My formative years were spent in a small coastal town of Eastern Australia. We were fortunate to live in a house that backed onto the bush; an Australian term for a reserve of natural woodland or vegetation. Most of my then free time was spent hopping over the back fence and exploring this wonderland of natural phenomena. All the seasons had their specific personality, but summers were often hot and humid, to the extent, that the bush developed what I called a tiredness; the air so stifling that everything seemed to wilt by the time the afternoon came along. Relief came in the form of thunderstorms, with billowing, dark grey clouds rising from the west, absorbing the heat and swallowing the sun.
I remember these times well. I’d hop the fence and find my favourite place and watch. I never failed to be awestruck by the sound of rumbling thunder, with sheets of lightning peeling across the sky; the wind ripping, gyrating the upper canopy of spindly branched eucalyptus. And then the rain, so thick all before you turned into misty shapes of grey. And yet, all over in half an hour, only for the sun to make a brief appearance, the foliage glistening with drops of gold, before setting over the horizon with the most spectacular cloud shapes resplendent in a rainbow of colours. I’d never felt so alive.
I never failed to be awestruck by the sound of rumbling thunder, with sheets of lightning peeling across the sky; the wind ripping, gyrating the upper canopy of spindly branched eucalyptus. And then the rain, so thick all before you turned into misty shapes of grey.
Such experiences developed into an interest in natural landscapes, and how weather affects not only the aesthetics but also the atmosphere or the mood of the landscape. Something that was to be all the more fascinating, when I eventually picked up a camera, especially so if a storm was brewing.
During late October to December, in North Western Australia, the time is known as the ‘build up’, where the first tentacles of the tropical Monsoon descend upon the top end of Australia. Hard baked earth, sends ever upward, thermals of superheated, humid air, reaching to the heavens to condense into some of the largest supercell thunderstorms on the planet. The lightning show alone, if ever you’re fortunate enough to be there and witness one, will leave you speechless.
I first came across Peter Jarver in a book called The Top End of Down Under, that I found in a second-hand bookshop in Sydney. I’d recently married, and at the time, with our weekend pursuits into the Wilds of Australia, my photographic interests saw a row of bookshelves devoted to Peter Dombrovskis, Chris Bell, David Muench and Galen Rowell to name a few. Peter Jarver was an unknown quantity, to me at least, but one, like those names that sat proudly on that bookshelf, was to change my photography for life.
One of the key aspects of landscape photography has got to be composition. Given our subject matter rarely has a strong internal narrative and the subject rarely has intrinsic emotional value, our arrangement of content within the frame and its emphasis, lighting, etc. are the main thing we have to work with. However, composition is rarely written about well beyond addressing so-called "rules".
I've chatted with David Ward and Joe Cornish about my ideas for a series on composition for quite a few years now but there always seems to be some internal barriers, essentially, a resistance to committing thoughts to paper and making them public where they'll have to stand on their own merits. However, after some recent chats about the subject, we've decided to try to get a proper series off the ground and to gets things started, we thought we'd have a chat about the history of art and landscape in order to build some foundations.
Hence, the following podcast is a relatively short chat about how art and composition built to the age where landscape, and particularly rural and wild landscape, started to become a recognised genre in its own right.
I've tried to find some references for the artworks mentioned including a few important extra ones I found when doing a little research. The next instalment, contrary to what I say in the podcast, will look at the development of landscape from the Dutch and Flemish landscape tradition to Lorraine, Poussin and the Grand Tour, looking at some of the visual themes and aspects of landscape art (such as Repoussir) as we move toward the romantic tradition.
Don't worry that we'll be getting too art history along the way, the primary goal here is to look at landscape composition and keep our eye on how we can use the ideas in our own work. (p.s. I've neglected to mention some excellent non-Western culture art, such as early Chinese paintings! This is on purpose and they will be addressed later in the series).
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios consisting of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
When the sun shines through the leaves of a flower, I am attracted to it, irresistibly. I wish to capture its beauty, its colours, its delicate forms and share this beauty with others. Wonderful nature.
Many people seem to have this urge, judging from the hundreds of thousands of people who come each spring to North-Holland, province of the Netherlands, to visit the flower fields. Unfortunately not this year due to the Coronavirus. All activities have been cancelled. But photographing is still possible taking the 1,5 m distance to others into account and no groups larger than 2 persons.
Flowerbulbs (tulips, narcissus, etc) have been grown in Holland since 1590. Demand for these living colours increased so much around 1634 that bulbs were sold and resold while still in the ground. Speculation had been forbidden since 1610 at the Amsterdam stock market. But increasingly high prices where paid, even for more than a year salary of a good craftsman. The most famous tulip at that time was the Semper Augusta which sold for 10.000 dutch guilders (Florijnen, Fl), which was even far more than Rembrandt had been paid for his Nightwatch (Fl 1600, about € 725). This tulipomania led to the first financial crisis with the crash of 1637.
We are now again in the midst of a crisis, this time worldwide. I thought to give you some colour in these bleak times. And my best advice is: "Look for the light".
I captured these flowers in the region between Alkmaar and Den Helder with a Canon 5DsR camera and a Zeiss Otus 1.4/85 lens at f 1.4. Loving the beautiful soft cloudy bokeh.
I am fortunate that, through business travel, I often have the chance to stop off to take photographs in the Lake District, Yorkshire Dales or the Peak District where it seems there is a photo to be had anywhere you point your camera. Obviously due to the coronavirus lockdown these trips are not possible so I am limited to a 1 hour roundtrip walk from my home. I am lucky in that within 5 minutes walk from my home in Rochdale, I can be in the countryside or on the moors and during this lockdown, It has proved that, if you go off the beaten track, those photographs can be found. You just have to look a bit harder. All these photos were taken within 30 minutes walk from home.
The theme of this set of images is the curve. They all have a curved line leading the eye through the scene. All of these locations are in Assynt & Coigach and are areas I have revisited many times over recent years.
My approach to photography is increasingly to try and seek out an uncluttered, less obvious and minimalistic landscape. I see the landscape as shapes and graphical lines and much prefer a quieter scene.
This set of images were all made with a Sony A7RIII and processed in Lightroom, Photoshop with a monochrome conversion in Silver Efex.
This 4x4 portfolio was triggered by a recent On Landscape podcast discussion in which David Ward stated that Iceland was his choice for ‘currently-free from tourists’ location images and that he and Joe made their first visits there in 1999.
These photographs ‘from the archive’ were taken on my first visit to south-east Iceland in 1979. I was a student on a month-long expedition to collect data for our physical geography dissertations. Few people had visited Iceland then. It felt a special place, wild and very remote from people. I was excited to be there.
I used a Zenith E plus standard 50mm Helios lens with Kodachrome 64 transparency film, my 18th birthday present. To complement the archival feel I have left the slide mount edges, the dust and converted to black and white.
The images feature the extremely bumpy gravel ring road. After the long drive, in our research vehicle from the US/NATO Keflavik airbase to the campsite in a field near the snout of Svinafellsjökull, I was still shaking hours later from the vibration. Two images are looking west towards this location (note no hotel/service station) and the others towards Breiðamerkurjökull.
I enjoyed my eventual return in 2017 but as expected, with the advent and rapid increase in tourism, as well as ice loss, Iceland had become a completely different world. My visit in 1979 is a very precious memory.
For the fourth iteration of this column, I decided to focus on the artwork of a photographer that mostly flies under the radar here in the Southwest of United States – Cecil Whitt. Cecil and his work exemplify the mysteries of the desert Southwest and conjure up a wide variety of emotions and ideas including solitude, surprise, serenity, rugged individualism, grit, determination, exploration, and optimism. I was first introduced to his work through my podcast when a former guest, David Thompson, recommended I explore Cecil’s artwork in depth. At first, when one visits Cecil’s website, you are greeted by a massive collection of over one-hundred-and-fifty thumbnails which I first thought represented individual photographs. Much to my amazement, excitement, and awe, I soon realised that each thumbnail represented an entire gallery of images, each with their own depth of character, pantheon of feelings, and interesting story arc. Cecil’s website is a literal treasure trove to dig through – each time I visit I find myself exploring and devouring something new that intrigues and inspires me.
I had the pleasure of meeting Cecil when our mutual acquaintance Paul Rojas invited me to join them for a weekend of photographing in New Mexico’s badlands, deep within the desert.
Cecil’s images are immersive, and mostly relies on shapes, subtle colour palettes, patterns, and composition to deliver interest and to engage viewers.
Upon meeting Cecil, I realised that he exemplified his photographic artwork – he carries himself with an air of mystery and excitement, while at the same time he clearly lives a humble and simple existence, and possesses a laissez faire attitude about life and photography. Cecil’s approach to photography is possibly best described as “open to surprises” – he does not have any preconceived notions about what he may or may not find when he embarks into the desert with his camera and tripod. He simply wanders about through the badlands searching for things he is emotionally and spiritually drawn to photographing. I found his approach to the craft intoxicating and quite compelling, which has rubbed off on my own way of making photographs in the desert badlands. Since spending time with Cecil, I have been much more open-minded to finding interesting landscape compositions I would have otherwise walked right by. Cecil’s curiosity and passion for the desert is one of the things that clearly translates across his images and perhaps is one of the root causes for their unique character.
A new solo exhibition of marine landscape photography by Brighton-based photographer John Brockliss opens at The West Pier Centre, Brighton on Saturday 5 September. The free-entry show is open to visitors 11.00am - 4.30pm Saturdays and Sundays only and features over 30 colour and monochrome works, personally printed by the photographer.
John works exclusively with Leica rangefinder cameras and lenses and available light. His photographs are all shot hand-held and prints are exhibited uncropped, exactly as composed in-camera.
As an island nation with an unrivalled seafaring heritage, we share a deep and enduring love of the sea. We are forever drawn to the wild elemental shores of remote locations and the bustling summer beaches of our seaside towns. John uses his cameras to capture those rare moments when the competing natural elements combine for a transitory few seconds and transform the normal into the unforgettable: light, tide, wind and sea in constant flux.
"My passion for marine photography is directly linked to two additional and abiding interests - fishing and boating. I have been active in both most of my adult life and for the past 27 years spend a week each summer fishing off the West Coast of Scotland. These fabulous trips have given me rare photographic access to otherwise inaccessible vantage points (see the Muckle Flugga lighthouse shot) and more importantly have allowed me to be 'at one' with the ever-changing light and weather patterns which are so much more emotionally felt at sea. Despite the potential risk to camera and lens from salt water and accidental damage, because rangefinder cameras are so compact, I find them perfectly suited to the rigours of shooting at sea.
Whether I am photographing at sea or onshore I am always looking for compositions which are defined by unique and often elusive combinations of light, tide, atmosphere and transient weather conditions."
Exhibition details
The Shoreline Exhibition is hosted by The West Pier Centre on Brighton's seafront promenade, next to the British Airways 1360 visitor attraction.Address: West Pier Centre, 103-105 King's Road Arches, Brighton, BN1 2FN.
So long as we have failed to eliminate any of the causes of human despair, we do not have the right to try to eliminate those means by which man tries to cleanse himself of despair.
~ Antonin Artaud/cite>
A few weeks ago, I accepted Alister Benn’s offer to “out” me as someone who struggles with depression. It was a bit uncomfortable, but now that it’s out of the way, and given current world events, I hope I can put my trials with depression and the lessons it taught me to some good use. For the sake of this article, assume that when I talk about depression I also talk about anxiety. As recent research suggests, depression and anxiety, despite being different experiences, are interrelated and often comorbid (occurring together).
Depression has been referred to as a “disease of modernity,” with rates rising consistently for some time, and more sharply in the days of the COVID-19 pandemic. I’m sure even positively-minded readers will have no problem coming up with many reasons rooted in recent events—political, environmental, professional, personal—leading to increased anxiety, sadness, and perhaps a sense of hopelessness.
In recent weeks I’ve received concerned notes from fellow photographers, and have answered questions publicly for a number of camera clubs, many asking about photography as a means to transcend the anxiety of the times and its demoralising effects..
In recent weeks I’ve received concerned notes from fellow photographers, and have answered questions publicly for a number of camera clubs, many asking about photography as a means to transcend the anxiety of the times and its demoralising effects, about ways to defeat a lack of motivation to pursue creative work and to rekindle joy in formerly rewarding activities in the face of mounting worries and troubling thoughts.
It’s no small irony that being as introverted and reclusive as I am, and having spent much of my adult years distancing myself farther and farther from human populations (my home now is, mile for mile, closer to outer space than to the nearest city), I somehow became a public figure. Likewise, harbouring a psychological disorder that predisposes me to frequent episodes of melancholy and depression, I may be an unlikely source for solace and encouragement. Then again, perhaps my unyielding faith in beauty, and my commitment to pursue experiences that elevate my being and give meaning to my life despite a constant struggle with darker moods, have given me a unique perspective on what it takes. This especially as common remedies and advice have generally not worked for me, forcing me to find my own.
Boats have been in Jack’s blood - and water in his lungs - from a very early age, closely followed by a passion for photography. Some of you will know Jack from his time as a master printer, responsible for bringing Paul Kenny’s creations to life. I still remember the impact of seeing Paul/Jack’s prints in Southwell Cathedral as part of the Masters of Vision exhibition in 2015.
That same year, Jack embarked on a new adventure, and project called The Lifeboat Station Project. What started as an ambition to photograph the view from each lifeboat station around the UK’s coastline became a homage to the volunteers of The Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI). So far he has made over 2000 glass plates using, to quote Jack, “the highest resolution photographic process ever invented”. Each trip is an exercise in forward planning, as everything he needs has to be taken with him, and every step is an opportunity to mess up. There’s something very heroic about the images, the crews’ poses, and the project itself. Like many others, Jack had to put his plans on hold in March this year but it has meant that we’ve been able to talk to him at length. Jack describes himself as a picture maker and a storyteller, rather than a photographer, and this is quite a story. Jack doesn’t do anything by halves, and that includes interviews, so make sure you’re comfortable before we begin....
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up and what your early interests were? I read that you spent your first few years living on a boat, and you’ve talked about the sea being very much a part of your soul?
I had quite an eclectic and nautical start to my life. My Dad was a deep sea diver in the North Sea, so I was born in Aberdeen. He has a wonderful story about a helicopter collecting him in a 5 metre swell from the Blue Whale — the largest construction ship in the world at the time — and he was able to get to the hospital just in time for my birth!
A few months later, we ended up living on my grandfather’s boat — a 102ft Victorian ex-steam yacht called Amazon — during my baby/toddler years on the River Thames at Teddington. However, in the hot summer of ’76, the river became too dry and she kept resting on the bottom, so we moved round to Ramsgate harbour.
During that time, my Mum worked for Hoverlloyd as a stewardess on the awesome SRN4 cross Channel hovercrafts.
Apparently, when she was at work one day, my Dad took me on an errand across the harbour in the little rubber dubber. I was clipped in but, when he looked astern, I’d fallen overboard with my legs in the air and my head dangerously close to the propeller. He hurriedly picked me out of the drink by my ankles. The salty harbour water drained from my lungs, he sat me up on the sponson, patted me on the back and I gave him a big smile.
When my Mum got back from work, she immediately knew something had gone awry because of the badly-chosen combination of dry clothes that my Dad had dressed me in.
So, yes, the sea has very definitely been in me from an early age!
Fast forward a few years and I got into photography aged 8 (more on that in a moment), lifeboats at around 10 years old, kayaking aged 11 and dinghy sailing shortly after that. All the while, I loved Lego and railways too (big ones and model ones). These are all interests and passions that have stayed with me.
I’ve always been fascinated by how we react to abstract images, and how we seek to impose meaning on them. In a previous article, I noted how my own reaction to Marianthi Lainas’s images was to enjoy the intrigue created by the shapes and colours in the image and to use these as links or metaphors for ‘reality’. I imagined the beaches, trees, horizon lines that were suggested by the photograph. I had the same reaction recently when I came across David Maisel’s book ‘Black Maps. American Landscapes and the Apocalyptic Sublime’.
When Charlotte asked me to write an end frame I knew almost immediately which image I wanted to discuss. Wyoming, Train and Car is more documentary photograph than landscape, but for me, it epitomises the western USA. Erwitt is an American photographer of Russian Jewish descent, born in Paris and raised in Milan and Los Angeles.
When he took this photograph, he was 26 years old, a couple of years older than I was when I first travelled through the area in the winter of 1978. The first thing that draws my attention is the billowing smoke from the locomotive, then the locomotive itself, and the line of freight cars seemingly stretching to the mountains. On the parallel road sits one car whose design places the photograph firmly in mid-century. Some things had plainly changed in the intervening quarter century- freight trains were drawn by multiple diesel units, and the cars were more angular, but the landscape had not changed.
I first came across the phrase ‘Altered landscape’ in conversation with Australian photographer Christian Fletcher. He uses it to describe places changed by mining and quarrying. These range from quarry cliffs, cuttings, embankments, machinery and buildings, to mine workings, slag heaps, tailing ponds, effluent and run-off. Christian’s pictures are often aerials, often quite abstract and beautiful in colour and design. Canadian photographer Edward Burtynsky is another whose work addresses this theme in depth; his 2007 book Quarries, is one I have admired often.
So are quarries and mine sites the only altered landscapes, and if not, what other landscapes might be so characterised?
The monumental stones at Avebury date back to the Third Millennium BC. Their function and role in the landscape remain an unresolved mystery
Certainly, humans alter landscapes when they settle. For at least 10,000 years we have settled land having transitioned from hunter-gathering to agriculture. Anthropologists connect the arrival of urbanisation to the food surpluses agriculture provided. Villages, towns and cities clearly alter the landscape. Monumental stone buildings, in particular, require enormous amounts of material and huge human effort to cut, transport and transform them into pyramids, or temples. Altered landscape is by no means only a modern phenomenon.
Certainly, humans alter landscapes when they settle. For at least 10,000 years we have settled land having transitioned from hunter-gathering to agriculture
Under the slopes of Yr Eifl in North Wales are the remains of an ancient township, a site thought to have been occupied for several hundred years, following its settlement in the Iron Age. Composed of many building which were probably once turf-rooved, their walls seem to have been made from the scree slopes of the adjacent hillsides.
Yet modernity imposes itself more ruthlessly. Electricity pylons criss-cross our countryside, an alteration few of us wish to look at, but we could not do without them. Air-conditioned and centrally-heated homes and places of work, roads, railways, water supplies… all the conveniences of modern life amount to an anthropogenic alteration of the land.
In the UK agriculture is the greatest single territorial occupation and alters the land rather obviously when growing crops, especially with modern industrial farming. And perhaps more subtly, with domestic animals controlled by enclosure.
Folly Pond is a small pond, about 100 feet long, situated on the edge of Blackheath, South London. It was believed to have originally been a gravel pit, then was used as a watering place for horses travelling along the main road that passes close by. The road was once the Roman Watling Street, now the A2 from London to Dover. The Pond’s heyday was in the Victorian era when it was developed and turned into a boating lake, with paving around the sides. It has now almost returned to nature; the paving has all gone and the edges are now lined with trees and reeds. It has no natural water supply and is kept topped by rain with a little help from a mains water pipe in the summer.
So why are you reading about this scruffy little body of water?
The pond is aligned roughly East to West, with Blackheath to the South this means that there is interesting light on the water at the beginning and end of most days.
It’s within a mile of where I live, and it’s become a regular photographic subject for me. South East London has some grand vistas across Canary Wharf towards the City but not much for the landscape photographer. The pond can’t offer any large-scale views, but it has lots of interesting details, textures and corners. The pond is aligned roughly East to West, with Blackheath to the South this means that there is interesting light on the water at the beginning and end of most days.
The trees, reeds and other vegetation around the pond change with the seasons; providing a varied backdrop from sparse silhouettes in winter, through spring greens to warm autumnal shades.
For me the pond is a perfect anti-icon – nobody is going to come here to recreate the views, it sits just outside Greenwich Park, apparently too scruffy to be allowed in amongst the manicured lawns and tended flower gardens. The challenge in photographing the pond is that the images have to be created, the views aren’t there waiting for you.
The pond lends itself to experimentation with creative techniques; ICM and multiple exposure work well here. The reflections and shadows of the trees on the opposite bank, the textures of the reeds and grasses, the dark colours of the water itself all lend themselves to trying to create something a bit different. Because it’s near to home I generally only take one camera and one lens; one of the benefits of a local site is no fear of missing out.
The reflections and shadows of the trees on the opposite bank, the textures of the reeds and grasses, the dark colours of the water itself all lend themselves to trying to create something a bit different.
Water is always an inspiration for me; it adds more levels of abstraction whether it’s via reflections and ripples, movement that can be smoothed or highlighted or the way it responds to light and colour. Even a small body of water like this adds so much variety to the potential images.
One further source of interest is the light and shadows from the traffic on the A2; this is only a few yards south of the pond; the shadows of buses and lorries need to be worked around or worked with; as darkness approaches the traffic adds to the light.
The pond is home to a small variety of wildlife; feisty coots always seem to be looking for a fight. Mallard, Moorhen and Egyptian geese have made it their home, and the surrounding trees are often weighed down with murders of crows.
Some photographers are lucky enough to have beautiful grand vistas on their doorsteps, but if you don’t – or even if you do – try finding somewhere small and shabby near to home that you can visit in all lights, moods and seasons and experiment with it.
Being in "lockdown" (or quarantine, whatever you decide to call it), has created lots of time to reflect on the photographic practice of other photographers who inspire me. In particular, I’m going to share with you some of my recent thoughts with a comparison between work by Sebastiao Salgado and Guy Tal. I believe that not only is this kind of reflection, followed by deep introspection, a valuable process for all photographers but that there is a lot to learn from the work of others. I’ll be reflecting on landscape photography and its relationship to what has been termed the Anthropocene (or the current epoch where human activity is the largest impacting force on the planet). I have largely taken this article as a vehicle to explore ideas, almost a thought exercise, so please bear with me as I work through the complex (and inherently political) landscape surrounding photography, philosophy, introspection, and climate change; the following are, quite simply, reflections that I thought might be useful to others.
Sebastiao Salgado, Genesis, page 229
I see a slow polarisation happening within the landscape photography world concerning our interests in portraying human activity within images. The spectrum ranges from boldly including the presence of humanity (I think of Jimmy Chin’s images of climbers on the side of a mountain) to making images of complete wilderness with no human presence in sight (Ben Horne’s images of fallen leaves in the washes of Zion National Park come to mind).
I see a slow polarisation happening within the landscape photography world concerning our interests in portraying human activity within images. The spectrum ranges from boldly including the presence of humanity (I think of Jimmy Chin’s images of climbers on the side of a mountain) to making images of complete wilderness with no human presence in sight (Ben Horne’s images of fallen leaves in the washes of Zion National Park come to mind).
The ends of these ranges are often in reaction to one another; for instance, there is a fair amount of antagonism within the ‘fine art’ world towards the popular Instagram trend of a person in the foreground of a composition surrounded by nature. Social media as a cultural phenomenon has perhaps fuelled the exclusion of people for some photographers in a desire to focus attention on the landscape and vice versa. Landscape photography is primarily a visual medium so I’ve been asking myself how images can go beyond aesthetics to talk about the ideas that really matter.
I don’t think there’s necessarily a right or wrong answer here, merely different approaches to achieve specific artistic visions. No matter your philosophy on photography, most likely if you are out in nature making images you have a deep love for the landscape. Personally, meaningful photography always circles back to this, no matter the path is taken. So, let’s look at some more examples from both ends of the include-exclude spectrum in order to think about and expand these ideas.
Indeed, landscape photographs are often also the vehicle by which we share experiences of nature with others. This takes many forms (print, online, in person, etc.), but at its essence, it has the fantastic capability of storytelling. It can transport viewers into the image or take their imagination to otherworldly fantasies. Rarely (if ever) are images made without the intention of being shared. This is why I believe you cannot ignore the human element in the making of photographs; we participate in every stage of the photographic process, from capture to viewing. An image may not depict a person, but a part of the photographer’s being is held within it. Every viewer likewise brings something as well.
So, to me, the exclusion of people in photos is inherently a paradoxical phenomenon. There is always the photographer behind the camera and more often than not a number of viewers later on. Ansel Adams is often quoted, “the single most important component of a camera is the twelve inches behind it!" I understand this to not only mean the camera is just a tool to realise the photographer's vision, but that when I make photographs, I bring with me my personality, ideas, past experiences, and sometimes traumas. Even if I choose to photograph scenes of wilderness with little or no human presence, the very act of photography is a reflection of the photographer’s self. What I notice on a walk or an element I decide to include in a composition, is a translation of the human experience of being - perhaps even consciousness - into an image. An awareness of what we bring of ourselves to the act of making images is vital towards becoming a more intentional photographer and artist. We cannot escape the presence of humanity in our photographs as it is the only reality we know, but this realisation is actually a powerful tool for storytelling. Photography can bring our own story into relation with the story of nature.
Salgado Genesis, Genesis P368
Murray Livingston - Clearing in the Storm
One photographer who seems to practice an artistic self-awareness is Sebastiao Salgado. His long-spanning career has seen many twists and turns. I first encountered his photography some years ago when I watched The Salt of the Earth, a film following Salgado’s journey across the planet to create Genesis. This was his venture into telling nature’s story, an odyssey of the wildest places on earth and the peoples most untouched by modern society. I soon after went to see an exhibition of Genesis in London and was even more enthralled. What caught my attention at first was certainly his graphic black and white style (reminiscent in my mind of chiaroscuro paintings from the Renaissance I had studied in school). I have been excited by the abstract nature of black and white photography ever since, and there is no doubt Salgado has had an influence on this.
what have I learned from revisiting Salgado’s Genesis (7 years after its release)? Looking back, I feel as though my initial experience was quite naive. Nearly 5 years on, my perception of Salgado’s photography has changed dramatically.
So, what have I learned from revisiting Salgado’s Genesis (7 years after its release)? Looking back, I feel as though my initial experience was quite naive. Nearly 5 years on, my perception of Salgado’s photography has changed dramatically. Not only have I changed as a person, but I have been able to spend time with and meditate on his work. It now holds value to me beyond just its aesthetic qualities. Salgado is a master in storytelling, something I think all landscape photographers strive to be better at. He developed this skill through many years of telling the human story. His primary bodies of work prior to Genesis, Migrations & Workers, often focused on the most unpleasant aspects of humanity: war, famine, drought, genocide. Through hindsight, I can now clearly recognise the shift in Salgado’s thinking from his earlier work, solely focused on the human species, to that of Genesis where the entire natural world is taken into account. These reflections have deepened my understanding of his process and photography.
Sebastiao Salgado, Genesis, page 180
Salgado’s interests in recording the plight of humankind didn’t hold value to him anymore - indeed it was a source of great depression and despondency. To photograph only humans was to reinforce the story that we are above and therefore subjugate nature. Rather, the story that needed to be told was one which placed humans as a part of a collective natural order. This is the key philosophical change that I connected with all those years ago, even if I didn’t quite understand it at the time. It is a philosophical understanding I’m still pondering and learning from today; humans are the largest force on nature, but we are only one part of the system. It is within our power to choose the impact of our actions.
Salgado grapples with these complex ideas and the powerful imagery stands its ground aesthetically. Genesis does something extremely clever by not directly showing the impacts of the Anthropocene - the route Salgado’s previous work had taken. Salgado uses this tactic to build a photographic narrative based on nature before human intervention - i.e. places at the time of Genesis - and therefore tells the story of climate change without actually depicting it. The project asks the viewer to take a first step in the right direction: it places protection of our natural world as an imperative action. His photos give hope that we can foster beauty in wilderness (just under half of the planet according to Genesis). Furthermore, his inclusion of peoples relatively untouched by modern society speaks to a harmony rather than a division between people and nature. The 3 selected images here show how Salgado’s compositional and creative prowess is a result of his deep connection to landscape & nature.
Guy Tal - An Unlikely Convergence
Murray Livingston - Sandstone Cliffs Fynbos Tree
Guy Tal’s fantastic article and related images on photographing rocks for On Landscape, to me, sits somewhere on the other end of the spectrum. Simply put, Tal’s working thesis is that photographing the story of nature is of more interest than photographing the story of people. His writing explains that this is because the deep sedimentation of history within rocks puts plainly into view the value of the natural world, and therefore his interest. Rocks have been here for millions of years and will likely subsist for millions more, long after homo sapiens cease to exist. - a concept that Tal focuses his argument for photographing rocks on. A metaphor to illustrate this point might be to compare the length of human history to a single paragraph in a book of a few hundred pages.
More broadly, Tal speaks to the experience of wandering in wilderness surrounded by the history of nature, and therefore the world, and how this is utterly captivating and enthralling
More broadly, Tal speaks to the experience of wandering in wilderness surrounded by the history of nature, and therefore the world, and how this is utterly captivating and enthralling. However, what we cannot ignore, even if we take the approach of focusing on nature in our photography, is the impact that humanity is having on the very wilderness we seek to experience. Tal eloquently expresses his concerns: "I fear that future generations will judge us harshly for our failure to place proper value on wildness, diversity, open space, spirit, solitude, and other treasures of the natural world still available to us today. May they at least know that some of us tried." In a similar manner as Salgado, Tal doesn’t completely ignore the impact of humanity on the planet; he has made the conscious effort to not depict the very thing he is talking about. He relies on forming a deep understanding of place and landscape. His image above, titled “An Unlikely Convergence” perfectly illustrates this. Tal explains that "it is very rare for aspens, which grow at relatively high and cool elevations, to be found in the same area as red sandstone, which usually is found in hot desert areas, at lower elevations. This place is the only one I know where aspens can live among red rocks.” His images inspire awe and wonder for wilderness and thereby speak to the value of nature. To completely ignore the impact of people on the planet would be antithetical to the very experiences we cherish. If nature is something we love so much as landscape photographers, a primary aim of our photography ought to be to promote its protection.
These two photographers have developed very different philosophies and approaches to making images. In Salgado’s work, we can see the expansiveness of nature and its raw untamed beauty. His imagery is coupled to his thinking - telling nature’s story to a big audience. In Tal’s work, we see intimacy and beauty by looking closer and asking of ourselves deep questions about what we value in nature. To me, it is always a worthwhile exercise to critically think about how other photographers go about their work. I hope the appraisal of these two photographers has been insightful.
These two photographers have developed very different philosophies and approaches to making images. In Salgado’s work, we can see the expansiveness of nature and its raw untamed beauty. His imagery is coupled to his thinking - telling nature’s story to a big audience. In Tal’s work, we see intimacy and beauty by looking closer and asking of ourselves deep questions about what we value in nature.
I’ll share some final thoughts before concluding. We all have a desire for the wilderness. Landscape photographers, me included, often purposefully exclude human elements in our photos to evoke a sense of untouched wilderness within an image. Doing this is certainly helpful in evoking emotions in the viewer beyond the aesthetics of a photograph - of adventure, beauty, or primality. Perhaps ideally, we even try to photograph in locations where this sort of intentional cropping is unnecessary. I find that my experience of a place is a direct influence on the outcome of a photograph (one of serenity and peacefulness in nature will create an image evoking these emotions).
To create photographs of wilderness, or more importantly perhaps to experience wilderness and the natural world, is vital in so many ways, however somewhat paradoxical. Many of the actions we take every day - food consumption, energy usage, travel, photographic tools - are causing destruction to the very thing we cherish. Today, we can no longer deny the influence humans have on the natural world. Our actions have impacts on a global scale on the future possibilities of the planet. As photographers, we must deeply consider every action we take in order to preserve the nature that we love most. It must be that the duty of a landscape photographer is to preserve and enhance nature so that generations to come may experience the many wonders of the natural world that we are so privileged to be able to experience and photograph today. I do not mean to insinuate that humans have dominion over nature, rather that, as a part of the world’s ecosystem, the human species has the ability to tip the scales in one direction or another. The solution lies in finding balance with the natural world around us. To me, landscape photography is a meditative practice in searching for this balance.
Pure imitation of nature (even if it were possible) won’t do, the artist must add his intellect, hence his work is an interpretation. …. Never rest satisfied then until these requirements are all fulfilled, and destroy all works in which they are not to be found ~Peter Henry Emerson, 1889
In 1889 Peter Henry Emerson (1856-1936) published a book called Naturalistic Photography for Students of the Art1. Emerson is now well-known as one of the foremost 19th Century photographers, particularly in his pictures of rural Norfolk and Suffolk2, many of which show people working in the landscape.
Peter Henry Emerson (1856-1936), Frontispiece from the book The English Emerson3
The book is in part a technical handbook and glossary, in part a short history of naturalism in art, in part a guide to composition, but mostly a polemic for how to justify photography being considered as an art. It is also great fun to read, both because Emerson cannot resist expressing some pretty strong opinions (with some good quotable quips), but also for the way in which some of his comments relate to modern day mores in photography.
Although born and spending his early life on his American father’s sugar plantation in Cuba, Emerson was educated in England, finishing with a medical degree from Clare College, Cambridge in 1885. It seems that he first bought a camera to pursue his interests in ornithology, but only a short while later he was a founder member of the Camera Club of London, and in 1886 was elected as a Council Member of the Photographic Society (the forerunner of the RPS).
On The River Bure, from Life and Landscape on the Norfolk Broads, 18864
Around this time, he gave up working as a surgeon to become a photographer and writer. His images are often illustrated in histories of photography (especially Gathering Water Lilies, Gunner Working up to Fowl, Setting the Bownet). The illustrations here have been chosen to represent some of his less well-known, more landscape oriented, images from a number of his books5. His last book, often considered his finest, Marsh Leaves, was published in 1895. He was then only 39 but lived for another 41 years, and the whole of his published photographic work was produced in only a decade.
His last book, often considered his finest, Marsh Leaves, was published in 1895. He was then only 39 but lived for another 41 years, and the whole of his published photographic work was produced in only a decade.
The cover of Marsh Leaves, published in 1895
The Snow Garden, from Marsh Leaves, 1895
Emerson’s work is often grouped with the broad movement of Pictorialism in photography. This term was first introduced in the title of the book Pictorial Effect in Photography6 by Henry Peach Robinson, published in 1869. Pictorialism had a period of popularity in both Europe and America at the end of the 19th Century up until the 1920s and included photographers such as Robinson himself, Oscar Rejlander, Alvin Langdon Coburn, Edward Steichen, Gertrude Käsebier, Annie Brigman, Sarah Sears, Clarence H. White, Alfred Stieglitz and even some of early Ansel Adams work. Pictorialism was also popularised by the Linked Ring group in England, the Photo-Club de Paris in France and the Photo-succession in America. Common themes in Pictorialism were the aims of conveying atmosphere and mystery (often by the use of soft focus) and demonstrating evidence that the image had been made by the artist. Underlying the movement was the perceived need for photography to be considered as an Art, rather than as simple mechanical reproduction as it was often represented by artists in other media.
Pictorialism had a period of popularity in both Europe and America at the end of the 19th Century up until the 1920s and included photographers such as Robinson himself, Oscar Rejlander, Alvin Langdon Coburn, Edward Steichen, Gertrude Käsebier, Annie Brigman, Sarah Sears, Clarence H. White, Alfred Stieglitz and even some of early Ansel Adams work.
Rime Crystals, from Marsh Leaves, 1895
Emerson’s early photographs were in sharp focus, but he felt that this did not properly reflect what was seen by the eye. He experimented for a while with soft focus but again found it difficult to properly express a naturalistic style. In Naturalistic Photography, he argues on the basis of the science of vision that the eye sees only a limited depth of field in sharp focus at any one time and that therefore photography should reflect this to be more realistic and artistic. He did not, of course, use the word bokeh (which was only borrowed from the Japanese in this context more than a century later in 1996/7), but does refer to depth of focus in expressing what the eye, and camera lens should see.
In this, he was somewhat in conflict with the prevailing Pictorialist ideas of the time that art photography should show the effect of the hand of the artist. This was done in three main ways: by making prints that made use of multiple negatives (still mostly glass plates at this time); by the use of colour tints in printing; and thirdly by retouching negatives by hand, including the use of drawing and brush strokes. Emerson argued strongly against all these methods: “Retouching is the process by which a good, bad, or indifferent photograph is converted into a bad drawing or painting”, and he only ever published photos based on a single, unretouched negative. It has been suggested that when he found that he could not really change these prevailing views, he stopped publishing his photographs and concentrated on writing. But this time period also coincides with the introduction of film and more portable and affordable cameras by the Eastman Dry Plate and Film Company (which became Eastman Kodak in 1892). It is certain that Emerson would not have expected the standards of photography to be raised as a result. Perhaps he despaired of the more widespread use of photography by the uneducated (see below) already in 1895!
Autumn Floods, from Life in Field and Fen, 1887
Naturalistic Photography consists of three “books”, each containing several chapters. Book I is on Terminology and Argument; Book II on Technique and Practice (including a history of naturalism in art); and Book III on Pictorial Art. There is also an appendix on Photographic Libraries and Books7. In the 2nd Edition a written version of a lecture given by Emerson at the Camera Club in 1889, entitled Science and Art is included as an additional appendix. The text is unexpectedly preceded by many pages of adverts (for companies making different types of prints – argentic-bromide, argentic-gelatino-bromide, platinotype - and enlargements, for chemicals and photographic supplies, and for Ross and Dallmeyer lenses.
The book opens with a citation:
Beauty is truth, truth beauty, —that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. ~ Ode to a Grecian Urn by Keats
and Emerson writes: “We propose in this book to treat photography from the artistic standpoint. We shall give enough science to lead to a comprehension of the principles which we adduce for our arguments for naturalistic photography, and we shall give such little instruction in art as is possible by written matter, for art we hold is to be learned by practice alone.” He stresses this opinion strongly several times; that you need to be a trained artist to appreciate the aims and scope of photography as art. He himself, of course, had trained as a doctor, but from the text was evidently well read in the history of art (it seems he also pursued interests in billiards, rowing and meteorology!).
and Emerson writes: “We propose in this book to treat photography from the artistic standpoint. We shall give enough science to lead to a comprehension of the principles which we adduce for our arguments for naturalistic photography, and we shall give such little instruction in art as is possible by written matter, for art we hold is to be learned by practice alone.”
He also defines art as follows: “Art is the application of knowledge for certain ends. But art is raised to Fine Art when man so applies this knowledge that he affects the emotions through the senses, and so produces æsthetic pleasure in us; and the man so raising an art into a fine art is an artist. Therefore, the real test as to whether the result of any method of expression is a fine art or not, depends upon how much of the intellectual element is required in its production …. For this reason, everyone who writes verse and prose, who sculpts, paints, photographs, etches, engraves, is not necessarily an artist at all, for he does not necessarily have the intellect, or use it in practising his art.” Evidently, he was of the opinion that he passed such a test, but one can imagine how well these opinions went down with some of his fellow photographers. He does seem to have been rather combative by nature.
He also does not seem to have thought much of the work of many photographers. Indeed, he explicitly states that: “Of the thousands who have practised photography since 1839, and who are now dead, how many names stand out as having done work of any artistic value? Only three. One a master, who was at the same time a sculptor, namely, Adam Salomon; one a trained painter, but without first-rate artistic ability, [Oscar] Rejlander; and one, an amateur, —Mrs. [Julia Margaret] Cameron.” In respect of the latter he comments: “Among the few satisfactory portraits we have seen are, as we have already said, those by the late Mrs Cameron. In all of these, that fatal sharpness has been avoided; her focussing was carefully attended to.”
By this, he is not advocating soft focus as a means of making photographs as art. Indeed, he writes: “Some writers who have never taken the trouble to understand even these points, have held that we admitted fuzziness in photography. Such persons are labouring under a great misconception; we have nothing whatever to do with any “fuzzy school.” Fuzziness, to us, means destruction of structure. We do advocate broad suggestions of organic structure, which is a very different thing from destruction, although, there may at times be occasions in which patches of “fuzziness” will help the picture, yet these are rare indeed, and it would be very difficult for anyone to show us many such patches in our published plates. ”
But he equally argues against using extreme depth of field which he suggests should be reserved for the realms of scientific and industrial photography. He allows that these are perfectly good uses of photography in their own right but they cannot be considered art. “Much time and expense would have been saved had the pioneers of photography had good art educations as well as the elementary knowledge of optics and chemistry which many of them possessed, for without art training the practice of photography came to be looked upon purely as a science, and the ideal work of the photographer was to produce an unnatural, inartistic and often unscientific, picture. It is, indeed, a satire on photography, and a blot which can never be entirely removed, that at the very time the so-called scientific photographers were worrying opticians to death, and vying with each other in producing the greatest untruths, they were all the while shouting in the market-place that their object was to produce truthful works …… this “sharp” ideal is the childish view taken of nature by the uneducated in art matters, and they call their productions true, whereas, they are just about as artistically false as can be.”
So, to make the grade as art, Emerson suggests that photographs should not be too fuzzy and they should not be too sharp. They should, indeed, reflect the way the eye sees, focusing on a single plane at any one time. “As we said before, therefore, the principal object in the picture must be fairly sharp, just as sharp as the eye sees it, and no sharper; but everything else, and all other planes of the picture, must be subdued, so that the resulting print shall give an impression to the eye as nearly identical as possible to the impression given by the natural scene.”
to make the grade as art, Emerson suggests that photographs should not be too fuzzy and they should not be too sharp. They should, indeed, reflect the way the eye sees, focusing on a single plane at any one time.
Leafless in March, from Pictures of East Anglian Life, 1887
He goes further to suggest that the choice of lenses should also reflect the angle of view of the eye: “This proportion should be as two to one, that is, the focal length of the lens should be as a rough working rule twice as long as the base of the picture. We arrived at the result by making a series of drawings on the ground glass of the camera, and comparing them with a perspective drawing made upon a glass plate. Opticians have arrived at the same conclusion, for we find this is the rough rule stated by Mr. Dallmeyer in his “Choice Lenses”.” Furthermore: “If it be a commonplace photograph taken with a wide-angle lens, say, of a stretch of scenery of equal value, as are most photographic landscapes, of course the eye will have nothing to settle thoughtfully upon, and will wander about, and finally go away dissatisfied. But such a photograph is no work of art, and not worthy of discussion here. Hence it is obvious that panoramic effects are not suitable for art, and the angle of view included in a picture should never be large.” (Now he has upset me too – I have a goodly collection of 617 panoramas8!)
In terms of exposure, he recommends that these should be quick: “We have advocated quick exposures as absolutely essential to artistic work, and it follows, therefore, that in making quick exposures there is less liability of going wrong; so, the two, work hand in hand. He who exposes slowly misses the very essence of nature, and it is this very power of exposing so quickly that gives us a great advantage over all other arts…. if we see and desire to perpetuate an effect, it is ours in the twinkling of an eye, and thus in a really first-rate photography there will always be a freshness and naturalism never attainable in any other art.” But, on the other hand, not too quick: “And here we would state definitely that the impression of these quick exposures should be as seen by the eye, for nothing is more inartistic than some positions of a galloping horse, such as are never seen by the eye but yet exist in reality, and have been recorded by Mr. Muybridge.”
Broxbourne Church, an illustration from an edition of Izaac Walton’s The Compleat Angler, 1888
These recommendations are effectively a summary of using the science of vision to produce photographs that can attain the level of being considered as art. This is what Emerson considers as Naturalism (he notes that the term Impressionism has also been used: “although we think the work of many of the so-called modern “impressionists” [the painters] but a passing craze”). In his glossary Naturalism is defined as: “the true and natural expression of an impression of nature by an art. Now it will immediately be said that all men see nature differently. Granted. But the artist sees deeper, penetrates more into the beauty and mystery of nature than the commonplace man. The beauty is there in nature. It has been thus from the beginning, so the artist’s work is no idealising of nature; but through quicker sympathies and training the good artist sees the deeper and more fundamental beauties, and he seizes upon them, “tears them out,” as Durer says, and renders them on his canvas, or on his photographic plate, or on his written page.”
He thinks that:” Naturalism has been the watchword of all the best artists, and that, after all, there are but few artists in any age. Many painters and modellers and sculptors there be, but artists are few indeed”, and that: “It is, then, the absolute duty of every picture-buyer, who has any regard for truth, and any interest in the future of art, to learn to study nature carefully, and to buy only that which is true and sincere, and let the pink and white school of dishonesty die of inanition”.
He is also critical of other “art” of the time: “At the present day there is a craze for anything Japanese, but like all crazes it will end in bringing ridicule upon Japanese work; for their work, though fine for an uncivilised nation, is absurd in many points, and this stupid craze by indiscriminate praise will only kill the qualities to be really admired”, while: “Turning to Switzerland, we find no name worth mentioning; and here we would ask those who trace the effects of sublime mountain scenery on the character of men, why there has been no Swiss art worth mentioning? Of course, the explanation is simple—because art has nothing whatever to do with sublime scenery. The best art has always been done with the simplest material.”
Great Yarmouth Harbour, from Wild Life on a Tidal River. The Adventures of a House-boat and her Crew, 1890
One of the essential elements of Emerson’s Naturalism is the choice from Nature and he has some interesting thoughts on composition.
Book III, Chapter III Out-door and In-door Work, there is a section on Landscape. Emerson’s advice is, as usual, rather extreme: “The student who would become a landscape photographer must go to the country and live there for long periods; for in no other way can he get any insight into the mystery of nature.
He notes: “We could easily, as most writers have done, have given a digest of Mr. Burnet’s laws of composition9, but we have no faith in any “laws of composition.” A law, to be logical, must hold good in all cases; now the so-called “laws of composition,” are often broken deliberately by great artists, and yet the result is perfect. This is easily explained, for these so-called laws are mere arbitrary rules, deduced by one man from the works of many artists and writers; and they are no more laws in the true sense than are the laws of Phrenology or Astrology…… It is very specious to say that all compositions are made according to geometrical forms, for nothing can be easier than to take arbitrary points in a picture and draw geometrical figures joining them. The pyramid is a favourite geometrical form of composition. Now take any picture, and take any three points you like, and join them, and you have a pyramid, so does every composition contain a pyramid, as does a donkey’s ear. But enough of this. The student is distinctly warned against paying any serious attention to these rules …… We prefer, then, the word “selection” to composition. The matter really stands thus, a good naturalistic artist selects a composition in nature which he sees to be very fine”.
In Book III, Chapter III Out-door and In-door Work, there is a section on Landscape. Emerson’s advice is, as usual, rather extreme: “The student who would become a landscape photographer must go to the country and live there for long periods; for in no other way can he get any insight into the mystery of nature. All nature near towns is tinged with artificiality, it may not be very patent but the close observer detects it.”
A misty morning at Norwich, from On English Lagoons: being an account of the voyage of 2 amateur wherrymen on the Norfolk and Suffolk rivers and Broads, 1893
He is also very much against the idea of what we would now call photographic workshops: “Here let him be cautioned against taking part in any of those “outings,” organised by well-meaning but mistaken people. It is laughable indeed to read of the doings of these gatherings; of their appointment of a leader (often blind); of the driving in breaks, always a strong feature of these meetings; of the eatings, an even stronger feature; and finally of the bag, 32 Ilford’s, 42 Wrattens', 52 Paget’s, &c.” and against photographers going to well-known locations: “Again let the student avoid imitation. If he knows that an artist has been successful in one place, do not let him, like a feeble imitator, be led thither also, for the chances are, if his predecessor were a strong man, that he will produce commonplaces where the other produced masterpieces, and thereby confess his inferiority. It is far better to be original in a smaller way than another, than to be even a first-rate imitator of another, however great.”
Chapter IV in Book III contains some Hints on Art, many of which are worth quoting. To cite just a few, if only for their resonance with issues being discussed today (and by later commentators on photography).
Remember that the original state of the minds of uneducated men is vulgar, you now know why vulgar and commonplace works please the majority.
Be true to yourself and individuality will show itself in your work.
Do not be caught by the sensational in nature, as a coarse red-faced sunset, a garrulous waterfall, or a fifteen-thousand-foot mountain. Prettiness. Avoid prettiness—the word looks much like pettiness, and there is but little difference between them.
The value of a picture is not proportionate to the trouble and expense it costs to obtain it, but to the poetry that it contains.
It is not the apparatus that does the work, but the man who wields it.
When a critic has nothing to tell you save that your pictures are not sharp, be certain he is not very sharp and knows nothing at all about it.
Art is not to be found by touring to Egypt, China, or Peru; if you cannot find it at your own door, you will never find it.
The Misty River, from Marsh Leaves, 1895
So we can conclude that, according to Emerson, if you really want your work in photography to be considered as Fine Art, you really need to be trained as an artist, you need to be careful about your depth of field and angle of view being as the eye would see it (no focus stacking, no telephoto or wide angle lenses then); you need to live in a landscape for weeks or months to appreciate it fully; you should avoid all rules of composition, all workshops, well-known locations, and retouching (our post-processing). He also suggests that the artist should not take too many pictures: “the student of photography who wishes to produce artistic work must not hurry or over-produce. One picture produced in a month would be well worth the time and trouble spent on it.” Things have evidently changed in photography in the last 130 years, though there is, of course, a modern slow photography movement, some of whom still use essentially the same large format equipment – even if the idea of using camera movements now is to make the images far too sharp!). But to leave the last word with Emerson.
Here, then, we must leave photography at the head of the methods for interpreting nature in monochrome, and we feel sure that anyone who comes to the study of photography with a rational and an unbiassed mind will admit there is no case to be made out against it as a means of artistic expression…..It must not be forgotten that water-colour drawing and etching have both been despised in their time by artists, dealers, and the public, but they have lived to conquer for themselves places of honour. The promising young goddess, photography, is but fifty years old. What prophet will venture to cast her horoscope for the year 2000? ~ Book III, L’Envoi: Photography - A Pictorial Art
Except that in 1891, just one year after the 2nd edition of Naturalistic Photography, during a brief spell in London away from his barge on the Norfolk Broads, Emerson published a short, black bordered, treatise that was titled The Death of Naturalistic Photography10. In this he changed his opinion that photography could be considered an art form. There have been a variety of interpretations of this change, but it seems that the major factors were experimental evidence by Ferdinand Hurter and Vero Charles Driffield that there was a fixed relationship between exposure and density of a negative, changing Emerson’s belief about the value of controlled development to achieve artistic effects on tone; and also his readings in evolutionary psychology and human perception, particularly the books of Herbert Spencer. He also cites an exhibition of the work of Hokusai prints (in London in 1890), and “conversations with a great artist after the Paris Exhibition.” In fact, although his last books of photographs were published well after this, none of the images included appears to have been taken after 1891 and the appearance of The Death of Naturalistic Photography.
References
1P H Emerson, 1890, Naturalistic Photography for Students of the Art, 2nd Edition, E&F Spon, New York
2His first book, published in 1885, was called Life and Landscape on the Norfolk Broads and included 40 platinum prints. Many of his other books and prints were focused on East Anglia subjects. He spent a lot of time there, although based in Chiswick in London at the time Naturalistic Photography was written and published.
6Henry Peach Robinson, 1969, Pictorial Effect in Photography: Being Hints on Composition and Chiaroscuro for Photographers,
7In this Appendix Emerson lists (amongst other books on optics, chemistry, and photo-mechanical reproduction) the Treatise on Photography by Captain Abney (Longman); and the Science and Practice of Photography by Mr. Chapman Jones (Iliffe and Son). There was already a History of Photography by Mr Jerome Harrison (Trübner and Son); and a Traité Encyclopédique de Photographie, par Dr. Charles Fabre. (Gauthier-Villars, Paris).
8Some of which can be seen in On Landscape Issue 162 at https://www.onlandscape.co.uk/2018/06/reflective-photography-essence-place/
9J. Burnet, FRS, 1880, A Treatise on Painting in Four Parts, H. Sotheran & Co. London
On The River Bure, from Life and Landscape on the Norfolk Broads, 1886
The cover of Marsh Leaves, published in 1895
The Snow Garden, from Marsh Leaves, 1895
Rime Crystals, from Marsh Leaves, 1895
Autumn Floods, from Life in Field and Fen, 1887
Leafless in March, from Pictures of East Anglian Life, 1887
Broxbourne Church, an illustration from an edition of Izaac Walton’s The Compleat Angler, 1888
Great Yarmouth Harbour, from Wild Life on a Tidal River. The Adventures of a House-boat and her Crew, 1890
A misty morning at Norwich, from On English Lagoons: being an account of the voyage of 2 amateur wherrymen on the Norfolk and Suffolk rivers and Broads, 1893
For most of us, restrictions on movement during the pandemic meant a pause in our photographic endeavours, at least as far as the getting out and about a bit was concerned. Daily fixes on social media have come from the back catalogue, but for a fortunate few it was possible to combine exercise with image making. Benjamin has been sharing a daily dose of backyard stills and videos on Twitter, reminding us just how beguiling the water’s edge can be. Certainly, once we were told we could go to visit a beauty spot, many seemed to head for the beach; I doubt they interrupted Benjamin much, as the ends of the day lengthened. So grab a cup of your favourite brew and settle somewhere comfortable, as he has plenty of images and thoughts to share with you.
What would you like to tell readers about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do? This sounds to have been quite an unsettled time for you.
Stuff about me? OK. I’m all in favour of getting the least interesting bit out the way first. If I may, I’ll avoid the boredom of the typical curriculum vitae style and expand on the relevant parts. As you’d expect from someone of my advancing years though, it’s a mixed bag of experiences.
Basically, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away… I was born. Actually, I was born on the south coast of the UK, in Portsmouth, which, to be fair (back then anyway) was pretty much the same thing as being born in a remote galaxy; it was another freakin’ dimension down there and no mistake. But now, after four decades absence from the south, involvement in several entrepreneurial business activities - with changeable degrees of success - in a couple of places that I’ve variously called home, both here and in the USA, I’m lately back in the ‘hood, in Felpham, West Sussex and I’ll probably be here until I snuff it, which could be at any minute, as it happens; it would not be any statistical surprise if I dropped dead in front of you right now. Don’t want to get prematurely maudlin or anything so early-on in the interview but, you know, just saying… I might not make it to the end.
Never mind all that, Benjamin, you artfully obscure yet fiendishly fascinating fellow, what happened in between going away and coming back as a tog I hear you ask? Well, in a nutshell: I’ve had a couple of kids, a couple of wives, a couple of businesses and a couple of heart attacks. Like I say a mixed bag. Go back a long-enough way and you’ll unearth a mashed-up, buried old jamboree bag of manky family/school-system psychological treasures comprised of the typical childhood issues of ordeal, abandonment and loss that arise out of a dysfunctional family and peripatetic schooling. I’m over it now, thanks for asking (and, you quite rightly exclaim, I should blimmin' well hope you’d be over it at your time of life… geez…) but, you know, it’s all in there somewhere and so it’s had a bearing over time… I’m not playing the victim card or anything so crass, on-trend or risible as that; quite the opposite in fact. I don’t want to get all hippyish about it but there’s a wisdom that comes from unpacking and making peace with trauma… well, with all pain and loss, truthfully, childhood or otherwise. They say if it doesn’t kill you it makes you stronger and, for years, polemic contrarian that I am, I disagreed, favouring: if it doesn’t kill you, it makes you cynical… but I’ve come around generally to the veracity of aphorisms (like you do) and, you know, if you can purge the cynicism, it does make you stronger. And better. And wiser. Shame it doesn’t make you more handsome… But you’re not cynical any more so that’s a bonus that makes you a bit more beautiful on the inside. Or so they tell me.
Sunset from the summit of Mt Hoffmann, Yosemite National Park, California 1986
In 2006, Philip Hyde passed away at the age of 84. The community of photographers and nature lovers lost a true friend and pioneer. I count myself as being very blessed for having known him.
Many years before meeting Philip back in the early 1980s, I discovered his work in the Sierra Club’s famous Exhibit Format Series of books. His images opened my eyes, along with those of thousands of other photographers and wilderness enthusiasts, to the beautiful and endangered landscapes he had explored. He helped us see the great potential use that landscape photographs could have for environmental protection. Philip’s images spoke to me quietly yet forcefully of wild nature’s value and showed me the impact that hard work, dedication, and selflessness can have.
Hyde was the workhorse for the Sierra Club book series, providing images for nearly every battle of theirs in the 1960s and 1970s. When David Brower, the director of the club and creator of the book series, needed images to help preserve an endangered landscape, Philip and camera went to work.
Philip’s sphere of influence has expanded outward far and wide, quietly and profoundly. Hyde was the workhorse for the Sierra Club book series, providing images for nearly every battle of theirs in the 1960s and 1970s. When David Brower, the director of the club and creator of the book series, needed images to help preserve an endangered landscape, Philip and camera went to work. Books in which his photographs are instrumental to the cause of protecting endangered landscapes include The Last Redwoods, Slickrock, Island in Time: The Point Reyes Peninsula, Time and the River Flowing, Navajo Wildlands, The Wild Cascades: Forgotten Wildlands and This Is Dinosaur: Echo Park Country and Its Magic Rivers.
I recently tackled the arduous task of reorganising the galleries on my website. The most difficult part of the process was deciding what of my earlier work to include if any. It wasn’t so much a question of quality as one of deciding which work best represents the photographer I am today. After much hand wringing and back and forth, I ultimately chose to include some of my earlier work and exclude the rest, but I still feel uneasy about the decision and the question has continued to nag at me.
Like most photographers, there are distinct periods to my work.
There was nothing in my work to differentiate me from the throngs of other photographers. That all changed five years ago when I began to make much more creative, personally expressive work, an evolution that continues to this day. The question I have been wrestling with is, how do I regard the work prior to this shift? Do I ignore it or embrace it?
When I was asked to choose a favourite photograph to write about, I cast my mind back to the various photographers I admire and that have influenced me during my 35 plus years as a keen amateur. Ansel Adams, Joe Cornish, Charlie Waite and Freeman Patterson immediately sprung to my attention. More recently I have enjoyed work by Valda Bailey, Doug Chinnery and Sandra Bartocha amongst others. Each of these is very well known in the photographic community but my choice of Nel Talen may be less so, especially outside of Holland.
I first encountered Nel’s work through the International Garden Photographer of the Year competition. She was a finalist in the creative category with a very delicate, ethereal composition that immediately resonated with me. I took a look at her website and found an amazing body of work that intrigued and delighted. I could have chosen any one of many as a ‘favourite image’ and eventually settled on one titled ‘Fluitenkruid’ which translates as cow parsley.
The title may be simple but the image is full of depth and complexity. For me, it combines two potentially competing but ultimately satisfying aspects of Nel’s work, that of delicacy but also a darker, more mysterious, moodiness. The cow parsley provides the light, inviting aspect of the photograph, while the darker trees add an air of foreboding. Lack of detail in the background adds to the impressionistic feel while the softer tones of the foliage support the airiness of the cow parsley. It takes me back to childhood memories of nearby woodlands that my parents warned me about entering. Of course, natural curiosity overcame any fears and I discovered the joys of wandering amongst the trees and foliage.
Hello and welcome to On Landscape, I’m sitting outside in the sun with Andrew and Grant Bulloch who have driven up from Edinburgh today. They’ve been taking advantage of the recent spell of nice weather to do a little photography and also to be able to sit outside at a Covid safe distance to tell us a little about their photography.
Tim: Our readers may have heard of Andrew Bulloch before as you won the Youth Category of the Landscape Photographer of the Year in 2017. Could you tell me a little bit about how you got into photography and how you ended up entering and winning the category?
Andrew: Well, I got given a camera for my birthday, just a little point and shoot really. And then I went on a camping trip with one of our friends up at Loch Ossian. One morning we woke up, well, I woke up because everyone else was still in bed, and the Loch was completely calm and stunning. So I took out my camera, went down to take a few snaps and it was serene, so calm. That was pretty much when I first thought that it would be good fun taking photographs.
Andrew Bulloch
T: And being able to get up early in the morning is definitely a good asset to have as a landscape photographer. Not one I’m blessed with sadly. I imagine with a good result from your first photography you started to go out regularly?
A: Yes, because after we got back Dad said “Oh they’re quite good”, he was probably a bit jealous, and he entered it into the Scottish Nature Photography Awards and I think it got Commended, which I was surprised by considering it was my first shot at photography. After that we got out all of the time and take a camera everywhere just in case.
T: And your Dad is a photograph as well?
Grant: I’m not a full-time photographer, I’m an architect by profession and I have an architecture practice to run. We really started at the same time though. When I was young I had a camera too and I remember a family friend taking us up North to Skye, up the West coast to Ullapool and places like that. I remember also waking up quite early and going down to the water’s edge overlooking Gruinard Island, and those were the days when it was still contaminated with Anthrax, and it was 4am and I remember taking a photograph as well which I’ve only remembered recently.
T: Did you stop and then take it up again more recently then?
G: Yes, I didn’t take it all that seriously. I was studying architecture and had a young family and it was until really the same time as Andrew took it up that I decided I wanted to do this properly. I got a decent camera and eventually, I gave Andrew my old SLR camera. So we’ve been learning together.
T: So you’ve been out on many trips together I imagine. Is it mostly Scotland?
A: Yes, pretty much all Scotland.
T: When you’ve got it on your doorstep why would you not.
A: Exactly! It’s not far and it’s pretty much one of the best places you can got.
T: So where are some of your favourite places to go?
A: One of my favourite trips is when we went up to Assynt. I’d finished my exams quite early because they were all at the start of term so then I had a few weeks off while the rest of my friends were all still studying so we just took the car up and went for a few days canoeing near Suilven, camping and we walked up to the top to get a kind of sunrise, which never really happened, but it was a really good trip.
G: We ended up on Suilven by 10am in the morning I think and it took us three hours to paddle in against the wind and one hour to paddle back out again because it was so strong.
Andrew Bulloch
T: I’m looking at another picture from an urban environment, tell me about this picture of an Aurora in front of an urban skatepark.
A: Yes, that’s from Musselburgh, just East of Edinburgh and that was in March 2016 when there was a really big Aurora. I was actually in the car on the way back from Church and we could literally see the green in the sky, and that was against all of the city lights in the centre of Edinburgh. At the same time as I was coming back, my Dad was texting saying “Look at the sky! Look at the Sky!” so we both sprinted back to the house, got all of our gear and went back out to Musselburgh harbour to go see it away from the lights. Once we’d got a few basic shots of the Aurora on its own we remembered before that we’d photographed the skate park and it would make a good foreground for a shot and this was the perfect opportunity.
T: It’s worked out with a great alignment against the North sky
G: And that was taken on the old Canon and I remember that if you went up above 400ISO it was like taking a shot through a tea bag. But he got the shot that night with such a bright aurora and mine were just not that good.
T: This was the photograph that won the competition for you?
A: Yes that’s the one that won the landscape photographer of the year.
T: I read in your email that Charlie gave you a personal call?
G: I got the call first. We were Sainsbury’s pushing the shopping trolley and the phone went with an unrecognisable number and the person on the phone said “My name’s Charlie Waite..”. In those days I hadn’t a clue who Charlie Waite was, I had no idea about the photographic scene, I didn’t know all the big names. I can’t remember how he worded it but he said something like “Is your son in the vicinity?”. I’m looking around down in the isles to see if somebody is stalking us or something but eventually, he explained who he was and so I had to leave the trolley and go out the front to discuss it and arrange a call for later when Andrew was at home.
when you submit the photos for Landscape Photographer of the Year you do it in March or something and then you don’t hear about anything until October so he’d forgotten he’d entered it.
T: So you set Andrew up for his own call then?
G: Yes but of course when you’re that age kid’s don’t answer the phone so we had to persuade him to go and answer the phone when it rang.
A: The phone rang and my Dad just said “That’s for you!” and I was like “How do you know?”
G: Of course when you submit the photos for Landscape Photographer of the Year you do it in March or something and then you don’t hear about anything until October so he’d forgotten he’d entered it. So he came through and said “Dad! I think I’ve won something!”
T: So you got to go down to the exhibition at Waterloo
A: Yes and you get to see all the photos and that’s the first time I’d seen it printed. I got to talk to all of the other photographers there too. I’d never really been to anything like that before and we had Ray Mears presenting the award too
Andrew Bulloch
T: We’re looking through a few of your photos here and this is another competition winner from the year after I think. I think this must be of the Beast from the East hitting Edinburgh from Arthur’s Seat. How did you get up there first of all because didn’t everything end up shut down?
A: Well yeah it did but this is only 10 minutes walk from our house. I’d actually been up earlier in the day with my friends. We’d been up sledging in a complete blizzard. But then when I got back it cleared up a little so I thought I’d see if I could get a photo from up there. And just as we got to the top there was just a perfect clearing with a view of the next weather front coming through. You just knew it was going to hit at any second. We met another Edinburgh photographer, Graham Niven up there and his photograph of the same view also won Scottish Landscape Photographer of the Year so obviously it was a winning formula.
G: I quite like the fact that the area of white in the bottom right there is the top of Salisbury Crag and it balances well with the top of the storm which is dark and foreboding. When you see it quite large it looks like the background is out of focus but it just because of the amount of snow billowing around the city. It was incredible.
T: It just down the Central Belt for a while didn’t it?
G: He was off school for a week so he was as happy as Larry! Coming off the summit though there were huge snowdrifts, which is just unhead of in Edinburgh. Andrew was up to his waist and we had to pull him out.
Andrew Bulloch
T: The next picture we’re looking at is a sort of urban wildscape. A football field in the middle of nowhere!
A: Yes, this was on Eriskay. This was a rather wet Summer holiday in North Uist and one of days was just so dismal we thought why not just drive south to see what we find. This was at the point where we turned around and started to go back. We spotted the football pitch to play on it first as we had a football and I’m a keen footballer, so we had a wee two a side match, me and my Mum against my Dad and my Brother, I think they won, unfortunately.
T: Did you know the football field was there before you set off?
A: No, we didn’t have a clue. We just drove past and thought, “Wow! What a spot!”. There were sheep on the pitch and if you kicked the ball too hard it was in the sea.
T: It got picked up by FIFA did it?
G: It had already won an award and they had seen it from there, Scottish Nature Photography Awards, and it subsequently went on to win the Scottish Landscape Photographer of the year too. So they called and said “Hello it’s so and so from FIFA” and I’m thinking who’s FIFA? Is it a construction company? Eventually, it clicked and then after FIFA featured it, the BBC picked it up and then it became an article on the BBC website about the location.
Andrew Bulloch
T: This next picture of the Bowfiddle brings up a question of how you work together when you’re in the same location.
G: It’s inevitable that you’ll be pointing the camera in the same direction for many locations. We were just there two weeks ago where we were based in Findochty. We got up at sunrise hoping to get the sun rising through the hole in the Bow Fiddle. For this picture we were staying for New Year and the weather was terrible, absolutely howling. There’s a lovely little harbour down there and the waves would crash into the coast and explode over the harbour wall. We got some fantastic photos overlooking the harbour but every day we would look at the Bow Fiddle and say “Not today - no good at all” but one morning my wife and I decided to have a lie-in, not more sunrises. But the door slamming shut woke us up which woke my wife who looked out of the window and said “that’s Andrew, he’s heading off to the harbour, you’d better get up and chase him”. “Has he got my camera bag?” “yes!” Well, that was it, he might survive a dunking but my camera wouldn’t. I never did find him even though another photographer had seen him. On that morning Andrew had noticed that the corner of the rock had lit up and we realised it was worth another go. On the final day we went down and we were lucky with the weather. It was one of those moments where you think “this might be a good one” so I gave Andrew my camera so he could get the best possible result. We put a mark on the camera to indicate it was then Andrews photos from there on and this was the result. At the end of that morning we were just about to leave and I saw another photographer, Martin Devlin, was up on the edge of the rocks and he gave the whole thing a sense of scale, so I got down really low to bring some foreground in and it looks very different from Andrew’s shot. I don’t know what age Andrew was at the time, I think he was 14, but somehow he managed to set up my full-frame Nikon on the big tripod, on slippery rocks and get the ND filter in for a long exposure without breaking anything at all. I was quite impressed.
Grant Bulloch
T: So that photograph did quite well in the competitions as well didn’t it?
I think he was 14, but somehow he managed to set up my full-frame Nikon on the big tripod, on slippery rocks and get the ND filter in for a long exposure without breaking anything at all. I was quite impressed
A: Yes that one won the Classic View category
T: So that is really the one that everyone wants to win as well. It’s very competitive and I know a few people who have said they’d be happier winning the Classic View than any other category (apart from the money which makes a difference!).
So when you come up to Scotland are these dedicated photography trips?
A: Most of the time it’s just a family holiday that we try and force as many photographic stops into as possible. Much to the dismay of Mum and my brother so we have to be quick sometimes so we don’t get shouted at.
G: It’s difficult, especially when the kids are younger because you only have so much holiday you can take so we have to make the most of it. I think we’ve done quite well over the years though.
T: So where do you got out locally if you have the time?
G: East Lothian! North Berwick, Dumbar, the East Lothian coast definitely. We do a lot of urban photography in town as well. Just two weekends ago they had a stunning lightshow in Edinburgh.
Grant Bulloch
T: This next photograph we have another from the Islands I think. A yellow runway of flowers
G: Indeed - I don’t know where this came from. It was a school holiday so it must have been the start of July. We went up to Berneray for the day and walked right around the island. There’s a little community centre next to the car park where there was a discarded combine harvester in the field which was just random, sitting there, rusting away. Just behind it was this strip of yellow flowers. I just enjoy it because it’s the texture of the sky and clouds and the textures in the grasses. We’d missed most of the wildflowers so I don’t know how these appeared like this. If anybody knows how this happens I’d love to know.
T: And people can see some of these photographs at your exhibition coming up in Dundee
G: Yes in Dundee at the Dock Street Studios for the whole of September. We were offered the use of the gallery and obviously I just said yes and then thought what on earth have I done. It’s a large gallery and it’s going to take about forty pieces to fill it. Andrew had already had a couple of small exhibitions, one which was a celebration of his first few years.
T: Was this local to Edinburgh?
A: Yes that was at Winton Castle just out of East Lothian. Some very nice friends of ours loaned us the front room and we invited everyone we knew to come and see the images. You see things totally differently when you see them up on the wall, I’d only seen them on computer screens before. Suddenly it’s printed out and sometimes they look a lot better than you had thought.
G: It is interesting because we’ve had one or two that just didn’t work as prints. It’s strange how your perception changes when you see it on paper but some are just great. We sold about a third of the pictures in the exhibition over a weekend which was very good. We had some leftover at the end, as many do, so when the offer for the gallery in Dundee came up we said let’s just go for it and we’ll celebrate both of our photography experiences together.
T: How did you go about choosing which photographs to exhibit then? There are obviously a few obvious ones.
A: Yes there are obviously some that have won the awards and some that we already had prints of. But there were a few that had never been printed before and we wanted to see what they looked like. It’s great to see them.
T: Who is printing them for you?
G: Loxley are printing them but we haven’t got them back yet. I’ve been to sign some of them and some we’re only showing as prints hung from beams with bulldog clips but anything on the wall will be properly framed. All of the ones were showing unframed will be printed on a museum rough paper so it will have a texture to. It’s going to be tough in September as we’ve still got Covid to deal with. How many people will come we don’t know. You have to try though.
Grant Bulloch
T: This next picture of yours Grant is just around the corner. Coire Gabhail, the Lost Valley.
G: Yes, we came up for a weekend before lockdown, this was just the week before, and the idea was that we were going to camp but the weather was absolutely horrific. It poured down. I don’t mind the cold but the rain was relentless. So we managed to find some accommodation for the night and came back the next morning and none of the vistas were going to work. So we thought we’ll just concentrate on the water, the rivers, the waterfalls, whatever we can find. We actually set ourselves a little task of focussing purely on that, which is not something we normally do, we usually go out and just photograph what’s available. We don’t go out trying to work on a theme or a project portfolio.
T: You mentioned that this was inspired by the fact that the Landscape Photographer of the Year had a new Portfolio category, photographs with some connection?
G: That’s right. We don’t normally go out and think about competitions but the idea of a set of pictures was in the back of our minds when we were doing this.
T: So whereabouts was this taken from?
A: This was up the Lost Valley, just before you cross the stream on the top path where you can look across at the other side. I really liked all the little trees growing out of almost nothing and with waterfalls appearing everywhere. There were loads of different compositions you could find.
T: Will this be in the exhibition then?
G: This one will be and Andrew has one in with a different composition. They will work well on the museum rough paper as well. I enjoyed the day, it’s one of those compositions where the image just worked in the viewfinder. The colours just stood out and you could see the water dripping off every single leaf. It’s not my usual thing as a lot of what I do is quite simple but this is quite different.
T: Not many people photograph in the Lost Valley as well because the light can be quite difficult.
G: Andrew’s photograph had some difficulties with the light from the end of the valley where the grass stood out too brightly so we had to wait until it dulled down a little too much.
Grant Bulloch
T: and our final picture from Rothiemurchus
G: We had a weekend with just my wife and I, without any children. We went for a walk towards Lairig Ghru. It was a grey day with nothing much happening but I took all my camera equipment, I always do, and it was just beautiful. We didn’t quite make it as far as Lairig Ghru as it was cold and windy. So we turned back and it was just about half an hour back through the forest and there was just a glimmer of sunlight and I thought ‘this is it’. This was where we stood at the time and I didn’t even have time to get the tripod out, it was just a case of grab the camera. I did a focus stack but did it hand held, focussed on the tree in the distance, took a photograph focussed on the near tree. It was good enough. I like the soft light and although I’m not one for misty, soft tree photos, I like this, the colours, the softness of the forest floor. And again, this is one that should look great on the textured paper because of the pastelly colours.
T: Andrew, I know you’re off to University next year, do you have plans to travel for photography?
A: We did actually have plans to visit the Faroe Islands in May, just before the Coronavirus locked down the country, but obviously that hasn’t happened.
T: Where are you going to University then?
A: I’m going to be in Edinburgh but I’m hoping I’ll still be able to get out and do some photography at the weekends etc. It’s all online so I could do the course from anywhere!
T: You could do it from the Highlands then! Is all of it online now?
A: Most of it is going to be online but tutorials, etc will be face to face.
T: You’ve been very successful with your photography over the past few years, what plans do you have going forwards?
A: I don’t have any concrete plans as such, I’m just concentrating on the exhibition in Dundee.
T: So tell me a bit more about the exhibition
A: It’s running from the 3rd to the 26th of September
G: There’s a kind of private view on Saturday the 5th in the morning but because of COVID we have to have bookings so there’s an Eventbrite page you can book on. Andrew and I will be there on the 5th. The gallery is only open three days a week, Thursday Friday and Saturday but on the 12th we are also holding a couple of events. We’re trying to celebrate the subject of young photographers and families who photograph together so we’re having a family photo walk around Dundee. The idea is that kids will come along with parent or parents and a camera or phone and we’ll talk a bit about the photographs in the gallery and what he’s done and then they’ll go around the city with two or three suggested venues, the V&A, Discovery or Docks area for instance, and we’ll have people at those venues to help if they need any. Then we’ll all come back to the gallery, download their favourite photo from the day and we’ll print it out, put it on the wall and talk about it. I want them to say why they like the photo, we’ll say why we like it etc. We’re hoping it will just encourage young people to take part in photography just like Andrew has been encouraged by Charlie Waite or the Scottish Nature Photography Awards people who were absolutely fantastic.
T: We’ll include all the details in the magazine and hopefully you’ll have some of our readers visiting. Many thanks for coming today!
The exhibition is called Norðurland <Northlands> after the northern landscapes of both Scotland and Iceland. The venue is the Dock Street Studios, 10 Dock Street, Dundee DD1 4BT.
Dates: 3rd to 26th September, open Thursday to Saturday, 10am to 3pm
Private View: Saturday 5th September 10am to 1pm by booking only.
There is also a Family Photowalk on Saturday 12th from 12.30 to 3pm. A chance for kids to join the artists in the gallery, before going out on a photowalk round the city centre. Bring back your favourite photo, tell us why you like it and we’ll tell you why we love it too! Every participant will have their best photo hung in the gallery and can take it home after the exhibition closes. Kids are to bring a camera or mobile and an adult!
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios consisting of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
Keiss Castle is perched precariously on eroding cliffs just outside the village of Keiss, it is a popular subject and living locally if I just want to go out for a few hours or less it's my goto place. It's constantly changing with it getting light almost all year long and the weather is generally on the stormy side but it can be calm. These are just a selection that cover these conditions and talen within the same 50 yards.
Ribeira da Palha (Straw stream) is a small lagoon just a few miles western from Pateira de Fermentelos, which is the largest natural lagoon in the Iberian Peninsula. It's a beautiful place, ten minutes drive from the town of Aveiro, so is a place I often visit just for a walk or most of the time with my camera bag.
Stokksnes peninsula with Vestrahorn mountains is my favourite photo location in Iceland, probably because my first work noted at the international photo contest in 2013 made here.
Cliffs with snowy peaks, black sand dunes with yellow grass, and stunning lagoon are as if created for landscape photography.
When I travelled with a photo group, I never had enough time in this remote place. During my last visit in February, I specifically chose a hotel nearby and spent three days there. I was lucky – the weather changed several times, and I was even able to take a picture of the northern lights.
For this set, I picked up four vertical shots made according to one scheme. Having a powerful Vestrahorn in the background, the task came down to finding an interesting foreground.
I use to work with Projects, that is to say, working on a theme, a region, a pond, and so on. But as winter had just ended, things weren’t, unfortunately, as usual. We have to stay at home for days. A time suitable for looking for books in our library that we haven‘t read for a long time.
I found a book that seemed appropriate: Winter Trees, of Sylvia Plath. As I read the first stanza of the poem Winter Trees, suddenly, I saw the portfolio.
Once a new technology rolls over you, if you’re not part of the steamroller, you’re part of the road. ~ Stewart Brand
Thanks to our capacity for creative invention, technological progress has been part of the human experience in any age. It would be foolish to characterise technological progress as all good or all bad. The same kind of creative inventiveness has given us musical instruments and the guillotine, cellular phones and nuclear weapons, great novels and computer viruses. Creativity serves artists and scientists just as well as it serves bank robbers and corrupt politicians.
Just like it would be foolish to consider technological innovation as either good or bad without further qualification, it is also foolish to outright ignore advances in technology—to pretend they are not happening, or that they are of no consequences.
No matter how conservative or traditional we are, or wish to be, in our work, I believe that a proactive and rational approach to assimilating (or rejecting) new technologies is a better strategy than to be in denial of them.
Technology affects us whether we acknowledge it or not, whether we approve of it or not, whether we resist it or not. No matter how conservative or traditional we are, or wish to be, in our work, I believe that a proactive and rational approach to assimilating (or rejecting) new technologies is a better strategy than to be in denial of them.
A common slogan in the digital age in photography is, “you can’t fix it in software (or specifically in Photoshop),” implying that if you didn’t get everything “right” in the camera you have failed utterly to produce a usable or worthwhile photograph, and may as well discard the captured file (or piece of film). Not only is it a demonstrably untrue statement; it also treats as a fixed quantity something that is not—something that in fact evolves rapidly, in leaps and bounds—the capabilities of processing software. The myriad of sliders and checkboxes in most photo processing software in fact make it fairly easy to “fix” (at least to a degree) anything from colour and contrast to sharpness and filter effects, from qualities of light to dust specs on the sensor, from haze to aspect ratio, from exposure problems to optical distortion, and many more. I can’t count the number of times I revisited older images with newer software and was able to overcome and correct various flaws I couldn’t address at the time of capturing these images. As it turns out, there are in fact a great many things you can fix in software, and likely many more you will be able to fix in software in the years ahead.
For the third iteration of this column, I really wanted to feature the work of Anna Morgan, a landscape photographer from the United Kingdom living in British Columbia, Canada. I admire Anna’s photography because of how it can evoke powerful emotion in such quiet presentations of colour and subject. Like most photographer’s work that I find myself admiring, I adore how her photography does not depend upon location nor conditions to portray interest, emotion, and mood. While Anna’s work does occasionally focus on locations that have been photographed a great deal by other photographers, she does so in a way that feels unique to her vision and way of seeing the world. In much of her photography, I get the sense that the subject is much deeper than a collection of simple objects in nature, rather, each image asks the viewer to reflect deeper within oneself to find something more.
Take, for example, her images of the desert, especially those taken in Death Valley National Park – for me they convey a sense of solitude, longing, peace, and silence – all things I greatly crave in my own daily life. Viewing these images instantly relaxes me and forces me to take pause and consider the actual weight of things going on in my life. These images help me put things in perspective and provide solace through photography. This is an example of something that I think that a great landscape photographer can do through their images – produce an emotional reaction beyond the obvious and ordinary postcard photo “oohs and ahhs.”
Another aspect of Anna’s photography that I really enjoy is
Anna seems to take it to the next level in her simple and creative presentations of these natural areas, again, not by relying upon saturated colour, but instead relying on simplified composition, creative presentation, and soft quieter light.
seeing how she is able to photograph smaller details of larger scenes and use colour, lines, shapes, and careful composition to portray simplicity and order in a world filled with complexity and chaos. As someone who enjoys trying to take photographs like this myself, I find it incredibly difficult to find and arrange elements in a smaller scene in these ways and so I am always in admiration of those like Anna who can do it with such ease and success. Each image seems masterfully composed to include and exclude just the right things in order to tell a story or convey an emotional connection to a place or natural scene.
The video that Jane Fulton Alt created of the artist made book ‘The Burn’ still makes quite an impact, and quickly prompted Editor Tim Parkin to buy the published edition which he reviewed in On Landscape in 2014.
Much of Jane’s work evolves around cycles of life; whether we recognise it or not photography is both a response and an antidote for us all to personal circumstances as well as those that impinge upon our existence. This year more than ever seems like a good time to find out a little more about Jane’s photography.
Would you like to start by telling something about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do as a career?
I grew up in a suburb of Chicago. My parents were art collectors and probably my favourite high school class was art history. I graduated from the University of Michigan and the University of Chicago in the School of Social Service Administration. I worked as a clinical social worker as I raised my three children.
When my youngest child began grammar school, I began taking art classes at a local art centre. I was initially captivated by photography because I had an amazing teacher, Richard Olderman. He was a seeker of the meaning of life and brought his students along with him. The camera soon became a tool for more fully expressing my innermost concerns.
What kind of images did you initially set out to make? You’ve talked about learning the ‘poetry of photography’ which I think is a rather nice way to describe it.
I remember the exact moment in the darkroom when a friend turned to me and said, “I think you finally understand photography.” The content of the image was my daughter walking on a stone pathway in a garden. It was all about light, shadow and mystery. My contact sheets are like a daily diary. They serve as my “stream of consciousness” and guide me to the next body of work. My earliest photographs were of my family.
Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you, or driven you forward in your own development as a photographer?
I love the pictorial qualities of Julia Margaret Cameron and the minimal, abstract qualities of Edward Weston’s peppers. Sally Mann’s Immediate Family and What Remainsportfolios have been inspirational. Southern photographer Debbie Flemming Caffery’s portraits of the south led to a solo workshop with her in Louisiana, which was life changing.
I have recently turned to the work of many painters, including Kandinsky, Matisse, Miro and Klee. And I love the poetry of Mark Strand, Wendell Berry and Mary Oliver, to name a few.
Metaphor has played an important role in my work and landscapes have been a good subject matter for the life cycles of all living things.
To a casual observer, your focus has shifted from responding to natural and man-made disasters, to an apparently quieter emphasis on the landscape. But even if it is not obvious, our presence is always felt, and the line commonly drawn between genres, what is and what isn’t landscape, is a largely artificial one?
Landscape photography can be widely interpreted. I have never really thought of my work as fitting into any one category. I tend to be drawn toward social issues and the natural world.
Metaphor has played an important role in my work and landscapes have been a good subject matter for the life cycles of all living things. I am currently working on the “landscape” of decomposing food. My eye sees the compost in the same way it sees a sprawling landscape. It is about content, form and light.
Would you like to choose 2-3 favourite photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about why they are special to you?
Burn No. 2
The photograph of the monarch butterfly above the fire, Burn No. 2, can be widely interpreted. It can reference any threat, including climate change, the world wide pandemic or the current unrest in the US. It is one of the few images I have deliberately manipulated and still holds a “staying power” for me.
Burn No.91
Burn No. 91, which is the placed in the centre of The Burn book is another important photograph. While immersing myself in the controlled burns, I focused more on the smoke and was, frankly, terrified of the violence of the raging fires. My sister passed away from ovarian cancer on November 18, 2014. The following day I made this photograph, with no reservation what so ever, confronting the acute the pain I was experiencing from the loss.
Burn No.98 Falling Ash
And finally, the falling ash photograph, Burn No. 98, is a favourite. I love this photograph for its pure abstract qualities of the ash falling through the air. The circumstance under which it was created is also significant.
I love this photograph for its pure abstract qualities of the ash falling through the air. The circumstance under which it was created is also significant.
That particular day, before I went out to shoot, I had decided it would be my last day photographing controlled burns…and then this photograph happened. It was a good reminder of impermanence and the infinite possibilities contained in a subject matter. There are often new and unexpected gifts that arrive at our doorstep when we least expect them.
Has it been important to let themes develop, for things and places to get under your skin, rather than to actively chase them?
I just listened to a podcast from the wonderful photographer Cig Harvey and she stated, “You can’t think your way into a body of work.” This has certainly been true for me. The work seems to find me. I have trust and faith in the camera and in my intuition.
Looking at the images in Water Works, it would be easy to think that they are about subject and form. But how much is about the fact that we are of and from water, and that you were in and on it to make them?
Immersing oneself in the environment has always been an important aspect in creating photographs and has helped me to find the essence of the subject. Deep familiarity with the subject is central to making a good photograph.
I was dipping into your archived blog posts. In “Judging ourselves and the Creative Process” you talked about the need to go inward rather than outward. It made me wonder whether in seeking validation, whatever form that may take (social media, competitions, portfolio reviews, etc.), photographers are heading in the wrong direction if they want to create individual work. Do we bring ourselves, and our work, into the light too soon?
I think the idea of “trying to make it” and seeking validation can be an interference, as the focus is pleasing someone else or feeding the ego. The work can get diluted and feel less authentic. It is best to work from the centre and trust your own voice.
I think the idea of “trying to make it” and seeking validation can be an interference, as the focus is pleasing someone else or feeding the ego. The work can get diluted and feel less authentic. It is best to work from the centre and trust your own voice.
I also think that not having gone on for an advanced degree in photography has served me well. I already had a profession and was just using the camera to try to better understand my life. I didn’t have expectations or care about making it…I just wanted to better understand my life through the lens of my camera.
I have thought a lot about what is happening in the world with the pandemic and climate change. I have learned so much about nature by just observing. The Burn has taught me so much about life cycles. Those images of regenerative destruction have a personal significance - I photographed my first burn within the space of a few days when my first grandchild was born and my sister began a course of chemotherapy - yet they constitute a universal metaphor: the moment when life and death are not contradictory but are a single process to be embraced as a whole. With this understanding, I can’t help but wonder if what is happening now is nature trying to self-correct, a cleansing so to speak, just like in the fires. I suppose this opinion necessitates taking a longer view of the very nature of existence.
Have you been moved to respond photographically to the pandemic?
As I mentioned, I photograph every day, wherever I am. My current circumstances are challenging and unexpected.
The act of photographing, searching for the light, always calms my mind. Many of the subjects I have photographed have been demanding, but the camera has been my faithful companion in facing these challenges.
I am surrounded by my grandchildren and am embedded in with daughter’s family without my studio. There is minimal quiet time so I try to go on solo walks when I can. I have found my wild place not far from the house and am finding myself continuing to focus on the primordial muck of life…contained in the swamp of decomposing food.
What has your photography allowed you to do that you haven’t been able to do through your social work?
They are two very different endeavours. My clinical social work profession focused on helping others.The photography was solely for me, addressing my inner life. Early on I began contemplating man’s widespread need for love and connection, which begins the moment we are born and ends the moment we take our last breath. How do we enter and exit the world? This exploration has been ongoing and the camera has been an invaluable tool, serving as a visual manifestation of those concerns.
Many of the situations that you’ve encountered have been challenging. What have you found to quieten the mind and to allow you a degree of simplicity?
While making photographs I often enter into a state of meditation. The act of photographing, searching for the light, always calms my mind. Many of the subjects I have photographed have been demanding, but the camera has been my faithful companion in facing these challenges.
What have you been working on recently? Do you have any particular projects or ambitions for the future or themes that you would like to explore further?
It has been a very bumpy year. My husband passed away last fall, the pandemic arrived and we have had 3½ years of turmoil in the US. I am always looking for the light, and given the challenges of today, it has become even more urgent. We all need more beauty in these times of chaos and darkness. My hope is to continue to focus on the mystery and beauty of life.
If you had to take a break from all things photographic for a week, what would you end up doing? What other hobbies or interests do you have?
I’m currently knitting, quilting, and making cyanotype masks for my family. I would love to delve into making sculptural objects from the natural world. I love to work with my hands.
And finally, is there someone whose photography you enjoy – perhaps someone that we may not have come across - and whose work you think we should feature in a future issue? They can be amateur or professional.
Do you want to create drama in your images? Let dark tones dominate. Are you keen to capture your viewers' attention? Let shadows do the heavy lifting. Do you want to inject mystery into your images? Allow swathes of darkly toned negative space to fire-up your viewers’ imagination.
Forgive me for hammering home my point. It is no accident that dominant shadows in an image encourage the viewer to imagine what might be lurking within them. Dark images can elicit a vicarious emotional response, heightening our senses and engaging us to imagine tension, isolation or a sense of danger.
Sunlight in the darkness Iceland
Unconsciously, we are drawn into the narrative of the image. We become totally engaged in the vision of the photographer. The response to black in an image is not restricted to negative emotions. Black has other connotations that can engage us in a positive way. Excitement, mystery, anticipation and intrigue can compel viewers to actively engage with an image.
Unconsciously, we are drawn into the narrative of the image. We become totally engaged in the vision of the photographer.
It is perhaps no accident that film directors such as Ridley Scott have so successfully used darkness to create uniquely compelling dystopian movies such as Blade Runner. Similarly, Don McCullum’s early landscapes of a post-industrial northern England and more latterly his bleak winter landscapes around his home in Somerset, use dark tones and shadows to create a powerful sense of drama and tension.
As a hillwalker and backpacker who seeks images in wild mountain landscapes, I’ve long believed that these journeys fall into one of two categories – image first, or adventure first. Put another way, what is the main objective? If you’re heading out there looking for specific images, chances are that everything else is secondary to that goal. You’re carrying more photographic gear, and once you have the images you want it’s probably time to head home. Adventure-first trips, by contrast, are all about the experience of being out in the wild, and any images you create are a nice bonus. You’re probably carrying less gear and you might not care if conditions are less than perfect.
For the last few years, I’ve been firmly in the second camp. My trips have been lightweight and ambitious, usually carrying the bare minimum of camera kit; if you put yourself in the path of adventure often enough, and if the adventures are good enough, the images will come. So, the theory goes. Though there’s some truth in it, I’d long been curious to see if there might be room for a middle path. Could I combine slow, thoughtful, previsualised landscape photography with a big winter mountain journey?
The plan
When a gap in my calendar coincided with a stunning forecast in early March 2020, I decided to see if I could have my cake and eat it too.
I wanted to head deep into the Cairngorms to one of the places I’d longed to photograph in winter for many years; the Loch A’an Basin. The route I’d planned was ambitious for winter, at over 30 miles in length and crossing three Munros – doubly ambitious with such deep snow cover.
I wanted to head deep into the Cairngorms to one of the places I’d longed to photograph in winter for many years; the Loch A’an Basin. The route I’d planned was ambitious for winter, at over 30 miles in length and crossing three Munros – doubly ambitious with such deep snow cover. I’d need snowshoes and winter camping gear, which would result in a heavy pack. Additional lenses, tripods, filters and other photographic items would add to my burden.
I knew what I wanted. There were two views in particular: a shot looking directly along the frozen length of Loch A’an to the dramatic Shelter Stone Crag from the slopes of A’ Choinneach, and a dawn image of the Shelter Stone Crag, Hell’s Lum and the Stag Rocks from Beinn Mheadhoin. The first would require a telephoto lens, the second a moderate wide-angle. There were a few other images I was looking for as well, including one in Rothiemurchus forest and – if conditions behaved themselves – an image of the Belt of Venus illuminating Stob Coire Sputan Dearg.
My bag, when packed, looked gigantic. The weight was nothing short of appalling. I felt tempted to abandon plans for intentional landscape photography and stick to the run-and-gun approach I knew best, but another look at the forecast convinced me; this was as good a chance as I’d ever get.
A walk through the woods
It started with a walk up through Rothiemurchus to Glenmore, where I’d arranged to meet my friend Chris Townsend. Although I’d done this walk several times before, there’s always something new to see in the forest and I took my time on the clear paths between the trees, always on the lookout for potential images. Opportunistic snaps aside, my chance for something a bit more studied came at a ford. I took my time setting up the tripod and spent fifteen minutes experimenting with light, form, movement, and composition. It was time well spent. I came away with an image that pleased me – nothing spectacular, but closer to what I was looking for than I’d have managed without those extra minutes of study and contemplation. I resisted the urge to look at my watch and feel bad about my slow progress. This was what I wanted. Above me, a perfect snowline reflected bright sunlight.
A ford in the forest
‘I’ve lived here for thirty years, and I never tire of the place,’ Chris said to me a few hours later as we walked up through regenerating pine forest to Ryvoan Pass. ‘There’s always something new to see.’
The drama of the Cairngorms is a flighty thing; in the right conditions there’s nowhere in Scotland with such presence, such majesty, but in the wrong conditions they can seem almost without scale, lending a flatness to views.
We camped beside the River Nethy, at a flat spot with good views into the Cairngorms where the thin snow cover had partially melted away. I’d originally planned a high camp up on the plateau for that first night. We hadn’t managed to walk as far as I’d hoped that afternoon, but as we wound down from the day’s walk and pitched our tiny backpacking tents beside the river in the deepening evening chill, I didn’t really mind.
A view along Loch A’an
Overnight, the temperature dropped to -2.5 degrees C – enough to firm up the snow outside my tent and add a delicate tracery of frost to the inside as I brewed coffee and warmed up. Dawn painted brushstrokes of extraordinary pastel colours over half the sky.
Our ascent of Bynack More was easier than expected in the deep snow thanks to the snowshoes we both carried. The glare from sunshine soon became strong enough that we needed sunglasses, and I began to worry that the light would be poor for landscape photography as more and more of the wispy high-level cloud seemed to be dissipating. The drama of the Cairngorms is a flighty thing; in the right conditions there’s nowhere in Scotland with such presence, such majesty, but in the wrong conditions they can seem almost without scale, lending a flatness to views. Good light and detail in the sky are needed to bring out the best in the Cairngorms.
I felt more hopeful as we neared the summit ridge. More cloud had started to blow in, but not too much. The sun had melted off some of the snow on the rocks, but deep sculpted drifts filled every hollow and scoop. Above, the mountain’s ridge rose in a bulky crest to the 1,090m summit where I knew there were excellent views into the heart of the Cairngorms. The landscape was coming to life.
Into the heart of the Cairngorms from the summit of Bynack More
I said goodbye to Chris at the base of the summit ridge. He had things to do later that day, and decided to return home via a different route. Meanwhile, I headed on up, soon swapping snowshoes for crampons as the angle steepened and the snow hardened. An ice axe was needed here too. I kept my camera in its bag until I reached the top. The views from the summit were magnificent and far-reaching, and I changed lenses to capture interesting details on distant mountains. Clouds were swirling over the peaks around Loch A’an now – where I was heading next – and I knew that if I were patient, I’d get the images I was looking for.
Spot the distant figures
Snowshoes back on for the descent from the summit, I crossed a broad plateau of unbroken snow and navigated to the subsidiary top of A’ Choinneach where my planned view unfolded in full. Clouds boiled dramatic and dark over the Shelter Stone Crag 5km to the south-west. Loch A’an itself was completely frozen over and covered in deep snow. Everything I’d imagined had all come together: a foreground of exposed rocks, a layered view with depth and grandeur, and a sky to match. Despite being early afternoon, the light – high-key yet with a soft quality over the summits – worked for me. I captured my image and continued on my descent towards the frozen shores of the loch.
Everything I’d imagined had all come together: a foreground of exposed rocks, a layered view with depth and grandeur, and a sky to match. Despite being early afternoon, the light – high-key yet with a soft quality over the summits – worked for me.
One of the images I’d come for, looking along the length of Loch A’an
A night on the plateau
Thanks to the deep snow, the journey around the loch shore took a lot longer than I’d planned. I found myself spellbound by the intricate patterns in the ice at my feet. Wind, precipitation and freeze-thaw cycles had driven the surface of the loch into ridges and bands of entrancing colour and texture. It was an entire landscape on a tiny scale. Although the cliffs of the Shelter Stone Crag ahead were increasingly impossible to ignore, a wild Himalayan scene of cornices and couloirs, it was not the macroscopic that most interested me for now but the microscopic.
A microscopic Loch A’an landscape
Silence, stillness, and frost
I made it to the summit plateau of Beinn Mheadhoin (1,182m) about an hour before sunset. The pull up from Loch Etchachan (also frozen) had been exhausting. Although the temptation was to start scouting for images right away, I attended to priorities first; setting up a safe and comfortable home for the night, starting with finding somewhere flat to camp. With such uniform cover of frozen snow, I had almost limitless opportunities. My only challenge was creating secure anchor points for my tent pegs in the firm snow. As I worked on autopilot, I was dimly aware of glorious but fleeting light washing over the landscape.
By the time my tent was up and I could spare attention and energy for the landscape again, the light was gone and any opportunity for images with it.
I was disappointed. Arriving half an hour earlier would have made all the difference. Telling myself that I’d get up before dawn, I cooked some dinner and turned in for the night. The temperature was already well below freezing. I had a hunch it would get very cold indeed up here on the summit plateau.
At about 19.00, sensing the soft radiance of moonlight outside, I laboriously got dressed again inside my sleeping bag, pulled on my down jacket and boots, unzipped the frost-twinkling flysheet, and crunch-crunch-crunched out over the snow with my camera in hand. The starfield above failed to compete with the fading afterglow of sunset, or with the brash waxing moon. The silence and the isolation thrilled me as I stood alone in the midst of the vast subarctic plateau of the Cairngorms. Whether or not I came away with any more images, this was worth it.
The silence and the isolation thrilled me as I stood alone in the midst of the vast subarctic plateau of the Cairngorms. Whether or not I came away with any more images, this was worth it.
Getting what I came for
My high overnight perch on the summit of Beinn Mheadhoin
Waking up early enough for some dawn photography wasn’t hard, but getting out of my sleeping bag was. My watch had measured an overnight low of -7 degrees C. At 06.20 I was melting snow for coffee and by 06.45 I was in position with my tripod and camera. This time, I promised myself, I’d be ready.
Dawn glow over the summit of Cairn Gorm
The light was brief, but it came. After a fiery burst on the eastern horizon, pale and subtle colours lit up the mountains and clouds. The best of the light lasted no more than thirty seconds but I knew that I’d captured one of the images I’d come for; a long shot looking over Coire Sputan Dearg with the Belt of Venus glowing softly above. An hour later, after striking camp and beginning the walk back down to Coire Etchachan, I was treated to extraordinarily clear views towards the Shelter Stone Crag and over the plateau where I’d be snowshoeing out later that day. The photograph almost made itself, and ironically when I later came to process images this became my favourite from the entire trip. Previsualisation and planning had helped me to make the most of the excellent conditions, but there’s still something to be said for just being in the right place at the right time.
The Belt of Venus over Stob Coire Sputan Dearg
Cairngorms clarity
An incredible depth of snow in Coire Etchachan
A ford in the forest
Into the heart of the Cairngorms from the summit of Bynack More
Spot the distant figures
One of the images I’d come for, looking along the length of Loch A’an
A monochrome vision along the frozen shores of the loch
A microscopic Loch A’an landscape
Silence, stillness, and frost
Look down – there’s plenty of interest at your feet too
Dawn glow over the summit of Cairn Gorm
The Belt of Venus over Stob Coire Sputan Dearg
My high overnight perch on the summit of Beinn Mheadhoin
Cairngorms clarity
Looking south
A hastily revealed view in increasingly cloudy conditions
Three rules for life: Pay attention, Be Amazed, Tell About it ~ Mary Oliver
Years ago, my doctor told me that in order to avoid getting diabetes I would need to change my diet and exercise or begin taking medicine. Wishing to avoid taking medicine I asked how far I would need to walk. “Five Miles!” ……. Five miles a day? “Yes, every day!”
Well, what I thought was an enormous burden, removing an hour and a half from my twenty-four hours, has metamorphosed into an enormous gift. I started paying attention, fresh air, constantly changing weather, light, clouds, and seasons. I could not walk into the same river of life twice, the river changed, never the same. Then I began carrying a camera on my walks.
I would not set an agenda for what I might find and shoot, just set out paying attention and allowing some combination of elements to arrange themselves for a possible image. I often recall Mary Oliver’s three rules. The urge to bring the camera to the eye and record those elements has its ebbs and flows as focus and interests evolve. My challenge has been to edit my way through the 30 to 60 images I found that day. My telling about it is an expressive image.
Well, what I thought was an enormous burden, removing an hour and a half from my twenty-four hours, has metamorphosed into an enormous gift.
Zion National Park is not at our backdoor. It is three hundred miles south of our home in Salt Lake City, Utah. A six-hour drive. So, our trips there are intentional and last from three to seven days each. Every season of the year has its own rewards and beauty, spring greens, delicate and soft, deep green trees mid-summer, brilliant reds, yellows and greens in autumn and leafless trunks, branches and twigs catch the winter light.
Our recent visits have been during the winter months, January through March. Because the crowds are smaller, we are able to use our automobile to go to starting points for walks. Spring, Summer and Fall shuttle busses transport crowds up and down the narrow road at the base of the canyon that follows the Virgin River, the force that over eons has eroded and carved the place we know today.
A river runs through it. The Virgin River. It has cut through nine layers of soft sandstone over many thousand years, leaving a multi-coloured canyon that is sometimes narrow and sometimes wide.
David Ward has influenced my photography a number of times during photo workshops. When not finding appropriate subject matter while next to a river, he suggested that I look for the energy and force of the water. Another time I was resolved to make an image of an island in a lake when he asked if I had been to see the forest nearby. I was awakened to the forces of moving water and the wonder of woodlands after following him into the forest.
Among other elements that have caused me to see image making opportunities at Zion National Park have been the movement of the Virgin River and the woodlands among the towering sandstone walls of the canyon. The images here are selected from a larger body of work over three decades that we have edited into a photography book. An eBook version is available gratis at Blurb.com - Zion National Park, Utah, Colleen Smith and Wayne Bingham.
Cottonwood trees grow there and show lovely, soft spring green leaves as the season begins, and develop a deep rich green that contrasts with the dark red sandstone walls, then fall brings brilliant colours of red and yellow, again contrasting with the age-old vertical walls of the canyon. And in winter, shorn of leaves the naked trunks, branches and stems stand in stark contrast to the deep reds of the walls.
However, they almost disappear when the shade of the low angle sun absorbs them into the deep shadows. When conditions are just right, with no clouds, the sun’s rays peek above the canyon cliffs and touch the trees and they become luminescent and glow.
Cottonwood trees grow there and show lovely, soft spring green leaves as the season begins, and develop a deep rich green that contrasts with the dark red sandstone walls, then fall brings brilliant colours of red and yellow, again contrasting with the age-old vertical walls of the canyon.
I have wandered the trails along the river for miles during this wintertime wonder and been amazed at the different presentations of light captured by the trees contrasting with the dark red sandstone. A singular tree or clusters of them luminescent.
The structure of the trees is fully expressed, gnarled trunks leading to branches that go in all directions leading to small twigs, somewhat like an x-ray of the trees. This in contrast to other seasons where a trunk supports a green or red leaf laden mass. Larger trunks and branches are darker in tone than the smaller twigs.
For the past six years, I have been using Micro Four Thirds cameras and lenses made by Olympus. All of the images in this article were made using this equipment. I always shoot in the Raw format and organise utilising the database features of Adobe Lightroom, then develop further to meet my visual objectives.
I’ve asked myself why I am drawn to make images of these trees. No leaves, no deep, rich summer colour, no reds and yellows of fall. Naked they stand, aglow. Perhaps it is the subtleness of the wood catching light against the dark stone. It has been a challenge to get the exposure just right to service both foreground and background, the light and the dark.
Perhaps it is their dormant state having shed their foliage for the onslaught of winter storms, waiting to express themselves again come spring and summer.
It feels like the answer is a combination of both the subtleness of the naked trees and the promise of future growth that has brought me the satisfaction of making these images.
The sap has stopped running and will surge again when warmth returns, adding not only new leaves to what was, but growing new branches, thickening the trunks.
It feels like the answer is a combination of both the subtleness of the naked trees and the promise of future growth that has brought me the satisfaction of making these images.
Colleen and I never tire of returning to Zion National Park and it was on our schedule in March of this year prior to the Coronavirus pandemic. Cancelled, but will certainly be on a future agenda.
I have wanted to write an article about Robert Adams for some time. Not because I know a lot about him. On the contrary, it is because I know so little about him that I wanted an excuse to find out more. Since Joe Cornish and I recorded our discussion of Robert Adams’ “Beauty in Photography”, I decided there was no better time than now to do so. Firstly I needed to buy a few books to get an overview of his work. This itself is quite the challenge because he has been so prolific, having produced over 30 books in his career. I decided to purchase a range of books from early work to more recent projects. Whilst awaiting the arrival of these, I reviewed what I knew of him.
It would be difficult to argue with the proposition that all landscape is habitat.
Across the world, animals thrive and make their homes in every niche of the ecosystem. With wildlife film-making being the widely disseminated art form that it is, everyone is aware of the sheer variety and peculiarity of the natural world, evolved through time and adaptation. Now we are also increasingly aware of its fragility, usually due to habitat destruction, disturbance, and climate change for which we humans are mainly responsible.
My own interest in wild animals is strong, but my photographic endeavours with wildlife were almost non-existent until a trip to Antarctica in 2013. On this and subsequent tours, my role has been to give photographic support and lectures and to encourage a wider interest in the landscape. The majority of my fellow travellers have been wildlife enthusiasts, many of them capable photographers. Their patience and enthusiasm have encouraged me to observe and consider the lives of animals more closely.
With great trepidation, I accepted the assignment to do an End Frame for On Landscape. I agonised for some time over what image would be considered my favourite and came to the conclusion that there have been many favourite influential images for me over the years. One I remain enamoured with, as much today as the first moment I saw it, is Metamorphosis by Alister Benn.
Metamorphosis is a dark, brooding, image that is, beautifully composed and technically excellent, as is typical of Alister’s work. Looking at the image I think one of the things that grabbed my attention immediately is the exotic seaside location. Since my own home base has been the Canadian Rockies for many years now a dark granite channel on the coast of Cornwall is, to me, exotic. The very location exudes danger and I suspect is not a place you want to be in a storm. The water worn rock speaks of centuries of weathering storms and evokes the scent of sea. When I view Metamorphosis, I can smell the brine, decaying organisms, hear the roar of the sea and feel the ocean spray on my face.
Being as the lockdown has put a bit of a dampener on the concept of Passing Through, we've decided to go virtual and have a remote chat with Paul Gallagher about what he has been up to since we spoke to him last. He's included images from China, Norway, the United States and also from our own backyard in Scotland. We hope you enjoy some of Paul's 'shades of grey'.
Ensconced by high earthen walls and a canopy of trees for a roof, I wander through the ancient sunken holloways of Devon. These are powerful portals into deep time, where the echoes of the old world seem palpable. In my imagination around me are the wandering wayfarers travelling to find gig work such as apple picking in the cider orchards; wizened old farmers taking goods to market in a nearby town on their pony-driven cart; the noise of a trail-weary cloaked rider on horseback galloping through driving rain onwards to an inn with a roaring fire, hearty food and a tankard of ale; of pastoral priests, tinkers, smugglers and highwaymen who travelled these lanes for good or ill-gain.
Higher Bowden Lane, Totnes
Ensconced by high earthen walls and a canopy of trees for a roof, I wander through the ancient sunken holloways of Devon.
The holloways are home now, as through all those layers of time, to badgers, rabbits, hares and foxes with their complex conduits carved into the banks that climb upwards from the level of my path. It often amuses me to know that I walk below the height of some of their homes in these sunken roads. These ancient highways and byways that have been carved by rainfall and the footfall of humans, horses, bikes and vehicles over countless years. Bats flitter about in the twilight, as they frequently use these tunnels as part of their flight paths.
The etymology of the names of these lanes adds to the charm. Fischowter Lane for example in the Devonshire dialect means ‘a fish cheater’… as this was a lane used by the crews of sea fishing boats who used to unload some of their stock on their way back up the estuary and smuggle it up one of the lanes in baskets to avoid paying tolls at the quayside.
I don't know why I haven't talked to Frank Sirona more often as we both share the same passions for large format landscape photography and both have a rather intense technical approach to getting the best results moderated (hopefully in my case) by a pragmatic attitude that realises it's the visual result that matters most. Whatever the reasons, it's been very nice chatting with a like minded individual and he has given me some well needed motivation to finally get my darkroom finished this year. Thank you Frank!
Can you tell me a little about your education, childhood passions, early exposure to photography etc.?
As a kid, I always loved to spend as much time as possible outdoors, and landscape photography is a fantastic excuse for continuing that. My interest in photography though was sparked by a cousin who had pioneered a new approach to simulating architecture photographs. He used modified endoscopes which had originally been designed for medical purposes for photographing architectural models, simulating the pedestrian´s view of buildings not existing yet. This all was done long before computer simulations came up, and back then revolutionised urban development because for the first time it was possible to view planned buildings not just from a bird´s eye view, but from street level.
But in the end, it was a book from the Time Life series on photography in my father´s library which became life changing for me. In that book, there were two Eliot Porter images taken down in Glen Canyon before its tragic flooding which just struck me like lightning. Never had I seen before such a beauty in a photograph, and I immediately knew that I just had to visit that land of the canyons myself - and bring a camera. From there it still took me many years until my first expedition to the Desert Southwest, and even longer until I started to fancy large format photography. In the meantime, I studied natural sciences, and at a glance, one might think that a scientific perspective distracts from an artistic point of view. To my own surprise, I realised that the contrary is the case: with a background in life sciences you inevitably have a different view on the natural world surrounding us, and this opens one´s eyes for structures and phenomena which one otherwise might have overlooked. Actually it turned out that this perspective is a steady source of inspiration, and it´s a perfect complement to a perspective primarily driven by aesthetics.
Beast of Prey
Is that the "Approach of the Painter and the Scientist" you´re alluding to in your Artist´s Statement? Could you explain this approach in a little more detail?
Exactly, that´s how I called this confluence of scientific and artistic perception.
Richard White lived in Mansfield, North East Victoria. A Master of Photography with the Australian Institute of Professional Photography and in 2010 awarded their highest honour, a Fellow of the Institute.
Richard contributed to the magazine back in 2013 when he wrote an article about 'Black and White images of the mountain bushland of Australia'. He got in touch in autumn 2019 as he was on holiday here and suggested we met up to do a podcast. Unfortunately, it coincided with when Charlotte and I were away in Norway.
Richard suggested we did an interview over Skype so we could talk through some of the images he made whilst he was over in the UK. We scheduled a call for early May, during the lockdown and as Richard was in Australia we arranged for the call to be early morning, so it was their evening!
On the day of the interview, Richard had been up Mt. Buller walking before the interview was talking to Tim about future projects.
During the interview, Richard became suddenly very unwell and passed out whilst still on the call. We were contacted the next day by Richard's son Sean to let us know his father had passed away.
Sean had been in the next room with his mother, listening to his father during the interview, and took comfort in knowing that his father's last few minutes were talking about something he loved. Sean agreed that the interview would be a good tribute to Richard.
Before we get to the interview, I'd like to include this eulogy by Joe Cornish who had met with Richard during his trip to the North East and Scotland.
Richard White
Few photographers knew or understood black and white as a medium, and the landscape he loved, as Richard White did. Having settled near Mansfield, Victoria quite early in his married life he devoted much of his time to recording the many moods and perspectives of his local landscape, part of Australia not widely promoted by tourism and little known to many Australians. This lifelong practice and devotion to place reached fulfilment in his book, The High Country, published in 2014.
Although he travelled widely, and was a popular and successful workshop leader Richard was at his happiest and his best, as a working photographer, immersed in his home landscape. The last interview with him gives some idea of his character; he was simple in his description of the photographic process, and there is no pretence or complicated elaboration in his insights. Yet his best images speak of someone who connected to his subject with subtlety, and an instinctive sense of beauty that is the mark of an artist.
I met Richard in Auckland in 2005 at a photographer’s conference, and we hit it off immediately. He had a relaxed and wry take on everything, and the jokes and stories were never far away. We shared a passion for playing and following cricket, and that was a great way of staying in touch across the thousands of miles and hemispheres. He would email and say, ‘fancy a chat soon?’ Hour-long calls would follow with ruminations on the test matches, and then more seriously on large format photography and the state of the medium. Richard was no fan of digital tech, although in the end he adopted the Fuji XT system which he used alongside his beloved 5x4 inch Ebony. It was definitely an ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ state of mind though. I think he believed that digital was…cheating somehow.
Darkroom practice was absolutely crucial to his work; he developed an expertise through decades of experimentation with techniques, different papers, chemicals and so on. His prints have a depth and mood to them that can come across as sombre, but there is a wonderful luminosity as well which keeps them in balance. They certainly complement his photographic style, which is a blend of frankness, direct simplicity and a rhythmic sense of form increasingly evident in his later tree pictures.
In the foreword to The High Country I wrote the following:
The photographer sees things differently to the rest of us; often those differences are subtle, and come with just a twist, a wry, angular glance at the familiar, in the way that a stand-up comedian sees humour in the mundane. The ability to enjoy surprising juxtapositions, curious and choreographic relationships of form… the pure and playful curiosity of the eye… these are the qualities that make the work of landscape photography so much more than a mere document of place. When we notice the curve of a branch, the standing wave in a stream, the ragged edge of a boulder, and these echoed in the shapes of mountains on the distant horizon, then we find a new perspective and pleasure in seeing for its own sake. In this way photography confirms the significance and connectedness of all things, and crystallises them for further consideration. Making photographs with black and white film, a large format camera and the darkroom, preserving the traditions of photography, slow and hard-won, is to swim against a remorseless technological tide. But this work shows that following an independent path, doing what you believe in the way that works for you, affirms vision over novelty, and the importance, above all, of taking time to see.
He loved the UK, and when he and Jan visited ‘the old country’ as Richard liked to call it, we would invariably get together and spend some time outdoors with our cameras. He never held my own digital conversion against me, but his sense of humour ensured it was a topic for worthwhile banter. On a trip down-under in 2018, Jan and he and the family were the kindest of hosts, providing hospitality and happy memories which included a trip to the summit of Mount Stirling. He even collected me from the airport and returned me there for my onward journey, a drive of three hours each way. He was a great friend.
Richard was in his late-60s, although I had always assumed we were the same age because he looked younger, and he left us sooner than he should have. It was very tough for Tim following the interview as he realised that Richard was in trouble; but far, far harder for Jan, and Richard’s three sons, Daniel, Sean and Lewis as they have had to come to terms with his loss.
For all of us in the photographic community who knew Richard and loved his work, our hearts go out to them.
Joe Cornish
The Interview
The interview below is the final transcription of that dialogue with Richard. It's taken us a few months to be able to process this interview, as we recognise what it represents.
Please enjoy reading this interview and acknowledge the life of Richard White, who was a gifted photographer and friends of many landscape photographers in the UK.
Tim Parkin (TP): Hi Richard, good to speak with you again. As mentioned previously, I was hoping we could discuss some pictures that you took when you were in the UK last year. We were going to meet up but it didn't quite work out did it Richard?
Richard White (RW): No, these things happen.
TP: You work in digital and large format. You brought your large format camera over to take it for a walk around Scotland and the NorthEast.
RW: That's correct, yes. Hoping I'd use it more than the digital camera but it doesn't always work that way.
TP: The end result here, we have got a nice mix of digital and film images together. If you can tell our listeners a little bit about yourself. We know you're from Australia and a large format photographer, but you've been working for quite a while with large format. I should say you're also mostly black and white or all black and white would you say?
RW: 96% black and white I think.
TP: A very accurate answer!
RW: Yeah! Colour gets a look in sometimes but I try to see everything in black and white if I can.
TP: Where did you start with your photography?
RW: Gee whiz! As an amateur or a keen enthusiast, I remember I was 17 when I bought a camera to photograph motor racing. Then I travelled overseas to the UK and Europe in my Twenties. Fell in love with photography then. When I eventually got back home, it picked up a little more and I decided I wanted to do it as a profession. So when I was given the opportunity to seek alternative employment I took the chance.
Dryburgh Abbey
TP: It's a very scary choice isn't it?
RW: Yeah, I had a friend who was a photographer and he said it's great news you can do photography. So that's how I got into the profession. I did the usual wedding portraits for a while, which is not something I ever wanted to do. As he explained though, it was a good way to get you into the profession and get you started. You can network with people and so forth. Then, after some time, I quit that and concentrated on landscape, publications and writing articles for magazines, which I've been doing for 25 years now I think. I started a calendar of the High Country, which is where I live and carried on doing a black and white calendar for 20 years. I also put out a few books, as one does I guess if you're a photographer. Now I'm embarking on slightly different calendar ideas with photographing trees, not intentionally at first but because I look back on most of my images over the years and there's always a tree in the shot! There's always something there and I found them in some really unique places too.
One of my favourite shots was from Rannoch Moor in Scotland and I think it was the second time I went there and there's a tree growing out of a rock and I thought WOW, so I took the picture and that's the sort of thing that I've been looking at doing now. I called the calendar 'Trees and where they live' so they live in some weird places I can tell you!
Every time I go to Scotland, as I've been five times now, I always try to go to a different area or back to something enthused me in the beginning.
TP: There were only four lone trees on Rannoch Moor and I think there's only two as two of them fell over! I believe yours is still there!
RW: I haven't been back to have a look!
TP: When you came over last year where did you travel?
RW: I was mainly in the Pitlochry area around Killiecrankie and I went out to Rannoch Station and along that road up to Loch Tay.
TP: That's a stunning area. You came in autumn, so you saw it at it's best.
RW: It was fantastic! Every time I go to Scotland, as I've been five times now, I always try to go to a different area or back to something enthused me in the beginning.
TP: We have twelve pictures to have a look through. If you can tell us about where they were taken and how they were taken. We are starting off with Dryburgh Abbey. I've never visited personally, I think Joe Cornish helped you find it?
RW: No, it was my wife who said I should have a look at this. She was doing the St Cuthberts Way from Melrose to Lindisfarne and this was one of the places they went through. We used to chat each day and she said it was a beautiful abbey. When I came down to meet her, I made a beeline for this place. It was one of those pictures where when I got there, I was struggling to see anything actually. When I came around the corner and saw the light hitting the window, I thought it looked so beautiful, so I set up and made the picture. When I got home and developed the film and made a print, it didn't have that same magic that attracted me to make the picture. I still like the shot, but there was an element missing and I think it was taking a 3-dimensional and compressing it into a two-dimensional scene.
TP: It is stunning light on the image
RW: Oh yes! That's the thing that really grabbed me.
TP: Is this taken with the large format camera?
RW: Yes, using a 5x4.
TP: I know when I've used a large format and if you have both eyes open you do still see a slightly three dimensional image. I don't know if you've noticed that before?
RW: When you're looking on the ground glass you mean? Well, probably you are! It doesn't compress until you press the shutter, does it?
TP: Yes, and it's caught me out occasionally. You get that remnant of three-dimensionality.
The second image we are looking at is How Hill Tower, on what looks like quite a sunny day.
When I took it, I loved the light and the cloud which was moving past the building. A little bit of light on that foreground. It's a competent picture but I don't think it's a whiz bang picture.
How Hill Tower
RW:It was early morning, really interesting cloud. I was with Joe Cornish on this day and we looked out the window and we could see the weather looked something special, so we went for a walk.
I've changed my mind on this picture. When I took it, I loved the light and the cloud which was moving past the building. A little bit of light on that foreground. It's a competent picture but I don't think it's a whiz bang picture.
TP: Do you find your opinion of pictures changes quite a lot over time?
RW: Sometimes. The negatives always look fantastic, this is actually a digital shot. If I look at negatives, I think, I've got a winner every time and I thought I should do an exhibition just of negatives because people would think you're something special. It's when you make a print that everything collapses often.
This one, when I put it up on the screen I thought it's not too bad, I like the atmosphere that was happening in the shot. I think it took me back to the moment which is probably why I liked it initially. But now I think it's just OK, it's not probably something I'd show.
TP: Out of interest when you're working with digital do you anything with colour filtration in post processing to try and emulate that orange/red filtration that you might use?
RW: I've got a Fuji XC II and they have the black and white settings. They've got Across settings, they've got green, red, yellow filters, which I find are not the same as the real thing, they are token gestures. I usually work in Photoshop and in curves, that's my main approach to things. If I'm going to try and add filtration it's done through that medium rather than putting something in front of the lens because it doesn't work.
If you put an orange filter in front, you just get an orange picture.
TP: I have tried putting a red filter in front of a camera and the resolution drops dramatically as well. It looks very mushy as well.
RW: I think you're using black and white and you like to use filters, for me that's why you should use film. You get a much better result. I will argue that of course, but I know myself that's the case.
TP: Our next image we have got a couple of variations off to show a bit of context. It's the Kenmore Bridge, River Tay. Do you want to go through the wider version first?
I fell in love with a lot of the bridges I saw on this trip. So I took the shot and knowing that the trees were through the archway there. When I looked at the finished picture it was more of the bridge, and I wanted it to be about the trees.
Kenmore Bridge, River Tay
RW: As I went around I had this trees idea in my head and so I was always looking for trees. I think this is one of the first images that I could combine a beautiful bridge. I fell in love with a lot of the bridges I saw on this trip. So I took the shot and knowing that the trees were through the archway there.
When I looked at the finished picture it was more of the bridge, and I wanted it to be about the trees. I cropped as you can see in the next shot, I cropped both sides off of the bridge and just by doing that, it makes it more of a picture of the trees through the archway, rather than the bridge with some growth behind it. That's where I think cropping is really important that if it's going to improve the picture 100% or even 50%, then consider doing it.
Kenmore Bridge, River Tay
TP: It quite dramatically changes the picture just for a small crop. The focus of interest moves.
RW: Absolutely, you go straight through to those trees in the background. I did add a bit of contrast to those and darken them slightly, to highlight them a bit more. It's the first thing you look at, but the wider shot you look at the bridge more and you don't consider the trees behind.
TP: Talking about trees we're moving on to some tree photographs and the first couple are from Killiecrankie Forest and the first one is the one with the ferns in the background.
Woodland, Killiecrankie
RW: This is a film shot but at the time I think I'd be walking around and I was getting a bit frustrated by not taking a picture. I saw this beautiful light hitting the trunks, so I made a shot and then when I printed it out, it lost a bit of interest for me. I don't particularly think it works as it's not saying anything, it's just a shot of trunks and light and it's not got any compelling elements in it.
TP: Contrast that one with the one with the ferns and the very black trunks.
Killiecrankie Forest #2
RW: This is a more interesting picture to look at by comparison to the previous one. I feel that there's a lot more going on with this shot, it's something I feel I could step into that image a lot easier and explore it more. Where the previous one it's the last time anyone will see it.
TP: Out of interest how do you normally print pictures in the darkroom, as these are film photographs. Do you tone anything or are they fibre based or resin prints?
RW: They are all fibre based and it's the normal procedure, selenium tones is the thing I usually do for permanence. Sometimes I use a warm tone paper and sometimes I use the cool tone depending on the image that I've taken. I don't have anything specific except fibre paper until I see the image itself.
TP: Going on to another tree photo, this is the one photograph we have from the high country I think, Manna Gums.
I included this one for you, just because I find it of the three shots we just looked at, this is the much more interesting one and the one which works. Especially with that small tree right at the back of the photograph, the eye goes straight there.
Manna Gums, Davons Flat
RW: Down on the Howqua River. I included this one for you, just because I find it of the three shots we just looked at, this is the much more interesting one and the one which works. Especially with that small tree right at the back of the photograph, the eye goes straight there. The two trunks on either side just give it nice framing. There's some beautiful mist rising up from the ground. I clearly remember when I made this picture that I did the shot and then I walked around to where that small tree was and you couldn't see the mist at all.
I remember years ago when I was quite impressionable and started out using a 5x4 camera, that I read an article by a chap who I won't mention. He's moved on to the big darkroom in the sky now. He said that you should only photograph either with the sun directly behind you or 90 degrees either side and never do a shot like this! The thing is if that was the case you don't see the mist rising off the ground, it disappears when you get around with the sun on your shoulder. I remember reading that all of a sudden I started to question this guy thought process. He lost me just in that one statement.
TP: I think a lot of people come up with these rules and should always append them with 'unless you want to'.
RW: Absolutely! Too many rules in this medium aren't there?
TP: We were talking with David Ward and Joe Cornish about that in a recent podcast.
We are coming to my favourite picture from your trip there, which is the Killiecrankie Viaduct.
Killiecrankie Viaduct
RW: The Japanese tour bridge! Just reminds me of a gate they have going into a temple in Japan!
I was walking down on the river taking the track down, I think it's towards Soldier’s Leap, there's a big rock there. Apparently it's where a Redcoat soldier leapt 18ft across the raging River Garry, fleeing the Jacobite at the Battle of Killiecrankie on 27 July 1689.
I went down there to see if I could have a look at this make a picture. I walked along the river and I saw this and so I scrambled up a little bit and framed it up as you see it. It's a shot that at first I wasn't sure about but the more I look at it, the more I like it.I'm about to actually frame it up and hang it on my wall at home. It's a nice memory and for myself, it's a nice shot.
Titterstone Clee Hill is an iconic and much-loved feature of South Shropshire, looming above the medieval market town of Ludlow. On most days I see it from the end of my road. It varies in colour, from Alizarin purple, to Prussian blue, through Viridian green or even soap powder white. Sometimes it wears a cloud hat. At others, it simply vanishes.
But at close view, it is no great beauty. Scarred, used, abused, and abandoned, it bears the marks of thousands of years of human exploitation. Quarry ruins litter its scarred face, modern communications towers dominate the skyline, and a still active stone quarry delves deep into the core. Ragged sheep graze the tufted, boggy, rock strewn common-land, while peregrine falcons roost on the old quarry walls, enjoying a fine view of the tamed and fertile agricultural landscapes of the midland counties. The place is a modern wilderness, a rare thing in this crowded and manicured country, where nearly every inch is managed for profit or pleasure.
Titterstone Clee receiving a dollop of snow
The idea of making this ramshackle hill the subject of
For some time, I had been feeling a little uneasy about travelling to iconic and much photographed locations, while also trying to find my own path in the popular and often imitative genre of landscape photography.
a project began to take root in 2018 after I attended the Meeting of Minds conference hosted by On Landscape.For some time, I had been feeling a little uneasy about travelling to iconic and much photographed locations, while also trying to find my own path in the popular and often imitative genre of landscape photography.
The first day of the conference was book-ended by two equally inspiring but antithetical speakers: Charlie Waite, celebrating the aesthetic of beauty in the landscape, and Paul Hill, challenging us to avoid cliché, idealisation and commodification, and instead to look closely at the world immediately around us.
This led me to question my own motivations for photographing the landscape – and a project based in my local area seemed a good place to start. The next question was, how to go about it? What’s the difference between a number of pictures of the same place taken at different times (I already had plenty of those), and a project yielding a body of work? I decided it must have something to do with narrative, and a full portrait of a place, up close and intimate, warts and all, as well as the bigger picture.
Looking towards Brown Clee (Shropshire’s highest point) over the collapsed Bronze Age hillfort wall.
I wanted to take a different approach, one that reflects my personal and emotional connection to the hill I have lived beneath and wandered over for a decade. Like many local people, I have a deep and perhaps romantic attachment to this wasteland, with its dead signage and windblown relics, its jaunty terraced houses perched on the slopes, its tremendous 360-degree views over seven counties, and its sunset view over the Welsh Marches. It has an unconventional beauty, often enhanced by extraordinary light and weather. I decided to use colour, as for me the hues of the hill in its varied seasonal dress are part of its character.
The wounds inflicted by humans are gradually healing as weather and vegetation soften the scars. The haunting dereliction has so far escaped sanitisation and idealisation by the heritage industry.
There is an alluring charm to the rough-edged ugliness and worn out neglect being overcome slowly by natural forces. A snow bunting visited this year on its way home to the Arctic, and if you are lucky you will hear curlew, lapwing and cuckoo in spring. The wounds inflicted by humans are gradually healing as weather and vegetation soften the scars. The haunting dereliction has so far escaped sanitisation and idealisation by the heritage industry. There is no visitor centre, no toilet block, nothing to stop people falling off the edges of spoil tips or into flooded mine shafts, from dumping their MOT failures in the pits, or driving 4x4s up the near vertical slopes. Colourful graffiti covers many of the ruined quarry buildings, and even the millennium heritage signs are weathering to illegibility. There have been attempts to prevent further degradation and vandalism, as these early concrete structures are treasured by industrial historians, and the area is part of an AONB, but at present, there is little active preservation.
I began the project by looking into the history. A visit to the local library led to the discovery of old maps, and retired schoolteacher Alf Jenkins’ book Titterstone Clee Hills: Everyday Life, Industrial History and Dialect. Jenkins grew up in Dhustone, a village built near the summit in the nineteenth century for the quarry workers, where his father was publican and undertaker. In 1900, two thousand people were employed in the mines and quarries of the Clee Hills. The hardness of the dhustone, a black volcanic rock, was valued for infrastructure building in the late Victorian age, including Cardiff Docks, and into the 20th century as the motor car demanded smoother, harder roads.
Above the clouds: cloud inversions are a local feature, here viewed from the abandoned stone quarry at the summit.
Dhustone village: terraced housing, unusual for rural areas, built in the 19th century for quarry workers.
The exploitation of the hill’s resources started long before the quarries however. Some of the bell pits, sunk into the shallow coal seams, are hundreds of years old. The Clee Hills (Brown Clee is Titterstone’s slightly taller sister seven miles north) are even drawn and named on the Hereford Mappa Mundi of c1300.
Much of the project has been spent fighting an internal battle between making pictorial versus illustrative images – do I try to make pretty pictures, or do I try to tell the story of the hill in pictures, which includes its bleaker aspects?
Thousands of years earlier, in the Bronze Age, a vast hill-fort with an unusual drystone wall encircled seventy acres of the summit. Ancient cairns, one surmounted incongruously by a relatively modern concrete OS trig pillar, dot the summit and the crumbling dolomite ridge known as Hoar Edge. These early stone structures echo the tumbling stones of natural formations, most notably the Giant’s Chair, leftover from the Devensian ice age 22,000 years ago, and are echoed through time by the piles of rubble that are all that’s left of former homesteads.
I decided to explore all the structures, from stone to concrete, which litter the hill today. The challenge was to make these old remnants interesting photographically – weather conditions and light are key here. Many of them are plain ugly or just a pile of rubble in the cold light of day, yet when transformed by light or exceptional conditions they evoke memory, mood and myth.
Much of the project has been spent fighting an internal battle between making pictorial versus illustrative images – do I try to make pretty pictures, or do I try to tell the story of the hill in pictures, which includes its bleaker aspects?
Disused mineshafts pockmark the hill overlooking Ludlow.
What I have learned so far is that there is much to be said for being able to visit, time and again, the same location, to look beyond the obvious, and to attempt to create interesting images from what is not obviously photogenic material. The closer I look the more I see, and I now have a list of images that need to be made at certain times of the year or in particular conditions to improve on what I have already banked. Many of the images work best in pairs or groups, rather than as one offs, so I visualise the project eventually taking the form of a book.
For the moment, Covid19 has brought explorations to a halt. I hope that by early summer it might be possible to venture out again to capture the impressive swathes of foxgloves that blanket the backside of the hill. New seasons always yield new images to continue the story.
A selection of images from the project are scheduled to be exhibited at The Photo Space Gallery in Ludlow, post-pandemic.
Titterstone Clee receiving a dollop of snow
Looking towards Brown Clee (Shropshire’s highest point) over the collapsed Bronze Age hillfort wall.
Above the clouds: cloud inversions are a local feature, here viewed from the abandoned stone quarry at the summit.
Dhustone village: terraced housing, unusual for rural areas, built in the 19th century for quarry workers.
Disused mineshafts pockmark the hill overlooking Ludlow.
In times of the corona crisis, where there are exit restrictions in many countries and where travel is practically impossible and also highly questionable from an epidemiological point of view, a place becomes more and more attractive for photography; the forest behind your own house!
One always tends to think that the most spectacular pictures have to be taken at the most exotic destinations possible, but where, in the end, you are there only for a short time and have to live with the current conditions.
The advantages of a nearby location are actually obvious. Over the years you have already found an intense relationship with this place, in my case through many walks and mountain bike tours, with or without a camera. You know the light, you know when it falls where and how, and you can wait in peace for perfect conditions and then return to one place or another and take wonderful photographs full of emotion. At least, I have the impression that this kind of work leads me to photographs that satisfy me even after years. That's not to say that it's impossible to get great shots while travelling, but then there's usually a good portion of luck involved.
Currently, at the end of March, it is still allowed to walk alone in the forest, at least in my part of Germany, which is not only healthy for the immune system, but also for the mind. During my walks since the beginning of the year and also, already in spring last year, I wanted to capture the consequences of the winter storms in our forest. Especially this February there were some violent hurricanes, some of which caused heavy destruction. The storms in recent winters have been very intense here. The news warned against going outside, the railway traffic was partly completely stopped, and you had to lash down your flower pots on the terrace.
As it is rather unadvisable to be in the forest during such a hurricane, I didn’t enter it until it was safe again. Unfortunately, it’s rather difficult at first to catch the mood of a storm when it is already over. This frustrated me at first, because a fallen tree was soberingly unexciting on a normal shot.
So, I began to experiment a little. How could it be possible to give the photographs the dynamics that such a storm normally produces? How would it be possible to generate wind and rain on a dry day? It was clear to me that I had to include movement in the recording in some way. Eventually, I started using slower shutter speeds and intentional camera movements. This was something I had tried many times on the beach to blur the straight horizon between the sea and the sky and to smooth the sea, to generate an overall colour mood rather than to focus on a specific subject. This technique is also known to capture very straight trees in a kind of watercolour picture. This time I tried to give the scenery more dynamics and depth.
If the trees don't move themselves, I just moved the camera. By using different shutter speeds, in this case between 1/2s and 1/30s, and different directions of movement, very exciting effects could be achieved.
I began to experiment a little. How could it be possible to give the photographs the dynamics that such a storm normally produces?
In mechanics, motion describes a local change in a certain time relative to a reference point. The decisive point here is the word "relative". A movement can be observed when the actual object moves, but it also occurs when the reference point moves. A car may move towards a truck, or the truck may move towards the car, but the result will be very similar, in the end both will collide. It was similar with the images on these days. It would also be conceivable that the trees would move strongly in the wind or fall over, but it's actually only the camera that moves and thereby achieves the effect. Of course, the trained viewer can quickly recognise this, but the basic mood that is transported is again closer to the actual events.
What I found particularly exciting was that - contrary to the usual work with tripod and live view - you cannot foresee how the finished picture will actually look. This reminded me a bit of working with film, even if the feedback still comes much earlier. I almost fell into a childish play with different movements, and lost myself deeper and deeper in the woodland, away from official paths. It is these moments that make up the photography in my eyes. When you forget everything around you, concentrate fully on your work, suddenly it doesn't matter anymore which camera you have with you, hours seem like minutes and at the end you arrive back home satisfied and balanced almost like after a meditation session.
When I now look at the pictures on the monitor at home, I have the impression that they are not only a figure of the stormy situation in the woodland, but also symbolic of the current global situation. Not only is the forest in motion, but the whole world is changing at a rapid pace. I can recognise fear and also a certain uncertainty in the photographs. It's almost as though the ground is being pulled out from under your feet. It's like when you stagger and have to catch yourself again.
But, despite all the destruction I could see, there were already signs of reconstruction. Small green buds are sprouting around fallen trees and it is clear that new beauties will be created here. The forest is a living organism. A storm can uproot individual trees or devastate entire strips of woodland, but life will return here, perhaps even take advantage of the destruction, similar to what forests do after major fires on the west coast of the USA. So the hope remains that good things will also emerge from the currently moving times.
I was extremely surprised and very humbled when approached by Charlotte to write this article. I enjoy writing and it would be a nice distraction from the woeful events of late, and also keep me occupied during the crippling lockdown conditions imposed on us all when escaping into the great outdoors on a weekend was not an option, and instead of climbing the hills, I was climbing the walls!
I gratefully accepted.
Choose a favourite image, oh that should be easy, or so I thought......!
When it came to the selection process, I was enveloped by a huge wave of panic....out of the vast array of stunning images I had viewed over the years, how on earth could I select just ONE?
As with other aspects in my life I set about the task with military precision. I had one particular photographer’s images in mind right from the start, but a lot of images had struck a chord with me throughout the years so I decided to take a 'process of elimination' approach.
When I started my landscape photography journey way back in my college days, (cough) 30 years ago, I was influenced by photographers such as Ansel Adams, Charlie Waite and Colin Prior. One of the first photography books I purchased (bar Michael Langford’s 'The Darkroom Handbook') was Charlie's 'The Making of Landscape Photographs'. A book, which I'm sure most of us have languishing on a dusty bookshelf somewhere! The images inspired me, as did the narrative behind them.
Further on in my landscape photography journey, I developed a penchant for collecting 'coffee table' photo books and stumbled across many diverse and talented photographers along the way, whose images were a source of inspiration for times where I was lacking motivation.
There had been many images in those books which had caught my eye, so I made a coffee (or two), put some relaxing Miles Davis on and settled down for the afternoon to pore through a selection of my books in search of that illusive 'favourite'.
From Monochrome genius Michael Kenna’s hauntingly beautiful images of France and Japan, to Bruce Percy’s minimalist style demonstrated in his Iceland series; Julian Calverley’s dark and dramatic images of the north of Scotland to Colin Bell’s delicate series of Tarn photographs.....I had my work cut out!
There was also the Landscape Photographer of the Year series of books, containing many imaginative images from well-known and not so well-known names, and not forgetting all the images that I had viewed in my vast collection of 'Outdoor Photography' Magazines.
Additionally, I had viewed copious amounts of stunning images online over the years, including Mark Littlejohn’s split-tone wonders; Valda Bailey’s cleverly crafted ICM/multiple exposure work; Paul Kenny’s brilliantly executed ‘Seaworks’ series and Paul Mitchell’s atmospheric woodland images, to name but a few.
I managed eventually (three days later) to narrow down some of my favourites, but ultimately, I kept returning to one photographer in particular whose images really stir something inside me, and that photographer is Lars van de Goor.
It was by chance that I stumbled upon Lars' work when I joined Flickr in 2008. I remember being astounded by the sheer beauty and power of his images and was in such awe of his talent to be able to convey the atmosphere of the woodland through his imagery. I also marvelled at his artistic approach to the subject.
Lars van de Goor was born in 1964 on a houseboat in the middle of farmland in the Netherlands where he grew up being 'virtually part of the nature that surrounded him'. His first passion was music, and then in 2007, he took up landscape photography. He used to live near Amsterdam and cycled around his local area looking for locations to photograph. He took some images of a tree-lined canal, which sparked a lot of interest when he posted the image online, and then his photography career developed from there. The main theme of his work is the trees of his native Gelderland.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios consisting of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
Living in “the Land of the Free”, we haven’t really been under a “lockdown”. Nevertheless, at some point, our governor encouraged us to stay at home, and my College has been closed since mid-March. I have been teaching remotely since then. To stay halfway sane, I decided to treat myself to more photography, getting out at least twice a week, (re)visiting places nearby. As it turned out, none of these photos would have happened during a “normal” spring, and at least one would have been outright impossible. In reference to California’s “shelter in place” order I collect all these images in one folder called “in place”.
My Arizona
My Arizona – is an image that would be impossible to take in normal times. This highway is quite busy, and one would take an unacceptable risk of getting run over. On that Sunday morning, everybody had stayed home, and the road was clear. I drive past this intersection on most days on my way to work, and it often reminds me of an old image of US 163 on its way towards Monument Valley (from an ancient Rand McNally road atlas). Well, straight stretches on Connecticut roads tend to be quite a bit shorter, and the original image that served as the inspiration for this photograph was taken in Utah. Nevertheless, at least the colours are pretty close.
Dogwoods
Dogwoods – Zoom meetings have a way of getting to you. One Friday morning with six meetings on my schedule, I needed a break. I had been to the location the previous day, had liked the trees and the grey-blue light, but it had been raining too hard to make an image. The next day was more promising. Best thing: I missed my first meeting.
Two Planets
Two Planets – My seniors were heartbroken when the college cancelled graduation. To cheer some of them up I planned for a little video near the summit of Bear Mountain, Connecticut’s highest peak, and a place that holds dear memories for many of us. The plan was to get up early, take a time lapse of the rising sun, and follow it up with a few congratulatory words. Four sets of batteries died in the cold before the sun was even close to coming up, and my frozen brain reduced me to some incoherent babble. But before all that I took this image of Saturn and Jupiter in the early morning sky. One out of three ain’t all that bad, and my students appreciated the effort.
Bushy Point – Socially distanced hiking either happens in unusual places or at unusual times. Over the last few weeks, I explored quite a few lesser trails (plenty “intimate landscapes” there), but occasionally, you’re craving something a bit more scenic. Rocky Neck State Park is rather popular, but at 4:30 AM I was the only one in the parking lot and had the place to myself. Three hours later the park became busy. But by that time, I was on my way home and some lucky fellow got a prime parking spot right next to the entrance gate.
Maybe also because the famous Aurora eluded me during my stay, I have found the ice formations of the Icelandic landscape to be one of its most impressive and distinctive features. Captured in various light conditions and locations, this mini series of 4 shots aims to show the diversity of Iceland's ice formations, ranging from the ice blocks washed on the shores of Diamond Beach and up to the majestic ice caves of the Vatnajökull glacier.
These photographs are from an artist residency at Weir Farm, a National Historic Site in Connecticut, USA. Now administered by the National Park Service, the site includes the estate of an important American painter and 60 acres of woods with many intersecting trails. There were periodic encounters with other meandering visitors but most of the time it was just me and the woods, a human enjoying the proliferation of many diverse forms of being.
With a residency, I had the luxury of forgetting about time and schedule. I had a month to explore the many paths of “living poetry” and I would often stop to take in more fully what seemed to beckon me. Sometimes the resonance would dissipate and I would move along, sometimes my pause would reveal there was more to notice and I would stick around for a while. Often I moved in closer for a more intimate view to marvel at the wonder of amazing configurations and details. I was discovering both my place in the woods and its place in me, and that the boundaries between the two are more porous than is often assumed.
While I enjoy being out in inspiring landscapes I tend to photograph the patterns, textures and subtleties of a place. I look at these as the building blocks that make the environment, a montage of hidden details that can easily be missed. These times of solitude are when I switch off from the world, usually without phone coverage or distractions.
Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours. - ~Hermann Hesse
I began using the internet in the early 1990s before it became available as a public service. I was studying and teaching at a university in Israel at the time and had the good fortune to work with the systems administrators at the university’s computer center. Little did I know how this experience would change my life and how consequential it would become to my career in (of all things) photography. Rather than pursue my original plan for a career in the academy, I instead began working in technology, which ultimately brought me to the US, where, partly thanks to my interest in photography, I fell in love with the place that is now my home. Both my love of photography and my career in technology paralleled the advent and growth of the internet. For a while, I earned income in both technology and photography, but as my corporate career wore me down, photography always offered me refuge and inspiration, and I finally decided to make it my primary occupation. Recounting this history to a photographer friend, he asked how I felt the internet has affected photography during this period, which prompted this train of thought.
Scientists and engineers sometimes use the term “signal-to-noise ratio” to describe the proportion of desirable information to unwanted distractions and interferences.
For our last issue, David Ward and I recorded a discussion about a book on Edweard Muybridge by Rebecca Solnit (Click here for podcast). Since then I’ve received a larger book that accompanied a 2010 exhibition about Muybridge’s work at the Tate Gallery, London (very cheap copies available here and worth the £10 asking price). The book includes many fantastic images and I thought it would be useful to write a brief summary of Muybridge’s life, in particular his landscape work, to complement the Podcast. I won’t be going into his life in-depth as I’d highly recommend Solnit’s book if you’re interested and perhaps search for a copy of the book of the Tate exhibition for further information.
It’s hard to write a short review of Muybridge’s life without sounding like one of Tom Sawyer’s exaggerated stories.
It’s hard to write a short review of Muybridge’s life without sounding like one of Tom Sawyer’s exaggerated stories. Muybridge was born in Kingston upon Thames and as a young adult, he decided he wanted a more exciting life so moved to the US and took various jobs but settled as a book salesman, eventually owning a book shop next to a photography studio. He would have sold art by Carleton Watkins and painting reproductions by the likes of Albert Bierstadt and others in the Hudson River School. He claims to have spent much of his time investigating and perhaps engaging in photography during this period but this is probably more myth-making. He finally sold the business to his brother five years later.
Have you ever looked at a social platform and realised that all the popular images follow a certain pattern? Did all the images you have searched from a popular place all looked the same? Do you have the feeling that technique is elevated in a form of art while content is not really important anymore?
All these thoughts have been going through my mind the last couple of years and then some, yet the more I discuss them with people I meet who practice landscape photography the more I am convinced that photographers don’t really care anymore with a few exceptions of course.
Recognition nowadays is everything even if it is ephemeral. The root of the problem is that no one cares about personal style. Everyone thinks they have it and they have a very superficial justification why they are correct into thinking they do, failing to realise that scouting different locations, encountering impressive light, or using complex techniques doesn’t necessarily make them unique.
Recognition nowadays is everything even if it is ephemeral. The root of the problem is that no one cares about personal style.
In this superficial understanding of photography as an art most of the photographers are completely ignorant to the fact that the simplest thing they can do to achieve uniqueness and an identifiable personal style is to stop thinking and start expressing their real emotions while using photography as an instinctive response to the stimuli that the landscape is providing. But let us take things from the beginning.
The first step is to identify the roots of the problem. In my opinion, and it is my own personal opinion, there are three main problems that have the landscape photography niche going into a vicious circle of repeatability. The first one is social networking with social being a right on abuse of the word when it comes to expressing opinions or trying to be creative. Ego networking is a more suitable work to express the current situation where everyone is interested in sticking their neck higher than everyone else instead of doing or learning something meaningful.
I understand I am running the risk of sounding rude or unpleasant to some, after all, who am I to define what is meaningful and what is not but, judging from the results and the number of interesting images produced I am fairly confident and I stand by my aforementioned remark. What photographers and viewers, in general, need to understand is that trends are industry driven because there is money to be made out of us. I use the term industry as a very wide field and can be applied from a camera manufacturer to a photographer or Youtuber who has perfected a certain technique and use social networks to sell their product.
This being in the form of a workshop, a filter set, a digital filter set or an online course, it doesn't matter. Is this a bad thing? No! Should you mind? No! Why do I mind then? Well because in most cases it is something superficial and void of meaning marketed as something special when essentially you are buying products to create images reaching for the low hanging fruits. But again, why do I mind so much and the most honest answer I can give you is because I care.
In my workshop years, I have seen people joining, driven by trends only wanting that trophy shot that will theoretically bring them thousands of likes and followers.
In my workshop years, I have seen people joining, driven by trends only wanting that trophy shot that will theoretically bring them thousands of likes and followers. It saddens me because in most cases they are crippling their own potential focusing only on something that they could achieve if they were just a bit more dedicated, which brings me to my second point. Dedication.
While social networks funnel chewed out food to the masses, people are easy to accept it because they lack dedication. It is a tricky thing dedication and our moral self will be quick to reason that we have it even though essentially not a lot do. Does tripods in line waiting for the exact same moment in time paint a familiar picture? You think it is dedication to spend money and time to visit a foreign place or organise a trip in the backcountry with friends? Real dedication is to go beyond that line of tripods.
To separate yourself from the herd and look for something different, something true only to you and not to everybody around you. Dedication is to resist the urge of taking yet another “epic” shot just because the sky colours were great, but if you do it needs dedication to keep it in your files just as a souvenir and a reminiscence of a nice sunset or sunrise somewhere. Dedication is to be surrounded by beauty and cliché shots and manage to only focus on your heartbeat trying to find this unique connection with the landscape that will force you to lift your camera and capture that moment in time that only you have recognised because it resonated only with you.
It is dedication to just step back and look while everybody else is hurrying to get the shot. To take your time to really experience the place you found yourself in and not try to analyse it into lines and forms like a fine-tuned robot. It takes dedication to not mind being the odd one out, and you will be, but you are not alone. Most importantly though it takes dedication to always be honest.
It is dedication to just step back and look while everybody else is hurrying to get the shot. To take your time to really experience the place you found yourself in and not try to analyse it into lines and forms like a fine-tuned robot.
Hence the third problem, dishonesty. Primarily to yourself and by extension to everybody else. Again, our moral self will be quick to reason with any of our doubts or external confrontation by advocating that we are just following our passion. Travelling to beautiful places, showing the beauty of the world around us, or even better because it makes us happy, who can argue with that? Well, we can. Are we? Is it really our passion? Are we that common like everybody else or that shallow to find happiness is other people’s visions? Before you roll your eyes in dismay at your screen take a deep breath, give an honest answer to yourself and then feel free to extend fingers at me. I don’t mind.
I have answered my questions a long time ago, I know who I am and why I do this. Do you? In a superficial level, the above answers are honest and I know it. I am not calling anybody a liar especially if you are just starting with photography, but as time progresses and you find yourself in a loop repeating the same techniques albeit in different locations or telling the same trivial tips to your customers are you really happy? Is this the full width of your passion? Do you get loads of likes and follows because you know how to construct beautiful images? I understand it. Does this bring you loads of customers? I understand this as well but has any of your images made you cry? Mine haven’t unfortunately, not yet. Apart from the time I saw the last picture on my remote before my camera went over a cliff’s edge. I sort of cried then but it is another emotion I am talking about. I am talking about that gut feeling you get when reading a poem or listening to a song and your eyes swelled with tears. Not because it was sad or beautiful but because you felt a connection.
Why does landscape photography have to be different or photography in general? Why settle for blunt and boring while you can achieve anything if only you let yourself free of all the useless clutter that accumulated in your mind and start being honest with yourself about your photography.
You don’t need to think how to make a scene beautiful you know it when you see it even if it isn’t beautiful by internet and social network standards. Furthermore, landscape doesn’t need to be beautiful in order to provoke an emotional response from a viewer. The landscape is as is. It has its nice, its wow, its epic and its dull moments, it doesn’t matter. Who you are and how you express your real you is the key to becoming a true artist and not just a copycat of random beautiful images?
The key thing we all need to remember is that personal style comes from within and not from tutorials and videos about leading lines and great light. Doing extreme things or searching for hidden places not yet discovered around the world won’t fulfil that gap in your heart if you have any. It is this instinctive emotional response, this fleeting moment where we see fragments of ourselves through the landscape, which we need to learn to recognise and respond to without going into the process of thinking. Thinking is like the vacuum cleaner that wakes you up from a beautiful or naughty dream. When you start to think about how are you going to compose this shot or how the light might affect this scene in a different time of the day, the moment is gone. Imagine seeing a person you are attracted to walking into the room, you don’t think about it, you just know. It is the same with photography, you just feel it and you know it before you start to think about it.
The key thing we all need to remember is that personal style comes from within and not from tutorials and videos about leading lines and great light.
It cannot be taught. It can be seen in practice and how to open up your receptors to the stimuli can be learned but since everyone is different everyone will react differently to the landscape and this will make you unique no matter what because there is only one you. It will also lift a heavy burden from you, the disappointment when things don’t come together as landscape photographers are forced to think. You might come back empty handed this is true and very common but you won’t be disappointed because you will have stopped living your life through the lens hoping for an alignment of the planets in order to get that perfect shot and there won’t be any expectations. If it happens it happens. If not, it will another time no matter where I am. You don’t see yourself only when you are at exotic places you see yourself everywhere providing that you are really looking and this increases your chances for a meaningful image because everything depends on you. I don’t think I have enough words to describe how liberating it is to photograph without expectations. To just take your camera and your preferred lens and go out with only this and try to be you. The real you. Not the person the world thinks you are, not even the person you think you are. It is difficult I know, and it is a lifelong commitment but once you taste the first rewards it will be very difficult to go back into the mainstream mentality. The emotional and psychological uplifting, the mental elevation you will feel when you find that true connection with your subject is far superior to the ephemeral appraisal of a well-constructed image that will be forgotten in the oblivion most photographers live in today.
A short podcast this time as a few of you groaned at the amount of time you had to listen to us waffle for. So this issue it's a thirty-minute dip into three topics. Firstly, some thoughts about landscape photography as a genre - does it matter what it's called and should we try other stuff? Secondly, what's it like photographing at iconic, "overphotographed" locations and finally, because we all love a bit of clickbait, "Is the DSLR dead?" (I'll spoil the surprise by saying "no but ... yes but ... "
Alex Nail’s photography was first featured in Issue 21. At the time most of his images were made close to home and fitted in around his day job. Even then, with the exception of a few favourite places, he was keen to avoid repeating established compositions and find new ones instead. He talked about pushing himself harder, and wanting to camp out in the winter in the North West Highlands, inspired by Joe Cornish's book 'Scotland’s Mountains'. It’s hard to think about him now without backpacking and mountains coming to mind.
Much has happened since Tim spoke to you way back in September 2011. What has given you the most enjoyment, or satisfaction, in the intervening period?
Gosh, that’s hard to answer given that, as you say, a lot has happened! I would say that my 18-day backpacking trip with my friend Harsharn through Tasermiut Fjord in Greenland in 2015 was the single greatest challenge I have taken on and it still brings me some pride to this day. Whilst I had some wonderful moments on that trip it was also immensely difficult both physically and mentally, it certainly taught me where my limits were. So that trip and my book, discussed below, are probably the two things that bring me the most satisfaction. As for enjoyment, the Drakensberg is where I have had some of my happiest times; it is a joy and privilege to go there.
When did you decide to make the transition from engineer to full-time photographer, and what was your experience like? Do you now feel that you did it at the right time, and would you do anything differently?
I made the transition almost 5 years to the day of writing this in April 2015. I’d spent quite a while building my business to that point and I was fortunate to have some contract offers on the table from the British Tourist Authority to shoot time-lapse. So given that it had been a long term goal for some time to turn professional, it was actually an easy decision, particularly with a supportive girlfriend, now fiancée, to give me the final encouragement! In the intervening time, I would say that my lows have been lower but my highs have been far higher. It’s a little strange getting out of the day to day monotony of the ‘rat race’ and jumping onto a rollercoaster, but I feel like I have benefitted in almost every way (except financially, still working on that one!). I do miss the teamwork aspect of my previous job, the friendships with my colleagues and the structured workday, but aside from that, it has been very positive.
At this time of year, it starts to get light here before 5 a.m. It’s summer and as dawn approaches, the morning light show is usually blue skies, a few clouds, the warm, rosy tinges of the rising sun and if I am fortunate, the wind isn’t howling*.
In the past, I would have already been up for an hour or more, dressed, guzzled a strong cup of espresso, put cameras and tripod in the car and be happy to drive for an hour or more to a distant spot to record a spectacular sunrise.
Which is odd, because I live in a village tightly sandwiched between the ocean and neighbouring Kogelberg mountains. It’s a tiny nubbin of rock, poking out into False Bay, about 70km SE of Cape Town and a United Nations Biosphere.
It’s a tiny nubbin of rock, poking out into False Bay, about 70km SE of Cape Town and a United Nations Biosphere.
The floral diversity of our fynbos (Afrikaans, literally, small leaves) – more than 1500 different types of flora flourish in the immediate area – is said to be greater here than anywhere else on Earth.
And, if I get bored with the landscapes and the flora, we have a troupe of the only ocean-side foraging baboons on the planet living in the village as well as a family of Cape leopard. The birdlife is spectacular and includes the unique Cape Rock Jumper and threatened African Oystercatcher. At least two varieties of buck live in the hills – and doubtless, also provide food for the leopards. As if that weren’t enough, we are also home to six of Africa’s seven seriously poisonous snakes, including the dangerous Cape cobra and deadly, puff adder.
So, what the hell am I doing driving away from this paradise?
Ask yourself and your photo buddies – my guess is that they have the same issue I’ve been struggling with since moving here; most will tell you that they find it nearly impossible to take meaningful photographs in their own back yard.
Dammit, I live in a place where the scenery makes it almost impossible to take a bad photograph and so, I finally did some stern self-admonishing and made a deliberate effort to try and see the village differently and shoot nearer home.
I live in a place where the scenery makes it almost impossible to take a bad photograph and so, I finally did some stern self-admonishing and made a deliberate effort to try and see the village differently and shoot nearer home.
Initially, that meant my early morning drive was now less than a kilometre; down to the slipway, or bridge over the river that flows from the nearby Kogelberg and empties across the beach, into False Bay. Before 05:00, there’s not much light and the odd reflections in the water were excellent encouragement.
Despite the allure, I quickly learned to avoid the chocolate box/calendar landscapes that makeup so much of the photography of the area, preferring the odd nooks and crannies, water swirls, sand patterns; a much more micro view. These unique images - everything changes moment by moment with the ocean, tides and inevitably, the wind - gave me much more insight and it wasn’t long before I was prepared to look at the broader perspective with something of a new perspective. I wish everyone who has or still is locked in a similar photographic death-spiral could have a similar awakening.
The photographs accompanying this article are a few of the images from almost a decade of that effort; a tiny representation of what I’ve shot and all generally all within the boundaries of the village of Rooi Els, most less than a kilometre from my front door. A place that until I got my act together, I was all too happy to photographically write off.
A year ago (New Year's Eve to be precise) a reveller released a distress flare, which fell into the surrounding summer-dry fynbos, causing a massive bush fire which, fanned by a strong southeasterly wind, devastated its way across the Kogelberg, to the edge of Gordon’s Bay, some 25km away. After a week of destruction, the wind swapped around to a northwester, blowing the fire all the way back across the unburnt patches of the mountains, back into the village it had started from. As a result, more than thirty homes were lost and at least one death reported. In such a tiny community, the effect was devastating.
I see no benefit in photographing what’s left of peoples’ burned homes and preferred to record the impact of the fires; the blackened protea bushes and infrastructure speak just as loudly.
In a similar vein, but on a much larger scale, the Australians are currently discovering for themselves the absolute devastation such fires can deliver to an unsuspecting population.
All in, I feel that I’ve passed my village blind spot and come to appreciate the region even more. Plus, I don’t drive to remote locations so often these days.
I feel that I’ve passed my village blind spot and come to appreciate the region even more. Plus, I don’t drive to remote locations so often these days.
More recently, political and grandparenting considerations have meant spending more time in London and less in the Cape. So, for months on end, gone are these spectacular vistas and tiny views. London presents other photographic opportunities and most of my 2019 was spent exploring the urban landscape and attempting to apply some of my ideas to a radically different set of views.
It’s harder than I expected, especially as I’ve opted to do much of my exploration by bike. It’s certainly easier to see the granularity in the landscape, but wobbling along highways and byways can often be more of a challenge than I might have wanted.
* If you’ve not been here, South Africa’s Southern Cape region is home to the Cape Doctor, a seasonal southeasterly wind that blows from mid-October until late January. Some days, it is a balmy breeze, mostly it howls out of the clear skies of the South Atlantic at anything up to and over 80km/h, sometimes double that.
It’s called the Cape Doctor because it keeps the skies clear and blows away the bad weather. When the temperature is in the high 20s (Celsius) and all the doors and windows are shut tight against the wind, it’s easy to call it something else.
For the second iteration of this column, I really wanted to feature the work of TJ Thorne, a landscape photographer living in the Pacific Northwest of the United States. I admire TJ’s photography for its uniqueness and for the ways in which it subtly conveys emotional connection. I was first introduced to TJ’s work when I relocated to Portland, Oregon and was looking for inspiration in this new (to me) world filled with lush green rainforests, raging waterfalls, deserts, mountains, and diverse coastal regions. When I stumbled upon TJ’s photography, I was immediately struck by how unique it was as compared with the typical work featured of the Pacific Northwest. I knew there must be a deeper meaning or connection between TJ and his subjects, and I really wanted to explore that in depth – so I was thrilled when he joined me for a conversation on my podcast.
What I learned about TJ through that conversation and by studying his artwork is that he regularly uses photography as therapy and as a means of processing, dealing with, and overcoming life’s arduous challenges.
What I learned about TJ through that conversation and by studying his artwork is that he regularly uses photography as therapy and as a means of processing, dealing with, and overcoming life’s arduous challenges.
TJ’s life has indeed been one filled with such challenges – he has struggled with anxiety and depression, he has struggled with alcoholism, and has worked gruelling hours as a chef and cook in the restaurant and food service industry. As a trained psychotherapist, I find TJ’s connection with, and use of photography in nature to be a fascinating, persuasive, and wonderful story and study. In TJ’s own words, photography and nature saved his life.
The Cézallier which is sometimes said to look like Scotland or like the steppes of Mongolia is a land situated half-way between the mount of Sancy in the North and the mount of Cantal in the South, right in the middle of the Natural Regional Park of the Auvergne volcanoes. The glaciers have moulded those plateaux, all curves and mounts. This vast territory of granitic plateaux 1000 metres high is dominated by the Signal du Luguet, 1551 metres high.
My purpose is not to give a lecture on the question of time in photography but to share with you a few reflections on the subject.
Today we are urged to go fast. The social networks are catalogues of the instant. In past years, when a photographer went on a photo reportage in the desert or in the taïga, the tundra, the steppes, the savannahs or in any other faraway country, he was in search of beautiful images. The photographic journey over, there was a time for selecting the images and then a time for printing them before they could be shown. This time seems to be over. Today, pictures are often shown immediately on the digital platforms. The picture becomes a conversation, it is an element of language. This year, 70 billion photographs will be published on the Facebook network. Where is the place of the artistic photography in this area, what is its temporality?
This frantic race feeds our eye with 24 images in a second. Indeed, it is a race. To find oneself in the right place at the right moment. Plan the journey, look for the photographic spot, keep an eye on the weather report, are jobs a landscape photographer has to go through. I have been in this race but I am beginning to question this instantaneity and my experience as a landscape photographer opens on new perspectives. Can you tame time in landscape photography?
In fact, I had not approached this question until an early morning of winter 2017.
That morning provided me with over two hours of snap shooting interrupted by some instances of contemplation. As a result, a series of 15 photos taken in a silence only broken by the stir of a distant breeze.
Tim Parkin wrote a lovely biographic piece here some time ago on Maeda (Master Photographer, 2011) and his upbringing in the mountains surrounded by nature. The Kite Asakawa River ran in front of his childhood house, and Maeda would spend long days in the summer along the river. It was during this time that he developed an emotional connection to the landscape and a sensitivity to noticing the finer details of life happening all around him. Maeda, later in life discussing his affinity for photographing mountain streams and gorges, says of himself “for in a corner of my heart, there is nostalgia for the stream of my youth." Maeda’s photos display this fondness for his natural surroundings of mountains, rivers, grass and trees - or San Sen Sou Moku in Japanese (and in particular for Maeda, birds, something we both share in common). More specifically, these four characters combined form a single compound word which then expresses the idea of nature. There probably isn’t a fair English translation of this word, as it holds within it all the complexities of nature, the temporality of the seasons, the beauty of the landscape, and one’s experience with it.
A few weeks ago I set myself the almost impossible task of choosing an image by Shinzo Maeda to write about for this End Frame article. I must admit it took some time to finally settle on Clear stream edged with maples from his wonderful book This Land… This Beauty Japan’s Natural.
A good book is the purest essence of a human soul. -Thomas Carlyle, (1795 – 1881) Scottish historian and essayist, from a speech made in support of the London Library Carlyle and the London Library (F. Harrison)
The thrill of being in the landscape and creating our photographs is a major part of the joy of what we do.
But, if you’re like me, it can be very easy to move on to the next shoot without ‘doing something’ with what we’ve created and accumulating a growing backlog of material yet to see the light of day.
Avoiding a cycle of production limited only to capturing the landscape on camera means we must, at some point, turn our attention to displaying our work and considering how we want to do this.
If singling out only one or two photos for framing on limited wall space, or posting to the vastness of social media for fleeting moments of glory has left you wondering about other options, then I suggest making your own photo books might be the answer.
Some finished books indicating a variety of style and approach with some covered in paper and some covered in material.
Photobooks offer a convenient and enjoyable way to get a large amount of work off the hard drive and on display in a beautifully produced form which can if you wish, include home printing.
Placed in the hands of the viewer, a photo book has wonderful, tactile qualities that form part of the experience of engaging with our work which an electronic experience cannot come even remotely close to.
Back in August 2014, we interviewed Kimberly about her Awakenings - Point Lobos and Beyond project. Kimberly was inspired by Edward Weston and had dreamed of making images at Point Lobos. Since then Kimberly has been included in multiple exhibitions and publications.
When we got an email from Kimberly at the beginning of June to say she’d set up her darkroom again and started experiment with photograms. Responding to the limitations of Covid19 lockdown has been a challenge for a lot of photographers creativity, so we were interested to find out more. We wanted to find out what had happened since the last interview, particularly about her darkroom work, and how she had adapted to the lockdown.
It’s six years since we interviewed you about your Weston’s Point Lobos project. Tell us what you’ve been up to since then.
Well, I’ve pretty much been to hell and back - at least once since then, so that’s actually kind of a loaded question. I suppose I should start at the beginning…
Back in 2014 - Many Successes
When we last spoke in 2014, I was living in the same building I currently live in and had a much larger, fully functioning darkroom at home. I also had THE darkroom guy of darkroom guys. So, my set-up was a lot less complicated than the current one.
2014 began during the Winter Solstice show at Scott Nichols Gallery, which was in San Francisco back then (has since relocated to Sonoma), and Scott had personally asked me for work for the show. So, I started out the year showing at one of my favourite galleries. Soon after, I exhibited at Art Intersection for the first time, when my work was selected by Tom Persinger, for the Light Sensitive exhibition there; my work was also awarded Honorable Mention, by MIFA (Moscow International Photo Awards), selected by Fotofilmic for the 2014 ShortList, interviewed by Style No Chaser (was the featured artist when the article went live shortly afterwards), had my work featured on Your Daily Photograph, as well as selected by Aline Smithson, for the Summer Fun Exhibition via Lenscratch, and also had my work selected for other publications/platforms, including The Natural World group show, via F-Stop Magazine (Issue 64).
Untitled, Point Lobos
Within the same year, my work was also exhibited internationally for the first time, when Joseph-Philippe Bevillard invited me to exhibit 6 of my prints at his gallery, Gallery Revival, for the Photographic Arts show; the gallery was in Ireland, I’m not quite sure if they’re still around.
Within the same year, my work was also exhibited internationally for the first time, when Joseph-Philippe Bevillard invited me to exhibit 6 of my prints at his gallery, Gallery Revival, for the Photographic Arts show; the gallery was in Ireland
[This also happened to be the year I started doing freelance work with Eve Kahn, and that work eventually led to her book, Forever Seeing New Beauties - which not only sold out the day it launched in New York last year, but also featured two of my images; I’m trying to keep this fairly brief, so I’m leaving out the press and related events in between the first shoot and the book coming together.]
2015 – Further exhibitions and print sales
My work was shown internationally again, in 2015, when my image was selected for the Fifth Annual Exposure Award via See Me; “Undercurrent,” was included in the Nature book, as well as in a digital display presented at the award reception -- at the Louvre, on July 13th.
Undercurrent
On the domestic front, my work was also selected by Robert Hirsch, for the 2015 Light Sensitive show, selected by Stephen Perloff for a special web exhibition on The Photo Review website, included in issue 9 of The HAND (the magazine sold out), featured by a couple other online publications/platforms (Float Magazine, Saatchi), and I also got picked up by Zia Gallery that year - in time to have work in the End of Year Group Exhibition; Zia was my Chicagoland gallery for several years (more about that later).
2015 was also the first year I was invited to contribute work for the FWAB (Friends Without a Border) 18th Annual Friends of Friends Photography Auction at the Metropolitan Pavilion in NYC; the print sold. Later that year, I had the honour of being asked by Steve Anchell, to contribute to the 4th edition of The Darkroom Cookbook (the original was basically every hardcore printer’s bible, ever since it first came out, in the 70’s).
2016 – Starting large format
In 2016, The 4th edition of The Darkroom Cookbook, was published; you can read about one of my darkroom tricks on page 47. My work was also exhibited quite a bit at Zia that year; I had my first solo show (technically a two-person show; I showed with Clyde Butcher) - which actually got a decent amount of press, I had work in the Third Annual Photography Now exhibition, as well as both End of Year Group Exhibition(s) (the year began with the prior year’s End of Year Exhibition.)
Outside of Zia, my work received an Rfotofolio Choice Award, for the INPrint Competition (you’ll read about the related exhibition in a bit) and was also featured in issue 15 of Musée Magazine.
I was gifted with a Crown Graphic (converted for field use) that year; for those not familiar, this is a 4x5, which was used mainly as a press camera in the 30’s and 40’s
Memory #2
I was gifted with a Crown Graphic (converted for field use) that year; for those not familiar, this is a 4x5, which was used mainly as a press camera in the 30’s and 40’s
What was amazing about receiving this camera as a gift, is that it was given to me by someone that I, at the time, only knew via Facebook; he followed my work and knew that I wanted to go large format - and out of the goodness of his heart, reached out offering one of the two 4x5’s that he wasn’t using (he’s an 8x10 guy), as both were sitting around collecting dust. I chose the Graflex and he didn’t charge a cent, only asked me to cover shipping.
[Despite owning my first 4x5, finding an appropriate lens for the type of work I do, has been challenging with that particular camera, but I stopped looking while I was between darkrooms, so this is still a work in progress - which I will be revisiting soon.] Ok, on to 2017...
2017 – The loss of my Darkroom
2017 is a particularly tough year to write about, so please bear with me.
Solo Show - Zia
The year began on a positive note with a feature in Underexposed Magazine, followed by having “Undercurrent” again selected – this time by Blue Mitchell, for Visual Armistice, the Plates to Pixels 10th Annual Juried Showcase, had work in issue 16 of Looking Glass Magazine, as well as in the exhibitions of both INPrint, and the 2017 Light Sensitive show; the later was juried by Ann M. Jastrab. The year ended with my exhibiting work in 2 of Zia’s group shows (Photography Now and End of Year). Things pretty much went south after that, but I was still exhibiting and having work selected or featured, even after I lost my darkroom, a little more than 3 years ago.
Before I get to the tough stuff, I will add that that I also contributed a print to the Off the Wall Exhibition and Silent Auction, at Art Intersection during my time between darkrooms; the print sold.
In late April of 2017, despite doing everything in my power to avoid it, I literally lost my darkroom, and for the next three years, printing and most of my art life had to be put on hold.
Ok, here goes… In late April of 2017, despite doing everything in my power to avoid it, I literally lost my darkroom, and for the next three years, printing and most of my art life had had to be put on hold. I haven’t really shared a lot of the below with too many people, and I’m sure that those who follow my work have been wondering why they haven’t seen much new work from me during that time, so figured it was time to just put it all out there.
Basically, when I lost the darkroom, I had to start from scratch to find stable work, as the darkroom was put into “temporary” storage – and would remain there until I was able to turn things around. It’s been a really long road back from what I refer to as the limbo years, but I’m already making up for lost time, so feel a little better about sharing some of this now.
A week before losing the darkroom, I was actually under the impression that my building was going to give me at least a three-month extension, before insisting upon a renewal. Two days prior to having to move, I found out, that was not the case. As a result, I literally had to watch my beloved darkroom being torn down (the makeshift walls actually had to be torn down to the framework to get the contents out), knowing I might never be able to afford to get it back and properly running once I left.
Abstract Rock
I was actually planning on moving back with family, as I simply wasn’t in a position to commit to another lease at the time. By sheer luck, I found a month-to-month sublet - just in the nick of time to avoid having to commit to moving out of state, which is the only reason I’ve been able to stick around this whole time.
Quite honestly, that was the worst place I ever lived (a railroad with a major rodent problem, that was on such a severe slant, that I would get vertigo if I stood in front of the bathroom mirror for too long) -- but it was the last-minute miracle that kept me here long enough to find stable work that wasn’t deterred by my Fine Art/printing background, which is what eventually helped me get my darkroom back, so it was worth it to suck it up (for two very long years).
Gowanus is basically the only shared space in NYC I would ever consider printing at, and I did end up printing there eventually, so they definitely deserve a shout out.
Before the move, I actually checked out Gowanus Darkroom with a friend, but knew that it would be quite a while before printing again would be feasible, so tried to put it in the back of my mind, but once a printer always a printer…
Gowanus is basically the only shared space in NYC I would ever consider printing at, and I did end up printing there eventually, so they definitely deserve a shout out. Unfortunately, given their public hours and my work schedule, they weren’t really an option until I could commit to a membership, so I went almost a full year-and-a half without printing – and truthfully, the printing withdrawal nearly killed me.
I actually tried to get myself inspired to paint or get back into making jewellery (which I still do from time to time), but I just couldn’t get into either as my only way of making handmade art for that entire period of time, so was in a pretty dark place for a while. I did do some writing from time to time but was a far cry from making deep soul-cleansing art, so as far as I’m concerned, that barely counts.
Wonderland Part 2
2018 – back to printing
Fortunately, things started to look up a little in 2018, when Scott Nichols asked me to send him some prints for the Women of the West show (at his gallery). By then, I had managed to find work in the photography/printing/production industry, so that took some pressure off, but the printing withdrawal was driving me nuts, and I was already getting sick of exhibiting images that had become pretty recognizable, so really wanted to print some new images for the exhibition – which is why I reluctantly decided to give public hours (at Gowanus) a try.
Oh, I learned my lesson fast! Worst experience printing with a newbie ever. I’ll leave it at that; I became a member the next day. I still had to pull all-nighters on weekends to have enough consecutive hours to print but am truly grateful that they exist!
After that, I went as often as possible, but I could never really spend much time there between work and the commute - and being as there was only one cold head enlarger at the time (I'm not a condenser girl) didn’t help matters. So I was mainly dabbling/testing out images or pulling the occasional all-nighter on weekends, but never got on a good print flow during my time there. (Still, just printing a little bit, really made all the difference the world.)
I did take part in Gowanus Open Studios that year, as well as Zia’s Photography Now show, but that would be my last show with the gallery. We parted ways later that year. I didn’t blame them, I wasn’t making much new work and barely promoting, so I did plan on working on representation in my hometown again, once I could find my way back to consistent printing.
Willow #3
2019 – finding a darkroom friendly apartment
Less than a year later, the woman who owned the sublet decided to jack up the rent (and refused to fix anything the entire time I lived there), so between that and paying for storage all along, the month-to-month wasn’t really worth the hassle anymore. That’s when I decided to start plotting my escape and immediately began looking for darkroom friendly apartments (that would at least be affordable once I was back to taking on printing work in my downtime).
The only reasonable option was actually in the very same building where my last darkroom was - and I knew I wasn’t going to find any more affordable options, so when I signed the lease, I was actually preparing to return home. And that was the first time I started to see a semblance of my old life coming back.
On April 28th of last year, I moved out of the sublet, and at long last, my darkroom came out of storage and moved home; it almost feels like fate to be back here. Who knows? Maybe it is…
Yet, getting the darkroom set up properly was no easy feat, since my amazing darkroom guy had moved too far away to be able to set me up himself, as initially planned. Over a year later, and it’s still not completely done. I couldn’t in my wildest nightmares have predicted so many delays…
I was still using Gowanus here and there while hunting for a new darkroom guy, but it eventually got to be too much of a commute to keep it up until I knew a definite eta my darkroom would be properly finished, so I ended up cancelling my membership 5 or 6 months ago.
It literally took seven months, just to find one plumber who was willing to work on a private darkroom and had any availability whatsoever (I miss you John DeLuca!!!). The one plumber willing to take on the job, only did so, because he found it interesting and wanted to help, so he was basically a Hail Mary.
My darkroom was his first, so there was quite a learning curve for him, but I did have some printing friends and my former darkroom guy advising him remotely as questions I couldn’t answer myself came up, which helped tremendously. The delays on the plumbing were simply due to him being in high demand for much higher-paying jobs, which is why he’s been helping me in stages. I was actually having come by before work and letting him work on the darkroom after I left because he’s a trustworthy guy and has such limited availability (would’ve taken months longer if I only had his work when I was actually home).
At any rate, his part of the darkroom was essentially done before the shutdown; I had expected the rest of the darkroom to be fully operational no later than late March, worst case, but the only people I could find willing to help are a couple of friends from work, who don’t have a ton of downtime, so they weren’t able to come back before the shutdown.
Therefore, the new experimental work was my first chance to really print the way I need to, in order to make the kind of art I want to put out in the world -- since 2017!!
New Experimental work
Therefore, the new experimental work was my first chance to really print the way I need to, in order to make the kind of art I want to put out in the world -- since 2017!!
This type of printing is also the only way I know how to make work, that will eventually grow into a series (and meet my very high standards) – and I’m a stickler for cohesive bodies of work, so anything less than that, just doesn’t cut it for me, which is why I haven’t shared much of what I made when I was printing at Gowanus.
So, now you see why I’ve been pretty much sucked into the darkroom over the past few weeks… I don’t really do individual images anyway, that’s just not how I work. Of course, I make exceptions if there’s a special request for an image and sometimes I do opt to print something special for a last-minute deadline, but it’s not the kind of printing that I can really get into unless am printing for another artist or client (my printing process is dramatically different when it comes to printing commercial work).
I just want to quickly add that as far as 2019 shows, I wasn’t really submitting to much while the darkroom was in pieces on the floor, so I may be missing a feature or two, but I don’t remember showing at all last year. I currently have work in this year’s Light Sensitive show, and as you know, have just started my very first cameraless series – made by hand, but exposed via alternate light sources (not the enlarger) – in motion. Some with multiple exposures. This is actually the only really experimental work I’ve ever made, and it’s a really crazy process, but am super inspired and can’t wait until I have a chance to get back to printing, later this week.
Tell us about this new experimental work which began at during the COVID19 Lockdown? What were the driving factors behind it?
Actually, it didn’t begin until after I’d been in isolation awhile.
The Start of Making Photograms
I began to experiment with photograms due to the fact that my darkroom was not finished before the shutdown. Basically, after so much time in isolation, I couldn’t keep staring at the darkroom anymore, so the experimental work happened because I was determined to figure out a way to make some type of art, before it would be safe for anyone to resume work on the darkroom.
To be perfectly honest, I happen to be one of those people who really needs structure; without it, I sort of turn into an insomniac vampire - and having been in isolation, in an apartment that doesn’t get much natural light, since March 20th has pretty much magnified that. The inability to be around other humans was also killing me (I'm a super social person when not sucked into the darkroom) so, the experiments (and Zoom meetings) are sadly the only things resembling structure in my life these days.
After so much time in isolation, I couldn’t keep staring at the darkroom anymore, so the experimental work happened because I was determined to figure out a way to make some type of art, before it would be safe for anyone to resume work on the darkroom.
Plus, printing has always been kind of a physical need for me, and as I mentioned earlier, I’ve spent the bulk of the past 3 years in printing withdrawal, so my intention all along was to just find a way to make “serious” artwork, and get some stress out at the same time - while I had the downtime. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make anything that met my standards but was pleasantly surprised.
Basically, by April, it was clear that the stay at home order was going to stick for awhile, so I started trying to figure out how I could rig my apartment and make space to deal with light leaks I couldn’t get to by myself in the darkroom. Unfortunately, the unfinished stuff took up a LOT of space in the darkroom and I also was expecting someone to hang a ton of framed artwork I don’t exactly have space for, so it literally took almost two months to prep the place for what I’ve was initially referring to as “the coronavirus version of printing.”
When I first began making these photograms, my goal was to make some type of cameraless art that would be abstract - and as naturally expressive and spiritual as my typical work, as well as somewhat painterly. I had hoped it would at least feel like my true IR work in some way but had no idea where to begin or if that was even possible with my darkroom in its current state.
As a classically trained printer, who has never really had the time to experiment or funding for workshops, it did take some time to let go of control, but I don’t really know how to do things halfway, so once I got into it, I essentially changed as an artist – overnight.
The First Experiments
I began my very first experiments on June 9th – and to be honest, was actually shocked that my alternate light source idea was producing successful results from the get-go. I began with flowers and a flashlight, then moved on to a firework LED, and threw in some other materials - but it wasn’t until I decided to pump out a few more experimental prints in advance of my most recent portfolio review (as in last Thursday), that inspiration really hit.
Reaching Out
I ended up pumping out more than 20 new experiments that night - and that’s when I started taking what began as a motion study of light, to a whole new level; I could already feel the work leading to a series before that, but it wasn’t until I did some really rigorous editing/sequencing, that the series was truly born.
It is too early on to know where the work will lead, but anyone familiar with my traditional work knows that my photographs are about much more than the beauty that inspires me to release the shutter - so cameraless or not, these images, are still in the same realm as my traditional work. We’ll just have to wait and see where they take me.
Unknown Presence #2
That said, my work has always been about unpeeling the layers, and looking beneath the surface of things, for what might not be obvious at first glance - and that does seem to translate to my cameraless work, so I expect some of that to continue to come through in the series.
**Please note that all of the current photos of the prints are cell shots taken in less than ideal lighting; the pandemic has not exactly made it easy to have work scanned or shot somewhere with better lighting/more space. (I am planning on taking better photos of the prints in the near future.)
Photograms have a rather special place in the history of photography, were you inspired by any of the early photogram work?
That’s actually a really good question. While I’ve been a huge fan of Man Ray’s Rayographs for over 20 years, when I started making these photograms, I was just messing around, seeing if I could get anything interesting without fogging the paper. I really didn’t think I was going to get into making cameraless work other than maybe cyanotype or some other type of experimental contact prints.
When the early experiments worked, I started to take things further but this work, and thus, the series has been completely unexpected. It’s literally just coming out of me before I have time to really think too much about it, so it’s more intuitive, than anything else (particularly, when I’m testing out a new light source or material or working with light sources I have minimal control over).
It’s a spiritual thing. I fell into art/photography while studying upper-division eastern religions and they (mainly Taoism and Buddhism) found their way into my work, as well as my process - and never left.
Untitled, Light Dripping
You say on your website ‘printing has always been kind of a physical need for me, so going so long without printing or being around humans really threw me off for a while.’ Why do you think printing is a fundamental part of who you are?
It’s a spiritual thing. I fell into art/photography while studying upper-division eastern religions and they (mainly Taoism and Buddhism) found their way into my work, as well as my process - and never left. Printing is really how I process things. I suppose you could think of it as art therapy, but to put it more simply, the darkroom is really just the only place I can totally let go and chill. So I basically had 3 years of printing withdrawal stress when the shutdown began, it’s just now starting to dissipate…
Further, I have always been so strongly connected to my work, that I can’t separate myself from it, so when I’m not printing (or at least exposing film) consistently, it’s kind of like a part of me dies. That might sound a bit extreme but should at least clarify a bit more.
From the Ashes
How did you go about exploring the photograms that you’ve produced? There must have been some failure pieces along the way. How did you structure this learning and go about refining your techniques?
My process for making art is a lot less contrived than that. I’d say it’s as Taoist of a process as shooting has always been for me. Making these experiments, at least for the most part, has been about playing and just having fun and seeing what works and not overthinking anything.
Fortunately, I had ton of old paper when I started, so I just tried something, if it worked, I would find the next material or three that caught my attention and try them out with the same alternate light source, sometimes changing the settings, other times, doing double or triple exposures. Really just playing. There’s been a real freedom about making this work.
To elaborate, I’m making unique gelatin silver (fiber) prints, with various alternate light sources - that are actually moving or flashing in some way, as I expose; timing is by feel half the time, so my printing process is basically the opposite of how I’ve always worked in the past. [But in case there was any doubt, I haven’t let go of control when it comes to development and toning, etc.]
Of course, I not only have high standards, but am learning as I go, so there have been certain prints that turned into accidental lumens, others that had to be edited out as the series grew, or just weren’t that interesting, and other light sources turned out to be one hit wonders. Sometimes, I had to make a few tests, just to get a feel - for how long to expose by feel!
Dark Side of the Moon
This is a brand new, very strange way of working for me, and I have to admit, that I’m enjoying the process much more than I expected to (and I’m really psyched to get back in the darkroom with some new light sources and materials - which should be arriving this week!).
Yes, there are times, when I can’t quite let go of control as much as I’d like to - for example, an image that has an area that’s totally blown out or underexposed; I might hate it at first, see it a few days later, turn it sideways, and suddenly that blown out or underexposed area actually makes the image stronger. Sometimes it’s hard to wrap my head around, but usually if I give it a day or two, I feel differently. Or else, I just start doing more experiments…
Honestly, so far, the only real challenge with these experiments has been being able to maintain that freedom by not getting too in my head about the images from a technical standpoint.
You have one of your newer “Awakenings” images in the ‘Light Sensitive Exhibition’ at Art Intersection how did this opportunity come about.
As noted earlier, this is actually an annual juried show; the Jurors change, but the premise is the same. This will actually be my 4th time exhibiting work in the Light Sensitive show. As an analog printer, this one of my favourite shows to exhibit at; is also nice to be showing with so many friends and contemporaries whose work I admire.
“Untitled, Point Lobos” was shot on true infrared film in 2012, but I didn’t make a final print of it until 2016, so is still on the newer side of my Awakenings/Lobos work. (It’s been a while since my last trip to California, is long overdue…)
Do you see yourself going back to more traditional film photography now that the lockdown has eased or do you see your photography evolving in a different way?
Well, the lockdown hasn’t quite eased up over here yet (NYC), but at least is getting to the point where darkroom help can happen and by the time it’s done, I think potential printing/workshop/Fine Art clients will feel more comfortable coming over, so that’s at least encouraging. (We’re in phase 3, but not fully. Places are just starting to open in some areas, but it’s more in pockets than throughout the city, so I’m still in isolation as I write this.) The silver lining is that all this is really making me grow as an artist - and it’s an ongoing process.
As of now, I see myself alternating between traditional silver work and experimental. I’m really inspired to continue on with the cameraless work but missing my enlarger terribly - and have at least 3 bodies of film-based work that have been on hold for way too long (and are dying to come out once am able to travel again).
Flower
I have also been mulling over different alternative processes, so wouldn’t rule out including a small edition of alternative process film-based work [the dream is infrared platinum/palladium, which I was actually in the process of starting to learn before the shutdown, but we hadn’t gotten to the printing part yet; my digital negative is still waiting for me in Staten Island, so when it’s safe to return, so my very first attempt at platinum will be platinum IR. Unfortunately, the cost of palladium is insane right now, so probably not the process I’ll use for the next film series.]
I have also been mulling over different alternative processes, so wouldn’t rule out including a small edition of alternative process film-based work.
While I do already have loose plans in mind for the next film-based series, each series I create is a direct progression from the prior - and I don’t think going cameraless is going to change that, so only time will tell just how much the current work will impact the next body of work. (Honestly, it will likely be a subconscious thing that reveals itself during my printing process, so that’s about as much detail as I can give this early on.)
Regardless, I think it will be somewhat of a departure from my typical traditional work, but I do plan on letting my classically trained printer brain out by then, so is hard to predict.
Untitled, Point Lobos
Undercurrent
Memory #2
Abstract Rock
Wonderland Part 2
Willow #3
Reaching Out
Unknown Presence #2
Untitled, Light Dripping
From the Ashes
Dark Side of the Moon
Flower
Untitled (firework)
Who has specifically helped you in realizing your photographic ambitions over the past few of years?
Well clearly, a lot of my photographic ambitions were on hold most of that time, so since I’ve really only been back to consistent printing since June, this mainly applies to those who have really helped me get back to being the artist I’ve always been, despite the unfinished darkroom and the hiatus from making “serious” work.
The one exception is one I don’t usually like to advertise, but to be perfectly honest if it weren’t for my family taking a risk on the fact that I plan on returning to printing work as soon as my darkroom is finished, I wouldn’t even living in New York right now, much less printing from home. There are no words that could possibly convey how grateful I am for that type of support.
[The delays have obviously made things much more challenging, so I’m very happy to tell you that a tentative date for resuming darkroom work has now been scheduled.]
I also have to give a huge thank you to a few photo friends who got me out of my classically trained printer’s brain and kept me inspired to figure out a way to make new work during the shutdown.
Morgan Post, who is not just an amazing artist, but who has actually become one of my closest friends, particularly since the shutdown. Let’s just say he’s gotten me out of my classically trained printer’s brain more times than I can count and been incredibly supportive of the new work all along. Any time I get too in my head about this strange new way of making artwork, he’s pretty much the first person I call. (He’s also just an awesome human being in general.)
Untitled (firework)
Ross Sonnenberg is usually the second person I reach out to. Haven’t know him as long or as well but have been a huge fan of his work since before we met in person and he’s been super supportive of the new work as well (he’s the one who inspired me to start playing around with sparkler exposures. I actually called him before the first test to make sure I wasn’t going to start a fire.) He too, is someone I tend to bounce things off of if I get too in my head about this new way of working.
And she’s probably going to be embarrassed by the shout out, but Laura Bennett (a fellow photo nerd/darkroom geek – who I have yet to meet in person) was actually the first person who really got me thinking about doing experimental or at least cameraless work, long before I got the idea to start making experimental photograms.
She literally sent me a care package full of stuff from her own darkroom at the beginning of the shutdown, so I could try to figure out a way to make art before the darkroom was done. This was at least a month before rigging the darkroom even seemed feasible, so that really helped a lot. (Photo karma is a beautiful thing…) When I make my first cyanotype (soon), you’ll be able to thank her for that.
I also did a couple portfolio reviews recently but am not sure how the reviewers would feel about a public shout out, so I’ll just say that both of them have already given me a lot of great feedback about the new work at times when I really needed it.
Honestly, I’m not one to get nervous when showing my traditional silver prints (well ok unless I spotted them myself; I rarely do that, as is the one part of the process I really struggle with) – but with the experimental stuff, I have had my moments of doubt and both reviewers really got me past things I was stuck on or hadn’t quite gotten far enough along into the series to understand just yet; I don’t think the series would have started to come together so fast if not for them, so Zoom or not, I was really fortunate to get my work in front of them so early on. And still am - to have their continued support.
[Of course, there are many other photo friends and contacts who have helped along the way, but if I shouted out everyone who has been there at some point within the past 3 years, this interview would probably end up being 30 pages - maybe more, this is already getting pretty long…]
Light Sensitive Exhibition at Art Intersection
I was honoured to have my work selected by Brett Abbott, Director of Collections and Exhibitions at the Amon Carter Museum of American Art in Fort Worth, for inclusion in this show, which celebrates the art of the handmade print. Art Intersection presents Light Sensitive, tenth-annual, international juried exhibition of images created using traditional darkroom, historical, and alternative photographic processes and methods.
Address: 207 N Gilbert Rd # 201, Gilbert, AZ, 85234
In this series I am attempting to probe my motivations as a photographer, to question my practice, curiosity and creativity. This essay’s focus, Intimate Landscapes, is one in which my motivations are at their least compromised.
Why so? Well, I have never had a commercial or professional incentive to make intimate landscapes. But I have done so out of response to what I find in the natural world, and from the inspiration of some of our photographic predecessors and contemporaries. These are pictures that I have made for the joy and sense of discovery alone. Although I may have sold a few prints from some of the photographs, and used many in articles and books, intimate landscapes are never requested by publishing clients, or by my gallery colleagues. So at the outset, intimate landscapes are, mercifully, commercially pointless!
I have never had a commercial or professional incentive to make intimate landscapes. But I have done so out of response to what I find in the natural world, and from the inspiration of some of our photographic predecessors and contemporaries. These are pictures that I have made for the joy and sense of discovery alone
As an aside, it is worth noting that when we showed David Ward’s wonderful recent work in the gallery last year, composed entirely of intimate landscapes, it proved the most commercially successful exhibition we have had. We still have requests for them, even since the lockdown.
This issue we have another instalment in our Lockdown book club, although I suppose we have to come up with a new name for it as we’re mostly out of lockdown now. Anyways, this issue David Ward and I will be looking at a book about the life and era of American photographer, Edweard Muybridge by Rebecca Solnit.
The book has a couple of different titles “River of Shadows” or “Motion Studies” depending on where you get the book from. Muybridge is better known for his ‘motion studies’ work which some quite reasonably say represent the seeds of the film industry. But he was also an exceptional landscape photographer of the West of the US and was working at the same time as Carelton Watkins (who he saw as a competitor) and Timothy O’Sullivan and also was one of the first photographers to work in the Yosemite Valley alongside painters such as Albert Bierstadt (for whom he occasionally took photographs as records for subsequent painting).
On top of all this, he lived in one of the most exciting and fast-changing times in the history of the Western world and his own personal life lived up to this drama. I won’t go into any more detail as the podcast discusses much of this and we’ll be extending this into an article in a future issue.
Sometimes we go forwards by going back... On re-reading Tim’s first interview with Kyle McDougall, I noticed that Kyle had suggested we interview his friend Greg Russell, so I thought I’d check him out. I was glad that I did; Greg is a passionate spokesman for public land and an advocate for wild places and writes eloquently about both. His images are rather nice too.
I picked this quote up from your blog, and I thought it might make a good place to start: “When I was a boy I didn’t want to be an astronaut; I wanted to be in the wilderness. I still do.” Can you tell readers a little about where you grew up, your interests and how your passion for wild places began? Did this affect your choice of studies or career?
I’m a native of Colorado, but I spent the majority of my childhood in northern New Mexico. My dad worked in the oil and gas industry in the San Juan Basin and I spent a lot of time in the field visiting well sites with him. I think my mom sent me with him in the summertime to get me out of the house. We’d spend a lot of time wandering the sandstone cliffs and benches looking for Ancestral Puebloan or Navajo pottery shards and sometimes would find ruins or rock art. This really sparked my interest in the indigenous cultures who lived in the area before us. We also spent a lot of time in the field fishing and hunting. Because of these outings, the smell of the piñon-juniper woodland and the feel of the sandstone under my shoes are things that are burned into my memory. Also, because I spent so much time outdoors, it was probably only natural for my imagination to wander to the animals that lived around my home and I often would pretend to be a wildlife biologist.
As I got more involved in Boy Scouts and the outdoors in general, we camped and backpacked all over the Four Corners Region. The areas around Cedar Mesa and what was briefly Bears Ears National Monument in southeastern Utah were particular favourites of mine; those trips dovetailed well with my interest in indigenous cultures. In the end, though, I stuck with my childhood fantasies of becoming a biologist and I’m currently an associate professor of biology at a college in southern California.
When did you become interested in photography and what kind of images did you initially set out to make? How much time are you now able to devote to photography?
My dad enjoyed photography when I was growing up, but I took a serious interest when I began graduate school in 2002. One of my former professors is a proliferative photographer (he shoots birds primarily) but on a graduate student’s budget, I couldn’t afford a serious pursuit of wildlife photography myself. More than that though, I was consistently drawn back to the places I fell in love with as a kid and I preferred the meditative nature of landscape photography.
I was consistently drawn back to the places I fell in love with as a kid and I preferred the meditative nature of landscape photography.
Between family, an academic career, and an old house that requires a lot of love, I don’t have as much time as I’d always like to devote to photography. Some months I don’t pull my camera out of its bag, but other times I am able to devote serious time to making images. My Wilderness Project has added a motivating reason to get out, but I would like to start shifting a little more attention back to photography in general over the next few years.
Only weeks before the world went on hold because of COVID-19, I was lucky enough to make a trip which had been on my to do list for years. Although I have been a frequent visitor to the Scottish Highlands since 1992, due to external restrictions I never had the occasion to go in winter.
This year, I managed to get away for two weeks in the second half of February. I chose the dates with the thought to have the best chance for snow. Although most of the snow came after my trip, there was enough for some interesting images and I actually prefer the contrast created by having only the mountain tops in snow.
The trip started in what I now consider my second home, Wester Ross. We usually stay in a cottage in Poolewe, but this time I stayed in one of the few open private B&Bs in nearby Aultbea.
I love Wester Ross for its wilderness, on the coast as well as in the hills. The area is also known as “The Great Wilderness”, a designation well deserved! As I know it very well, I knew where I wanted to go for my images, but I didn’t know how difficult it would be. Back home, I very rarely have real winter conditions for my photography, and so I had no experience of strong arctic winds, heavy snowstorms, freezing rain, etc. I soon realised that I had a lot to learn, not only about how to brave the elements, but also photographically (I always describe myself as an amateur who has desperately tried to learn photography for 35 years …).
My very first subject was, of course, majestic Slioch. You just have to love that mountain towering over Loch Maree. All along the loch, there are many places with great views of Slioch and interesting foregrounds like rocks, trees or simply the shoreline. With the light moving fast, I managed to get several compositions and here is one of my favourites.
My very first subject was, of course, majestic Slioch. You just have to love that mountain towering over Loch Maree. All along the loch, there are many places with great views of Slioch and interesting foregrounds like rocks, trees or simply the shoreline.
My next target was a shed on the A832, between Dundonnell and Braemore Junction, which I knew from the many times I had driven past it before. The picture I imagined was one of the shed with the snow-capped hills of Sgurr Mor and the Fannichs in the background.
We commonly see lichen growing on rocks, tree limbs, rotting stumps and on old wooden fences. Let’s not forget glass, metal, plastic, textiles, animal bones, rusty metal, concrete and living bark too. It should be noted that lichen grows on already old or stressed vegetation such as trees and plants, they do not actually originate the stress or a disease causing the trees etc. to die. Lichens have amazing photographic potential; they are fascinating ... and weird ... and beautiful … and rather complicated to study!
Despite their looks, lichens are neither plants nor fungi. They are unique, the result of a symbiotic relationship of organisms from up to three kingdoms, with the main partner being fungus. As Lichens of North America put it, "The lichen fungi (kingdom Fungi) cultivate partners that manufacture food by photosynthesis. Sometimes the partners are algae (kingdom Protista), other times cyanobacteria (kingdom Monera), formerly called blue-green algae. Some enterprising fungi exploit both at once."
In 2016, a new study published in Science revealed that in addition to compositing fungus and algae, at least some lichens include yeast. This yeast appears in the lichen cortex and itself contains two unrelated fungi. Lichens are definitely in a class unique to themselves, but this is not the forum to go into a lot of detail. By symbiotically bringing together two or more living organism types, more abundant life appears where normally one wouldn’t expect any. For example, I was amazed to see beautiful colourful lichens at 4000m in Colorado, where nothing else seems to grow. Despite dry summers with harsh UV-rich sunlight and bitterly cold winters with a thick layer of snow and ice, the lichens have colonised large areas of rock. Interestingly, they produce their own food through photosynthesis by their partner algae and don’t exhibit any parasitic behaviour such as feeding off the substrate on which they live. Nevertheless, lichens may absorb nutrients from their substrate and some release corrosive chemicals that slowly degrade rock into new soils.
Lichens are found everywhere from lush temperate forests to often frozen tundra, from the balmy and wet tropics to dry deserts where temperatures range from extreme heat to freezing cold.
Lichens grow only very slowly, sometimes only a few millimetres in a year. Slow growth often implies longevity and lichens are among the oldest living things on the planet.
Lichens grow only very slowly, sometimes only a few millimetres in a year. Slow growth often implies longevity and lichens are among the oldest living things on the planet. Rachel Sussman, author of "The Oldest Living Things," documents map lichens in Greenland that are estimated as being 3,000 to 5,000 years old.
Lichens have developed many different defences; as Lichens of North America write "an arsenal of more than 500 unique biochemical compounds that serve to control light exposure, repel herbivores, kill attacking microbes, and discourage competition from plants" and "Among these [biochemical compounds] are many pigments and antibiotics that have made lichens very useful to people in traditional societies." Not bad for something that is almost stationary and living in often very harsh conditions! Although lichen produces fungal spores, for lichen to reproduce the fungus and the alga must disperse together.
According to UC Berkeley however, "The most serious threat to the continued health of lichens is not predation, but the increased pollution of this century. Several studies have shown serious impacts on the growth and health of lichens resulting from factory and urban air pollution. Because some lichens are so sensitive, they are now being used to quickly and cheaply assess levels of air toxins in Europe and North America. Lichens are clearly a valuable element of the wider eco-system and many are under study for their medicinal properties. According to Ohio State University, "Research with lichens around the world is suggesting these organisms hold promise in the fight against certain cancers and viral infections, including HIV."
My interest in lichen really took off during my first visit to Iceland where I saw a fantastic variety of colours and shapes, primarily of so-called crusty but also jewel lichen. Since then, whenever I spotted lichen on a trip, I always took the opportunity to make an image, or a series of images, sometimes consciously looking for possible triptychs whenever possible.
For my close-up work I now mostly use an Olympus micro 4/3 camera with the Olympus 60mm macro lens. The fully articulated screen makes low-level close-up work far easier than lying prone trying to peer through a viewfinder or even using a right-angle attachment.
The following photos show how varied the lichen world is, yet also how the different species have similar traits across the world. The “cartographic” crusty lichens in particular exhibit quite astonishing colours and shapes. I’ve included a few photos showing the lichen in its wider habitat – after all, this magazine is about Landscape Photography!
Below I describe in a few lines about each mini-set of images I made in the different locations.
Colorado
I wasn’t looking for lichen and it didn’t occur to me that I might find some, which is a bit silly as there is plenty of substrate material for them to grow on. I suppose I was in autumn-foliage mode so when I did spot lichen on rocks this was quite a bonus. I’ve selected two very different images of crusty lichen: while photographing aspen in the Maroon Bells valley I noticed something red at the edge of a field. On closer inspection, this turned out to be maroon-red rock with mostly neutral grey-white lichen, but some ochre too. It took a while to find the right arrangement of shapes and colour, but at one point there was something reminiscent of inter-stellar clouds and I decided to make the image. The second photo is one at the top of Imogene Pass at 4000 metres above sea level. Here it was the riotous colour that attracted me and the almost chaotic abstract was an attraction in itself. The sun was shining brightly so I shaded the rock with my own shadow to soften the contrast; then in Lightroom, I slightly warmed the overall tone and further warmed specifically the bright yellow-greens to bring out their wonderful colour. This approach emphasised the colour separation, retaining a good level of blues and cyans in the shadow areas.
Dingle – Ireland
The photographic potential of the shapes and variety of lichen patterns is almost never-ending and with care and patience, the results made it worthwhile.
A week on the Dingle peninsula with a group of friends gave me several successful images, including lichen-covered rocks. The first image here is from Brandon Creek, a somewhat unprepossessing location at first glance, but hidden from sight at the seaward end there is a small tunnel-hole in the rock face with seawater coming through from the other side and brilliant lichens on the rocks above. The colour contrast and indeed the colours were too good to resist, so I didn’t! I tried 6 different exposures with 3-stop and 6-stop ND filters to capture movement in the sea, but as it rushed through at different speeds getting a satisfactory look proved to be a very challenging exercise.
The second image is a detail from a promontory above Clogher Beach. This area is covered with fractured rock, some sharply angled upwards and making walking across the area very difficult – a twisted ankle is a real risk. However, the photographic potential of the shapes and variety of lichen patterns is almost never-ending and with care and patience, the results made it worthwhile. I achieved several images there that I am sufficiently pleased with to print.
Faroe Islands
During a week in the Faroes with a group of photography friends, one day I had about 2 hours to explore the valley slopes at the foot of the highest mountain Slættaratindur (flat summit). After shooting a few landscapes in mono, I chanced upon some rocks with crusty lichen in glorious neon yellows and ochres, oranges and blues. Time stopped and I was totally lost in this miniature world. The shapes and patterns were rather random and I couldn’t arrive at a well-ordered composition, but the sheer colour was worth recording.
Greenland
The tundra and barren rocky landscapes are home to many types of lichen, some showing saturated colours spreading over large areas.
As might be expected, the tundra and barren rocky landscapes are home to many types of lichen, some showing saturated colours spreading over large areas. Both photos I show here are from the Bear Islands in Scoresby Sound, the largest fjord system with some 300km of waterways around islands and inlets leading to glacier fronts on the mainland. The orange jewel lichen on a rock with what looks like quartz intrusion is right by the sea and must surely get submerged occasionally. The wider view is of the Rypefjord, a tributary to the main Scoresby Sound, showing how lichen has colonised quite a wide stretch of rocky outcrops.
Iceland
On an autumn trip, we visited Haifoss, one of Iceland’s iconic waterfalls not far from the famous Golden Triangle. After first photographing the waterfall and the valley it flows into, I still had over an hour left and decided to explore the rocks for details. Chancing on some crusty lichens, I couldn’t resist the veritable cocktail of shapes, textures and colours there, often reminiscent of aerial landscapes or cartography. Finding flat rock surfaces was quite difficult but worth the effort to try and achieve maximum depth of field.
A few days later we were in the north-east near the popular Myvatn area, where I spotted some delicate Reindeer Moss which despite its name is, in fact, a lichen. The pale pastel tendril-like form contrasts nicely with black rock and brightly coloured vegetation.
Lake District, Cumbria
I went walking along a path above the Little Langdale valley where I found beautiful lichen patterns on the dry stone walls. Again crusty lichen was predominant in a variety of blues, browns and bright greens.
With a few hours to while away before a workshop was due to start, I went walking along a path above the Little Langdale valley where I found beautiful lichen patterns on the dry stone walls. Again crusty lichen was predominant in a variety of blues, browns and bright greens. As usual, finding a series of coherent shapes was difficult and all too soon time ran out, nevertheless, I am quite pleased with what I got.
Norway, Kvaloya
The island of Kvaloya is close to Tromso, well above the Arctic Circle. Quite apart from the dramatically beautiful landscapes, there is a rich variety of flora and trees, while among the trees you can find strange mosses, fungi and of course lichens. The two photos here show some of the variety there, with crusty, foliate, and shrubby lichens and the misnamed reindeer moss, all nestling amongst grasses, real mosses and bunchberries in their brilliant red autumnal colour.
Svalbard
This orange jewel lichen was one of a larger colony on a small island in the Liefdefjorden. Situated on top of a low mound and exposed to wind, it really is astonishing that anything survived there at all. The shape reminded me of an atomic explosion, with the warm orange glow contrasting with the cold blue rock substrate.
I’ve used my phone to capture wee scenes ever since they first put cameras on the buggers. I love them. Being a reactive as opposed to a creative photographer they are a very useful tool. On occasion, I’m sure some of us will have gone out with their cameras but forgotten the memory card. On one occasion I carried my camera bag all the way to the top of a big old hill and when I opened the bag I had seven or eight lenses but no camera. It was on the hall table at home. But I’ve never forgotten my phone. Which is handy for catching those wee moments that would otherwise pass us by. I’ve never really felt the urge to get involved in the whole camera snobbery thing. My reasoning for buying a newer DSLR wasn’t to lord it over the guy next door.
The phone also suits a more fluid style of photography. You shoot and move. No fussing about with a tripod. No faffing on with manual focus.
The phone also suits a more fluid style of photography. You shoot and move. No fussing about with a tripod. No faffing on with manual focus. No humming and hawing over which lens to use. And live view is up and running already. You can instantly see if the shot works or if it’s a bust. No worries if it doesn’t work. Bung the phone back in the pocket and walk away, whistling a happy tune. There is no pressure attached to a phone shot. It is simply used to capture a passing moment in time.
When given the daunting task of selecting and celebrating a single landscape photograph, after much deliberation, four artists’ work rose to the top of my list. I count John Sexton and his luminous black and white images as a major influence. I have long been captivated by the long-exposure black and white photographs by Michael Kenna. Among practitioners of colour photography, two men stand out: Charles Cramer and his remarkable work with trees and Jack Dykinga’s approach to the After considering all four men’s remarkable work, I chose Jack Dykinga’s image captured in Paria Canyon, Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness area in Northern Arizona.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios consisting of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
This brief collection of photographs is a highly curated synthesis of what the Outer Hebrides represent to me in a deeply aesthetical way. Each has a specific colour, each has its own meaning, and I can recall everything that I felt before and after pressing the shutter button. Everything slows down, and while it is breathing all the light in front of my eyes, I feel the whole magnificence of the earth entering my mind.
Landscape photography aspires to reduce the absolute vastness of a place into a single visual entity which holds together time and space. The human species is drawn to exploring as a natural thing, therefore landscape photography feels somewhat comfortable and even logic to me. Nature isn’t simply waiting for people to being registered with their cameras. On the contrary, the great challenge of a landscape photographer is to condense the world into a captivating visual fragment.
Par excellence, nature opposes any means of control. And that includes arranging elements. We need to move around in order to organise chaos and transform nature into the beautiful composition that is in our mind. Understanding nature – and being drawn to exploring all the contextual elements that make up these huge canvases – is a basic skill for capturing it in a storytelling fashion.
We don’t own landscapes, they express themselves as they please and we are just drooling voyeurs thinking about slightly expected results. But, in the end, nature is the author of these photographs. The most poetic thing about this experience is that even when surrounded by other photographers, no landscape will look equal, we all end up having a unique piece of art in our hands. In this is something worth sharing.
Photography is limited and can’t express all the wonders of exploring nature; but it is a great way of showing others our world and why it matters to keep it safe from our own hand. If we don’t start taking serious action about taking care of our planet, these images will be the only witnesses we will leave for future generations to come about how graceful our planet was.
Landscapes in the marsh and along the canal can be cluttered making it more challenging to isolate the scene. But with fog comes the opportunity to discover and capture the beauty more simply. Images made in fog allow the photographer the opportunity to be selective in making the image and in processing.
The latter by deciding how much will show through the fog in the background. Portfolio images were made in northern Virginia, USA along the water near the Potomac River. "Through the Fog" was made along the C&O Canal Towpath and the others were made in the marsh at Huntley Meadows. I frequently photograph both locations throughout the year but fog increases their magic.
While my native country Denmark is often described as being “nice and green” it is my belief that few if any landscape photographers would ever describe it as a landscape photographer’s paradise.
Denmark is one of the most intensively exploited agricultural nations in the world, and with an absence of mountains, cliffs and rocks (save for the remote small island of Bornholm where small cliffs can be found), and an almost complete absence of wilderness, it is at times hard not to feel a bit envious of the possibilities available to landscape photographers in the U.K. Even our woodlands are plantations destined for production.
Travelling abroad is, of course an option, but it comes with a cost and as I am aware that I also have to reduce my carbon footprint, travelling has to be the exception rather than the rule.
Getting out with my camera is a necessity for me and while my main photographic passion is the landscape, I have over the years also developed a certain passion for shooting abandoned places (can be hard to find though), decay and rust to compensate for the lack of opportunities in the Danish landscape.
From time to time I do, however, end up in a creative rut. I do get out with my camera – important for both my wellbeing – but I often reach home without the camera ever leaving my camera bag. I have come to accept this and just enjoy the walk. As I walk, I often spend time wondering about new directions and possible new photographic opportunities.
For some time I have had a wish of making more abstract images, concentrating more on shapes, colours and my own emotional responses to the landscape rather than the subject itself. Since I was first exposed images made with ICM. I have found them very inspirational. I have on the other hand always felt the concept of I.C.M. to be beyond my normal comfort zone. Having shot transparencies with a large format camera since 2005 I have to the best of my ability tried to work in the systematic and rigorous way which is so essential for this type of photography. When I started to become serious about digital capture in 2015, I tried to transfer as many of the same techniques as possible and to keep my pace as slow as possible.
Getting out of one’s comfort zone, however, is often considered to be a good way of progressing. So around Christmas last year where we had a long spell of very wet, grey, dark and gloomy weather I decided that this was probably the best conditions I could have if I wanted to give image making with I.C.M. a “go”.
I feel decidedly uncomfortable shooting handheld, so I still opted to use my tripod. My shutter speeds in the woods were somewhere between 4 and 8 seconds at base ISO and F 16 (with I.C.M. there is no need to worry about diffraction), so this gave me plenty of time to rock the tripod slowly back and forth.
The four pictures are made on my first two outings. While being a completely new direction for my photography I feel quite happy with what I got. So, whenever I feel the conditions are right, I look forward to exploring further into this new and for me unknown territory.
I may have studied in Edinburgh, but my heart is quite literally torn in two when it comes to my feelings towards Scotland. My family and I have been visiting the West for coming up to a decade, with a particular focus on the Inner Hebrides. I quickly found myself utterly enchanted by the area, which meant that the occasional visit with the family quite simply wasn't enough. This has resulted in multiple road trips (both in company and solo), a long standing love affair and a proposal of marriage (to my fiancee, not the land!) in the area.
The landscape is as varied as the weather and seems to be an area that can both accommodate and bewitch any visually orientated person. It can challenge and surprise on any day, providing a nigh on constant source of inspiration for me. Heading back is one of the highlights of my calendar.
This issues podcast's topic is books and specifically, Joe and David's experiences making their first ones. Don't forget, if you like these podcasts, please let us know and suggest a few topics we might discuss in the next one.
A society is defined not only by what it creates, but by what it refuses to destroy.-John Sawhill
Lifelong insomnia has been both a blessing and a curse for me, and like so many other things its blessings have always seemed more profound when I’m out in the wild. It is 1am as I write these words, on a pleasant moonless night. I’m in my campsite sitting in a comfortable folding chair looking into the night sky. The vast desert around me is silent and still. No artificial light is visible as far as I can see, save for my little head torch—a necessary evil for writing which I hope to extinguish soon, so I can return to my nightly meditation. To the south, the constellation Scorpius is now fully visible. Two adjacent dots of light catch my eye: the stars Shaula and Lesath, making up the stinger of the celestial scorpion (or at least some photons ejected from them several hundred years ago). My dog lies at my feet, waking every few minutes to check on my condition (or on the condition of possible treats I might have for her). In the previous hours, I saw three meteors, one sporting an impressively long tail; two satellites; one owl flying silently, and the movements of two unidentified animals too far to see clearly.
To the south, the constellation Scorpius is now fully visible. Two adjacent dots of light catch my eye: the stars Shaula and Lesath, making up the stinger of the celestial scorpion
It saddens me to think that for so many people, experiences like these are no longer possible. Many may live an entire lifetime never having felt the peace of spending a quiet night alone under a canopy of stars, far away from the lights and cacophony of human hives. Many have become so detached from such primal experience as to not even know their power or to consider them worthy, and some may even be afraid of them. In recent years, even here in this great desert, more and more places I used to love not only for their beauty but also for such things as their intact communities of life, their silence, their clear skies, and the chance they offer to spend time in silent contemplation for days on end, no longer afford such experiences. Some of these places have been damaged or destroyed by increased visitation, some can no longer be experienced in solitude, and some have been “developed,” by which I mean that their wild character, their complex ecosystems, their mystery, their natural soundscapes, and their capacity to serve as refuges from the ills and bustle of humanity, have been willingly sacrificed to make them easier to access and more alluring to casual visitors.
In the last few articles in “On Landscape”, I have been reviewing the particularities of using photography as a way of personal expression (see part 1, part 2 and part 3). Landscape photography can be used not only to record literal depictions of places but also to convey ideas, emotions and connoted symbolism and metaphor. By using photography in an expressive way, we can tell stories and shape the way these stories will be deciphered by the observer.
Obviously, the most important thing to make our photography expressive is having something to express. But even if we know what we want to say, we need to decide how to do it, which, in turn, will need to be informed by the why. Photographing with intent means allowing that intention to guide the whole photographic process, so that every single decision is coherent, informed and justified.
In this article, I am presenting one of my personal projects, “Totems”, made in the framework of my MA in photography. I hope the reader will not feel alienated by the eventual academic jargon and frequent quotes to critics and other practitioners. If you feel bogged down in the details when reading this article, I urge you to focus on the overall idea: how the project is critically justified always coming back to its message and intent. The purpose of this article is to provide a case study where the overall message and intent are specified, and the subsequent decisions along the photographic process are critically justified; from the fieldwork to the decision of the ideal surface of dissemination.
In this respect, the article ends up discussing about the creation of an Artist Book made for this project. I succinctly describe how every single decision related to its design and construction was, again, aligned with the original message and intent of the overall project.
Additionally, this article also shows how important it is to know where our project stands, in terms of the History of photography and of the contemporary practice of landscape photography. This is not only important to avoid repeating what others have already done, but also to realise what we as individuals have to say in a genuine way. Obviously, we never create in a vacuum, and it is also important to acknowledge possible sources of inspiration while justifying our decisions in the light of criticism already given to similar work.
These “Totems” are just remnants of what used to be a productive farm. These figures of anthropomorphic nature are displayed in a typological way. Thanks to the psychological phenomenon known under the name of Pareidolia, we see human traits, faces, gestures and poses in these figures.
"Totems"
At the very root of the project “Totems” lies a critical opinion about the unsustainable relationship between human beings and their environment.
These “Totems” are just remnants of what used to be a productive farm. These figures of anthropomorphic nature are displayed in a typological way. Thanks to the psychological phenomenon known under the name of Pareidolia, we see human traits, faces, gestures and poses in these figures.
Whatever we may think, traces of our upbringing always persist to shape us, and at some stage manifest themselves in our photography. That’s certainly true for Jenifer Bunnett, raised a free spirit in Pembrokeshire but presently – temporarily she hopes – living away from the sea that she loves. Not that that has stopped her from developing a portfolio based around the elements that resonate most: earth, wind and sea. It just takes a little determination and some good planning, plus a willingness to allow for life’s interruptions. In contrast to the energetic frenzy of her good friend Rachael Talibart’s photographs, Jenifer’s images show a quieter side of the sea, though not without the potential to occasionally take her feet from under her.
Can you tell us something about where you grew up, and the extent to which that has shaped you?
West Wales was where I was lucky enough to be brought up. My father fell for Pembrokeshire while doing a holiday job rowing guests to Thorn Island on which sits an old fort. At that time it was run as an alternative (sic Pembrokeshire) hotel. When my parents discovered I was on the way, my mother, a London girl, had to be convinced that Pembrokeshire would be the ideal place in which to raise a child. In those days there was a lot less motorway and Pembrokeshire was decidedly remote. They set up a sailing school, rather ahead of their time. Our cottage, though quite charming, had no electricity or running water. We obtained the latter from a nearby spring. It was indeed the perfect place to raise me; a world of echoey bridges clad in emerald green seaweed, mournfully clinking boats, the ever stirring wind and looming layers of cloud, variously disquieting or reassuring, heightening the senses.
Your father was a photographer. How did this influence your education in the subject, and tastes? What kind of images did you initially set out to make?
Yes, he was. After a few years of running the sailing school, which I gather was successful in a free spirited kind of way, my mother put her foot down. I had a younger brother and another on the way, and she wanted stability, running water and a social life! They headed six miles inland and bought a rambling old farmhouse. It probably seemed as bonkers as the old cottage to some, but it had amenities so my mother was OK with that. Dad had been one of a team of scientists who’d sailed to Spitsbergen to prove the Earth’s tectonic plates had moved and that trip had galvanised his nascent interest in photography. So, photography it was! One room became a studio, another a darkroom. A few years on, he opened a studio in the town centre where his business really expanded. I now had three brothers and specialising in one genre wasn’t really an option; he did it all. Weddings almost every weekend, portraits, industrial and commercial shoots and lots of press photography. One of our favourite childhood memories is of Dad trying to get a roll of film onto the train to arrive in Cardiff for publication in the next morning’s Western Mail, and missing the train, so whizzing along to the next station to try and catch it there. We’d glimpse the train sometimes, jubilant as Dad tried to race it. Occasionally we’d miss all the trains and end up in Cardiff!
Perfection in design is achieved not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.- Antoine de Saint Exupery
Saint Exupery’s dictum is exemplified, par excellence, by McCloskey’s image of Devil’s Island, taken one foggy morning in Killarney National Park, County Kerry, Ireland. On a superficial level, we see an image which has been stripped back to its essentials: an island, its reflection and the merging of water and sky to create a uniform background to the image. It seems simple, simplistic even, a perfect example of the cliché saying about minimalism: less is more. But this is to underplay the power of this particular image, and the impact of minimalism in general – it is anything but simple!
Devil’s Island, Killarney National Park, County Kerry
If we approach an image like this from a compositional point of view, then we already begin to understand some of the interpretative choices that the photographer has made. For example, we are presented with geometric shapes – the island and its reflection create a (rough) circle which has been placed centrally in a square frame.
If we approach an image like this from a compositional point of view, then we already begin to understand some of the interpretative choices that the photographer has made. For example, we are presented with geometric shapes – the island and its reflection create a (rough) circle which has been placed centrally in a square frame.
(Geometry is always so powerful in image making…) Such a central composition suggests neutrality & impartiality – it deliberately avoids the dynamism of a focal point which might be placed anywhere else in the image. Put the focal point on the thirds and it would immediately introduce tension in the image which would detract from the minimalist aesthetic. It creates a ‘weightiness’ in the middle of the image, heaviness of the centre, like a magnet pulling the eye towards the island. The geometrical circularity of the focal point is, of course, a function of the island’s reflection which completes the circle.
This is a pictorial effect created by the deliberate decision of the photographer to shoot when the water is still. Not also how the space around the island and its reflection is devoid of texture. The viewer can’t really tell any difference between water and sky. They are tonally equal, there is no pattern or surface structure for the eye to rest on. The blending of water and sky is emphasised by the restricted colour palette, blues and slight greys. That’s it. Even the island only manages a hint of brown and green, a dab of white. All very sparing, austere and simple.
Why is this sort of minimalism an attribute of perfection as suggested by Saint Exupery? I think this comes down to a balance of the aesthetic choices the photographer has made, and the emotional impact that derives from those choices. I’m not particularly interested in how the image came about – perhaps the water was really that still, the fog obscured the horizon line, or McCloskey used a ND filter to smooth the texture, it doesn’t really matter. The effect, so common to minimalism, is to focus the eye on one point, to make the viewer stop, and to force a contemplation. It is a stilling of the everyday reality. Imagine for example what it actually must have been like when McCloskey stood on the shore. There would have been waves, movement, noise, detail – we all know as photographers how the moment of making an image can be full of adrenalin and excitement. But all this has been excised. The rhythm of reality has been slowed down and stopped, this image creates an unreality, something the eye cannot see, but only the mind of the photographer can perceive and demonstrate to the viewer.
And so, to the emotional impact: What does this image convey to you? A feeling of peace, calm and quietness? Does it suggest tranquillity and harmony? Perhaps a meditative feeling, of a sense of emptiness? I wonder if this existed at the moment of making the image…? More often than not, I suspect it doesn’t. Rather this is the minimalist aesthetic: It is the photographer’s decision to strip away, to get rid of colour, of objects, textures, to blend everything into a formal static composition, to flatten time, that brings us back to Saint Exupery’s insight: there is nothing left to take away, and to be left with perfection…
Salt piles both white and brown, excavation by way of evaporation, the semi-arid desert located basins exposed to the prevailing northerly winds and summer heat. Salt production from the sketchers’ imagination, an environment extremely hostile to life revealing through the frame a kind of atavistic visual austerity.
Some 30 years ago I had read about Saharan Salt and the caravans transporting it up from Algeria and Mali into Morocco. Salt literally worth its weight in gold. I can't be sure whether I had read or imagined desert towns made entirely from blocks of salt. The notion of such a wild inhospitable place appealed as a place to write about. Many years later, I found myself much closer to the Saharan source of salt, living in Morocco.
The small pockets of Morocco’s salt production located on its western coastline had been on my radar for years but photographically it seemed too unstructured and harsh to make any images there.
It has come to me of late that comparing one man’s work to another’s, naming one greater or lesser, is a wrong approach. The important and only vital question is, how much greater, finer, am I than I was yesterday?
- Edward Weston
Part I of this article gave a historical context to the current debate in post-processing (click here to read).
The Dilemma
Nearly everyone would agree that digital files, especially raw files, require some degree of post-processing, i.e. editing. The essence of the current debate is, at what point does post-processing cease to approximate reality as it was and begin to depict reality as the photographer wished it to be? Whilst the photographer is obliged to use some software to process images, at what point does an image become “Photoshopped,” which for some is a euphemism for mendacious.
The essence of the current debate is, at what point does post-processing cease to approximate reality as it was and begin to depict reality as the photographer wished it to be? Whilst the photographer is obliged to use some software to process images, at what point does an image become “Photoshopped,” which for some is a euphemism for mendacious.
Some have argued in a variety of forums that truth is neither necessary nor important, nor even possible, in a photograph.1,2 Others feel that the photographer should strive for veracity in the image even if truth can never be fully achieved, kind of like the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. You can never photograph what you see so the photograph must be untrue.
Choosing a favourite image is an almost impossible task for me, given that my mood and tastes have shifted quite significantly over the past few years. Still, when approached by On Landscape to consider this, it did give me a chance to look back over the photographers who in one way or another have helped shape my own journey thus far.
I, like most, when first starting out in landscape photography, was drawn to the grander view: colour; drama; impact. Wide views which pulled you into the scene. Those, and I mean no disrespect to the photographers or their work, where you didn’t have to go looking too hard for the image. Beautiful, but nonetheless often a literal representation of the scene in front of them. Work from the likes of Adam Burton, Neil Barr and Mark Bauer was part of my regular morning fix of photography over coffee.
It wasn’t until I had returned to landscape photography (after several years working as a sports photographer) that I realised my tastes had shifted and my eye was now drawn to quieter moments in the landscape. Whilst the view could still be grand at times, the palette was more muted, sometimes almost devoid of all colour. Work from the likes of Benjamin Graham, Rohan Reilly and Jenifer Bunnett were permanent fixtures on my browser’s toolbar.
My tastes have once again shifted, this time more to the intimate view of the landscape, with work from the likes of David Ward, Russ Barnes and Hans Strand being a joy to peruse. A number of these images make me question what I am looking at and that helps me linger longer, sometimes revealing even more hidden beauty.
Are we looking at the mist in the woodland, or do the colder tones, along with the sparse nature of the leaves, represent the last throws of autumn and the onset of winter? I love it when an image makes me ask such questions, as it ensures my gaze will linger and I will return to it time and again.
Today, while all of the above still holds a place in my heart, especially for the intimate landscape, I now find myself drawn more and more to those photographers who are taking their work further than a single straightforward image. For me, one of the standout names in this field is Glenys Garnett As someone who also posts videos on YouTube, I first became aware of Glenys’ work via her series ‘The Making Of’
Lack of opportunities to travel for landscape photography has caused me (as well as many others) to look closer to home for subjects to photograph. I’ve been inspired by seeing the daily social media posts by Valerie Dalling of the cloudscapes from her window every morning since lockdown began in March. I had the idea of capturing evening cloudscapes as being complementary to Valerie’s project, but unfortunately, I was never organised enough to do it systematically. Nevertheless, I have been irregularly collecting cloud photos since late March. Those included here were, with the exception of the first photo, taken outside the front door of my home.
Living under the flight path of Luton airport means that my usual sky is a mass of aircraft contrails, both from Luton and from Heathrow. The huge fall in air travel since late March seems to have brought out cloudscapes which I’d either never noticed before or were hidden by the crisscrossing contrails. Perhaps both.
Why are clouds interesting as photographic subjects? Their ephemeral nature, constantly changing and never repeating, an unending series of ‘decisive moments’ which are sometimes difficult to catch
Why are clouds interesting as photographic subjects? Their ephemeral nature, constantly changing and never repeating, an unending series of ‘decisive moments’ which are sometimes difficult to catch, forcing the use of manual focus by someone who usually lazily relies on autofocus. Wistfulness, threat and other emotions seem to be expressed by different cloudscapes.
Something that was in my mind as I took these shots was their lack of scale, conferring an abstract nature. In contrast, I looked back at a shot I had taken a few months ago where a sunset cloudscape was firmly anchored against the trees in the foreground (the first photo).– very ‘safe’ and its scale can be easily judged.
The more recent examples are a mixture taken with a long telephoto or a mid-range lens – but lack of inclusion of any terrestrial fixtures means it’s impossible to know whether they were close-ups. Lacking a knowledge of photography history, I’m grateful to have been pointed by Tim Parkin to the work of Alfred Stieglitz, who published a series of cloudscapes he called ‘Equivalents’ in the 1920s and 1930s (read more here).
It seems that these were recognised as among the earliest intentionally abstract photographs, in that they (mostly) excluded any reference points that would give them scale. He aimed that the viewer would take from them not so much that they are photos of clouds, but draw on the feelings that the cloud formations evoked.
The British Romantic artists also employed clouds to project sentiment. Constable’s ‘Cloud Study’ of 1821 has a degree of overlap with some of the images I’ve presented here (says he, modestly!) although it’s probably the other way around.
p.s. in the last few days air travel seems to be opening up again, and the skies over Herts are returning to the familiar pattern of crisscrossing contrails.
Basically, therefore, photographers wish to produce states of the things that have never existed before; they pursue these states, not out there in the world, since for them the world is only a pretext for the states of things that are to be produced, but among the possibilities of the camera’s program. To this extent, the traditional distinction between realism and idealism is overturned in the case of photography: it is not the world out there that is real, nor is the concept within the camera’s program – it is only the photograph that is real.”
“We are dealing here with a reversal of the vector of significance: it is not the significance that is real, but the signifier, the information, the symbol and this reversal … is characteristic of the post-industrial world in general - Vilém Flusser, 1983: The Gesture of Photography
And then, straight after submitting my last article to On Landscape1, I started reading a book by Vilém Flusser2(1920-1991) that expressed views almost completely opposed to what I had suggested in that article about the representation of reality. Flusser suggests that it is only the photograph that can be real; it cannot be the reality that was photographed (see the leading quotation above3). That is, of course, true to an extent. I had already noted in that article that our images depend on technology outside our control but had expressed the view that they might be representations of reality as experienced, in so far as they do not stray too far from what the eye saw at the time.4
"Quick Definitions"
Semiotics - study of signs and symbols Post-Structuralism - the idea that things need analysing in their proper context, not in isolation Post-Modernism - A rejection of turn of the century 'big thinking' around art. - Ed
The book by Flusser, Thoughts on a Philosophy of Photography, was written in 1983, so well before the proliferation of digital imaging, but at a time in philosophy when semiotics, post-structuralism and post-modernism [were in full flow. He wrote about photography as a post-industrial activity in which the camera as a machine or apparatus was used to produce images to satisfy the photographic program. The photographic program he envisaged (already in 1983) as the potential to produce images of everything and everywhere: “the sum of all those photographs that can be taken by a camera”. He does not define a philosophy of photography as such but rather sets out what a philosophy of photography would have to deal with in the post-industrial age. In particular, he suggests that rather than the photographer using the camera to provide information, one of the features of the photographic program is that the camera is using the photographer as a means of continuing its development (and the continuation of all the industrial complex that lies behind it). This is certainly an interesting alternative perspective on the modern memes of gear acquisition syndrome and the manufactured demand for ever more megapixels when most images are not shown at greater resolutions than the humble phone or computer screen.
Using new technology is always a dilemma for a photographer. I was interested to read about Martin Longstaff's musings on using drones for landscape photography (Issue 201). This is a debate I have had recently. With cameras being technology based, they are constantly evolving. Some tools that we now take for granted, in their day were contentious. Take the lowly flashgun for example. When it was introduced it sparked a whole debate about ethics. When asked about its use, W. Eugene Smith, the celebrated documentary photographer remarked, 'Available light is any damn light that is available!'. This sums up my approach to using technology. It is about using the right tools, to get a job done. This article looks at my experiments using drones for landscape photography.
Shortly after moving to the Peak District, I was invited to talk about my work at one of the local camera clubs. I had recently finished a project that documented the long-term effects of the 1984 Miners' Strike on mining communities, so I was talking about that. As a guest speaker, I was also asked to review some of the members work, in preparation for an inter club 'print battle' that was coming up.
The talk went well, however judging the prints, was a little more challenging. It was a strange position to be in, none of the work could be classed as straight documentary, but I did my best. Being in close proximity to the Peak District, a large proportion of the images were Landscapes. One member named Geoff, proudly showed me his picture of a sunset over the Goyt Valley. Technically it was faultless, a classic example of the 'rule of thirds' but with a little too much Photoshop, post processing, for my tastes. I asked him about the image. He explained that it was a favourite walk of his. He loved this area of the Peak.
In the lower third of the image, the rolling moors stretched out into the distance. However, the whole landscape was covered in pock marks, like a strange disease. These peculiar manifestations are man-made. It is where heather is either cut or burnt back on grouse moors. The resulting regrowth becomes a key food source for red grouse and deer.
I remarked how alien it looked, but from his blank response, I could see that he didn't really understand my point. I asked him to tell me the story behind the picture. He explained that he had been walking his dog and had just got back to the car, at the same time as the sun was setting. He then detailed the equipment he had used and then went through the steps he had taken in Photoshop to make the image 'pop'. It struck me, that at no point did he actually talk about what was in the image. This was a classic case of 'looking, without seeing'.
My interest in the Peak District started 12 years ago when I moved to the area. I was lucky to meet, the respected photographer, Paul Hill early on. Paul was running an MA at a local university. His seminal book, White Peak, Dark Peak, was a major influence on my own approach to landscape work. He didn't capture pretty scenes, he documented what he saw. He collected evidence, to tell stories. We would go for day long rambles. He was a mine of information about everything. Every walk was an education.
It was during these trips that I began to understand how the National Park had evolved. Far from being a natural place, it had very much been shaped by man.
It was during these trips that I began to understand how the National Park had evolved. Far from being a natural place, it had very much been shaped by man. With a background of documenting three decades of industrial disputes, I became acutely aware of the industrial heritage of the Peak District. There was evidence of lead and copper mining. The Industrial Revolution started in nearby Cromford. The site of the world's first water-powered cotton spinning mill, developed by Richard Arkwright in 1771.
Whilst numerous Photographic books on the Peak District books existed, few other than Paul's, tried to show anything other than pretty pictures. A much richer source of information came from local history books. One day in a local bookshop I came across 'The South-West Peak: History of the Landscape' by Eric Wood. This was a revelation. It detailed how the landscape had evolved and been shaped by man, right from the beginnings of time. It changed the whole way I 'saw' the landscape. Finely manicured hills were a sign of intensive agriculture, not just a tourist attraction. In this area grazing by sheep and deer had been the main factors in sculpting the landscape. The hills were this shape because of economics, not nature.
On one trip, being trapped in the car waiting for the rain to pass, I started doodling in my notebook. I was beginning to sketch out ideas for a new body of work. From a mind map, two phrases leapt from the page: 'There are no straight lines in the wilderness' and 'Just because a landscape is green, doesn't make it natural'. I realised that these two statements could form the basis of the project. I wanted to create a set of images that would engage people, but also make them think about what they were seeing.
At this time, I was becoming increasingly aware of some of the ecological factors effecting the landscape. With issues such as Climate Change and Brexit, Britain as a country is having to consider/re-evaluate land management and its consequences in some detail. A growing body within the scientific community and activists have begun to explore the concept of Rewilding and managing the British Landscape, to enhance its ability to absorb CO2. In addition, as the UK is now set to leave the European Economic Union, as a country we are now reassessing how a post Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) landscape will look. This includes changing incentives from maximising agricultural production to other goals, such as conservation and increasing biodiversity. All this means that land use and its management are increasingly coming under scrutiny.
At a certain point in a photographer's career, you get the urge to get serious. All rationale goes out the window and you buy a large format, film camera.
At a certain point in a photographer's career, you get the urge to get serious. All rationale goes out the window and you buy a large format, film camera. It's as though the suffering of carrying a 15 Kilo tripod and using film, will give your work some form of gravitas. Equipped with my 30-year-old mahogany and brass camera, I ventured out into the storm blasted hills. I came back with very little to show for my efforts, other than a bad back. Whilst I had begun to develop the concept behind the work, the images I was producing were not working for me. I showed them to friends and colleagues, but they did not elicit the response I wanted. I could pre-visualise some of the images I wanted to take, but the equipment I was using, wasn't getting me there.
The breakthrough to my approach came on a trip to North Wales. I was walking in the hills above Taly-bont. As I descended the hills above Llyn Irddyn, I could see two perfectly parallel walls. In this wild isolated area, they just looked so incongruous. Why had someone bothered to take the time and effort to build these structures? From my vantage point high on the mountain I could see the image, but no matter which lens I selected, I couldn't frame the shot. As I descended the advantages of a high viewpoint were lost, at ground level I just couldn't make the picture work. It was lunch-time, so I pondered the problem whilst eating my sandwiches. Out here in this wild and barren place, was geometric evidence of man shaping the landscape, but with conventional photography, I couldn't get the photograph I wanted. What was needed was a high, controllable vantage point. The obvious answer was aerial photography, but hiring a light aircraft would have broken my budget!
A few years earlier I had used a drone for a project, this was the perfect solution. However, my experience of using drones was a frustrating one. I had built a couple of big drones, capable of lifting DSLRs off the ground. This was before 'off the shelf' versions were available. The problem was that I spent more time building and maintaining them than actually flying. In addition, with early flight controllers there was an ever-present risk, that your drone would develop a mind of its own and fly off into the sunset! In frustration I gave up. However, in the intervening time, a number of 'out of the box' solutions have become available. Whilst it was a bit of a gamble, I decided to try one out. A fortnight later I was back in the same area, flying a drone 80 metres above the walls. As soon as I saw the images, I knew I had found the solution.
Out here in this wild and barren place, was geometric evidence of man shaping the landscape, but with conventional photography, I couldn't get the photograph I wanted. What was needed was a high, controllable vantage point.
Whilst there have been a number of photographers that have used aerial landscape images, including Edward Burtynsky and Yann Arthus-Bertrand, their work explores shape and form in a more ambiguous way. When writing about Burtynsky’s work in the Washington post, Columnist David Segal is quoted as saying, "Do Ed Burtynsky’s Photos Glorify Industry or Vilify It?". When asked about his own images, Burtynsky responds, "I don’t want to be didactic. I’m not trying to editorialise and say this is right or this is wrong. Either extreme is too simplistic". My work has evolved from a different heritage. An approach shaped by artists such as Richard Misrach, highlighting the ecological damage caused by the military on the American landscape (Bravo 20) and before him photographers from the New Topographics movement, whose images focused on a Man-Altered Landscape. This is work that is issue based. Whilst the images use composition and aesthetic forms, to draw in the viewer, their ultimate aim is to go beyond that and act as a catalyst to stimulate debate about contemporary and future land use.
Thinking back to my experience at the Camera Club, Geoff became my target audience. I wanted to create a set of images that would be appealing aesthetically, but would make people think about what they were seeing. I suppose that with a background in Social Documentary photography, it is not surprising that my landscape work is issue based as well. Using drones is just one way to achieve these goals.
I came across David Foster on Twitter, where he was sharing beguiling photographs from his project 'everything seemed to be listening'. David has previously been drawn to edgelands, wastelands, and borderlands, and to ruined, derelict and abandoned places (which you can see at davidfoster.photography) but for the last three years he has been creating images and videos in response to the places in which the artist Paul Nash lived and worked. For the still images, David has chosen to work with double exposure photographs, made in camera, seeking a dialogue with what Nash referred to as ‘the life of the inanimate object’. David’s images and videos are titled with a grid reference giving the location where the work was made, but he talks about the way in which he reaches these places as being equally important.
SU530920 (2020)
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up and what your early interests were?
I was born in Aldershot in Hampshire but spent my childhood from the age of four in Northumberland, first in a house on the edge of the old coal-mining village of Acomb, then in my teenage years in a house in the centre of the nearby market town of Hexham. The main interest that I had as a child which has extended into adulthood was that of music, which I loved making and listening to from a very early age - something that is still very much the case today. As a young boy, I think I did a fair amount of solitary wandering of the woods and fields just outside Acomb. I also used to regularly walk the two miles to school in Hexham, in order to avoid the bullies that tyrannised the school bus. Those early experiences of solitary walking – and indeed of the alienation and search for solace that so often prompts and fuels that kind of activity – perhaps shaped to a considerable degree some salient aspects of the outlook and sensibility that I have today.
We have interviewed Al twice in the past, once as a featured photographer in 2013 and then in 2018 to talk more about the projects he was working on at the time (click here for interview). Richard Earney wrote an end frame in December 2019 that caught my attention and I got in touch with Al to find out more about his Graveyard Bins project.
It’s been two years since we spoke, tell us what you have been doing photographically over this period?
Wow, that's a lot of time to cover. I'll try and be concise.
I've had two books published, been part of several exhibitions here and abroad, made a short film, published some new zines with my friends at Inside the Outside, recently finished a series of Polaroid lifts which were to be exhibited at the end of March but that's postponed, started doing some workshops with my friend Fleur Olby called the 'Art of Walking', probably given a talk or two but don't quote me on that and started two new long term bodies of work to run concurrently. I've probably forgotten something but that's the gist.
Richard Earney wrote a fantastic end frame about one of the images from this project. Do you want to recap on how this project came about? Where did it all start? What's your personal interest in this subject?
It started roughly 5 or maybe 6 years ago. And it wasn't something I ever thought would be a project or body of work. The flowers were just something I noticed. That tiny tiny moment of 'oh yeah'. And that's all it was. I had my phone with me and I stuck it over the bins and made one or two photographs. I think I might have put them up on social media assuming no one would look at them and I was right, no one did, and quite rightly so. They weren't very good. And in a way the fact that no one looked at them kind of made me want to make more of them. But I didn't really. Not for a while. And that's where it all begins, I guess. By noticing something that maybe someone else misses. Everyone can see something that's invisible to others.
The concept of ‘beauty’ often seems to be a dirty word to those photographers from a ‘contemporary/academic’ background. The use of beauty is considered too bright a light to be seen direct for fear you go blind to the meaning behind a work. To those wishing to create works that reflect the natural beauty of nature, such an attitude seems anathema. Robert Adams strode a middle ground between these two camps and his book “Beauty in Photography” is an essential source material for anyone wishing to look more closely at the subject. His writing is accessible and concise without being dry, and his prior experience as an English professor pays dividends for the reader.
About 10-12 years ago there was a revolution. Social media and digital photography created new ways and opportunities to record and share our lives, experiences and adventures. All of a sudden, we could see where our friends and relatives travelled. We saw images of places we had been to in our dreams, we saw what our friends ate for breakfast on the other side of the planet, we could ride with them a boat through beautiful or harsh surroundings.
Then it changed. We started to put ourselves into the images, together with the landscape or a famous landmark. We moved ourselves into the foreground. We didn’t go to beautiful places solely to experience the magnificent historical sights, the manmade constructions, the natural wonders, or beautiful landscapes. No, we went there to make a selfie.
There is nothing new about this. We have always made images of ourselves. Portraits, for the family albums, Christmas cards of the family and portraits to hang on the wall, to remember our ancestors. It’s a way to define our identity. With the development of social media, a totally new way of thinking about self-portraits developed. We are now able to share an image the instant it happens. While there used to be a delay due to processing, printing and publishing, we can now go live as long as we are connected to a network.
The life span of most photographs has become shorter. How does this affect the photographer? Have the intentions and motivation behind the creation of an image changed? How do all the different ways a photograph is being used to influence our creative process? If the "function" of a photograph is more diverse now than what it used to be, how can we take advantage of this in the process of making better images of the landscape?
I had been looking forward to my trip to Lewis and Harris for ages; at last, I was getting the chance to get to one of my bucket list photographic destinations – and for a whole 9 days – I was so excited!
As well as a fabulous destination, I was also looking forward to 9 days of photography just for me, what a privilege to be able to do this, and one that is very rare for all of us. So, my expectations were very high even though I was striving to keep them in check. I knew that the Hebrides in winter was likely to be frequently rainy and windy, but I come from Anglesey, which is the same, so I thought I would be prepared for this. I had all sorts of plans in my head for photographing in the rain – lens hoods, rain covers, umbrellas, even experimenting with deliberately allowing the rain to smear on the lens (a UV filter I hasten to add, not my actual lens), so I really felt prepared for this too.
Image 1
How wrong can you be!
So, do you remember Ciara and Dennis – how can you not?! Sod’s law would have it that I managed to coincide my trip with these two storms, arriving just before Ciara and managing to get away on the last ferry before Dennis really started to do its worst. Consequently, my trip was a pretty constant battering of very high winds - at least in the high 40’s and mostly in the 50’s and 60’s - rain, hail and snow. I had one day of calm - the penultimate one – and one of just high winds with no precipitation – the first one.
We have a strong Dutch tradition of landscape painters such as Aelbert Cuyp, Jacob van Ruisdael and later in time Vincent van Gogh. In the middle ages and the renaissance landscapes were just backgrounds for biblical and mythological paintings. However, in the Netherlands, the landscape genre in paintings started in the 17th century because then there was a market and it became very popular. Dutch painters travelled to Europe to study the landscapes or just use their imagination. Aelbert Cuyp for instance never visited Italy in his life, however, he painted landscapes in an Italian style, a combination of bright yellow Italian light with hillsides and hazy backgrounds. No photoshop in those days but the freedom of painting and the result of his imagination and craftsmanship. Nevertheless, we don’t really have a tradition of landscape photography. On the mainland, the landscape photography is more a part of nature photography than a single discipline.
You can’t beat local knowledge and insight, and we’re delighted in this issue to have as our featured photographer Iceland’s Daníel Bergmann, who is also one of the speakers for our postponed ‘A Meeting of Minds’ landscape photography conference on 5-7 November 2021 at the Rheged Centre in Cumbria. We have a selection of images from Daníel that show that there is much more to his homeland than the icons that dominate social media.
Can you tell readers a little about yourself – your education, early interests and career – and the places in which you grew up and now live? How and when did you first become interested in photography? What kind of images did you first set out to make and how did it become a career?
I grew up in Reykjavik. From when I was ten years old, we lived at the edge of the city and there was vast moorland right outside our house leading to distant hills and mountains. I got my first camera when I was a teenager and one of the things I found exciting to photograph were the moorlands birds, such as the Golden Plover, Whimbrel and Snipe, which were all breeding around the house. I set up a darkroom in the basement and from the moment I developed my first film I knew that photography would be my path in life.
Right out of college, where I studied journalism, I started working in photography. In the beginning, I mainly did editorial work for newspapers and magazines but eventually, I took a leap of faith and fully concentrated on nature.
A photograph is the end product of someone caring about something ‘out there.’ The best photographs exude this caring attitude in a manner which is not definable, but which is very evident. ~Bill Jay
Our motivations precede anything we do, and not only in photography. In creative work, our motivations not only prompt us to create but also pervade and carry through every step of the creative process. Our motivations influence the choices we make, set the technical and ethical boundaries we set for ourselves, affect the rewards we experience and the ways we engage with our audiences.
Our motivations influence the choices we make, set the technical and ethical boundaries we set for ourselves, affect the rewards we experience and the ways we engage with our audiences.
In the last few years there has been a welcome flourishing of writings about the many and varied reasons why people photograph. Of course, not all reasons apply to all people and what may seem obvious or proper to some, maybe anathema to others. For example, I recall almost giving up on Robert Adams’s book, Why People Photograph, after reading the first page in which Adams proclaims that one’s own photographs are never enough, and that those who stick with photography do so in large part due to a sense of community. This has never been a consideration to me. In fact, photography as I practice it is satisfying to me in large part because its rewards, to me, are largely independent of the works and judgments of others. Then again, Adams also mentions dogs as a reason to photograph, which I relate to very much.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios consisting of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
This year I decided to go and catch autumn colours and shapes in Connemara (Ireland). I spent several weekends between October and November 2019 and this is a selection that I hope could represent my intimate vision of this spectacular landscape under the mood of truly autumnal colours.
