I always go into a state of mild panic when it happens. "Is it too dark?" I ask myself. "Have I missed any sensor dust blemishes or hot spots among the highlights?" Or, "What about the noise?" It doesn't happen that often of course - after all I do this for myself as a hobby - but just now and again somebody will ask me the terrifying words "Can I buy this please?"
This suddenly happened three times in the space of about nine days recently. Up until then, I hadn't sold so much as a pixel in over twelve months - not that it was particularly troubling me. After all, even though I do have a Picfair page, for which I pay a modest sum each year, I also have a Facebook page with a small number of followers, mostly personal friends, and I'm really not very good at promoting myself. It was those friends who said I should sell my photos - most of whom then never actually made any purchases of course. But for a while I had been thinking that I should refresh my Picfair page and add some new content to the thirty or so images that I'd uploaded in a burst of initial enthusiasm when I'd decided to try and earn a bit of pocket money from my hobby. My other hobby is playing football - imagine the money I could have made if I'd been any good at it! My Instagram page would have a lot more followers too.
And then, in the middle of the week before last, a local company sent me a private message via Instagram. They'd love to have my picture of Goonhilly "Thursday Night at the Listening Station" for their 2024 calendar. I asked them to email me some more details, and then checked them out to make sure I wasn't about to inadvertently hand over my life savings to an international drugs syndicate. They seemed to be legitimate, and when the email came through I was pleasantly surprised to learn that they intended to pay me for my work. And then I looked at the image, taken nearly eighteen months earlier, remembered that it was a long lens photo stack, and that I'd only taken two images to blend at a focal length of 118mm no less. If it was going to be printed and sent to a large number of expectant customers, I was going to need to revisit that blend in fine detail. The image included a long barbed wire fence, receding into the distance against long soft glowing September grasses. This was going to be fun. But a day later, my customer said they were very happy indeed with the result, and asked me for an invoice. Good job I used to be an accountant. Within a few hours, a sum of money had arrived in my bank account. I'm not booking a tour with Mads Peter Iversen to Greenland just yet, but I can take Ali out for a reasonably priced meal on the proceeds. Twice if we don't have a second course.
A couple of days later, an ex colleague, who'd reluctantly relocated away from Cornwall wanted a memento for the walls of her new home and had decided upon a copy of "Bedruthan in the Pink," from an evening in June 2018 when the sky had unexpectedly glowed pink and orange in the blue hour when at sunset it seemed we'd wasted our time even going there. When I reviewed the image on my Picfair page, I was unimpressed. I guess I have more time to work on my processing these days - sometimes I think too much time might in fact be a bad thing. Among the shadows were stray rocks and bits of debris that needed cleaning up, and when I zoomed in further, I noticed that one of those rocks was in fact a tog, hunched down low over his tripod. How had I not seen him before? He had to go too. Another sale - I hope she likes it when she receives the printed product.
And then finally, and most bizarrely, a lady from America complimented me on my Instagram feed. "Do you sell your pictures?" she asked. I'd just posted this one, and assumed it was the image that had caught her eye, but no. In truth, I wasn't convinced that three of the four she'd chosen represented anywhere near my best work, but I thanked her for her kind words and told her I'd have them all on my Picfair page that evening for her to buy downloads or printed products. In fact one of them was that Vestrahorn reflection shot that I was muttering about unfavourably in my previous post. Later the reply came. "I don't actually want to print them. Can you sell them to me in NFT format? Would that work for you? I have a budget of four thousand dollars per picture." By now I was feeling mildly perturbed. What on earth is NFT format? Did this lady think I was Banksy's brother? I consulted with members of my family. My sister and her three adult children, all of them from art backgrounds went into immediate rant mode about digital art and something called a blockchain that apparently requires the contents of at least three of the Great Lakes and the output of five nuclear power stations to maintain. Lloyd's response was rather more balanced. He'd had a similar approach and after some research on the subject had decided not to. Apart from anything else there appears to be a substantial setup cost, and we agreed that this is supposed to be a hobby. If we sell a few along the way for a bit of pocket money that's great, but we don't want the pressures of trying to earn from our images. It seems that the world of NFTs involves creating a digital signature and giving up ownership of the image completely - and I didn't want to do that. Not even if the offer was genuine - and of course there was strong chance that it was that international drugs syndicate knocking on the Instagram door again. Politely I declined the offer of enough money to keep me in annual trips to Iceland for the next six years. She's still waiting for me to explain why I don't do NFTs. I'm pretending I've forgotten to reply.
All of which brings me here, seventy-two pounds richer and with my pension fund intact. Here is the image that the American NFT art collector didn't want to buy. Last Monday, Ali and I were taking a stroll around our local woodland, pausing here and there as we do to enjoy a view before moving on around the circuit. As we came to a clearing I looked at the sky. Mackerel clouds were forming, and with an hour until sunset the outcome seemed far more easy to predict than the one at Bedruthan Steps nearly five years earlier. We increased our pace and power walked backed to the house, where I grabbed the camera bag before we raced to the coast. And you can see for yourself what happened. Almost nine years into this photography lark and I'm starting to spot the tell-tale signs of an epic sunset. Mind you, Towanroath is a tricky one to compose from here, but there was no choice if I wanted to include that sky. It's on the Picfair page and I really ought to push it and see if anyone bites. But I'm not really that bothered - it's just a hobby after all.
