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Tim Parkin
Amateur Photographer who plays with big cameras and film when in between digital photographs.
If there is a single place that could be considered the home of the modern landscape, I’d have to choose Fontainebleau. Note that I say landscape and not landscape photography because the modern approach to our landscape was really born in the 19th Century when a range of painters left romanticism and drama behind and moved to a more intimate approach to art with nature at its core. These changes happened near Paris, and if you want to read more about them, Francesco, whose book this review is for, has written an excellent article in one of his series about early painters, “Past Masters - The Barbizon Painters”.
This group of painters started a movement that looked to the landscape as their muse, particularly the wooded landscape of Fontainebleau. Not only was their work seen as the catalyst for the Impressionist movement, but Fontainebleau became a locus for experimentation and self-expression for the newfound technology of photography. Photographers like Cuvelier and Gustav Le Grey used the newly installed railway from Paris to make repeated visits to the area and produce some of the first recognised landscape photographs. If you want to see a few artworks and photographs from that period, there is a great article on the Incollect website that is worth a perusal.
Francesco has used Fontainebleau in much the same way as many artists before him and has created a book that combines a personal take on photography with extracts and impressions from his research on the related art history of the location. There are a range of short essays throughout the book that discuss the history of the Barbizon school and combine it with Francesco’s thoughts on how it relates to his own photography.
Intimate Landscapes
It’s easy to think that the idea of the Intimate landscape is a new trend when, in fact, we can see some of its origins from nearly two hundred years ago. Some of our foundational ideas on landscape photography actually come from the romantic period, possibly via the Hudson River School and Ansel Adams, but there’s a parallel, intimate thread that runs from the Barbizon, via impressionism and through photographers like Eliot Porter to the present day. Francesco’s photographs won’t reveal new geographic marvels or amaze with extraordinary atmospheric optics because they’re not intended to. They’re a personal response to a landscape that doesn’t impose itself.
I like the quote from Renoir in one of Francesco’s short Essays: “The disadvantage of Italy is that it’s too beautiful. Why paint when you have so much pleasure in looking? To resist what is beautiful, not let yourself be squandered, you have to know your job”. This idea that objective beauty is a distraction is one that is difficult to understand for many photographers, after all, who doesn’t want to share natural beauty? But sharing our response to the intimate can be much more personal and more likely to reveal the artist.
The Book
Francesco’s book is beautifully created and goes beyond being a simple portfolio by revealing a threadlike connection with the past that rewards following. The images draw from historical influences without slavishly adapting them. There are inevitably some standout images, and I’ve tried to include a couple in this review, but the pacing of the whole works well and is difficult to represent in extractions.
What comes across most is a sense of connection, of someone allowing the landscape to craft them as much as they’re crafting their own interpretations. Francesco has allowed his passion and connection with the forest and its historical denizens to mediate the way he’s discovered the forest.
As an observation, I’ve also noticed that this type of landscape may be familiar to photographers from the UK in that it looks a lot like the gritstone of the Peak District (take a look at Matt Oliver's work in this issue as an example). It was no surprise to discover that some of Francesco’s formative moments were spent in that area, and I wonder whether this has had an influence on his work.
It’s a book well worth discovering for yourself, and I’d also highly recommend looking at Francesco’s series of articles on the history of art and landscape (a series that will continue in 2025!). You can buy Francesco’s book directly from his website for 65 Euros (~£55, ~$68).
