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Clive Minnitt

Nottinghamshire based photographer and workshop leader.

minnitt.co.uk

It was almost midnight on January 29th, 1996. It was one of those sleepless nights. I switched the radio on to be greeted by the opening bars of music heralding the BBC News. No doubt there would be tales of more gloom and doom around the world. Hardly soporific!

My ears pricked up when the newscaster announced:- "...and we're going over to Venice to talk to Charlie Waite, a British Photographer. Charlie is witnessing the world-famous Fenice Opera House as it burns."

This brought back memories of the first time I saw Charlie's work.

I'd had an operation in 1982 following a sports injury which meant I had to take two months off work. This was no hardship as I was extremely unhappy in my job. I decided to take this opportunity to walk the length of the Cornish coast path to raise funds for hospital equipment.

During my search for a guide book I discovered 'The National Trust Book of Long Walks' an inspiring book written by Adam Nicholson, the photographic illustrations by Charlie Waite. As the book was quite heavy I photocopied the relevant pages and set off on what became a wonderful adventure. It totally changed my perception of landscape photography. I was mesmerised by the exquisite images, and how Charlie made a mundane scene look so captivating. It made me realise there is potential beauty in everything around us. I revisit this book frequently - it's a treasure. 

That night broadcast had been a serendipitous moment and subsequently life-changing. For several years I had been pondering how I might leave my job which was wholly unfulfilling and pursue something I really enjoyed with a sufficient income. Photography had become my passion and I decided to direct all my energy into improving my vision, technique and marketing. I scoured more bookshops hoping to find examples of Charlie's photography and discovered 'The Making of Landscape Photographs'. I explored his wonderfully descriptive narrative and marvelled at every image spending days analysing what it was that made them so pleasing to look at: time of day, use of light, simplicity. I would learn. I had to!

During the next 12 months my photographic activity became more and more intense. In my spare time I was working towards my goal of becoming a full-time photographer. What a stroke of luck when I spotted an advertisement in a trade magazine for 'Light & Land Photographic Holidays and Workshops'! A few days in Venice under the guidance of Charlie Waite was impossible for me to ignore. The timing was perfect, just 3 weeks after I had left my full-time job. I feared I would be way out of my depth on arrival in Venice (pun intended) and somewhat overawed but was soon put at ease. I was in my element exploring what has to be one the world's most photogenic cities.

After returning home, I came across Charlie's wonderfully evocative image of the gondola and bridge. I might easily have felt demoralised by this work of art but it had such a profound effect on me. I'm grateful it inspired me to think differently about all aspects of my work. At first sight I enjoyed its simplicity and then an analytical study revealed just how carefully the image had been considered.

The composition is based on two opposing curves, complemented by the decorative arc at the top of the gondola's prow. A 'less is more' approach is also what makes the image so effective; it's uncluttered, simple and yet compelling. Deciding what to include or leave out of the composition is so crucial to image-making. When there are so few elements it is vital that they are harmonious with one another.

My eyes cannot help but follow the sweep of the top line of the gondola from the bottom left corner up and around the prow then back along the gondola base to the corner again. The position of the top of the prow in relation to the bridge is entirely intentional. From my own experience I know that gondolas are almost always moving, even when moored. The canals are tidal and there are usually ripples created by nearby water traffic of one sort or another. Pressing the shutter necessitated precision timing so that the relationship between gondola and bridge was maintained. Charlie must have had an exhilarating moment when his pre-conceived image was captured.

Then there's the light. And what light! The image has an overall softness and the existence of a few strong shadows, particularly on the underside of the top section of the arch, make me wonder where the light is coming from - a street lamp or natural daylight? Either way, the effect is sublime, especially the shimmying reflection in the water immediately below where the bridge enters the canal.

I never tire of looking at this image. When studying it in detail I put myself in Charlie's shoes and imagine I'm there. There would be a sense of frustration when the gondola and the bridge didn't line up as he wished. Finally, the triumphant moment when it all came together exactly as he imagined. A glass of red wine followed, perhaps... Thank you Charlie, you inspired me.