The Photography of Dr. Jeffrey P. Harper

The ruins of Arbroath Abbey (c1178) is one of the most important historical sites in Scotland. The current fishing village of Arbroath has formed aroound the ruins.

The Arbroath Abbey was the site of the signing of the Declaration of Arbroath (actual document HERE) the document proclaiming Scotland an independent nation, foreshadowing the US Declaration of `independence.

Although the Arbroath Abbey was one of the richest, it was closed at the Reformation, and from 1590 on, it was robbed of its stones by local builders.

The cathedral at the abbey was huge.

Wonderful olde world passages and twisting stairwells.

I would love to have seen the Abbey when it was in all its pristine beauty.

The Abbey was constructed of red sandstone, a somewhat unique building material from the time.

 Not all of the structures were completely destroyed.

The magnificent Abbots House, also of red sandstone - very red because of the rain.  That door going under the house sure looks inviting . . .

The vaults under the Abbots House . . . this tourist came in while I was shooting . . . and stayed very still.

Some of the 'extra' archeological finds are displayed in the basement of the Abbots House.

The ghostly green light, the other-worldly sounds, and the strange light emanating from behind this door were enough to inhibit further exploration . . . . so I left.

There were several high vantage points to view the lay-out of the original Abbey.  The main chapel must have been very grand, as the huge column bases indicate.

I left my shoes in this photo . . . on the Stairwell Unto Hell . . .

I'm a sucker for photos framed by arches.  Guilty as charged . . .

I also enjoy photographing doors . . . all over the world.  They are the portals to an enclosure; an enclosure of that which is on the other side.

I wandered into this chamber and discovered a very informative exhibit about the signing of the Declaration of Arbroath (document and translation HERE), signed on 6 April, 1320, which declared Scotland independence.

Wonderful medieval atmosphere in here . . . the literal home of freedom.

I enjoyed wandering around in these old spaces.  I had the whole place to myself.

. . . if these walls could talk . . .

I was surprised to find this apparition had appeared on a photo I took under the Abbey . . . who is this guy?

Fresh Spring grass, arches, and rooms to explore.

Even though it was a murky day in northeast Scotland, I still managed some pretty good photos . . . and had a nice afternoon while my wife was playing in a golf tournament at Carnustie.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION !

My friend and photography teacher, Basil, and his wife left Bangkok at 5:15am to reach the salt pans of Samut Songkhram at sunrise to take photos under the magical light of morning. We arrived at 6:30am to a driving tropical thunder and lightning storm. We bided our time taking photos of whatever was lit enough to shoot, like this frangipani flower . . .

. . . or this wet red morning flower.

The rain finally gave way to moody morning light reflected in the salt pans.  Beautiful.

As the sunrise broke through the clouds a light shade of peach started to permeate the landscape.  We got in my truck and raced down the road to see if there might be some salt harvesting between the storms.

Indeed!  There was to be salt harvesting to be done . . . . interrupted by the rain.

We were in luck: there were cones of salt ready for porterage sitting in the light rain under the peachy morning light.

The light did not last long . . . but my-oh-my!

As we walked around the sunrise salt pan we noticed a dilapidated bamboo salt shed and went in for a look.

A soft, light rain fell on us as we stood transfixed within the beautiful mood invoked by the patterns and the light.

Why is dilapidation, a returning back to elemental substances, so beautiful?

 Extraordinary textures.

The dampness of the morning rain and the soft light made the colors jump into your eye wherever you looked.

Basil was in Photographers' Heaven!

Cones of salt dissolving in the rain.

There had been terrible erosion of the salt cones in the rain.  We spoke to one of the pan workers who said that 50% of the harvest had been lost because of the early rains.  This is suppose to be the hot and dry season, not the rainy season.

We came back later in the morning and watched the salt laborers carry the salt out of the pans.

Scooping heavy wet salt is hard labor.

This crew worked very fast; perhaps they feared a resumption of the erosive rain.

The salt pan laborers ranged from the very old . . .

. . . to teenagers . . .

. . . all in a rush to stack (and cover) the newly harvested salt.

It didn't take long for this crew to empty the pan of its salt stacks.

We drove around on the small roads between the saalt pans and came upon a salt barge being unloded.

Hard physical labor in the stiffling heat and humidity.

A timeless scene under a cloudy sky.

We drove around on the farm roads between the salt pans and found an old Wat that was in the middle of a big building project . . . and I do mean BIG.

The building project involved putting the oldest wooden Wat on wheels and moving it to a new location.

The mundane and the spiritual exist side-by-side in the Wat.

Bangkok is a great city in which to live in its own right, but literally an hour from the great city are many marvels of rural life.

The old wooden Wat seemed very fragile; I did not go up the ladder to take a look, but Basil did.

Where the monks live.

The accidental aesthetics of the Wat is always surprising.

Although it is a place where the residents do not tend to the physical world, they make a beautiful place . . . perhaps because of it.

I love the textures of old spaces.

The deities that had been housed in the old wooden Wat had been removed, awaiting their placement in the new Wat under construction nearby.

Vestiges of earlier historical influences could be seen in much of the statuary, which were from the Hindu pantheon.

At the back of the Wat, in a stand of pine trees, there appeared a collection of very, very old Buddha statues.

The Buddhas were covered in a deep layer of pine needles. They looked as if they were emerging from beneath the ground.

Some of these Buddhas looked ancient.

Other Buddhas still showed remnants of their original coloration and adornment.

I could not tell if this collection of Buddhas were abandoned to this part of the Wat, were placed here in temporary storage awaiting the completion of the new Wat structure, or were intended to keep watch over the forest and the chedis that held the ashes of former monks and abbots interned nearby.

The forest chedis watched over by the ancient Buddha images.

The old chedis still revealed their carved Buddha embellishments.

Nearby, next to a stand of bamboo stood a large collection of spirit houses.

The tropical pole pine needles coated the spirit houses as well.

The pine needles, the stand of wispy trees and the golden spirit houses created a strange mood in the misty morning light.

Some spirit houses can be quite whimsical with their family of "inhabitants."

In the middle of the grove of spirit houses were the remnants of a blessing ceremony on a white table covered with pine needles.

The untended spaces of the Thai Wats allow for a stunning beauty to occur.

The monks at this Wat had a marvelous aesthetic sensibility . . . 

. . . and a wacky architectural sense of humor! YOU tell me what's going on here!

We had had a wonderful day of discovery and wonder . . . and photography.  As we drove home we noticed another crew of salt pan laborers clearing a pan in the distance, so, of course, we drove up a muddy road to take a look . . . .

. . . and more photos of this visually interesting process.

This second crew also worked at breakneck speed, and had the pan nearly cleared during the time we watched them.

It was a memorable day.

Jogja is a city of red roofs. I went out right after a morning rain which left everything wet and dark.

After Jakarta we flew to Yogyakarta (variously pronounced JogJakarta or simply JogJa) in Central Java and based ourselves in the wonderful Phoenix Hotel (not pictured here). This is a part of Old Jogja, along a swollen stream that cuts through the city.

Not all of Jogja is slum-like . . . it is an old world city with jumbled housing.

I walked along a bridge near my hotel and looked down on the red roofs of the houses that lined the river and saw a mother and child.

If I were to live in Jogja, I would want to live in this house . . .

. . . but I do not know what it would be like to grow up as a boy in these alleyways . . .

. . . or as a  gild in a wedding veil crossing her fingers . . . for something to happen, or not to happen.

Most of Jogja seemed locked in time (not a bad thing), but there was a little new construction going on.

Jogja still shows it history everywhere you look.

An Old Order way of life persists here.  One of the reasons I like to travel is to experience a sense that human life is not really teleological; it does not converge on some final perfect ending point.  Human life is just being.

Jogja people were friendly and courteous.

The little I know about Indonesian politics is that it is rough and tumble.

Because New Years Day was approaching, everywhere we went there were colorful horns for sale.

Almost every block seemed to have a fruit stand.

The important distinction to make about Islam here is that it is Indonesian, not Arabic.

It was great walking around Jogja, camera in hand.  It was also great to get back to the beautifully appointed Phoenix Hotel.

When a person has lived in close proximity to the equator for over 25 years, as I have, they are easily amazed when encountering temperate rain forest flora. Vancouver's Stanley Park is flush with floral beauty.

The Rhododendrons were wet from a morning shower.

A small platoon of Rhododendron stamen surprises the morning.

Rhododendron flower clusters begin as a bud.

The path I followed was often lined with a froth of pink.

The pink froth array came in many varieties.

Rare white Rhododendrons could be seen here and there.

The wet forest floor hid some wet yellow blooms.

What is going on here? What is the ecological niche and counterpart of these magnificent reproductive parts?

Purple Chrysanthemums blossoms begin as these green bud clusters . . .

. . . and progress through this adolescent stage.

All of the forests of the Pacific Northwest of North America are completely colonized by the ubiquitous fern. Stanley Park is no exception.

Not every flower one encounters in these environs is neat, tidy, symmetrical . . .

. . . or friendly.