Welcome to my News page

Please take time to review my news page . There are lots more images equal in quality and quantity of my Gallery , and also contains images different to my regular type of photography.Including awards,Local events, past portfolios, in the begining,

selection of my photography. And even words by myself. So please enjoy.

 

Awards and Trophies

 

A.D.A.P.S Digital group winner for best digital image 2003

 

 

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A.D.A.P.S Double trophy winner best portraits and best prints 2004-2005

 

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A.D.A.P.S Les Law portrait trophy winner 2005-2006

A.D.A.P.S Annual creative colour trophy winner 2005-2006

A.D.A.P.S Annual original image trophy winner 2005-2006

 

Wedding and wedding Events

 

 

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Past Portfolios

 

 

I like to say thanks to all who have taken part in the making of this portfolio of images.

Fashion Shows

MassiveUK. Love Mcr fashion show Events

More recently in 2004. I've been involved in runaway/catwalk fashion photography at Manchester's Printworks at Lucid, with the invitation of Rachel Malon, and these events are featured on this website.

All Images taken at Lucid in the Printworks Manchester

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Many thanks to Rachel Malon and all the people, models,designers, make up artists and many others i may have forgotten for this opportunity.

 

Hair by Raimi

Superb Hair stylists based in Manchester

37 Tibs Street,Manchester,M4 1 LX

 

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Peewee hair Salon

based in Manchester city centre

 

HB studios

Greatmoor st in Bolton

 

Local Events

 

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Song of Praise event in Bolton 2002

 

 

 

Afflecks 21st Birthday 2003

 

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Covered the Afflecks palace 21 st Birthday event in Manchester 2003

 

French Farm folk 2003

 

A surprise visit to Manchester reaps rewards in this mock up of french farm folk country life.

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The Cows of Manchester 2004

 

Through the summer of 2004 these cows kepted popping up all over

Manchester city centre.

 

 

 

 

A Comedy Night at the famous Octagon in Bolton

 

May 2th 2006

By kind invitation by Rebbecca remarkable young lady and very driven in her ways.

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The East Lancashire Railway May 2006

 

1940's Wartime regalia Event in based in Bury's famous East lancashire railway station. Always very well received, and popular with people whoare enthusiasts and passionate and coming from all walks of life to see the event and get involved.

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Crich tramway Village

Matlock in Derbyshire

 

 

 

 

In the Beginning Photography

 

Like most poeple who take up Photography, we go through a stage of General photography take your camera everywhere snapping at this snapping, at that to discover what will determine the subject matter we will end up specializing in. here is a few images from my discovering period of my own photography

.Please note - clicking on any thumbnail opens up into a slideshow

 

 

Words of R.W.Billington

 

From time to time when i'm at a low ebb, I have a notion to write a few words down to make a little story of important incidences from my life. and observations of life.

Moods of my Madness

A explanation to the viewer

They say a picture is worth a thousands words ,but I think in this case we need some words. The three main self-portrait images are of what I believe represent my moods of madness, and basic emotions exaggerated. Is euphoria to be happy ?, dark descent just anger ,and panic and paranoia, just fear and defence. but all taken to their extreme.
The more faded background represents ,the brief moments of rational thoughts and reflections, before the madness began As a very young child ,before the seeds of trauma. actions and regret are sown.
The moods of madness are of colour ,but to the viewer they only see the black and white and can only focus on the one aspect without seeing the whole.

 

The next piece of writing is in memory of my daughter Racheal who died at only 4 days old and now i have no record of what she ever looked like.

If Only

It’s that time again, that time every second Sunday afternoon. I take my last sip from my near empty cup. I swallow, and place the still warm cup onto the kitchen top. My hand slowly moves to the bunch of flowers lying there. I glance at them, which turns into a stare and wonder, IF ONLY. I pick them up and place them gently to my nose. The aroma fills my head, and now I leave the room. Carefully putting my coat on then pulling up the zip sharply. I leave my home, and take in the air.

I get into the car, placing the flowers like a new born baby on the back seat. I turn the key, the engine hums , and again the thought IF ONLY enters my mind. Reversing out of my drive. The car crunches into first. Now I’m on my way. The journey I ‘ve done hundreds of times before, the journey to the woman who stole my heart away so long ago. This tiny woman who made me a king and a fool at the same time. The woman who had my every thought at her command. But now she’s gone. Now this journey is different. This is the journey to see my daughter. The flowers she never sees, and the sweet scent, she never smells. Why you ask, my reply because she is dead and gone to heaven.

I stop the car and pick up the flowers angrily and slam the door. Walking down this path of death, My mind is a blank as I look at the tombstones as I pass. I now reach my desination, I kneel over , picking up the dead flowers from my last time. shaking as I place the new flowers in their place. Sobbing tears run down my face. A blur of words leave my mouth. “I LOVE YOU,MY LITTLE ONE” “ WHY WHY WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE “

My mind fades into a dream. Imagining her growing up on hot summer days. The uncertain walk and miss said words. The little pink dresses and “ I LOVE YOU DADDIES” then the image fades a blanket of loneliness surrounds me now the tears start again. Now the pain is back like a vengeful storm. Then I whisper “I LOVE YOU ALWAYS MY LITTLE ONE “ Then I promise to see her again. Standing up, the tears stain my face. I wipe them roughly away, and start to walk away. Glancing back again and again. Afraid to think she’s all alone.

I get into the car the windows have steamed up. I grab a rag and wipe them clean . Looking at all the once familiar sights. Listening to the faint hymns coming from the church nearby. These were the things I knew so well. But now they are strangers to me now . A distant forgotten memory of what used to be. The loneliness swallows me like a tidal wave, and the words “IF ONLY” echoes through my mind. I sit awhile, trying .trying so to see a familiar face .But there is none. I hesitate to start the car. Taking one last look then I pull away.

True story by R W BILLINGTON

the next piece of writing was done as a part of a message about a street person wanting to belong on new year's eve of 1999

JUST ANOTHER DAY.

New Years eve 1999. There people bustling all around, getting ready for the millennium celebrations. But in the crowds of people, a familiar, but nameless face roams around in his world. A world where his entire existence is in just one battered shopping trolley. All that he his, and ever will be now, travels on wobbly wheels. He stops here and there looking in the cities bins, shaking cartons and tins, Discarding newspapers and magazines for half eaten pies and half chewed sweets. Rummaging deeper and deeper for today,s harvest. Then always forward, he moves on. For this is his routine of survival on the streets, day after day, existing this way.

Dirt and the ravages of time are ingrained into his now over aged face. One dirty soiled overcoat tied with string. One pair of worn out pants, brown badly scuffed boots with no laces. This is the uniform of his life.

As the sun goes down , and night falls. The streets slowly then more steadily fill with people, young and old . Short dresses sweet told lies, laughter and chatter, and quick puffs of a cigarette. Cocky men dressed to the nines, after conquest this night. Shouting and rude they invade the tramps domain. Passing him by like the invisible man .

After all they just want to enjoy this night after all. New hope because of a magical number. The last of the century is this night. Darker and darker, colder and colder get the night. Music spills out of the building nearby. He walks with his life in his trolley. Glancing at the building filled with music and noise. Wishing he could be there, but always the outcast, he moves on by.

The century near its end “SILENCE” the chimes of the town hall clock echoes through time, then with the last pausing chime. The end of the old century. Roars and deafening cheers of happy new year. “ Auld Lang Syne “is heard on every street.

Pushing along his trolley, so wanting to belong. People start pouring onto the streets. With a forced smile, he approaches people here and there. “ HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YER SIR” Hoping for a few kind words and some loose change please.

Now come out, the new found lovers into the cold, with their misjudged kisses. And now come out the hour long best friends stagger out into the street singing and laughing. Shouting in the New Year to all and sundry. The tramp goes unnoticed yet again.

Searching his street for part drunken bottles of beer. He bend over picks up and shakes a bottle. Looking at the label, peers into the bottle with one eye. Then taking big swigs. Beer and lager washes through he mind. Sitting down on his usual bench ”WAS I ALWAYS THIS WAY” repeats in is mind. Years on the streets have all but eroded his memories away. Beginning to lie down, people pass him by. The cold is setting in. The streets quieten, echoes of noise in the silence fade away. His eyes grow heavier and heavier, he falls asleep with a blanket of newspapers as his only friends tonight. After all it is just another night to him anyway.

Story by R .W .BILLINGTON.