would put in there, because these third gender Samoan, hold some genuine photographic interest for me. I want to go to Samoa soon.

It’s an opportunity; if I could speak Dalai Lama responses we would both be able to make progress towards our understanding of each other.

The photograph of the roots is to provide an example of how, if I was to describe literally what I photograph, might not be too helpful. In this case,‘I photograph tree roots’ does not illuminate too much. The real subject is behind this.

The Fingers Theme



This reminds me of a photo that I took of some roots, at Lepperton, an area 30 minutes drive from where I live in New Plymouth. The site was suggested to me. I will see if I can dig up the photo of them.

In this case the photo came about as a result of me babysitting my grand daughter in Auckland a few days ago. Rita, for that is her name, had a fever.

Taheke River

Here is another view of the river that was right below the Taheke Hotel where I lived.

You can see how the banks have completely altered their shape as a result of logging and cattle grazing. The sharp hooves of cattle chop up the banks and beds of streams and rivers and looging has silted the river up. Here in Taranaki we have a restoration programme where farmers are now required to fence the streams and creeks that run through their farms and plant the banks with native flora. There is so much water in Taranaki that we are talking about hundreds of kilometres. Fonterra are driving this campaign anxious about their clean green image.
What the story about these drums is I don’t know. They appear to be empty. My father would have taken this photo from the concrete bridge that appears three or four posts back.

My Father the Boxer


My father was a boxer. Although he was not big he had boxing skills that made him a dangerous opponent. He needed it in areas like Taheke where many bar patrons got liquored up and wanted to fight. Bars had to close at 6 pm which may not have helped because as the afternoon wore on patrons increased the pace of their drinking knowing that when the bell rang at 6 o’clock there was to be no more alcohol served. There were certainly no bars or bottle stores there either. 6 o’clock was it.

Fights usually took place out on the grass in front of the hotel. The fights I remember were the ones involving my father. He would take out his top denture, put it on a shelf behind the bar for safe keeping, and then step outside to take part in a fist fight. I never saw him show fear and I never saw him defeated. He had fast hands and knew how to deliver a punch. It’s a complex science, involving balance, speed and timing.


I don’t know how often but he ran a boxing gym for local Maori. The gym was in the building
in the top left of this photo. Sadly, it has now gone.

My brother is on the left of the horse, hanging out with a friend. What the horse is thinking I’m not sure.

The gravel road just behind the horse is not someone’s driveway but the main road north. At this time Taheke was about 5 and a half hours north of Auckland, now it is 3 and a half.

I was always impressed by the gym and was encouraged to learn about boxing. I believe that even the limited experience I had of it taught me something. In boxing there is an emphasis on stoicism, even if you’re on the ropes and someone is thumping your head with their fists and you have a funny metallic taste in your mouth you have to keep thinking or else you’re toast. You have to hang in there waiting for the opportunity to strike back. Even though this sort of stoicism is not talked about much now, increasingly I feel that there’s something to be said for the quality.

More Family

Standing outside the Taheke Hotel, here I am with my mother, my father’s father, and my sister. I’m the slightly disturbed looking one in the front, the short one.

Pater, as I had to call my grandfather, was someone I saw on very few occasions in my life. I only have a couple of images of him in my mind. He died not very many years after this photo was taken, in Gisborne, at the age of 88.

I have impressions though. He was dressed in a fashion I was not exposed to much. I don’t remember him in anything else except a three piece suit. I remember how he was different, he was English, having emigrated here as a young man.

He was very strict and formal. Even the name, Pater, was formal. Strangest of all perhaps was that he liked to write poetry. Believe me, to meet a man who was proud of writing poetry was something of a mind bender for someone liked me who was being schooled in the cultural mores of the time. How a proper male should behave was clearly proscribed and strictly enforced. Homosexuals went to gaol.

Something else about him impressed me. He had an air of being somewhat educated. Apart from the priests, teachers, doctors, I didn’t know anyone like this. If fact I have no idea what his education was like, or if his poetry was worthy, none is extant.

Somehow he influenced me though. I’m not sure how, perhaps he opened a window on a different world.

In this photo, I’m also interested in the dresses that my mother and sister are wearing. My guess is that Louisa, my mother had made them. She was extremely adept with her hands, and skilled with a sewing machine. When she left school she worked as a seamstress in Karangahape Rd in Auckland.
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