Beyond the Frame 34/
Download a free Cyanometer, two TV storytelling highlights from 2024, Travel Photographer of the Year winners announced, and the reason why a two-week writing break lasted three months.
恭贺新禧
And… we’re back!
I took two weeks off from writing in October. That was more than three months ago! For readers who don’t object to self-indulgent tales of medical adventures, there’s an explanation for my extended absence at the foot of this edition.
But now, normal service has been resumed and I wish you a very happy Lunar New Year 🧧🥳
Cyanometer
“Ce phénomène m’avoit souvent frappé”
Swiss scientist Horace Bénédict de Saussure is speaking about the phenomenon seen by mountaineers who observe that the blue of the sky appears to grow more intense the higher they climb.
As the man acknowledged to be the founder of Alpinism (mountain climbing), it’s no surprise that Horace had been repeatedly struck by this phenomenon. Horace, born in 1740, was a renaissance man; geologist, physicist, the founder of modern meteorology, Alpine pioneer and inventor of the Solar Cooker. Like so many impressive renaissance men, Horace made his home in Geneva (ahem!) 😬
Preparing to attempt a summit of Mont Blanc in 1787, Horace was carrying pieces of paper in various shades of Prussian Blue, which he compared against the sky, measuring the relative change in intensity as he climbed.
Horace arranged the strips of coloured paper into a circle of 53 shades, from white to black. He estimated that the sky seen from the summit of Mont Blanc most closely matched swatch #39 on his cyanomètre.
Fellow mountaineers began carrying Horace’s Cyanometer. In 1802 Alexander von Humboldt measured a sky equivalent to the 46th swatch on his Cyanometer, the darkest intensity of sky recorded, at the summit of Chimborazo in the Andes.
Artist Martin Bricelj Baraga has created a glass and steel cyanometer, which stands in the grounds of Geneva’s Musée d’histoire des sciences. I’ve yet to see it, indeed only learned of its existence when writing this, but it’s topping my Bucket List now.
The Cyanometer website presents readings from various cyanometers, which assess the blueness of the sky every 15 minutes. As I write this, Geneva is beneath a sky equivalent to shade #14, “Average Blueness”.
Now, I’ve always been a fan of blue skies. Who isn’t? But before I learned of Horace’s Cyanometer, the varying intensities of blue were largely indistinguishable to me. Immediately upon learning of the existence of a tool with which to measure the sky’s blueness, I knew that my life would be incomplete without one.
And yet, surprisingly, I couldn’t find a Cyanometer in any shop or online store. So I’ve made my own, based exactly on Horace’s example and using the precise shade of Prussian Blue that his Cyanometer employed.
And it works. At midday today, Bangkok’s sky was shade #8 (largely affected by pollution, I’m sad to say).
I’ve added a link to my website and you are welcome to download your own cut-out-and-keep Cyanometer and begin recording the sky’s intensity on your travels.
If you’d like to invite your closest friends and dearest relatives to download a Cyanometer too, perhaps you’d share a link to this newsletter with them. Thank you.
Hauntology
Whilst reading about Horace’s Cyanometer, I was charmed to find an album of that name by a group called Hauntology.
I can’t find any more information about the group, if it is a group. I did notice that Hauntology has 3 monthly listeners on Spotify. I reckon we can bump that up a bit.
Coincidentally, according to Wikipedia, when describing a musical genre, “Hauntology is a loosely defined stylistic feature that evokes cultural memory and aesthetics of the past.”
Evoking cultural memory and aesthetics of the past seems like a worthy pursuit.
Best of 2024
I have compiled a short list of some of my favourite distractions from 2024, all related in some way to the art of storytelling. Here are two television highlights that I particularly enjoyed.
Coming up in future newsletters, favourite books, films, podcast episodes and photography streams from 2024.
Television
Wolf Hall
Everything about the BBC’s Wolf Hall is impressive. The screenplay of Hilary Mantel’s bestselling novels is expertly written, the production is superb, the acting (especially Mark Rylance) is outstanding, and the lighting and cinematography is masterful.
However, you might not enjoy watching Wolf Hall with me. I’m constantly rewinding and rewatching sequences that look like they might have been lifted directly from Rembrandt’s studio.
Gavin Finney is the cinematographer. His long resume includes Good Omens, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, and many more. I encourage you to check out his impressive showreel.
Here’s a scene from Series 2 where Thomas Cromwell (Mark Rylance) tells Lady Mary, later to become Mary I (Lilit Lesser) that she is not yet welcome at King Henry VIII’s court.
Perhaps, when setting up, the production team were tempted to add a touch of artificial light to fill the shadows but leaving the window as the only light source allows literal light and shade to illuminate their tense conversation.
A world illuminated only by daylight and candlelight might seem like a challenge for a cinematographer but the simplicity allows for atmospheric, directional lighting that evokes the shadowy lives of the Tudors.
The Bear, Series 3, Episode 1
We are accustomed to the final episode of a TV series ending on a cliff-hanger. And we expect the first episode of the following series to advance the plot and answer the question, what happened next?
For fans of The Bear, the TV comedy-drama about an intense, young chef’s attempts to turn his family’s Chicago sandwich restaurant into a fine dining establishment, the first episode of Series 3 did not follow this well-trodden path.
Instead, we were treated to a reflective reverie, explaining why events came to unfold as they did. We go on a journey back and forth along the timeline, seeing vignettes of the characters at crucial points in their lives but we also alight upon seemingly mundane moments. We find Carmen, the main character, in various restaurant kitchens, precisely slicing fish, speed-shelling peas, picking petals with tiny tweezers.
In place of an advancing plot, minutes are devoted to close-ups of vegetables, hands sprinkling salt into a sizzling pan, spoons dowsing oil onto frying meat, a pipette dripping a razor-thin line of raspberry jus onto a white plate. There is virtually no dialogue. Food preparation clips are interspersed with short edits of life-changing moments. Carmen is suffering in silence as a Head Chef insults him, Richie is on a futile search for his missing cousin, Natalie is sobbing on the telephone… And now we’re back in a kitchen, watching Carmen place a tiny, perfect sprig of fennel onto a solitary scallop.
The intensity of Carmen’s life, from his traumatic family history to the high-pressure environment of the world’s most prestigious restaurants, all remorselessly blended with his insatiable search for perfection are revealed. Instead of the pedestrian, predictable, “What Happened Next” episode, we are treated to a much more satisfying insight into the characters’ evolutions.
The whole episode is underscored by a single, hypnotic music track: Together, by Nine Inch Nails, which reinforces the sense that we might be absent-mindedly daydreaming about the lives of people we know.
For a 30 minute TV episode to reject the usual formula is brave. For me, the result elevates The Bear head and shoulders above similar TV shows.
The Bear has won many awards, most often in Comedy categories. There are some really funny moments but they’re often bittersweet and if you’re looking for laughs, be aware that The Bear is no comedy in the conventional sense. Or, really, in any sense. It is, however, one of the few things I’ve watched recently that justify keeping a television in the house.
Travel Photographer of the Year 2024 Winners
The winners of the 2024 Travel Photographer of the Year have been announced and I’m really pleased to see Piper Mackay has been awarded the top prize.
The judges said of Piper’s winning images, “They were made with a camera converted to infrared – a technique [that’s] not as straightforward as it sounds. The detail and atmosphere captured is both eye-catching and highly engaging.”
Piper’s use of an infrared camera is an unusual but successful choice for her landscape and portrait work. The resulting images are compelling and I hope you will find time to check out more of Piper’s work.
I was also pleased to see another familiar name, Tom Bourdon, receiving a well-deserved commendation for his submission to the Travel in Monochrome category.
Festivus Interruptus
If you’re curious why a two-week break in October has lasted three months, this recent period is best summed up with a four-letter word (not the first four-letter word that came to mind): Life.
Almost playfully at first, Life began to throw snowballs of petty frustrations, each one diverting attention, demanding time and energy. One or two distractions alone would have been manageable but, as you no doubt understand from your own experience, when Life has you in its sights, those crunchy snowballs can come thick and fast.
All too soon, Life’s icy barrage grew into a potential avalanche which gathered speed on its way down the mountain, carrying us along with it.
Such is Life.
Cutting to the chase, we found ourselves spending Christmas Day in a Bangkok hospital. Mrs. G. had surgery which, although it wasn’t the result of an emergency, was nevertheless not at the top of our list of Cheerful Ways to Spend Christmas.
We swapped gifts on Christmas Eve to avoid carrying them into hospital, where we both stayed for three nights. Bangkok’s international hospitals are excellent but they’re canny too. Family members sleeping on a sofa are charged for the use of a blanket. Funny, the details one remembers.
On Christmas morning, having watched Mrs. G. being wheeled towards an Operating Room and not keen to spend hours looking at her empty hospital bed, I signed-into the hospital’s Health Check programme for a series of tests and scans.
Mrs. G. eventually emerged and spent the next 48 hours in a groggy, post-op state. Meanwhile, my various test results came back and to nobody’s surprise confirmed that I am no longer 25 years old.
A friendly Thai doctor reviewed my results. Thai doctors smile a lot. All Thai people I know smile a lot. It’s the default expression here. This is the “Land of Smiles”, after all.
When the doctor’s smile turned into an uncharacteristic frown, I guessed shiz was about to get real.
He looked up.
“I am concerned about this.”
Well, that’s not a sentence you want to hear from a frowning doctor holding your test results.
There followed a hazy conversation which included the words “tumours”, “cancerous”, “surgery” and, most alarmingly, “tomorrow”.
I vaguely remember going into denial mode, “Oh, no, you see, I’m just here for my wife. I’m only getting a check-up. I have to go now. Thank you. Goodbye.”
Despite my attempt to deflect, I was firmly instructed to restrict my diet to congee and water for the rest of the day. The following morning it was my turn in the Operating Room. Dastardly tumours were expertly, if not painlessly, sliced out and sent for analysis.
I will spare you the experience of having to wait a week for pathology results. Chances are that you’re already familiar with similar circumstances. It was a week during which one inevitably considers the potential paths ahead. If it’s good news then perhaps life can return to normal. If it’s not good news then… what? A future beyond the critical follow-up appointment could only exist in a distant, fog-obscured land.
We returned to the hospital last week for The Results. Each hour immediately before the midday appointment lasted several weeks. Time really is elastic!
I eventually entered the Doctor’s office, laser-focused on his face, searching for signs of a frown.
He looked up, not frowning. The reassuring smile had returned.
“Good news.”
If I’d had the energy, I might have kissed him. But I only managed to slump into a chair whilst he explained that he had removed one benign tumour and what turned out to be two high-risk but pre-cancerous tumours.
The “pre” bit of that pathology result is a welcome addition. But left any longer, the prefix would have become history. As might I.
I’ll need to get regular checks but, for now, I feel like I’ve dodged a bullet. Two bullets, in fact.
What have I learned?
I knew I was overdue for a check-up but didn’t want to face the discomfort and indignity of invasive tests so would have swerved a hospital visit for as long as possible. I won’t be swerving check-ups in the future. And neither should you. If you are due for a medical check, please go.
It’s a fair bet that the majority of people who might read this have had similar or considerably more serious medical encounters. Yet we tend not to plan for these interruptions, even though we understand they are inevitable. It’s probably wise to have a Plan B and to adopt, in the words of Noam Chomsky, a mindset of “Strategic pessimism plus intellectual optimism.” Simply put, “Plan for the worst, hope for the best.” See, Noam? You can say it with more words but fewer syllables and then it’s easier to understand. Flippin’ intellectuals.
Finally, I have learned that if you see your anaesthetised wife lying on a hospital trolley and being pushed into a lift, it’s probably a good idea to explain to the porter, the accompanying nurse and other patients in the lift that you are her husband, since lunging through the doors and kissing the forehead of an unconscious woman who, as far as anyone else knows, is a complete stranger can prompt concern. It took a few beats for me to appreciate this. In retrospect, I’m relieved the masked, sleeping woman on the gurney was actually my wife!
Ultimately, our recent medical interventions were relatively straightforward and unremarkable. I think of it as Life nudging an elbow into my ribs and whispering, “Hey! Pay attention. This ain’t no rehearsal.”
So that’s that! We’ve dealt with Life’s uninvited challenges for now. Or, more accurately, skilled medical experts have dealt with them whilst we were anaesthetised. Now we’ve both pretty much fully recovered and are looking forward to 2025 with a renewed sense of optimism, tempered with a reminder to make the days count.
I hope the year brings you and your loved ones peace, good health, and happiness.
Newsletter Update
Paid subscriptions were paused during this recent outage and will now restart.
Inspired by The Marginalian, MyNoise, The Guardian and other resources that are supported by readers, and to which I subscribe (and partly by my recent medical adventure), I have removed the paywall from Beyond the Frame. What is unchanged is that this newsletter will continue to be a labour of love, supported by a community of readers who make it possible.
I would be grateful if you would consider lending your support with a monthly or annual subscription. Each and every additional supporter makes all the difference.
Directory and Recommended Resources
I have compiled a new Directory page, where all newsletter editions are tagged and searchable.
I have also built a Resources page, with links to all the photography contests, grants, media resources, camera gear, software and accessories mentioned in the newsletter.
Until next time, go well.
The Directory contains a full list of newsletters, tagged and searchable by content.
The Resources page contains links to recommended photographic resources, including books, camera gear, accessories, software, contests, grants, and online tools.
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Thank goodness you are back! I felt something must have gone wrong…so pleased you and your wife are doing well now. Take good care of each other. Back to making the most of your life! I jumped straight to end of the newsletter so now can read and enjoy your photos at leisure. Welcome back!
So glad you're back to posting! Appreciate the decision on the paywall