This time, the water won, reclaiming all that humans had wrought. The contours of tree-lined farm lanes are still visible in the skeletons of submerged trees. When they finally topple or are felled by beavers, they will feed the encroachment of rustling reeds. Silence has descended, broken only by the soft whistling of tufted ducks, the croak of an egret, or the squawking of geese flying up to escape a marauding eagle. Roe deer soundlessly appear at the edge of an island and slip away again like ghosts. Light plays on the water, which ripples with movement caused by underwater life and tidal currents. This is a world of light and reflections, of mist and shadow.
In 2017 I embarked upon a photography project that would eventually take me almost three years to complete. My aim was to portray a hidden world that most visitors miss but, to me, forms the soul of the wetlands national park known as The Biesbosch.
When I moved to the densely populated Netherlands, after growing up in hilly New England, I found myself at a bit of a loss in Dutch nature. The strip of dunes protecting the land from the sea felt limited and over-crowded. The forests of the Veluwe are carefully tended and its Red Deer culled to keep them from destroying the habitat. It’s all so tame. But in time I grew to appreciate its quiet beauty.
Eventually, humans left the Biesbosch and it became a sunken world. In later centuries, some of the Biesbosch was once again reclaimed and farmed. Its tides were stemmed by the great barrier dams of the southwestern coast.
It was this expanse of freshwater tidal wetlands, however, that really captured my imagination. The name ‘Biesbosch’ is derived from the Dutch word ‘bies,’ or bulrushes, a pioneer species that is eventually supplanted by reeds and various types of willows. This delta swamp, about 300 sq. kilometres in size, had been reclaimed for farmland and villages in the early Middle Ages. But civil wars diverted funding from the upkeep of the dykes, and, during a series of severe storms in the 15th century, they broke several times, flooding the area. Eventually, humans left the Biesbosch and it became a sunken world. In later centuries, some of the Biesbosch was once again reclaimed and farmed. Its tides were stemmed by the great barrier dams of the southwestern coast.
But recently the Netherlands adopted a policy to create overflow locations close to the great rivers, allowing sudden increases in water levels to divert and flood the land, thereby preventing more serious flooding. The Biesbosch became one of these designated overflow spots, which meant lowering dykes and moving farms. The Haringvliet Dam has been opened slightly to allow for tidal movement and the return of the great sturgeon. Gradually, the water is taking over again.
Something about this history triggers in my mind an association with what might happen in the future when climate change causes the seas to rise and reclaim large populated regions. I might mourn the loss of some of the beauty that we humans have created through the ages, but I would like to think that birds, animals, and plants would thrive, and that nature would reign again, undisturbed by humans.
I might mourn the loss of some of the beauty that we humans have created through the ages, but I would like to think that birds, animals, and plants would thrive, and that nature would reign again, undisturbed by humans.
Most visitors only see the populated face of the Biesbosch: water recreationists, a network of powerlines on huge pylons, herds of imported exotic grazers (Highland cattle, Konik horses, and even Water Buffaloes), and the remaining farms with their fields and livestock. The world of water, reeds, and their denizens is usually hidden from these visitors, and fortunately so. The presence of humans (even my presence) makes ripples in this world. Luckily the ripples are brief and eventually fade away. There are vast expanses of water and reeds, but also a maze of narrow creeks one could get lost in. The water in the hidden creeks is sometimes only 20-30 cm deep and so limpid that you can see everything below the surface.
Because I live very close to the Biesbosch, it has become my favourite photography haunt. I go out in all weather, at all times of day, and in all seasons. Ospreys and crested grebes, roe deer and beavers, morning mists, reflections in the water… there are always inspiring images to capture. Besides, simply being out there soothes my soul. Whether I’m on foot, in a boat, or just driving slowly with the window rolled down and the camera within grabbing distance, all my senses are open, and my mind is on nothing else but my surroundings. Although it’s an experience I prefer to savour alone, occasionally I’ll be with one or two other photographers, but only if they don’t talk too much.
When I started feeling the need to develop my artistic eye and photographic skills further, a photographer I’ve always admired, Theo Bosboom, suggested that focusing on a project would be a good way to achieve this. He offers a course, which basically consists of a year of mentorship, guiding the photographer through the various steps towards producing a consistent series of images. It was exactly what I needed, and I signed up for it, choosing the Biesbosch as my project focus. After getting off to a false start (I fell and broke my right shoulder late 2017), I resumed work on the project in the fall of 2018.
But the early work I’d done had made one thing very clear to me: my original concept – a portrait of the Biesbosch throughout the seasons – was far too encompassing. I had no idea how to choose my images, what to include and what to ignore. And, even more important, I wasn’t sure how this would help me grow as a photographic artist. How to get past the standard landscape and bird portraits and delve into my perception of the soul of the place?
Theo suggested that I refine my project definition by writing out what I consider to be the soul of the Biesbosch. That’s when I sat down and wrote the words I’ve included at the beginning of this article. This text has been my guideline throughout the work. My aim is not to show people what the Biesbosch looks like. Other photographers have done that quite well. Alfred Stieglitz once wrote, “My photographs are ever born of an inner need – an Experience of Spirit … I have a vision of life, and I try to find equivalents for it sometimes in the form of photographs.” My aim is to portray this silent, drowned world of reflections, mist, and shadows that mirror my inner vision of life.
My aim is to portray this silent, drowned world of reflections, mist, and shadows that mirror my inner vision of life.
Spending more than a year photographing the same location was a surprisingly enriching experience. There were times, as I collected more and more images, that I wondered if I could possibly acquire new, fresh ones. Had I exhausted all possibilities? Somehow, this always resolved itself. I found myself going deeper and deeper, moving past the images I had built in my head and finding unexpected new ones. I had imposed a restriction upon myself: only black-and-white photos in 2:3 format. This challenged me not to rely on colour and cropping techniques. It meant focusing on the strength of composition, lines, and texture instead of the subject matter.
As I progressed, especially once I started thinking about the final selection of images, I kept a mental list of photos that I felt were missing. However, as most of you know, nature photography is serendipitous. And when you’re floating past a stunning scene in a boat, you only have one or two chances for a good capture. Some of the images I hoped for never materialised (or did, but the image quality didn’t meet my standards).
The final selection of photographs would prove to be as important and time-consuming a task as taking and processing the photos. The guiding principles involved more than simply choosing what I considered to be my best images. It meant creating a narrative; putting together a selection of photos that coaxed the viewer into the story and told it coherently, with enough variation to keep it interesting. It was far more difficult than I had expected.
Maybe because I never considered photography as a career, the primary motto guiding my choice of subjects has always been ‘Follow what you love.’ Since working on this project, I’ve added a second precept: ‘But stay out of your comfort zone.’ In the end, the images I was unsure about when taking the photo often turned out to be the best ones. Staying out of my comfort zone proved to be a valuable learning experience. I think, like many photographers, I tend to go for images that are easily readable and comfortable for the viewer: recognizable subject matter using standard rules of compositions. I started experimenting with abstract, impressionistic images, chaotic compositions, the sort of image people might respond to with “What is it?” My explorations started having an effect on my other photographic work. I started to understand why experienced photographers might go out for an entire day and come back with only one image that they’re happy with. This, more than anything else, has contributed to my original goal: honing my skills as a photographic artist.
When you compare this flat, watery expanse of reeds and willows to more iconic locations for landscape photography, the Biesbosch would seem a very dull place.
And what have I learned from the project? Obviously, I’ve learned to put together a consistent series of photographs that tells a tale.
Returning again and again, however, enabled me to go below the surface and discover quiet beauty that might be invisible to others.
I’m very grateful to Theo Bosboom for guiding me through this process with patience, well-timed suggestions, and respect for my creative style. And what have I learned from the project? Obviously, I’ve learned to put together a consistent series of photographs that tells a tale. I’ve also learned to view my work critically and not accept images that fall short of my highest standards. But – and maybe this is the most important lesson of all – I have learned to look carefully and delve deep when I want to discover the soul of a location. The Biesbosch is a magical place, but you will only see the magic if you pay attention.
In the words of the poet Mary Oliver:
Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it
In November, I visited the Joe Cornish gallery to give a talk, along with Joe Cornish and Lizzie Shepherd, at David Ward's exhibition, "Overlooked". The exhibition itself was fantastic and just in case you missed the talks, we recorded them all for posterity. The following is Lizzie Shepherd's talk. You can see the other talks on our YouTube channel or check in the back issues
I always struggle when asked what my favourite picture – or who my favourite photographer – is. To me “favourite” is very transient; it all depends on my mood and where I am currently focusing my photography. If I am in a “minimalistic landscape” mood, then I would be thinking of a work by Bruce Percy; if I am in a “mountain landscape” mood, then it could be a work by Colin Prior; if I am in a “Black and White landscape” mood, then a work by Paul Gallagher; and so on.
Currently, I am focused on woodland photography and attempting to bring order through composition to the chaos of the woodland – something that is not easy (at least not to me!) So, when I was asked to write about my “favourite” picture, it was obvious to me that at this time it would be a woodland image.
One of the immense benefits of the digital age (beyond the wonderful sensors we now get in cameras) is the rise of the YouTube Channel, specifically (for me) the photography related channels. These channels provide a massive resource for all genres of photography and allow you to follow the ups, downs, and thinking of different photographers which you may not have discovered without the power of YouTube.
Over the past few years, Mark Littlejohn has written articles (click here for Mark's articles) and given a talk for us (at the Meeting of Minds conference 2016) and from Saturday 15th February – Saturday 16th May 2020 he'll be having an exhibition of photographs at the Joe Cornish Gallery. On the 21st of March we're organising a mini event where Mark Littlejohn, Joe Cornish and David Ward will be giving talks (more details at the bottom of the article).
To celebrate that, we asked Mark to revisit his work with the Steamers and talk about how working in this way has affected his photography. Mark also contributed loads of photographs, some old classics and many new creations.
I retired from the Police in late 2011, having completed 30 years service with Cumbria Constabulary. The last decade had been spent analysing paedophiles computers and reviewing the material they had been accessing, sometimes millions of images at a time. I needed something to relax me and it was photography that fulfilled this role. I spent the first year of my retirement wandering Ullswater and the Eden Valley taking various photographs. But I missed the camaraderie of my working years and in 2013 I decided that I should perhaps think of getting a wee job somewhere (or perhaps more accurately my wife wanted me out from under her feet). A friend told me that there were some seasonal jobs at the Ullswater Steamers starting in February. What could be better than to spend my days sailing up and down Ullswater in all weathers and getting paid for it. The operations manager was already a fan of my images and I was barely even interviewed. The only question was “When can you start?” I’ve been there seven years now and I have loved nearly every minute. I am currently a senior crew and have no interest in driving the boat. It would just get in the way of my photography.
However, I didn’t realise the effect that it would have on my photography. When I started in 2013 I had owned a digital SLR for three short, fun filled years. Being a wee bit old when I took up photography I’d decided to do it my way. I never read a book or studied a YouTube video. I just went out and pointed the camera at things I liked. Up until I joined the Steamers I shot quite a lot of images with a wider angle. I might get up close to my foreground and work out how I was going to shoot it. I still used a tripod. I still used filters. But when I started looking back at my seven years on the Steamers I realised that there was a lot more to this article than just a few images taken from the boats, or from wee spots I’d spotted from the boat as we sailed on by. On reflection, I realise that these few years changed my whole outlook. It changed the way I saw the world and how I wanted to capture it. It made me appreciate changes in the quality of light, the direction of light, how rain, sunlight, cloud, mist, time of the year, month, day and hour can change a well-known scene. I remember listening to Jem Southam and the way he intricately observed the same places over many years, examining the minutiae of detail contained within. I can see what draws some people to keep photographing the same location, over and over again. Admittedly my chosen location covers a bit more space than Jems.
I see other landscape photographers travelling all over the UK, consulting the latest photographers guidebook and going from honeypot location to honeypot location. In all probability ignoring unique scenes on a daily basis as they whizz past concentrating on their satnavs guiding them to the postcode of the next location. I am constantly uncovering new and hitherto unknown gems in an area I’ve already photographed countless times. Why would I need to travel when I have such riches on my doorstep?
Over the past few years, I have accumulated a number of what I term “work” photographs. I have sorted these into a small number of categories:
The Commute
I suppose we should start with the commute. I travel from the Eden Valley to the Lake District every morning. That makes it sound like a long journey but in fact, Penrith is only 5 miles from Ullswater and the two regions blend into each other over the five-mile gap. In fact, I often refer to the Pooley Bridge boat as sailing from the Eden Valley into the heart of the Lake District. I used to drive the staff minibus to work but I think people got a wee bit fed up of me making slight detours and the occasional emergency stop in order to grab a shot. These days I travel under my own steam and on some occasions try and get out before work if the forecast is good. At the end of the summer, three of the youngsters and I went up onto Striding Edge for dawn. Made for a long day but the fun of the morning made up for it. Admittedly they had more fun than me as I had to get back down for work while they were all off.
Boats and Crew
We run a fleet of five old heritage vessels, the two oldest being Lady of the Lake (1877) and Raven (1889). These two boats were built for Ullswater and have spent their whole service here. I have been trying to get photos of these two lovely old vessels in atmospheric conditions but for some reason all my favourites have been of Western Belle. She is a newish boat, built in 1935 and has been here for less than ten years. However, she always seems to be in the right place at the right time. Sometimes it is hard to work out the scale of the scenery but inclusion of one of the Steamers helps to show how majestic the mountains and crags are. With regards to the crews, some of them are nearly as old as the boats. A lot are like me – they have had their first life and are just enjoying their second. Usually in far nicer circumstances than their first. It makes for a very relaxed working day as your friend and colleague has usually seen it, done it and isn’t fazed by anything and isn’t interested in indulging in any work related politics. It also means that there are no issues with me spending a fair bit of time taking photographs. I’ve seen boats go out where the average age of the crew is 65. It makes me laugh when I’m selling tickets and an older person (usually dressed in several hundred pounds worth of walking clothes) says “two concessions to Glenridding”. I always reply “We don’t give concessions to the elderly, we employ them”.
Weather
When I started working on the steamers I never really thought much about taking photographs in the rain. It wasn’t really something I did. I won the take-a-view Landscape Photographer of the Year with an image taken in horrendously heavy rain. The forecast for that day was horrendous, but it didn’t bother me. Working on the lake had shown me how conditions like that can be wonderfully atmospheric and show how dramatic and real our scenery is. I was taking photographs from Lady of the Lake during a storm and an old lady came up and said, “What are you taking photographs of? It's miserable”. I really did want to reply, “that’s not miserable. You are”. On another occasion, I remember once we had finished a late charter at Pooley Bridge on Lady and we had to travel back up to Glenridding to finish. As we moved away from the pier we were hit by a storm and had extremely heavy rain. In the gathering gloom, we sailed up the Lake and the skipper started playing “Ride of the Valkyries” over the loudspeaker system. It was the most wonderfully surreal experience. Very heavy rain has a way of flattening out the wake and other waves, almost giving them the appearance of sand dunes. It is a most unusual experience. A big advantage to wet weather photography from the boat is that you can keep everything dry downstairs, keep an eye on the way the weather conditions match the scenery and then just make a quick appearance under the canopy for a shot and things don’t get too wet.
Scenery and “Spotting”
I’ve spent years walking around Ullswater and yet working on the boats surprised me by showing me some gorgeous new views that I wasn’t prepared for. The aspect of my photography that I am most proud of is the fact that a huge number of my favourite images are taken within 10 miles of home. I appreciate that I am lucky enough to live within easy distance of some stunning scenery but I am a firm believer in knowing your local area. Light plays a major part in my photography and knowledge of the how the sun works in different areas in different seasons and at different times of the day is important. I tend to plan my shots for specific locations/times when the sun is favourable and dynamic range isn’t such an issue. Whilst I would tend to guard against going out with a preconceived shot in mind, it certainly helps if you know in advance the probable direction and angle of the light. One of my favourite shots from the boats is “Belle of the Ball”. This is a particular tree by Purse Point that changes colour very quickly and then divests itself of its foliage almost immediately gaining its Autumn coat. In mid October the sun stays quite low and sneaks in past the corner of Place Fell just as the early boat leaves Glenridding. This means that while it strikes the Belle of the Ball beautifully, it leaves the majority of its ‘colleagues’ in the shade. The different ways the light can affect shots on Place Fell, with its dense forest of old Silver Birches, throughout the course of the year can be quite startling, showing that you can’t beat in depth knowledge of a location. I always look forward to coming round the corner of Silver Point towards Glenridding. It is at this point that you get your first proper view of the end of the Lake, with St Sundays Crag rising majestically above Glenridding. We also have my favourite Scotch Pines, standing out on a spur of rock in Blowick Bay, with Caudale Moor looming up in the background. Another favourite section is Hallinhag Woods, nestling into the base of Hallin Fell. It is at this point where there is a plaque in commemoration of Lord Birkett, who managed to fight off attempts to dam the Lake in 1962. Being on a boat means you can quite often change your composition simply. I really do feel that there is a single best place to take an image from and I am extremely pedantic about getting the right perspective. Arrangement of the elements is key. Over the last few years I’ve concentrated on training the skippers to change course slightly in order to take advantage of certain conditions. Moving slightly further out from the shore or just trying to line up certain aspects of the shoreline becomes a matter of routine. I’ve also trained them to shout over the tannoy “Mark to the wheelhouse” if they seen some light or a change in the conditions that might interest me…
A Different Viewpoint
Viewed from the lake you see things that are invisible from any of the numerous paths that crisscross the area. I’ve travelled over the squiggly road to Martindale numerous times but conditions in the wet mean the road sometimes gleams and you can see it from miles off. I noticed this several times from the boat and realised that the front of Bonscale Pike would make an excellent vantage point. Likewise, Fusedale – a little valley that I think has wonderfully photogenic layers and angles. I never saw that till approaching the jetty at Howtown. There are just so many wee nooks and crannies to explore. It really does reinforce my thinking that instead of fleeing from one location to the next we should just concentrate on becoming intimate with one area. It teaches you more about composition and what makes a good landscape photograph than a hundred formulaic magazine articles and books. Intimacy with your local landscape allows you to impart more emotion into your images without even realising it. If you don’t feel any emotion for your subject how do you expect your audience to feel anything when they look at your images.
Abstracts
Abstracts are something I love yet are images I never actually set out to achieve. They tend to come to me while I’m on the boats. I tend to take them when I’m completely relaxed and at ease with both my surroundings and myself. People put themselves under too much pressure to get a shot. Whether that’s because they get limited opportunities and feel that they have to maximise their time and have to produce something.. I take a lot of images with my phone when I’m on the boats – this tends to add to the sense of relaxation. There is no pressure in a phone shot. It's of the moment and in the moment.
I'm on the Phone
I take a lot of images with my phone when I’m on the boats – this tends to add to the sense of relaxation. I sometimes feel pressured to produce something. Working on the boats and taking pictures on my phone takes away that element and leaves me almost carefree and back to basics, taking quick snaps of things I like. More or less my whole approach since taking up photography.
Working on the boats is an endless voyage of discovery. I always remember a comment made by a passenger a while back “So you just sail backwards and forwards on Ullswater all day. That must get boring”.
To be bored with the Steamers would mean I was bored with life.
Mark Littlejohn Exhibition at the Joe Cornish Gallery
Acclaimed photographer Mark Littlejohn is exhibiting at the Joe Cornish Gallery for their first 'Focus on...' exhibition of 2020 from Saturday 15th February – Saturday 16 May.
Mark has a unique approach to landscape photography, preferring the less popular view and concentrating his efforts to the earlier part of the day. He sees little point in constantly travelling in search of exotic locations when a beautiful image can be right on your front door, which for Mark is Penrith in Cumbria located between the Eden Valley and Ullswater.
Saturday 21st March - Mini Meeting of Minds
On Saturday 21 March, Joe Cornish Galleries in association with On Landscape are delighted to be hosting a Mini Meeting of Minds Conference around Mark Littlejohn’s exhibition A Decade of Moments. Confirmed speakers so far are photographers Mark Littlejohn, Joe Cornish and David Ward. The afternoon and evening will comprise a conference followed by a private buffet.
Tickets will be on sale in early February so save the date and keep an eye on your email!
Not everything that appears in the newspapers is bad, though it can at times seem that way. We have the Washington Post to thank for bringing Motoko Sato’s photography to our attention. In addition to the black and white images featured there, she also works in colour, delighting in the flowing lines, detailed textures and soft light that she seeks in her quiet places in Japan. It’s a pleasure to be able to share more of her work with you.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do as a career?
I was born and raised in Tokyo. My father was Hiroki Sato, a botanical artist, and our garden was full of wild and mountain grasses. When I was a kid, I thought I was a person who was not worth anything. I was afraid of getting close to people and always loved making something by myself. I went to a junior high and high school attached to Joshibi University of Art and Design to study traditional craft pottery, plant dyeing and weaving. At that time, I learned art and painting from a couple of sculptors, and I was especially impressed by the sculptor Alberto Giacometti. After graduating, I went to Musashino Art University to learn more about fine art. During that time, I was able to open my heart to people little by little in the society of school.
I have been involved in art education as a teacher for 38 years since graduation. In addition to painting, I continued to do pottery and dyeing alongside my work until my parents fell ill. I bought a camera when my parents, whom I had been caring for 14 years, passed away. I think that all my experiences before I began photographing have led to my current photographic expression.
You include a page on your website about your father, Hiroki Sato, and his botanical art. How much of an influence was he on your development as an artist? What did you most admire in him?
My father, Hiroki Sato, was born in Kagawa Prefecture and graduated from the Department of Architecture, then moved to Tokyo and started as a book illustrator. He illustrated many picture books, encyclopedias, various photographic books of plants, newspapers, magazines, and textbooks of various subjects for elementary and junior high schools. He participated in the establishment of the Japan Botanical Art Association in 1970, and since then, annual Japan Botanical Art exhibitions have been held at Odakyu Department Store in Shinjuku, Tokyo. In his later years, he was active as a lecturer in the Botanical Art Course nationwide, and in 1994 he was awarded the “International Arts Culture Award” for his contribution to the establishment and improvement of Botanical Art by the Japan Society for the Promotion of Culture. He passed away in August 1998. He was able to draw anything, not only botanical art but also technical drawings and historical illustrations. What was better than his outstanding depiction and imagination was that he really liked drawing itself. I respected my father for that. And I thank my father for not preventing me from going on the path of art. On the other hand, my parents were aiming to be so perfect that I was disciplined very hard, and I was hit by my parents every day and had a deep fear of people.
David Townshend’s exhibition ‘Creating Good Impressions – where art meets photography’ takes place at The Yarrow Gallery in Oundle, Northamptonshire from 10th to 24th January 2020.
It features seventy abstract and impressionist landscape works created locally and as part of his ongoing Coastal Impressions project. Ahead of the exhibition, David shares his thoughts on what inspires his photography.
My exhibition is of impressionist photography, a style that I have been exploring over the past three years.
As a young lad living in coastal Norfolk, l was a keen birdwatcher and naturalist. I took up photography as a teenager, taking images of the things that interested me, always outdoors. I tried birds but, beyond the gannets on a trip to Bass Rock, they were too far away! I was happier taking photographs of wildflowers, landscapes, gardens and architecture. I rarely shot in black and white, and have always loved colour. My interests are pretty much the same now, and for many years my best work has been taken with a macro lens and tripod.
I trained as a scientist – I did a PhD on shorebird ecology, studying grey plovers and curlews at Teesmouth on the coast of North East England. My career was in nature conservation, working for the UK and then English government agencies. My role was to protect sites and species in coastal Northumberland and then in Devon & Cornwall. Latterly I produced reports on the state of England’s wildlife. As a consequence, I tended to view the world in a scientific, objective, literal, ‘accurate’ way.
I am not a great traveller and not one to hunt out photographic honeypots looking for the depressions in the ground to place my tripod for the ‘trophy’ shot that so many others have already taken. I much prefer doing something different and increasingly I enjoy creating interesting images from ordinary subjects.
In my plant macro photography, I began exploring different, more artistic ways to create images, particularly using very shallow depth of field. This resulted in my successful panel of images for a Royal Photographic Society Associate Distinction in 2015. It was based on a plant in my garden – Astrantia or masterwort, with its small but complex flowers. The whole panel was created from one plant, indeed from one side of one plant, in a border. All the images were taken back-lit early in the morning during the 3-4 week flowering period. The key pieces of equipment were my macro lens, my tripod and a garden chair!
With the freedom of retirement, I continued to challenge my in-built objective, scientific approach to plant photography and to discover my artistic side. Grasses moving in the wind has proved another productive area.
Then in 2016, I began a new phase in my photography, expanding my non-representational approach beyond plants to landscapes in all their forms. This was stimulated by the inspiring workshops run by Valda Bailey and Doug Chinnery. They teach the use of multiple exposure and camera movement techniques to produce impressionist and abstract images. And, most importantly, they then encourage you to use your camera, take chances, create images and develop your own style. Discovering and exploring this impressionist approach has given my photography new impetus and purpose, and I continue to enjoy and benefit from the stimulation of Valda and Doug’s workshops and Facebook group.
My style is to use multiple exposure and camera movement techniques to create images that interpret light and colours, shapes and patterns in landscapes, in the broadest sense. Some of my images are pure abstracts, but in much of my work, I combine elements present at that location at that time on that day to create a sense of place.
Three years on, I am evolving my own style, developing a major project and holding my own exhibition.
Style
My style is to use multiple exposure and camera movement techniques to create images that interpret light and colours, shapes and patterns in landscapes, in the broadest sense. Some of my images are pure abstracts, but in much of my work, I combine elements present at that location at that time on that day to create a sense of place. Because I capture the moment in-camera rather than compose on the computer, my images are the product of spontaneity, serendipity - and a bit of fun.
Impressionist photography appeals to me because it provides the opportunity to be creative. I am able to present a different take on the world around me, producing unique images that sometimes challenge you the viewer, invite you to pause and explore but perhaps with a reward when you recognise a pattern or place. The results I hope are striking, intriguing and sometimes enigmatic, like a half-recalled memory tantalisingly just out of reach.
I hope that others enjoy or at least engage with my photography, and my exhibition gives me a chance to share some of my favourite images. But I am fortunate enough (perhaps old enough?) not to crave social (media) acceptance from others. If I like my best images then that is enough for me – and I do!
Technique
All the images are created in-camera at the point of capture. My camera allows me to choose from various exposure blend modes, and vary the number of exposures, shutter speed, focal length, white balance and of course viewpoint in creating the final composite frame. All are hand-held - one of the cardinal Bailey/Chinnery rules is to leave your tripod at home!
Subsequent editing in Lightroom is limited to basic adjustments such as exposure, vibrance, tone curve and white balance. However, I have found that the freedom with which I tweak images has increased as my personal style develops. But the technique is not an end in itself, rather a tool to release creativity.
The second part of the exhibition, comprises images from my Coastal Impressions project - my interpretation of the English coast. Through patterns, textures or pure abstract, I interpret our coastlines, both broad landscapes and the intimate details of creeks, boats and moorings.
The exhibition
My exhibition of impressionist and abstract photographs is in two parts. The first is of images created locally, of landscapes and historic buildings such as Cambridge colleges captured in unexpected ways. There are also multiple exposure images taken in my garden.
The second part comprises images from my Coastal Impressions project - my interpretation of the English coast. Through patterns, textures or pure abstract, I interpret our coastlines, both broad landscapes and the intimate details of creeks, boats and moorings. The exhibition images include not only iconic subjects such as Lindisfarne Castle and the Thornham coal barn, but also the ordinary or mundane, even concrete wartime defences. The majority of my Coastal Impressions images are created on the Northumberland and especially the Norfolk coasts, areas I know well and visit most frequently, but I am now expanding my portfolio by visiting coasts around the country, always trying to capture a sense of place.
This project was the product of a new photographic approach and my life-long affinity with and love of the coast, but it was given a great boost by a chance encounter. Soon after I started taking impressionist landscape photographs I happened to show some on the back of my camera to my wife’s weaving tutor Melanie, who lives on the Norfolk coast. She was so taken by my images that she has based three textile design challenges and two exhibitions including the work of more than 50 textile artists, all based on sets of my Coastal Impressions images. Thanks to her encouragement I have gained the self-confidence to produce two Coastal Impressions books and hold my forthcoming exhibition.
‘Creating Good Impressions – where art meets photography’ is being held at The Yarrow Gallery, 2 Glapthorn Road, Oundle, Peterborough, PE8 4JF from 10th to 24th January 2020. The gallery is open daily, Mon-Sat 1030-1300 & 1430-1700, Sun 1430-1700. For more information on the gallery website.
There’s always been an aspect of ‘Emporer’s New Clothes’ when discussing fine-art printer papers. There are plenty of articles online explaining gamuts, d-max, substrates and coatings as if they are the be-all and end-all. The particularly technically minded love delving into detail in search of the absolute best and I’ve been down that road myself, but it’s not for everyone.
What most people will want to know is: What’s the practical difference between these papers and will the resultant prints be the best they could possibly be? (spoiler: yes!). With that in mind here’s a pragmatic explanation of some of Fotospeed’s Fine-Art Papers and my personal choices.
For my own printing I’m interested specifically in fine-art papers which can be used in my Canon Pro-1000 inkjet printer, this process is commonly known as ‘giclee’ and (despite sometimes having a slightly smaller gamut) compares favourably to C-type (or lightjet) on a few counts namely:
The paper weights are generally heavier and therefore suitable for “hinge mounting” in a frame without noticeable warping.
The paper weight itself makes these prints tactile – they feel as good as they look.
True matt finishes in a variety of textures are available.
You don’t need a printer the size of a building to produce state-of-the-art giclee prints!
Since I have a personal bias towards matt papers I spend a bit of time comparing matt and gloss and more time talking about the matt papers generally.
Colour Management
Before we get started, I do have to add one important caveat. Unfortunately picking a nice paper is pointless if you don’t have a good printer, an accurate print workflow and a solid (although not necessarily comprehensive) understanding of colour management.
Unfortunately picking a nice paper is pointless if you don’t have a good printer, an accurate print workflow and a solid (although not necessarily comprehensive) understanding of colour management.
If you want your prints to come close to what you see on screen you need a screen that displays the gamut you are working in (whether it be sRGB or AdobeRGB), some method for accurately profiling the screen, a high-end printer, accurate paper profiles, a basic understanding of soft proofing and an understanding of how to knit all these aspects together! I use Fotospeed’s free profiling service to create custom print profiles for my Canon Pro-1000 which I found to be much better than the generic profiles. I used their guides to make sure my print settings were ‘just so’.
With good colour management and neutral lighting, you should be able to produce prints which are almost identical to what you are seeing on screen.
Paper Types
Fine-art papers can broadly be broken down into 2 categories, Matt and Glossy.
I’ve avoided any heavily textured matt papers because I find too much texture distracting on smaller prints. This is a personal choice dependent on subject matter-
I’m comparing 6 different papers all from Fotospeed whose papers I recently switched to having mostly printed on Hahnemuhle and Canson papers in the past. The Fotospeed papers are of the same high standards as the papers I have been used to, so switching brands made perfect sense given that Fotospeed is a UK company with excellent technical support (which I have leaned on a few times!) who are very supportive of the UK landscape photography community.
In the autumn Alan Lait launched his exhibition 'Lakes and Mountains' at the Joe Cornish Gallery as one of their Gallery Photographers, having a permanent exhibition at the gallery. Susan Rowe, who proofreads all our content put us in touch with Alan so we could find out more about his film photography, climbing and his love of the Lake District.
Can you tell me a little about your education, childhood passions, early exposure to photography and vocation?
As a young lad, I had an interest in art and drawing and was first introduced to the dramatic landscape of the Lake District on a family holiday, where I can remember making some pencil sketches of the mountains, crags and views. I think it was also on the same trip that my Dad lent me a 35mm film camera and I took my first roll of 24 exposures.
After school, my original intention was to pursue a career in graphic design or product design but at the time I believed I wouldn't be sufficiently talented to make a living out of it and instead followed my other interest in technology, and studied Computing Science at University. That lead me to a career in the telecoms industry, which has since been my primary vocation. However, as a very necessary life-balance to the day-to-day challenges of business, I rediscovered my enjoyment of photography about 15 years ago.
What camera did you originally use and when did you start using a digital camera?
My first camera was the Praktica MTL3 35mm film camera, lent to me by my Dad, and my early exploration of photography was really learning the basics of exposure, film speeds and composition with that camera. I subsequently had a small APS Canon film camera for a while too before purchasing my first digital camera, which was a Sony DSC P-10, back in 2004, with a 5MP sensor which seems tiny in comparison to today's cameras and smartphones! I think I owned a couple more pocket-sized cameras, before upgrading to a Canon compact bridge camera, that I took with me on walks in the Lake District, primarily to take photos as a record of mountains and routes I'd climbed up.
Each morning during term time, the photographer Al Brydon takes his son to nursery school. At first, it is up the road, past the local Social Club, then after a while, they turn in at an opening which is the entry to the cemetery. It is a large open area with wide, orderly, avenues. Splendid views over the Peak District National Park and, naturally, plenty of graves and memorials. You might even think, “A lovely spot to be buried!”
Some of these graves will be adorned with bunches of flowers or single flowers in a vase. These simple offerings are our connections between the living and the mourned dead.
Regular mourners tend to the graves, sweeping dirt and debris from the memorials, cleaning lichen from the gravestones. These important rituals help them maintain connections with their departed loved ones. Some graves are never visited, so they get weathered and less and less visible over time.
As Al and his son wander through, they go past various metal bins, where all sorts of rubbish are deposited.
The flowers he saw over the next few months lying in these bins were often roses - ‘a rose for remembrance’. Another favourite was chrysanthemums, which in many countries symbolise death and are only used for funerals and on graves. In the Far East, they are flowers which symbolise lamentation or grief.
These particular flowers had been discarded for being too faded, too lacking in colour and just tired. Perhaps they had been replaced by fresh ones, or perhaps the cemetery manager had removed them because they were no longer fresh and whoever had left them hadn’t returned.
The flowers he saw over the next few months lying in these bins were often roses - ‘a rose for remembrance’. Another favourite was chrysanthemums, which in many countries symbolise death and are only used for funerals and on graves. In the Far East, they are flowers which symbolise lamentation or grief.
Normally these bunches are wrapped in plastic with traces of condensation on the inside, tied with a silk ribbon; remnants of handwritten notes, sometimes wrapped in newspapers; old headlines reminding us of past celebrity misdeeds, great sporting triumphs, or politicians leading the country to uncharted places.
Al began to capture these on his phone. It is quite an old, battered phone by now, but it keeps capturing gorgeous colours.
These ‘Cemetery Bins - The Graveyard’s Graveyard’ with their faded flowers began to show up on Al’s Instagram and Twitter timelines. I could see immediately that they were magical. Not conventional landscapes, but documentary landscapes of the mind. Seeing them made me make all the connections about what they represented, how each bunch tells a story, how they are part of time, yet frozen in time.
.
They also reminded me of Dutch Old Master still life paintings, such as Rachel Ruysch’s Basket of Flowers. A lot of Al’s work has a darkness about it, so it is no surprise that this does,. It is after all, a bleak subject. The colours shine from a dark background in these photographs. It is rare to find blue roses, but these seem to be popular for laying on graves and there are certainly a good selection in this series.
I’m hopeful that these images will be exhibited at some point as I think they will make a glorious translation from the tiny views we have in social media apps, to proper photographic prints. Meanwhile, I hear talk of a book of these, which will be a wonderful thing too.
To me, it shows that working in a series, treading the same paths for an extended period can make for a great body of work. By walking through this cemetery day after day, most of what is static retreats from your field of view. Only then can you see the small details, the changes, the something that makes a place different. In these images, Al has picked on something most would pass by, and we can revel in what he sees.
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!
These images were taken during my first ever photographic trip to Torridon, NW Scotland. Each tree has a story to tell, a story based on their very different locations, whether that be within ancient woodland, the edge of Loch Maree, or sitting alone on open land surrounded by mountains. The age of the trees really resonated with me, as did their fight against nature and mankind. Weather, climate change, and human intervention have clearly changed the landscape forever, and it made me wonder what I would have seen if I had stood in each location only a few decades ago.
All of these photos were taken on the same early Summer morning at the same lake in beautiful atmospheric conditions at Creeve Lough in County Tyrone, Northern Ireland. They have been submitted in chronological order.
I have long been captivated by the black and white images of photographers like Ansel Adams, Byron Harmon, and Bruno Engler. Adams is a household name but the latter two are likely not familiar to many photographers. Byron Harmon, and Bruno Engler, photographed primarily in the Canadian Rocky Mountains and tripped the shutter on many historic images of this area.
Inspired by these early explorers I have lived in, and explored, the Canadian Rockies for the past 35 years or more and these are some of my favourite black and white images I have made of the places I love. I hope you enjoy viewing them as much as I enjoyed making them.
One of the most beautiful roads in the entire Albertan rocky mountains is a winding path known simply as Alberta Highway 40. Closed for six months out of every year, this countryside route is considered one of the province's most breathtaking sights. For any professional photographer, driving along this route at least a few times is a must.
For this submission, my goal wasn't just to capture the beauty of the landscape but also to focus on how consistent these mountains are. Despite the constantly changing weather during my trip, these ancient mountains exert a sense of permanence, no matter what's going on around them.
When you enter our house, you are immediately confronted with a huge watercolour painting of distinctively Australian gum leaves. I completed it over 35 years ago as part of my high school leaving certificate. It is over a metre wide. It is a faithful reproduction of one of my photographs. It is of dead dried leaves scattered on the ground. Hints of Wabi Sabi, exploring the dying, forgotten and decaying. Beauty in things seemingly past their life. It is a monochrome watercolour painting and is painted in sepia. The watercolour paint is made from a mixture of carbon and umber, painted on cotton rag paper. I look at it and am reminded that I have been pulled towards monochrome, carbon on cotton art ever since my youth. Unknowingly. This is a beautiful painting, which was given a highly commended at the Lloyd Reece Youth Art Awards. Meeting Lloyd before he passed was indeed an honour, as is an award with his name. To think I was still a scruffy teenager of 17 at the time. Some things don’t change.
This one painting confronts me. How did I know as a teenager that this is where I would end up? A stark reminder of my early vision. I have gone in a huge circle. Actually, it’s really lots of smaller ones. From black and white photography, through painting watercolours, drawing (with pencils, pen & ink and charcoal), colour photography and large format photography, only to end up again where I started. It is a journey through monochrome. A medium I absolutely love. What follows is a discussion about why it affects me so. Perhaps, some of these reasons will connect with you, and even inspire you to play with it some more. This article is the first in a long series on monochrome, and is really the introduction. The foundations of our practice. For it is important to ponder the why, and figure out what really drives us. For something that may start out as an experiment in self-development may become a passion.
How did I know as a teenager that this is where I would end up? A stark reminder of my early vision. I have gone in a huge circle. Actually, it’s really lots of smaller ones. From black and white photography, through painting watercolours, drawing (with pencils, pen & ink and charcoal), colour photography and large format photography, only to end up again where I started. It is a journey through monochrome
One of the arguments that often surfaces is the perceived difficulties between photographing in colour versus creating in monochrome.
A couple of weeks back I visited the Joe Cornish gallery to give a talk, along with Joe Cornish and Lizzie Shepherd, at David Ward's exhibition, "Overlooked". The exhibition itself was fantastic but even if you didn't get to see it, we recorded the talks for posterity.
The exhibition is sadly over now but we have Lizzie and my own talks left to publish. The following is my talk on what I've learned about the type of trip that produces my most meaningful work. The final talk by Lizzie Shepherd will be in the first issue of the New Year.
If you're on a mobile device the link you need is https://youtu.be/RJLBeXfLAsc as our mobile theme currently has a technical glitch so you won't see the embedded video.
Pretty much the smallest scrap of woodland has the potential to enchant us, whether we make images or not, and time spent among trees has certainly enchanted our Featured Photographer for this issue, Richard Corkrey. He is fortunate to live close to some stunning areas of woodland and his images – a mix of colour, black and white, and infrared – should certainly tempt you to go for a wander in the woods.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little 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 East Dorset. Being surrounded by lovely woodlands and heathland the local images have always stayed with me. Children were given a lot more freedom back then, so it wasn’t unusual to be gone for hours exploring these wonderful places. As a result, I grew to love and feel totally at home in woodland. I suppose being an only child gave me a very active imagination, so these places took on a life of their own.
I was privately educated for my first few years of schooling. The curriculum was rather weighted towards classical and literary subjects. Reading poems like “The Song of Hiawatha” and “Horatius” at the age of eight was very daunting and I hated it. I loved the imagery, though. It fueled my imagination and has stayed with me and very much shaped my artistic vision in later life.
The family moved around a lot finally settling in West Sussex. I did a variety of jobs before moving to live in Bruges in Belgium for several years, working as a night manager. On my return to the UK, I attended college to study accountancy. This eventually led me to move into IT as a Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer.
I am also a keen musician; music has always filled a large part of my life. I played in various blues and soul bands in the 1960’s and was active on the folk scene up until fairly recently.
How did you become interested in photography and what kind of images did you initially set out to make?
I bought a small Samsung pocket digital camera which I used to document the many walks my partner and I used to do. I quickly learned that there was more to it than just pushing a button. My efforts to improve quickly got me hooked. I bought a book to help me improve, the “Digital Photographer’s Handbook” by Tom Ang.
I was surrounded by woodland and already had a close affinity with it. My active imagination quickly made me realise that here was something my creativity could work with.
This was just the beginning of my photographic journey, so I found it a bit heavy going. It did teach me a lot about composition and correct use of light which are the cornerstones of good photography. Slowly I learned to move out of automatic mode.
On Landscape’s Issue 180 features an intimate meditation from Joe Cornish on environmentalism, photography, and responsibility. Joe’s article ends with a request for readers to share how nature photographers might be able to “help the causes of the landscape, ecosystems, and the wild world” through collective action and individual behaviour change.
As Joe’s article makes clear, the issues affecting the wild places we photograph and our planet more generally are incredibly complex. Considering this big picture can feel overwhelming, distressing, hopeless, and paralysing. Yet, even in the face of such complexity, it is possible for individual nature photographers and small communities of like-minded people to make a positive impact, especially in targeted ways. This article is about one such effort, the Nature First Initiative and it's 7 Principles to help reduce the individual and collective impact of nature photography on wild places.
When using a drone, it is important to check and obey local regulations. Responsible drone pilots fly only in permitted areas, stay well away from wildlife, and respect the desire of other recreationists to experience peace and quiet.
Our Field, Quickly Transformed
Historically, nature photography has been a force for good. Conservation photographers have played a direct role in the preservation of ecologically sensitive landscapes and the protection of endangered species.
Anyone who has been a photographer for more than five years can clearly see, nature photography has undergone a dramatic transformation with the rise of platforms like Instagram, instant access to detailed location information, and technological advancements that make photo-taking much easier.
Photographs of wild places have motivated generations of people to experience nature for themselves, helping transform individuals into advocates and creating myriad conservation movements in the process. Photography has also offered an accessible means of self-expression, and a way for individuals to more intimately connect with nature and share experiences with others.
However, as anyone who has been a photographer for more than five years can clearly see, nature photography has undergone a dramatic transformation with the rise of platforms like Instagram, instant access to detailed location information, and technological advancements that make photo-taking much easier. Some of these developments are positive, like enhanced camera technology that opens up creative avenues by reducing technical barriers. Additionally, because information has been democratised, nature is more accessible to a broader range of people.
Unlike many nature photographers, I did not grow up hiking, backpacking, and camping. Instead, I found much of my initial inspiration to get outside in the early online travel and hiking journals of Colorado bloggers. These trip reports and online communities helped lead me to nature photography and without them, I probably would not have started pursuing photography more seriously. Thus, a conundrum: I am immensely grateful for others who have shared inspirational, motivational, and helpful information online. Conversely, this same information is leading to the ruination of special places and the very experience many of us go outside to find in the first place.
This summer, I watched a pair of photographers trudge through these fields of wildflowers with no regard for their impact. In a place like this, careful steps are essential for preserving the flowers, especially as visitor numbers increase even in remote places like this.
One of my more memorable early photography experiences was hiking to four remote slot canyons in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument in Utah. To find the canyons, we started with a tattered guidebook with a vague reference to the area along with sketchy GPS coordinates that proved to be somewhat inaccurate. With a lot of route-finding and exploration, we eventually found all four of the canyons we set out to visit and didn’t see a single other person over a few days. Now, one of these canyons is listed as the top “thing to do” for the area on Trip Advisor. In less than a decade, a truly hidden and difficult to access location is now a top tourist attraction.
I was recently asked to come up with a definition of landscape photography by a learned society, a remarkable turn of events for someone with almost no academic qualifications. This proved both a fascinating and near impossible endeavour.
Only very slightly altered, this is my final text in question:
"The word, landscape, is more than territory, land, ground, or property. Landscape is also a concept, a view, a prospect, a perspective. Its association with art is indivisible having its origins as a word from Middle Dutch, circa 1600, related to painting.
Landscape is widely considered to be the most popular theme in all photography. Although the limits of the genre subject matter are debated, there can be no doubt that definitions of landscape in photography are broad. They include grand vistas of mountain and sea which may encompass hundreds of square miles, to small natural details of just a few square centimetres. Landscape can be about the iconic, the sublime, the geographic; it can be about habitat, about the environment, about landscapes altered by industry, dereliction, contamination, the aftermath of natural catastrophes, war, urban sprawl. Landscape can illustrate agricultural practice, pastoral beauty, intimate details from nature… from the poles to the equator, and from below sea level to the mountain tops, the list of landscape possibilities seems almost endless.
Landscape is widely considered to be the most popular theme in all photography. Although the limits of the genre subject matter are debated, there can be no doubt that definitions of landscape in photography are broad. They include grand vistas of mountain and sea which may encompass hundreds of square miles, to small natural details of just a few square centimetres.
The Sublime
Landscape as Habitat
While it is difficult to define all the possible strands of landscape photography, perhaps a common definition might stand around emphasis…so although people, animals and inanimate objects may be present in the pictures, any players in the scene are subordinate to the landscape itself as seen through the eye of the camera.
Photographers may see landscape as an objective pursuit, aiming to represent what they see with an emotional detachment, even as scientific evidence. Or they may use it purely as an exploration of their inner lives, as a source of metaphor, reflecting their deepest feelings and concerns. There may be a strong political or environmental dimension in landscape photography. Representing natural beauty, or grim dereliction may be a matter of identity for the photographer, even of pride or shame. There may be a mix of all these intents, or perhaps none at all.
The technical approaches of landscape photography are wide and may include the rigorous discipline of large format and tripod to the more spontaneous hand-held and phone photograph. Intentional Camera Movement is almost a sub-genre of its own, and additionally, drone imagery is a burgeoning and revolutionary thread in contemporary landscape photography.
Altered Landscape
At a time when our planetary ecosystems are themselves being endangered by human activity, and the environment is the burning issue of our time, landscape photography has never been more relevant or central to public discourse and debate.
At its best landscape photography may give an insight into the landscape photographed, and also into the life and perspective of the photographer. As in all areas of photography, landscape is a theme of infinite potential.”
At a time when our planetary ecosystems are themselves being endangered by human activity, and the environment is the burning issue of our time, landscape photography has never been more relevant or central to public discourse and debate.
The Grand Vista
The society in question actually wanted a one sentence answer; on that count, I failed in my quest rather spectacularly.
Nevertheless, I felt grateful for the challenge. It forced me to question my own motivations, my commitment, my craft. Having seen the dedication of so many of my contemporaries to their lifelong passion, I couldn’t help but feel that my own efforts where…all over the place. Proper landscape photographers mine their themes and agendas deeply, producing stylistically consistent and laudably coherent visual narratives. My own work – to me at least – seems a near random and eclectic mash-up. I wonder if I am a mere dilettante?
When I look back at my career I realise that although I strongly ‘identify’ – in the modern parlance – as a landscape photographer, my background is rather less high brow. For a few years, I made a living (just) doing portraits, office interiors, and long-since defunct pieces of office machinery.
The Metaphoric Landscape
In 1986, a modest book project about the founders of the National Trust might have proved a breakthrough.
If landscape is a creative calling (I believe it is) surely it is our imaginative response to the landscape and the conditions, translated through our own personal filter that matters, being spontaneous, personal, critical, unorthodox surely? A strong emphasis on atmosphere, mood, emotion, expression, concepts.
The total fee for this project was £400. The writer kindly ferried me around to the various sites, and covered my food costs; the fee paid for my film and processing (almost). It was hardly an auspicious beginning.
But the publishers liked my photographs. They offered me a travel guide book on a French region (Loire). This eventually turned into a series of eleven. Subsequently, other publishers followed, and enough money to put food on the table. Travel photography became my career. It made a move to North Yorkshire possible, and eventually, I would move on creatively too. But for a long time, the travel photography habit remained.
It was a workflow of strategy, preparation, pre-visualisation, working to optimise the lighting, trying to load the dice in my favour. Method, planning, tactics. I didn’t really want to confirm the popular view – to reinforce stereotypes of place – but that is often the role of the travel photographer anxious to please their client, and so, inevitably, some of the time I did just that.
If landscape is a creative calling (I believe it is) surely it is our imaginative response to the landscape and the conditions, translated through our own personal filter that matters, being spontaneous, personal, critical, unorthodox surely? A strong emphasis on atmosphere, mood, emotion, expression, concepts. Nearly ten years of travel photography practice meant my methods were often far from that. Has my travel work contaminated my development as a landscape photographer? Or is the cross-over between these two forms of our art inevitable, broad and maybe even healthy?
Iconic Landscape
In an attempt to understand this better I analysed my own work. What was it about? What are my interests, my obsessions? What am I trying to say? What are my beliefs, and feelings?
How do I see the world?
Have I escaped my travel photography strait-jacket?
Reflecting the conclusions of the text above, I realised that my own work (from my point of view at least) could be divided, very roughly, into the following:
Geographic Landscape
Iconic landscape
The Grand Vista
The Sublime
Intimate landscape
Altered Landscape
The Metaphoric Landscape
Landscape as Habitat
The Landscape of memory
All of which might look like category minestrone. But there has been a purpose: to probe my own motivation, curiosity and creativity as a photographer. This inquiry formed the basis for a talk entitled ‘Landscape in practice’… this is how I have come to see my own photography.
“In the next episode” I’ll look at the first of these categories, and get to grips with the Geographic Landscape.
With the launch of his latest book 'Behind the Photograph', it seemed like an appropriate time to catch up with Charlie and to hear more about how his background as an assistant stage manager affected how he sees light in a landscape and how his choice of cameras influenced his photography. Enjoy the read, as much as we enjoyed chatting with Charlie.
Tim Parkin (TP): I wanted to talk to you today specifically about your use of composition. It’s one of the things that most people seem to comment on as you have a unique look.
There’s a dominant school of photographic composition that is very David Muench - foreground/background, powerfully forced compositions - but your pictures are almost the antithesis. They are very much in a more painterly frame of reference if anything.
Before you picked up a camera, what was your visual education and what was it? Were you interested in painting? What was your exposure and influences before you thought about photography?
Charlie Waite (CW): The way you’ve phrased that question is quite unusual. I think I suspect it was born in my observing of the lighting directors in the theatre. I think that’s probably true as I always think lighting directors never really get the credit they should get. As they bring a play to life, they inject gravitas and pathos into it. Their name is often not on the programme, it might be but very very small.
Actually in the way that landscape photographers or photographers generally until the late 1970s maybe, who were illustrating books, sometimes they didn’t get a credit! Even if all the images were made by that one person.
I remember thinking how clever it is to create a shadow as opposed to a highlight and I’ve always thought that shadows play an absolute immense role even in a sitting room, and obviously lighting does.
I’m going off the point! But anyhow, that’s probably what it was and I noticed the way that wardrobe mistresses, set designers, actors, the director, all of them, they all got a lot of credit, but the lighting guy or woman didn’t. I was an assistant stage manager in theatre for quite a long time and I use to think “that’s clever”; he/she can just manipulate the audience or encourage the audience to look in a particular place or enjoy a particular part of the set. Especially shadows - I remember thinking how clever it is to create a shadow as opposed to a highlight and I’ve always thought that shadows play an absolute immense role even in a sitting room, and obviously lighting does.
When I say sitting room you don’t tend to have the same lighting as a dentist room! I wish they could change that! Wouldn’t that be better, if lighting was really pleasing and complemented the furniture, and was all together a much more enjoyable experience and to be part of. And yet they slam these neon tubes in - and banks are just as bad. If doctors waiting rooms could be more pleasing in terms of lighting, it would be great.
To answer your question though, instead of going off the point somewhat, I think in fairness, that would be my first influence. Watching how lighting and how stage lighting influenced the performance.
TP: You were, as I understand from your background, taking portraits of actors and maybe photographs of performances, would that be right?
CW: Yes, not many performances but actors you’re quite right. When I left the profession, jumping from the frying pan into the fire, going from acting into photography, I photographed many actors. I think the thing I really knew about that was that it’s a very invasive experience. People say, I don’t take a good photograph or I don’t like being photographed, everyone finds it difficult and people almost feel the victim when the camera is raised up at you. So I feel the business of being photographed was almost an ordeal for actors and everyone thinks that actors must have huge egos. On the contrary, they absolutely don’t, they are mostly quite timid and insecure. So I found that when photographing actors, the best thing of all was to encourage them to present themselves in their best possible mode and attack the camera. To have authority, a bit like a tennis match, and so that worked. I photographed thousands of actors over ten or fifteen years.
TP: Did you take inspiration for your photography from anybody? And talking about adversarial, it makes me thing the use of Yousuf Karsh
CW: That’s extraordinary! I was just going to mention him. It all stemmed from the pleasure I got from lighting from the theatre, and I learnt a little bit about lighting people. Oddly enough I looked at some pictures my dad took of my sisters in Germany and also a lovely photograph of him that was done in France when he was in uniform. I thought how clever it was that the side lighting and the jaw and the top lighting for people with thinning hair was skilful. I enjoyed that process. I like the acting fraternity, they are good souls. They are usually not what people think they are, they aren’t full of ego, far from it and not always that confident either.
TP: Who else would have been an influence at the time? Bill Brandt at the time maybe?
CW: Yes, definitely, although some of his images were quite spooky sometimes and quite punchy, contrasty, but I have a big admiration for him. I think you hit the nail on the head, he was as good as any. There’s also Irving Penn and a few others. Generally speaking I think it all goes back to the way the human body and face can be lit on a stage and to be presented to an audience. Complementary lighting was also important as every actor wants to look good. Seeing images, I think would be fair to say, that match the image they have of themselves.
I had a lovely interview ages ago by the assistant of a photographer who I can’t remember his name. The assistant was asked what was it that your boss, the photographer, always used to say to get the best out of people to get potency and a real authority from the person sitting for them. I’ll never forget him, he always used to say “If I’ve had it, I’ve had it a thousand times, I want you to look through the front of the camera, through the front of the lens, through the camera itself and out the other side of the camera. Through my eye, through my head, through the back of my head and a thousand miles further on.” It was a great line, I think what he was suggesting that they refocus on infinity, so they don’t focus on the object in front of the lens. That’s what gave the great Bette Davis “the look”.
I’ll never forget him, he always used to say “If I’ve had it, I’ve had it a thousand times, I want you to look through the front of the camera, through the front of the lens, through the camera itself and out the other side of the camera. Through my eye, through my head, through the back of my head and a thousand miles further on.”
I thought that was so, so good, so I didn’t exactly say that but I did sometimes say “have a high opinion of yourself. Treat it like a tennis match, serve an ace”. I can’t even get the ball back these days!
TP: When you moved on to doing landscape photography, how did you approach that in terms of composition and did anything transfer from what you’d done before in terms of portrait?
CW: That’s a good one Tim! I think organisation is key. There are bound to be influences that I’m not even aware of and if I dig deep, I think probably relationships and sort of strength, and nothing to lose. That’s the only word I can find really. I’ve often thought of landscapes a bit like interior design, that’s the only analogy I can think of. Where something looks good if it’s got something else to support it. That probably does go back to the theatre and set design.
TP: It does seem like an interior design/set design and lighting balance in a closed space.
CW: I think you’re right, and another element is that I’m incredibly untidy. I’m a horror story, my office is untidy, and I think I can just about close the drawer if I take something out of it, but not all the way! I’ve often thought why does everything have to be completely tidy in a photographic composition? Why am I so intolerant of something that I find is slack or not tight? Perhaps I need to see somebody in a white coat.
I also want the landscape to present itself, in what I say is one of it’s best performances. I’m not very good with any aberrations or any wonky bits!
TP: Can’t get the makeup artist in for the landscape can you!
CW: No you cannot! I enjoy that and I often walk away from something that I can’t make right. Even before Photoshop or anything it’s probably one of the reasons that I’m not good at Photoshop and I think it’s a wonderful tool but we don’t want to go off the point of composition. There’s something hugely rewarding in that, to be gifted something that you’ve come across and you’ve organised by being there at the right time, right place, all that stuff. That’s a huge joy as opposed to saying, “I’ll put another sky in.” I think that I care about a lot, but that’s not to be disdainful of anyone who uses Photoshop as it’s a wonderful tool. But from a compositional point of view, I like it to be tight and to make up for my terrible, personal untidiness.
TP: If you look back at what books or magazines that you would have read at the time, what would have been your visual influences or were part of the visual environment you were in. What books or paintings would you have been looking at?
CW: That’s fascinating. My mum used to say, you ought to know about painters and I used to say “I don’t know anything about painting”. I left school when I was 16 years old and only took one O’Level. Never went to university, never went to galleries, and my mother was very encouraging. She said I ought to go to gallery and study classical artists, the way they use light and form, shape, design, pattern, colour, dimensions and relationships, geometry and all of these things which are integral to landscape photography. I did go but not enough and I’m still probably not doing it enough.
As far as which artists, there is French painter called Claude Lorrain. I never actually knew much about him, but I started thinking how the usual suspects such as Constable and the likes, were absolutely skillful they were in working with light and producing a sense of three dimensions. I think I ought to do more, and I should go and see more of Claude Lorrain’s work. I felt you could step into his photographs and you know the far distance is about a mile and a half away and the skill to do that. So I’m probably subliminally influenced but I am by absolutely everything.
TP: Talking about subliminal influence, I presume you enjoy seeing movies, seeing films?
CW: Yes I really do and I think we’re influenced by what we see on television too.
TP: Cinematography is obviously a classic influence on most people, which movies were you enjoying at the time?
CW: I think I’d seen Casablanca ten or fifteen times! I can’t deny black and white resonates hugely with me. It was all 30s and 40s, Humphrey Bogart and all that crowd. Spielberg and all his lighting and cameramen, and some of the editors. That’s another person who’s the unsung hero. I’ll never forget years ago I went to see, Richard Attenborough doing a talk about Ghandi and I asked a really crass question “What role does the editor play in the construction of the film?” He answered very gracefully, he said “Probably more than the director”. I thought that was a wonderful piece of honesty, so I love the way when you look at editing some of the black and white films. Double Indemnity, I can keep remembering just completely marvellous. Jimmy Cagney and all those sort of films. I think about them a lot and the lighting played such an important part and their technical equipment in those days wasn’t so sophisticated. I’m not sure that we’re producing movies that have such an immense power to them, that move and awaken things in the viewer as they did then. There is a big come back to some of those film nows. The British Film Industry is showing them an enormous amount and they are very quick clips now in some television you see now, which I don’t see much of and some movies you see, are very short on the particular scenes. David Lean said, "you savour, but don't linger". I think people would do well to come back to that idea.
TP: Long establishing shots, are some of my favourites in films.
CW: That's the word, establishing shots. I look back and some of those and I probably see Casablanca again, again and again. I don't know why I loved Double Indemnity so much. My knowledge of films isn't hugely extensive but the process of composition I think sometimes is really very elusive. What is it that stimulates you to stop and start the process.
TP: This was one of the questions I was going to ask. How much of you working is instinctual and how much do you think you are consciously making choices about line curve, intersection, etc.
CW: I think it's developed over the years. I look at some of my photography from quite a long way back and I have to say that I sometimes wince by noticing what I overlooked and now I'm now much more thorough. Now I think I probably do my absolute best to take in every single element of what I'm looking at. To ask myself whether it have any case being there or not. I do try and pare away, pare away, until I'm telling my story. That doesn't mean to say that it's going to be a series of graphic, geometric shapes. I do find myself thinking more over the years, I'm developing and I'm still short sighted sometimes though, I really am.
I was looking at one of my old pictures the other day and I thought “I didn't notice that”. I'm often saying to photographers about noticing everything! Absolutely everything. As well as being frozen by the beauty of what you're looking at or the magnificence of what you're looking at. So you've got that to deal with as well, you've got to convey something of your sense of wonder. Which I think most of us are all having at in a different way.
I have a phrase "just having a go" and to try and produce and image that evokes in someway our sense of wonder. I think that's probably it and I'm sure we'd all agree that's what we're trying to do. It's awfully difficult. I remember people saying in the old days "I hope that comes out".
TP: It doesn't matter how many pictures you end up taking though there's only one or two that really work in that way. If you go out and take three or three hundred, you nearly end up with the same amount in the end.
CW: How true!
TP: If you look at the pictures in the book for instance, were many of those were instant ‘snapshots’ of recognition or would you say a majority of them have had a while sitting working on them?
CW: I think the latter. I used to feel that unless something was presented to you on arrival or I call it “gifted to you”; unless you were offered this wonderful combination and configuration of light, shapes and all that stuff on arrival, you couldn't predict what it might become if graced by a particular lighting scenario. It was impossible to say if I come back at dawn, yes you can predict mist but you can't predict the formation of the sky and the roll of clouds which play such an integral part.
I think the days are gone where I've arrived and it's been bang on. I try now to think that the structure is there, and that's sound, and the shapes seem to integrate with one another quite nicely, so I'll come back and see it in various different lighting conditions. Some might be two or three, perhaps four times maybe, maybe five at the absolute most. Let's be honest, sometimes, you turn a corner and kapow! We all know that and I would be fibbing if I said it took me days and angst. Not at all sometimes, it's bingo.
TP: So this is like your set design. Your set design has been recognised, you're just waiting for the lighting crew to arrive to accentuate things?
CW: That's certainly true. We are so impressionable when we're younger, you're the product of your experiences. So I was very impressionable and I went into the theatre when I was 16/17 years old as an assistant stage manager. I was watching great Shakespearian productions and high end ones even in repertory theatre, which are the places I worked. So I was constantly watching actors and the way they moved, and again, always lighting. I can't emphasise that enough, that had a massive effect on me and probably my photography.
There's this huge school of though amongst non photographers that we meet so often. You'd laugh if someone said you must have a good saucepan as this food is amazing! Gosh your frying pan must be incredible, the gravy is out of this world! We don't want great accolades and pats on the back but I think a lot of us would like our audience to appreciate that we have refined our eye over, in case of some of our chums, 20-30 years or more. That's not come easy, we have tripped up along the way and composition of a photograph is tantalisingly difficult sometimes and sometimes it's just out of reach! You just want to put the lid on it and think, this is precisely what I wanted to say and do. I'm not saying we want to be given a crown to put on our heads to say how marvellous we are, but I think a lot of our audience perhaps aren't fully aware of the angst that goes on in trying to get parity in the result. To have parity with our artistic intentions, I find it still terrible difficult. I know if I asked you the same questions and our chums, we'd all say that it's not always laid on a plate.
TP: Talking about cameras, your camera of choice has been historically the Hassleblad, with its square format. How much do you think that format of square and the use of that particular camera type has influenced the way you work compositionally?
CW:
So out of that probably came the rectangle and then out of that came 36x24 I suppose. But then the Hasselblad seemed rather an inappropriate camera to suddenly make your world a square world! At the same time, I think it was the strictness of it and the fact that it didn't really lend itself to landscape photography that I kind of liked.
It's probably quite a bit now that you mention that. The very first camera I had was an old Nikkon Ftn with a Photomic head [https://camerapedia.fandom.com/wiki/Nikon_F], that great big thing with an aluminium front. That's was the very first one I had, and I used that for actors but then I had an opportunity to buy a Hassleblad. I didn't even know what a Hassleblad was when I got it in my 20s! I remember thinking square seemed to be pretty cool. Perhaps that's the wrong word to use, it seemed not to lend itself to landscape, as I think human vision is probably more oval generally. So out of that probably came the rectangle and then out of that came 36x24 I suppose. But then the Hassleblad seemed rather an inappropriate camera to suddenly make your world a square world! At the same time I think it was the strictness of it and the fact that it didn't really lend itself to landscape photography that I kind of liked. It forced me to do things that perhaps would be seen as not quite the thing t do. One of the things that people often say is don't put anything in the middle. For example I found myself gravitating to the lonely item which we see lots of those, and I understand why. I think the square encouraged me to give credence and and sense of import to an item.
I was brought up in the New Forest and I was hopeless at photographing the forest, it was chaotic! I couldn't find anything, it was really difficult. Far to busy and frantic, all types of stuff going on. So I couldn't refine and refine, which I quite like to do. I think square made me take a particular part of the landscape and make a big song and dance about it. I know the square is coming back now quite a lot just as I seem to be doing quite a lot more conventional rectangular!
TP: Looking through the book you notice that you've used quite a lot of landscape orientation pictures and a few panos. Many photographers like to use this foreground/background composition, and you very rarely use that structure in a picture. A majority of your pictures tend to be distant and taken from a slightly elevated view point. I wouldn't say it's a formula that you use, but it's quite common.
CW: That's a rather good point. I don't use very long lenses so perhaps I do pick out things? But you're right, I'm often up a ladder, usually to reveal more plains if I possible can. I want to try and mitigate the two dimensional nature of photography. I don't like to block things, I'd rather reveal more than conceal more in a way. That's a good point!
TP: I was looking through the book and there are pictures like Sinalunga (page 81 in the book) that's got a foreground/background effect and obviously the lavender fields. But the lavender fields (page 125, Valensole II, Provence, France) is probably the only one where you've gone up quite close to things. Maybe the ">pumpkinsfrom a while back.
CW: I think you might be right there. I was was looking at Sinalunga and you're right. Down and up works quite nicely I think. That's a good point.
TP: I wonder if that's a symptom of that the Hassleblad not having so much depth of field and also the square format not trying to force a foreground. The upright portrait classically does.
CW: That's a very strong point. I'll buy into that idea. Sometimes it eludes me, sometimes we don't see squares. So it is slightly perverse to photograph something in the landscape with a square format. There weren't many lenses made for square, I think I there was a 40, 50 and a 150, 250 and that was it.
TP: You obviously shot with a 6x17 occasionally as well.
CW: I did, how scary, what a beast!
TP: With digital cameras now you have probably normalised to a 2:3 ratio. Do you photograph to crop ever or do you always use the aspect ratio of the camera?
CW: I think the latter. I don't think people should be forced into it. A lot of people probably are. Perhaps some are able to look through and think I'll crop that out later and I'll tighten that up, and I'll take a 1/15th of the image off there. I think the discipline of trying to fit, so there's not a lot of post cropping. Might have been once or twice.
TP: It's difficult to visualise the edges of a picture when they are not actually there definitely.
CW: Isn't it just! You're quite right. You know we say that that we used to say that only 98% of what you see is there in the viewfinder. Is that all sorted out now with digital?
TP: Yeah on digital it is I think. Mirrorless is perfect, as you're seeing the final picture of course. I think on some of the SLRs they are pretty close, they aren't far off these days. Still the range finder cameras, the digital range finders can be off. I tend to use a mirrorless camera.
CW: I'm tempted, I'm just waiting for a Hassleblad back to come back, the CFV50C. What a name for a bit of equipment!
TP: That with a camera looks absolutely extraordinary. We had a chat with Paula Pell Johnson at Linhof Studio back in June with Joe in a podcast. We chatted about what was exciting coming up in gear and Paula said the most exciting was the new Hassleblad digital back that fits straight onto the old Hassleblad camera and also had it's own little mirrorless SWC type camera as well. That should be interesting.
CW: And a special battery for it, and you have to get a special adaptor. If you're talking about the one which came out a month or two ago, with the hinged view finder. I'm hoping my friends at Hassleblad might find themselves sending me one! Not yet! It's the same mega pixel count
It delivers a hell of a good image I must say. I didn't think, I ought to have looked at the lenses as there were times when I thought about the old Hassleblad lenses. I know we're going off piste a bit! I thought I better check up as I was using lenses which were 30 years - 40 years old! The SWC body which has a fixed 38 on it and the distagon lens which I've got. I thought that perhaps I wasn't getting the best resolution and honestly when I look at my transparencies which I still do a bit of, I think that I'm alright. Even going up to some fairly bit size 4ft or so I think I'm alright. It's good to hear you say that the lenses are still good on the old Hasselblad system, as I feel they are!
TP: Still one of the best lenses I've ever tried is the last Hassleblad lens, the CFE 40mm, the very large 40mm.
CW: I'm so glad you say that, I think so too. I'll stay with it then! If my friend Tim says it's alright then it is! I'm glad you say that as I do worry and think Charlie you better check, you're behind the times!
TP: I was going to ask you, do you think you can get the landscape photographer of the year exhibiting back at somewhere like the National Theatre?
CW: How funny! That's an extraordinary question because I was talking to the head of publisher at the AA who are going to do the next book and that's exactly the question he said. Because he said yes it was elitist at the National Theatre, yes not everybody could go and see it, but the setting for the exhibition was hard to beat and also 35,000 people, you can't always that number to come into even The Photographers Gallery over an eight week period. That's the what we could enjoy, especially if they play had three intervals!
TP: I thought it was the best place for an exhibition I've seen.
CW: I couldn't agree more. I have to thank the guy behind it who was the unknown figure called John Langley, who's retired now. He wasn't front of house manager, he was much bigger than that. He loved photography and he mounted 160 photographic exhibitions during the time he was there. He was an extraordinary man, he gave me three exhibitions at the National Theatre. I'd rather be there than anywhere else, so I'm glad you say that, as it's a mixed audience, and you're introducing photography to people who would have never thought of going to a photographic exhibition. So it met with a really wide audience. To answer your question, I'm hoping we can! That's not saying that Network Rail do make it less London centric which everyone said is that it had to be in London, and said get it up to us! So it goes to twelve stations and I'm thankful for that and we are running again.
The website is being done by the people who do the Sony World Photography, the same group More Wilson in Salisbury, down the road!
TP: Two more questions for you. How much influence do you think the camera you use, I.e. the shape, the haptics etc, influence your picture generation? I'll give you an example, the use of a waist level view finder on the Hassleblad vs a SLR through the lens view or a heavier camera.
CW: Looking down as opposed to looking across. Well I think. It would be fair to say I remember talking to Joe about this. That when the great Ansel Adams and his 10x8 and even before then the whole plate and half plate, I think you could study in-depth from right to left and top to bottom. All the integration of what a photograph is of all the different elements. I think it was a bit like going to movies with a 10x8, and I've still got an old Gandolphi and I still enjoy that to look through it. I've actually found all the dark slides, and perhaps I should have another go!
You're almost looking at a monitor. I do think being able to see more has a strong bearing on your powers of observation. They are enhanced by able to see more. That little viewfinder, I still think people shouldn't look at the LCD screen, but that's me old school.
Joe and I had an quite an in-depth conversation where you put your cloth over, you know this, and you're getting down to business. You can explore on that ground glass screen what you're about to make an image of. You're almost looking at a monitor. I do think being able to see more has a strong bearing on your powers of observation. They are enhanced by able to see more. That little view finder, I still think people shouldn't look at the LCD screen, but that's me old school. I still think looking at the back, unless you put a cloth over it, you totally exclude everyday life and look at it in that aspect.
I think the answer is yes, it does. The other thing is I really enjoy that machine, I enjoy holding it! I saw an old friend the other day who was in a MGB and he said that it's not that's it an old car, I just have had it for 30 years and I'm wedded to it. I can't give you a logical or rational reason why. It's like an old bed, or a good sofa. I think it does influence me a lot though and the process of using it.
TP: Like the mirrorless cameras, do you find yourself working differently when you're using those as opposed to a large digital SLR?
CW: Yes, only word I can think of it “reach”. I can't reach what I want to photograph. I find it rather difficult to explore. I don't want to have to enlarge up chunks of it and see it in isolation. Is that hedge got something out of it? Has that rock, has that field? The lichen seems to have changed colour half way through, wouldn't have noticed that so I had to enlarge it up. That's frustrating to always have to make it bigger. I'd rather have a loupe and do it the way I just described.
TP: Do you use a phone to take photos ever?
CW: Yes, I really do. Joe was so honest when we went up and I did a little chat up at the gallery. It was a lovely answer and it shocked people in the audience. Somebody from the audience said could I ask you Joe what his favourite camera, and he said quite rightly, yes, my phone! I love that about him you know, there are many lovely qualities about him that are enjoyable and I loved that he shocked people by saying that.
I think it's the most marvellous compositional aid. I wish they made the screen bigger. I think we would all be lying if we said we didn't use it.
TP: What aspect of using a phone do you like most? Is it the fact that you've a large screen to play with?
CW: That's hugely enjoyable, I still use my silly bit of cardboard though, 5x4 frame thing. It's about exclusion more than anything else. I think that the composition business is made hugely easier by that little simple thing of cupping their hands together that cinema-photographers do. What does it look like alone? What does it look like without the supporting bits? I think the phone is a really good adjunct to the conundrum of composition.
On all our Light and Land trips, you always say what's the thing that eludes you most. What's the thing that you find most tantalising and difficult - it's composition! If I haven't heard that a thousand times. We're all finding it elusive.
TP: Final question then. You mentioned slack in pictures. Getting rid of the slack. Can you say what you mean by slack or give us a few examples of what it might be?
CW: I think the only way to describe it is... it's hard to articulate isn't it? I think interior design is probably the best analogy to use as you walk into somebodies house and you think, nothing goes with anything. It's an aesthetic minefield of a disaster. You just don't feel comfortable.
When you look at a shop you're often drawn into it because of the exceptionally stylised window display. I sometimes look at fashion and I'm not a fashionable person, but I look at the clever way women's clothes are designed. I find myself thinking how well organised that is, not just the cloth but the pattern.
So slack is where there is insufficient attention to detail. Other people might like lose and I used to think a single blade of grass unsharp and effected by wind movement was unacceptable. So I had to put a roll of 400 in, as it was just not on.
All of a sudden I find myself saying, snap out of it Charlie, a bit of grass moving is totally OK! On the whole, I think all this goes back to your very first question about that stage set.
A presentation, and I still think of it as a production and I think you probably agree, a photograph is a technical term but it's a production made up of so many different things going on. Once you start getting obsessive about it, which is what it is, I find myself not being able to tolerate something which is any way lose.
Yet, I still look at results and think for god sake Charlie you didn't see that!
A couple of weeks back I visited the Joe Cornish gallery to give a talk, along with Joe Cornish and Lizzie Shepherd, at David Ward's exhibition, "Overlooked". The exhibition itself is fantastic and is well worth a visit but just in case you missed the talks, we recorded them all for posterity.
We are publishing the talks in reverse order though as David's exhibition runs until the 14th of December and we're hoping that seeing the talk will convince a few more people to visit. The following is Joe Cornish's talk
We'll be running the remaining talks in the forthcoming issues. If you're on a mobile device the link you need is https://youtu.be/R-G27Fdgx50 as our mobile theme currently has a technical glitch so you won't see the embedded video.
I’ve seen an awful lot of images of mountains and mountain ranges from various locations displayed online, they’re an impressive dramatic subject that demands your attention, but this particular shot of Esen’s is a firm favourite of mine and it continues to linger in my head, not because of the mountains so much, but because of the composition, the handling of the subject, and the feeling that the image gives to me as a whole.
I’ve been an admirer of Esen Tunar's work (read his featured photographer interview) for a long time, he has a certain calm surrounding his images that have a direct effect on my mood when I view them. They’re also the type of images that make me feel like there’s little or no separation between you as the viewer and what you’re looking at. He has the ability to capture an image that transports you right to that very place and make those places feel familiar to you, whether it be mountains like this, deserts, or even the farthest away of stars and galaxies that he’s photographed. I admire anyone who can do that with their photographs.
Esen’s image of Vesturhorn I first saw on social media several years ago now. As soon as I clapped eyes on it, the image demanded my attention and whisked me off to Iceland, yet it’s a place that I’ve never actually personally visited. I felt like I was there, on the black sands, feeling the cold, being buffeted by the wind and seeing this all very much with my own eyes.
One of our readers, Colin Jarvis, popped in to say hello last month on the way back from running a workshop in Skye. After sitting down with a coffee and biscuit we recorded a screencast where Colin talked about his week on Skye and the work made by him and his clients. A big thank you to Colin for taking the time to talk to us!
The true artists, are almost as rare a phenomenon among painters, sculptors, composers as among photographers. ~Paul Strand
Photography has drawn criticism from painters and art critics practically since its inception. Examples are not difficult to find, going as far back as French poet and critic Charles Baudelaire who declared photography, “the refuge of every would-be painter, every painter too ill-endowed or too lazy to complete his studies,” to modern figures like Gore Vidal who, when criticising the work of photographer Cecil Beaton, claimed that photography is, “the ‘art form’ of the untalented.”
To this day, at least in some quarters, competition and prejudice between photographers and painters often surface, whether in the form of barbed, cynical, comments, in excluding photography from some art venues, or in more subtle ways, such as various titles and headlines referring to “art and photography,” as if the two are inherently separate things. Alas, competition and tribalism are innately human qualities, often transcending reason in their pettiness and extent, and sometimes culminating in outright rancor and intolerant attitudes. It is therefore perhaps appropriate that I begin this discussion by admitting my own position on the matter: I think that those who believe in the unequivocal artistic superiority of one medium over another, do so because of personal bias and perhaps ignorance, rather than objective judgment, and do a disservice to art and to artists.
I think that those who believe in the unequivocal artistic superiority of one medium over another, do so because of personal bias and perhaps ignorance, rather than objective judgment, and do a disservice to art and to artists.
Of those who gave serious thought to the distinction between photography and painting as media for art, I took note of painter Edvard Munch who, despite being an avid photographer, did not think that photography could live up to the expressive powers of painting.
I wondered if I was missing something important, perhaps being biased subconsciously toward my medium of choice, because, admittedly, creating art in photography was not a considered choice for me.
I also took note of the shifts in the work of Henri Cartier-Bresson, who started off as a painter, then became one of the most accomplished photographers in history, only to return to painting in his elder years, saying in one interview, “photography has never been more than a way into painting, a sort of instant drawing.”
Simon has given us a delightfully concise bio, so I’ll add a little. His images have been widely published; he has had success in high profile competitions including the Sony World Photography Awards, the International Photography Awards and the UK’s Landscape Photographer of the Year Competition; and he has written for On Landscape on several occasions. Looking through his website I was especially interested in his aerial images from the Scottish Borders, and we thought it would be good to find out more about what he’s been up to recently both at home and abroad.
Tim spoke to Simon shortly after his image ‘Condemned’ was confirmed as the overall winner in the 2012 ‘Landscape Photographer of the Year’ competition amid, it’s fair to say, some controversy associated with the disqualification of the image that was initially announced winner. You can read the original interview here. It seems like the obvious place to begin…
Tim spoke to you back in November 2012, the weekend after ‘Condemned’ was confirmed overall winner in that year’s ‘Landscape Photographer of the Year’ competition. Looking back now, what perspective have you gained on how that came about, and the difference that winning made for you and your photography?
With the benefit of hindsight, I can see how the 2012 edition of Landscape Photographer of the Year confirmed a path that was latent at the time. My early years in photography were spent trying to get the maximum number of clicks on sharing sites such as ePHOTOzine and photo.net, and I came to equate the value of work with its popularity.
My more esoteric efforts were kept private and I publicly displayed only work that conformed to the aesthetic prevalent in popular landscape photography at that time. My winning shot had only been included in the entry to make the numbers up. When it won I was not only completely staggered, but I began to see the importance of originality and following my own ideas.
The 2012 LPOTY was mired in controversy, from the expulsion of the original winner to my own upgraded contribution. To say my winning shot was unpopular would be an understatement; the online opprobrium continued for months.
The 2012 LPOTY was mired in controversy, from the expulsion of the original winner to my own upgraded contribution. To say my winning shot was unpopular would be an understatement; the online opprobrium continued for months. Up to this point I had dreaded public criticism of my photographs, but faced with a tsunami of bile I had no choice but to suck it up. In the end I grew to love it. I had a feeling of loss when I was no longer savaged in the pages of fishing magazines or hiking websites. I was left with a feeling that whatever I did in the future, public reaction couldn’t possibly be any worse. The whole experience gave me the confidence to plough my own furrow and to hell with what anyone thinks. Three years later I once again had a positive competition experience when the Blue Fields series was shortlisted in the Professional Landscape category of the Sony World Photographic Awards. The publicity was huge and I’m still selling prints on the back of it more than three years later.
At the time you were working as a full-time musician. Has your love of photography now altered the balance in your life, and how much time can you devote to it?
At the time I was - and still am - working as a full time musician, a clarinet player to be precise. The hours are good but the commitment to maintain playing standards has to be rigorous. Making recordings and performing regularly in public requires you to be match fit, both mentally and physically. Playing music is not a job I could take a long break from and come back to if other things didn’t work out, for that reason photography has in many ways been a lower priority than music. Having said that, the two things work brilliantly together. The orchestra regularly does international concert tours and I can often find the time to stay on for a couple of weeks to do some photography after the other players have gone home. I feel very lucky to spend my days doing things I’m passionate about - both of which started as hobbies.
I, as many photographers, have places I feel at home with, I like to go back to and be reminded of why I went there before. I have many on my list from the barren deserts of America, the snow laden farmer’s field of Japan, and of course, too many locations of the Scottish Highlands to mention here.
Strangely, a place I feel I have not photographed enough, and one which I live very close to, is the Lake District. This is a place with which I am very familiar and memories of visits here go back to when I was a child climbing and walking in the mountains with my father, camping trips with my friends whilst at university and some of my earliest memories of lugging around a large format camera. To me, it seems almost unjust to not have an extensive back-catalogue of photographic explorations of this beautiful part of England. So why is this?
I suppose the fact that it is so close and ‘so familiar’ meant it did not register as a place to visit when I had to set aside the time to travel and make photographs.
I suppose the fact that it is so close and ‘so familiar’ meant it did not register as a place to visit when I had to set aside the time to travel and make photographs.
My time for that was always dedicated to Scotland, and in a large part, still is. Other factors that have caused this preterition are quite simply the Lake District was a holiday destination for my young family, and also, I had worked there running photography workshops for over twenty years!
As Margaret Soraya was passing through Glencoe, she lives near Loch Ness, we enticed her to drop in with cake, tea and biscuits.
The landscapes Margaret captures, typically on the remote islands of the Outer Hebrides, Inner Hebrides and Orkney Isles, are a reflection of her solo time in nature, being still and embracing quietude. In this podcast, Margaret talks about her exhibition and what she finds in the quietness and solitude of the islands that keeps pulling her back.
See Margaret Soraya’s landscapes from the Outer Hebrides, Inner Hebrides and Orkney Isles in her exhibition ‘Quiet’ at Bosham Gallery, 1 High Street, Bosham, West Sussex PO18 8LS from October 5-December 14, 2019.
Margaret has a talk on Saturday 30th November | FINDING YOUR OWN CREATIVE SPACE Artist Talk With Margaret Soraya | 3-5pm | Bosham Gallery
Our planet is a paradise of endless, unimaginable beauty and as a landscape photographer, I have been privileged to have been able to visit just a few of the treasures it has to offer. I have gazed, literally mouth ajar, at sites of both natural and manmade beauty, be they an overwhelming wonder such as the Grand Canyon or Machu Picchu or an intimate shaft of dawn light shining through a cobweb laden with overnight dew in my back garden. Such sites never fade or dull, each remaining a part of my combined experience. But both my senses and subsequent deliberations were left genuinely reeling following a recent visit to the unimaginable world of the Carrara marble quarries.
Here amongst the towering peaks of the Apuan Alps, man intervenes with nature with apparent disregard in an overtly brazen manner. And yet the consequence is magnetic, staggeringly captivating and eerily mystic. The accumulation of some 700 disused and modern operational quarries - excavated over 2000 years - has left a multitude of deep and seductive, yet horrific, scars across a previously pristine landscape. Our guide consoles us nonchalantly that they are only allowed to excavate 5% of the "hills" as the range is protected by UNESCO. I look around me and ponder the figure, it seems pretty significant in the context of an entire mountain range to me!
We had travelled to Tuscany for a friend's book launch and decided to return home through the hills. As we exited the tunnel at the top of a pass, I could but stop, stand and stare. The scale of the scene was in every sense simply breathtaking as I looked across a mountain range shrouded in intermittent clouds towards the Mediterranean glistening far below in the distance. Quarries dotted various slopes which have been mined as they provide the source of the purest white (and other) marble on the planet. Michelangelo's David and other magnificent statues, cities and palaces across the globe have sourced their raw material from this unique place. As you drive up the steep winding road towards the huts of various tour operators, shops selling an infinite choice of marble eggs, chess boards, tables, statues and lights line the route.
I become overwhelmed as our Landrover crawls up the 45-degree incline and I look both down and ever upwards to immense, smooth cliffs of neatly cut rock set into the surrounding natural landscape. Cavernous holes in sheer rock with ignored no entry signs as tourists seek to touch, explore and live this unique environment.
I become overwhelmed as our Landrover crawls up the 45-degree incline and I look both down and ever upwards to immense, smooth cliffs of neatly cut rock set into the surrounding natural landscape.
I am in a Tolkienesque scene of fantasy madness - huge excavators and lorries with wheels twice the height of a man appear as Tonka toys against the endless quarry faces which in turn are miniaturised by the scale of the hills themselves. An entire ridge hundreds of metres long simply removed. A hillside of rock sliced away. Tourists as ants against the backdrop. All I can do is reach for my camera and begin.
As we drive away too few hours later and over the following days and weeks, my thoughts begin to reflect on what I have seen and wander in many different directions. I am reminded of the colossal majesty of the 7 year long "Workers" project by the matchless Sebastiao Salgado where he explores the lives and working conditions of the people who dig, mine and excavate for our everyday pleasures such as sugar, gold and oil. I begin to ponder what I have just seen in a similar light against everyday products bought in the shops, where they are sourced and the impact each has on some part of the planet remote both spatially and often in thought. The discord of both immense and yet in the 27 years since Salgado completed that immensely questioning work little appears to have changed.
I wonder what will happen when the quarries reach their 5% limit for extraction. Will the companies tidy up and walk or will they chip away for just a little more. And then a little more again, arguing consumer demand and local economic justification, and they would be far from the first industry to do so. I later even argue with myself over whether I should submit this article and in doing so potentially encourage vanity travel and the carbon footprint of others as they hop on a plane for a long weekend to capture their own interpretation of these remarkable edifices. (I am happy that I did at least think on this and determine the benefits of raising awareness over the potential costs made my actions justifiable though I recognize nothing is perfect).
The quarries have left a profound impression on me. They undoubtedly reinforce many questions on a wide range of issues including beauty, greed, consumerism, society, environment and personal responsibility.
The quarries have left a profound impression on me. They undoubtedly reinforce many questions on a wide range of issues including beauty, greed, consumerism, society, environment and personal responsibility. They have reminded me to never stop thinking about how I might proactively answer and address such questions both through my work and with respect to my own lifestyle and in questioning others. As a such, they have been as inspirational a venue as I have ever visited, though as I now reflect, maybe not for the reasons I thought as I first drove through that tunnel and looked out in wonder.
Call to action
Carrara represents my current “Voice”, thoughts and reflections on consumerism and climate change and the dilemma of my own carbon contributions vs my work as a landscape photographer. In this, as some will already know, following much soul searching Morag and I will stop running all our flight based photography workshops at the end of current commitments and will cease flying wherever possible as part of our own contribution to take personal responsibility.
This has been a very difficult decision to make and how each of us responds will always differ but I am sure I am not alone in recognising the urgency to act. In this regard these pages have already seen the excellent articles on this subject from Joe Cornish and Niall Benvie giving very different personal perspectives on the subject. Personally I think we have to each take responsibility for our own actions and together bring politicians and “corporates” to account, I believe that images can have a profound effect in helping to raise awareness and to change attitudes and would like to thank Tim for giving us all a forum to commence the widest possible discussion on the subject.
I am very excited to see what “Voices” come forward and invite everyone to contribute their own Voice, together with any ideas as to how we can take the discussion forward.
Borrowdale Fells, from Castle Crag, Lake District, late autumn.
For a magazine dedicated to landscape photography, it is perhaps occasionally worth asking the question, why bother photographing the landscape, what’s it all for? And what does landscape photography mean, for the photographer, but also for the viewer? Charlie Waite gave a most succinct answer, at least from the photographer’s point of view, in his book Seeing Landscapes:
Photographing the landscape should give you pleasure ~ Charlie Waite
I’m sure this works for all of us: the sense of being there, seeking to marry the fleeting experience of the moment with our technical mastery of the camera.
However, the viewer’s reaction to an image is slightly more complicated to disentangle. The viewer is not there, may well be completely oblivious to the technical skill of the photographer, and yet still has an aesthetic response to the resulting image. This is why it’s interesting to analyse the mood that pictures create, the feelings they inspire, and to link that back to the decisions the photographer must have made at the moment of making the image. A case in point is Joe Cornish’s image: Borrowdale Fells, from Castle Crag, Lake District, late autumn. (see above) There is a soft, wistful feel to this image, tranquillity and quietness - it is all very peaceful. An image of subtlety rather than explosive drama. Why is it so pleasing? Compositionally, the picture is very contained. The eye is perhaps drawn first to the sunlit foreground area bottom left, with the tiny sparkle of light reflecting off the beck and the warm-toned trees and heather.
During our last Meeting of Minds conference, one of our regular visitors, Trym Ivar Bergsmo, said to us “Would you like to come and stay with us in Norway sometime and allow me to show you around?” As both Charlotte and I are more of the cold climes holidaymakers rather than the beach and cocktails sort, this caught our interest immediately but in the frantic conference conditions, it slipped our minds. We checked that Trym was still amenable and arranged a date to try to coincide with probable Autumnal conditions, around the end of September to the start of October.
Tim, Trym and Charlotte
For Trym’s sake I don’t want to reveal the actual location we stayed but I can summarise by saying it’s somewhere on the south side of the Lofoten Archipelago, midway between Narvik and the tip. Most of our explorations covered Lodingen, Hadsel, Vågan & Vestvågøy. I will also apologise for the number of photographs in this article but for me, each image revealed something about the area different to my preconceptions of mountains, rocky beaches and fjords. Finally, Trym was the perfect host and I have to give a big thank you to him and his family for allowing us to share his house and his love of his country.
In a quiet moment, Trym strikes a "Ruckenfigur" over his native land, recalling Caspar David Friedrich.
Arriving in Narvik and getting past the shock of driving on the wrong (right) side of the road, our first major hurdle was moose dodging, when an adult and juvenile ran across the road right in front of us. Trym said that this surprise was the hardest to organise for us! Are Norwegians always so accommodating?
Anyway - the rest of the journey that evening passed without mammalian obstacles and we arrived in the dark on a small peninsula to a beautiful home and a welcome meal where we slowly unpacked.
An example of the scenes we were passing on many occasions but were unable to stop the car at. Fortunately, before each road tunnel there are places to stop your car for a short while and we made the most of this to capture a wider view. Those familiar with British birch trees will notice the difference in colour here. It's not a photographic error, the Arctic birch trees had a more orange yellow than the typical British more lemon yellow.
I was unsure what photography equipment to take to Norway as I knew we were going to be climbing and walking (well - I thought we were going to be doing lots of climbing, more later) and hence most of our weight allowance was taken up by trad climbing gear (lots of cams!). In the end, I settled for a simple Sony A7R3 and 24-105 thinking that it would handle most situations.
Our first day started early with a trip over the border to Abisko in Arctic Sweden where we bumped into Oliver Wright (who works in the area) and a random encounter with Alister Benn (who was scouting with his partner). The drive over the border would have taken about two days had I stopped everywhere that looked interesting, but we had a goal and once we got there I knew why. The Abisko canyon is beautiful and the forests that surround it were nearly at their peak of Autumn colour, a swathe of orangey-yellow with mixed colour still in some of the trees.
Not intended to be a finished photograph but just a record of the view of the lower Abisko river. The combination of Autumnal colour, water and rock made me want to spend more and more time here.
I found a way down to the edge of the river to make the most of the lichens and protected autumnal colour and spent the remaining part of the day exploring the forest and canyon. I could spend weeks in just this location and hope to return.
The following four days were spent exploring the area and getting past that usual visual hurdle of seeing too much to photograph but not enough to deeply interest. It seems to take me a while to start to see things that really engage. I talked a little bit about this in my presentation at David Ward’s talks which will be included in the magazine in the next issue.
Although Trym was only supposed to be around for a few days of our trip, after a couple of days Trym asked if he would mind his company for a bit longer as the Autumnal conditions were some of the best he’d seen for many years and the prospect of settled weather for over a week couldn’t be resisted. How could we refuse a knowledgeable and entertaining guide! (and not only did he arrange the moose and sea eagles, he also managed to organise Charlotte’s first aurora viewing on the balcony of his house!)
Another 'tourist' shot to capture a memory of a moment. This was the very last glimpse of light as we returned from a day climbing near Henningsvaer. The colours visible on the banks of the mountains opposite were what stopped the car but the wonderful reflections and pair of swans in the lake to the right were the icing on the photographic cake.
What became quickly apparent was just the extraordinary amount of forestry and scrub of all types. Although most of the trees were birch, there were also many aspen, rowan and willow. In some ways, the views seemed similar to Scotland - but a Scotland without deforestation where the trees wandered all the way to the natural treeline and the small amount of commercial forestry was drift planted and in most cases not visually unsettling.
At the end of the first week, I felt like I had my ‘eye in’ and was starting to see compositions and ideas that ‘worked’ for me. We also had the first cold spell with early morning mist and frosty conditions. The arrangement of the fjords meant that quite often a gentle onshore wind would carry wet warm air into the mountain valleys where it formed layers of mist and created an accumulating hoar frost in little cold pockets.
On our drive out to go climbing, we saw some amazing hanging mists as the moist, coastal area drifted into the cold valleys from the overnight clear skies. We returned the following day with Trym to find the same conditions. I spent some time working out whether to keep the skyline and glow of direct sunlight in this picture but I think it gives a little context and interest. The two key parts of the picture are the cold, clean trunks of the birch against the warm, frosted grasses and the snaking brook winding its way through the picture.
The following couple of days were spent exploring near Trym’s house and reminded me of why I need to spend more time randomly wandering in a sort of photographic Brownian motion. Not only that, the fun in rock hopping, exploring and chilling out is as important as the photography itself for me.
We did spend a couple of days rock climbing though, our first proper outdoor trad climbing. I quickly found a problem with climbing in Norway though, beyond the cheese-grated ankles implicit in gabbro crack climbing, and that is the distraction of the landscape when you’re supposed to be belaying your wife!
Whilst walking near Trym's house we discovered a very wet and boggy hollow. On traversing above the reflections of the wonderful blue and fluffy skies complemented the far mountain range.
Back to the photography though and we spent a two-day trip driving down to the tip of Lofoten, which had drama in spades but didn’t work for me. The best part of this trip was discovering the areas around Henningsvaer and Valberg. A wonderful stretch of coastline with amazing autumnal colour.
After a final frosty morning which produced the best hoar frosts of the trip, we spent our last day following the cruise liners down to Trollfjord.
After seeing so many images from Lofoten, and refusing to research the trip ahead of time, I was most pleasantly surprised to find that the area had so much more to offer than just the mountains, fjords, aurora and beaches that I had seen previously. The combination of arctic flora and mountain habitat gives something familiar to those who may have visited the Scottish mountains but with a consistency of colour, texture and dynamics that provide abundant material for the landscape photographer. We were obviously lucky with the weather and autumnal conditions but I could see that the potential was there even if these didn't play their part in the same way that we encountered them.
Again, I apologise for the abundance of photographs. I hope they portray a different side to the area than you may have seen previously.
If you can access them, the banks of the Abisko canyon have so much to offer. This Rowan and fallen Willow tree are exquisite but the mixture of glacial blue water and white limestone banks gives this scene a wonderful colour balance. As a side note, I started to use polarisers for the first time on this trip because of their ease of use with the H&Y filter system.
Behind my previous image, the rowan tree dangled it’s limbs next to the canyon wall on which I found these extraordinarily bright lichens. In order to get this view I had to stand on a rock and hold the camera at full arms length above my head. With the combination of the tilting rear screen and multiple attempts, I finally got the composition I wanted.
Not intended to be a finished photograph but just a record of the view of the lower Abisko river. The combination of Autumnal colour, water and rock made me want to spend more and more time here.
An example of the scenes we were passing on many occasions but were unable to stop the car at. Fortunately, before each road tunnel there are places to stop your car for a short while and we made the most of this to capture a wider view. Those familiar with British birch trees will notice the difference in colour here. It’s not a photographic error, the Arctic birch trees had a more orange yellow than the typical British more lemon yellow.
I can’t recount some of our experiences of Norway without mentioning the aspen. Having never encountered these before they were quite the revelation with their spindle trunks, beer mat leaves and waterfall rattling in the wind. Here they formed an odd ‘eye’ shape. I can only presume this is related to the fact that a stand of aspen is typically a single organism and grow from root suckers (I’m guessing they started from the older stand in the middle of the eye)
One of our goals was to climb the very pointed peak in the centre of the skyline here, Stetind. Sadly the snow arrived early. However, I was determined to find a place to photograph it, at least from afar, and this mossy moorland near Trym’s home provided enough foreground interest to arrange into the twilight glow.f
Another ‘tourist’ shot to capture a memory of a moment. This was the very last glimpse of light as we returned from a day climbing near Henningsvaer. The colours visible on the banks of the mountains opposite were what stopped the car but the wonderful reflections and pair of swans in the lake to the right were the icing on the photographic cake.
On our drive out to go climbing, we saw some amazing hanging mists as the moist, coastal area drifted into the cold valleys from the overnight clear skies. We returned the following day with Trym to find the same conditions. I spent some time working out whether to keep the skyline and glow of direct sunlight in this picture but I think it gives a little context and interest. The two key parts of the picture are the cold, clean trunks of the birch against the warm, frosted grasses and the snaking brook winding its way through the picture.
As the sun rose above the mountains, it case shadows against the rising mist. The backdrop, still in shadow and illuminated only by the blue sky above gave a beautiful colour contrast.
To be blessed with still weather in autumn next to water gives so many possibilities. Here the reeds had captured many birch leaves in sweeping patterns. My only job was to arrange the frame edges.
In a quiet moment, Trym strikes a “Ruckenfigur” over his native land, recalling Caspar David Friedrich.
Whilst walking near Trym’s house we discovered a very wet and boggy hollow. On traversing above the reflections of the wonderful blue and fluffy skies complemented the far mountain range.
Whilst I was sitting with Charlotte as she took a photos of some reeds, I turned around and noticed just how intense the leaf litter and ferns were. The leaves almost had a transparency which gave them an essence of internal lightl. Here, the dwarf dogwoods (small yellow/red leaved plants gave the red end of the spectrum.
If Carlsberg made summer homes. To be fair, nearly every remote house seemed settled into a tiny nirvana. Here the last rays and calm conditions reflected the drifts of fireweed and stands of birch.
Attracted by the rowan saplings glowing orange at the foot of this birch I looked for arrangements that worked against a backdrop of moss covered boulders. The main choice was whether to place the top half of the birch against the dark rock or not. I think the contrast worked well.
Almost home after a twighlight session and I made another emergency stop caused by that insane splash of red in the top right. Fortunately the wind was rising and falling and gave me enough time for a 4 second exposure without too much water movement. The curled reach of white branch skimming the water’s surface echoed by the shapes of the rest of the branches finished the composition off.
Seeing the temperature drop dramatically, we set off early to look for frosty conditions and were well rewarded as the next few photographs will show. This was a view of a secluded summer house with, remarkably, no access road or parking! That at least kept things wild…
Below the road in a small pocket that would receive no daylight, was a collection of discarded birch trees (possibly from road clearing). These had started to collect lichens and the bark was starting to peel. They provided great background for the colourful blueberry and dogwood growing around them.
A fern curls its way out of a stand of frosted juniper. Despite having a tripod with me, I chose to make most of these photographs hand held so as to give myself more opportunity to play with camera positioning. I compared a few hand held to tripod mounted photographs and was happy that there was little difference.
The dwarf dogwood, also known as bunchberry, is a exceptionally beautiful plant in summer with its white flowers and lipstick red fruits, but the autumnal colour and texture impressed us the most. The four leaf tipped shoots typically showed a developing orange and red colour but in thie frosty hollow that turned into a warm browns and oranges. With firegrass and birch bark as a background I spent some time working on a complementary composition.
As we followed cruise liners down Trollfjord, we encountered a patch of incredibly blue water. Complemented with the sunlit orange-yellow of the birch and the faint blue of the cool shadows, this was a rare scene that looked over saturated in real life.
Sometimes light does the strangest things. In this scene, the two bare aspen are lit by a shaft of sunlight from between two mountains behind me that has bounced off the water, caught the trees and then disappeared off to the right of the image. The scene lasted about two minutes, enough to nearly run myself off a cliff in my bid to find a suitable vantage point.
Once the light had disappeared from the previous trees, I made the most of the still conditions to find some reflections through the grasses int he foreground. This is about a 50% crop and one of the few times I wished for a longer lens than 105mm
As we had some time to fill, Trym took us to a small road near where his parents lived and we took a walk past a reservoir. “This won’t be very photographic so we don’t need to bring cameras”. I took one just in case.
In the opposite direction to the previous photograph, two boulders nestled against each other and a rowan and birch tried to find the light in between.
On a tiny side road off the main dual carriageway in Svolvaer we tried to find access to a stand of aspen. What we found was so much better. Only 200 yards from the main road through a major town.
Visiting a friend of Trym’s on the island of Henningsvaer we returned to the car to find a wonderful raking low light on the side of the mountains.
When I received the offer to write this article, my first instinct was to refuse. First off, I’m not very proficient in English. More or less at ease when it comes to listening and reading, but much less so when speaking or writing. Writing is not a favourite pastime of mine either, or at least it hasn’t been for a while. But lo and behold! On the same day, I received Charlotte Britton’s message, while browsing a photography page, I came across the very photo that I will be discussing here. It seemed to me that it was a sign and I decided to write in French (not my first language either) and to ask my daughter for an English translation. I spoke to Charlotte about my project and I got her approval. It took me some time, but apparently, you’re reading me right now!
It is perfectly legitimate for you to ask me: why is this photo in your (favourite!) magazine whose name clearly indicates the preferred orientation of images, and in which we usually admire landscapes with very minimal human presence? Well, those aren’t the only photographs found here, but it is the general trend; beautiful colours and splendid curves that come to us from almost everywhere. And here, we’re faced with a street well populated by people and vehicles, soaked in the pouring rain. Moreover, taken in a black and white which betrays the photograph’s analogue origins and its age. This won’t be a revelation - an urban landscape is necessarily populated, and even in a city like Warsaw in 1968 there were cars, trams and buses, not to mention the motorcycles and bikes, absent in the moment we are witnessing because of the rain. By this slightly roundabout discussion, I come to the answer to the above question - what is pictured is indeed a landscape, and to boot, I very much like this image taken by a photographer who is little known outside of Poland.
This may be a good time to say a few words about the author of this shot. Zbyszko Siemaszko was born on the 30th of August, 1925 in Vilnius (then in Poland, now in Lithuania) in a family of photographers. His father’s studio was frequented by political, religious and economic figures looking for the perfect portrait. Young Zbyszko’s path was clear but World War II disrupted his plans. Despite his young age, he was drafted to be a soldier in the polish guerrilla army after the 1939 invasion of Poland. During and between battles, he stayed faithful to his passion for photography and documented life in the underground resistance. Only less than a third of those photos survived the war. Severely wounded to the head two separate times, he was made a prisoner by the Gestapo. Luckily, his fellows managed to free him.
After the war, he finished his studies and was hired to photographically document the reconstruction and restoration of Warsaw’s architectonic monuments. He then worked as a photographer in magazines and some of the city’s newspapers. He became, in a way, THE Warsaw photographer. He kept taking pictures of the city until his death, on the 4th of March, 2015, when he was 89 years old.
Let’s go back to the picture in question. This image came into my life multiple times during very different periods. The first time I saw it, it must have been in a magazine or a newspaper, and then in a photo exhibition. With the birth of the Internet, I’ve caught glimpses of it multiple times. It was easy to remember; it is the perfect photograph for me. But each time I saw it, my experience of it was different. I know — or rather I knew — the place where the picture was snapped perfectly; back left, out of frame, the “Moscow” cinema which doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe because of the name — or is it real estate speculation? The building was made famous by Chris Niedenthal’s photograph taken on the 13th of December, 1981; on the theatre’s bill is an advertisement for the movie “Apocalypse Now”, and in the foreground, a tank from the polish army — you can’t make this up!
The most famous photo of Martial law. A tank sits in front of Warsaw's Kino Moskwa. The film being shown is Apocalypse Now. Photo: Chris Niedenthal pic.twitter.com/52lcwpGKEu
How completely different from the picture we’re discussing!
Back to 1968; at the time I lived only a few trams stops away from the street pictured, in the same direction the shot is taken. I didn’t yet know that 150 metres away was a photography shop where I would buy, almost 20 years later, my first camera.
Back to 1968; at the time I lived only a few trams stops away from the street pictured, in the same direction the shot is taken. I didn’t yet know that 150 metres away was a photography shop where I would buy, almost 20 years later, my first camera. I also remember this rain, what a downpour! We always view and feel a photograph through our experience, but there is of course also the aesthetic aspect of it, which is far from negligible here. The gracefulness and the poetry of those milliseconds captured on film were extracted from a daily life that was far from simple and easy. The horizon tilts slightly to the right, which is quite far-off from an architectural photographer’s habits; they usually structure their pictures with very sharp and neat lines.
This certainly deliberate characteristic makes the scene feel alive and aerial. The girl seems to fly over the pavement without ever touching it. Where is she running to? Is the car with a slightly open door waiting for her? We will never know, and it is best that way. It allows each person to see and experience this image differently. A thin slice cut from time and light which our individual gaze will uniquely colour.
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!
These photographs represent an attempt to switch away from my ‘go to’ mode of photography (coastal landscapes, usually wide angle / tilt-shift) to more challenging monochrome work in more complex inland environments, using longer focal lengths. I was helped in this direction by breaking my arm! It became impossible to carry more than one camera with one lens at a time, and certainly no tripod. Here are my attempts at making some sense of the complexity of my local woodlands. All my weeks off work gave me the mental space and time to think carefully about the distillation of composition in these environments.
I have been photographing in the Northern Kettle Moraine State Forest in Wisconsin for a number of years. One feature of the forest is a number of planted conifer woods that were put in as part of reforestation in the last century. These conifers are not natural to area and are being harvested to make room for native hardwoods. These conifers stands provide an opportunity to feature repeated patterns and symmetry in the woodlands.
Nature blesses us with a diverse assortment of photographic possibilities. Sometimes, the effects of wind and water on totally different landforms create landscapes looking remarkably similar. I was struck with this paradox while reviewing images taken of wheat fields in the Palouse located in Eastern Washington state and the dunes and eroded soil found in Death Valley.
The first image was taken in Lisbon, Portugal on the Tagus river
The second image was taken in Vila Fernando, Alentejo in Portugal.
The third image was taken in Campo Maior, Alentejo in Portugal.
The fourth image was taken at Alandroal, Alentejo in Portugal and you can see how drought hit a dam, where it let a tree appear that was submerged in water.
As photographers, we speak through our images with photography being our language for communicating with the audience. Some have a cheerful vibrant tone, some have overtly histrionic renditions with vivid saturated colours, and others choose to speak softly. It is that last category that this piece is focused on. Each one of us, by virtue of our individual personalities, evolve a certain style of artistic expression. However, this individual style I feel is subject to variation based on our state of mind, the mood we are in at the time of acquisition of the image as well as its rendition.
For the audience that is receiving the visual stimulus, there is an equivalent response. Somewhere in between the happy and the gloomy lies a middle ground where there is no strong liking or disliking, happiness or discontent, just a state of calm peaceful being filled with a sense of equilibrium and balance. What is it in a visual that would induce the viewer to enter this state of serenity, tranquillity, and pervading sense of quiet?
Back in 2015 when we talked to Linda last, she had started to explore making images using creative photography, as a means of a personal depiction of the landscape. Since then, Linda has delved deeper into in camera and in Photoshop techniques and in this interview talks about her new book and her journey into looking beyond the obvious, to capture the atmosphere of the scene.
I am still passionate about photography and look out for images wherever I go. I have been spending quite a bit of time in France over the last few years and this is reflected in my photos of the French countryside, where I have been concentrating on trees in the mist as well as taking photos of the historic buildings in the medieval villages there. I really enjoy taking atmospheric landscape/seascape shots and also experimenting with my photography, both in-camera and in Photoshop, where I get great satisfaction on seeing the effect that can be achieved.
When we spoke to you in 2015 you had just been awarded your FRPS by the RPS. How has this influenced your photography?
Gaining my FRPS has influenced my photography in several ways. I now prefer to work on a project and to get involved with the subject matter, rather than thinking in terms of individual images. I also now look around for details in a scene rather than just the wide view. My F panel was created with marine subjects with a rough sea image used as an overlay. I had to really scout around to find the variety required for this panel, keeping my eyes open every time I went near a harbour or pontoon. During this process, I learnt a lot about how to arrange images into a panel, and I now really enjoy arranging images in sets, either triptychs or larger groupings. This works especially with the more intimate landscape and detail shots. The images shown here in my Salt Flats panel are an example of this and I feel they work better displayed in this format than as individual images.
You serve on the RPS Assessment Panels - tell us how this process has influenced your view on landscape photography?
There are so many landscape photographers taking images now that it is hard to get photos that are different. If the photographer wants to produce something a bit more exciting and to express their emotions and vision in their images, then creative photography enables them to do this
I currently serve on the RPS Licentiate Assessment Panel which is the first level of distinction where we are looking for visual awareness and a variety of technical and presentational skills. Consequently, we see different types of photography from macro, wildlife, street photography and so on, as well as landscape, so I do not feel my view on landscape photography has been affected. However, I really appreciate seeing the variety and I also find the process very satisfying as I have always been happy to help people move their photography forward and we are involved in advising photographers before they submit their panel, at Advisory days or on a personal level as well as assessing on the day.
You said that you like to experiment both in terms of technique and in processing and combining images? How has this creative process evolved for you?
I enjoy combining images in Photoshop but I have been experimenting more with in-camera techniques over the last couple of years. This has been because of my own curiosity but mainly because of the research needed for my book ‘Creative Photography’.
Creative photography as a genre has grown in popularity with a variety of techniques in camera and in Photoshop enabling this. Why do you think that people are interested in this style?
There are so many landscape photographers taking images now that it is hard to get photos that are different. If the photographer wants to produce something a bit more exciting and to express their emotions and vision in their images, then creative photography enables them to do this. The end result can be very pleasing as a style, often very impressionistic and painterly, and that is what interests people. However, technology is moving forward all the time, and photographers will try the new methods as they become available so the trend might well be completely different in a few years’ time.
You say in the introduction to the book "When experimenting with Photoshop the boundaries to your imagination are your only obstacles to creating truly original images.' Tell us about how you go about experimenting. Do you previsualise the end image or is it more about the creative process?
When I made this comment in my book I was thinking mainly of the extreme case, where composite images are made putting together, say, birds from one image, mountains from another and so on and the techniques described in the book enable the photographer to produce these images if they have the imagination. I tend to use Photoshop for tidying up an image and also to combine images together, sometimes using a texture layer to add atmosphere and sometimes for a purpose, such as with my F panel, where I was putting the marine subjects into context with the rough sea splashing over them. The images are unique as no other photographer would use the same texture especially if it is using one of your own photographs, which I always do, and would certainly not bring through the same detail from the image below.
With my Historic Aquitaine series, I knew exactly what I was looking for. I wanted to add something to the subject matter in order to look beyond the obvious and create my own personal interpretation.
Sometimes I know exactly what I am after when taking the shot but other times I see an image on my computer and just play around.
With my Historic Aquitaine series, I knew exactly what I was looking for. I wanted to add something to the subject matter in order to look beyond the obvious and create my own personal interpretation. I loved the historic nature of the Aquitaine area and I became fascinated with the old buildings and started taking images of the details. I decided I needed an overlay to combine with the subject matter in order to add the atmosphere I was trying to convey and put it into context. I came across some old books containing the weekly children’s journal from the 1850s ‘La Semaine des Enfants’ and I photographed some of the illustrations to use as the overlay.
Other times, I just play around on the computer, not really knowing what result I will get, as in the example of the Lines of Trees. I thought I could make the image more atmospheric and more to my style and thought I would try a texture layer. However, whilst experimenting, I tried inverting the colours which turned the green leaves and dark background into purple leaves and white background respectively and realised I could tone down the colours and create an image I was happy with.
You mention in the introduction that sometimes this creative process and experimentation ends in failure. What do you take from this as a process? Do you reprocess the image or leave the image as it was?
You always learn something from playing with Photoshop and textures, even if it turns out to be a failure at the time. You learn to recognise what works with certain types of images and which type of texture to try. I always keep my original RAW files as sometimes you want to go back to them. This was the case with the Lines of Trees; I had been using it as an image with the green leaves and a dark background for a couple of years and then decided I could do something creative with it.
So, for me, it is not about the location as much as interpreting the scene in front of you and looking around for more unusual details in order to convey your emotion and vision.
You have a quote in the book ‘The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.’ Quote by Marcel Proust which is very apt for the creative process! How much success in creative photography is about the location and landscapes versus the creative process?
I really like this quote as it can apply to trying new techniques to give an impression of the scene rather than a ‘record’ shot, but it can also apply to looking around and seeing things that the photographer would have previously overlooked. For example, I was on Derrynane Beach in Co. Kerry, Ireland and I could not find a wide composition that I was happy with as the rocks were very muddled, so I had to work hard to find something I liked. The early morning light was beautiful so it would have been a shame not to have made full use of it. While walking around I noticed some lovely sand patterns with the reflection from the blue sky in the water left by the outgoing tide.
Since that morning, I explore more and look for landscapes wherever I go, and they can be found in very unusual places, such as the images of mountains in the rust of a wheelbarrow and trees in mould on a damp wall. So, for me, it is not about the location as much as interpreting the scene in front of you and looking around for more unusual details in order to convey your emotion and vision.
Tell us about the book - how did it come about?
I like a challenge and after the euphoria of gaining my Fellowship of the RPS, I was looking for a new project. Luckily, the bad weather on a photographic trip ended up giving me the inspiration for my first book.
I was on the Isle of Skye with some photography friends. It had been raining heavily all day and after a trip to some waterfalls, where we were soaked through to the skin, we spent the rest of the day in a local bar chatting. We got on to the subject of writing books and how to go about publishing. It seemed to be just the challenge I needed and I decided there and then to write my book.
The label "creative photography" could apply to a large range of different techniques. How did you decide which to include in the book?
I like a challenge and after the euphoria of gaining my Fellowship of the RPS, I was looking for a new project. Luckily, the bad weather on a photographic trip ended up giving me the inspiration for my first book.
I decided to concentrate on the techniques that I had been using myself and really enjoyed, such as long exposures and intentional camera movement, and also some that I wanted to try and needed to research, such as multiple exposures. I found that as I was experimenting I was coming up with different ideas that flowed on from what I started doing, such as different actions using ICM (Intentional Camera Movement) and using different lenses. For the Photoshop section of my book, I decided to concentrate on layers and layer masks as these are essential for composite images to give a seamless blending of two or more images and they can be as complicated as the photographer wants with many layers to make up one image.
How long has it taken from concept to completion? What were the main challenges in producing this body of work?
The book was about three years in the making, although not all this time was spent working on it. During this period my four grandchildren were born and as I was helping my daughters, I did not have the time I needed to get on with my book. Anyway, I now have four lovely little ones, and my book finished, so I am very pleased. I probably could have completed the book in just over a year without any distractions.
How did you manage the flow of the book with the images and the narrative?
I set out to write the text first and I then had to take the images to show the techniques in action, although I had some already. I was teaching myself some of the techniques as I was going along, mainly with the multiple exposures, but also trying different lenses, such as the Lensbaby, so the text had to incorporate my findings as I was coming up with other ideas.
Did you manage the project yourself or did you work with an editor?
I wrote the text myself and took all the images required but the publisher helped with the design and I just gave them the image files with the text as a Word document. Some aspects of their design I liked and others I wanted to change, so the proofs went backwards and forwards for a time.
How did you decide on the format of the book e.g. size and paper, print type?
I knew I wanted a softcover as I did not want to make the book very expensive but I wanted the paper to be of good quality to show the photos well. I chose the format by looking at other techniques books and deciding which ones worked best.
What is next for you? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
I can see my photography developing in the same vein – looking around to see what nature and man have to offer in the detail as well as atmospheric wider scenes. As for my next major project, I am not sure yet, maybe another book, possibly on ‘My France’ as I am getting quite a few images together on the French countryside, or even a book concentrating on creative landscapes, I’ll have to see.
To see more of Linda’s images go to her website: www.lindawevillphotography.com. To buy her book ‘Creative Photography’ go to the Shop on her website or the link to her publisher.
Living in the ‘soft’ southern counties of England, it is all too easy to feel envy when turning the pages of photographic magazines and web sites to see dramatic mountainous scenery fall out of the page. With a passion for wild spaces, envy does have a habit of frequently knocking on my door.
Ignoring the obvious cries of “move house then”, I have turned to the wildest patch on my doorstep to seek inspiration in the South Downs. The Downs have always held a fascination with me – not just because the landscape forms an elegant and shapely group of hills, contrasting with the lowland of the adjacent Weald, but also through the human links, it has that echo back through history. The Chalk Downs of England are also unique – as few other countries can boast similar geology.
The most obvious example I turn to is Eric Ravilious who spent a number of years depicting the South Downs and other downland scenery – often in wartime dress.
But how to capture the essence of the South Downs has been a challenge, but one which I hope has helped me develop my approach to landscape photography. When I see how others have responded to the challenge of depicting this landscape, I feel – for the most part – it is artists that have had better success than photographers. The most obvious example I turn to is Eric Ravilious who spent a number of years depicting the South Downs and other downland scenery – often in wartime dress. Through his work – the spirit of the chalk hills as I see them shines through; his paintings speak of shape and form, curvaceous lines, softness, and the human interaction with this unique landscape. I find his approach adds a gentle emphasis and - is it true – some distortion to the scene too – which would be frowned on in many photographic circles. Of photographers I follow and admire, the one downland image that stands out is Charlie Waite’s ‘The Sheltering Sky’ – taken by Uffington on the Berkshire Downs. It too beautifully captures the soft curves and the colours of this landscape in light conditions that were ideal to emphasis the essence of the Downs. For me though, Ravilious’s impressions get closer to the mark – but perhaps here I am being unfair in comparing artists and photographers….
As a photographer, I have found it has taken time to unlock the South Downs. It is a subtle landscape that gives up its secrets slowly. Unlike the more obvious upland areas of the UK, the Downs form (almost!) one continuous and undulating hill of chalk with a steep escarpment facing north, a gentle back-slope facing south, and in the east, an abrupt meeting with the English Channel forming the chalk cliffs of the Seven Sisters and Beachy Head.
This pattern is really only interrupted by occasional river valleys that cut through the hills. They don’t form a deep range of hills and the ‘big views’ tend to be on the edges looking out beyond or across the Downs. Apart from the main river valleys, the land does not contain meandering streams or many hedgerows that help to create lead in lines for compositions. There are great swathes where it becomes a minimalist landscape and the land itself becomes the dominant feature rather than the objects that sit on it; a gentle curving grassland with shrub and arable fields with only a few trees, often shrunk and distorted, and occasional farm buildings (and plenty of sheep) to break the pattern. The skies are also ‘big’ here and the weather is influential in how the Downs look and feel. And away from the escarpment and the river valleys, there is little impression to emphasize the elevation of the hills. They are not tall hills – but certainly, they have dominance over the low-lying land of southern England.
The skies are also ‘big’ here and the weather is influential in how the Downs look and feel. And away from the escarpment and the river valleys, there is little impression to emphasize the elevation of the hills. They are not tall hills – but certainly, they have dominance over the low-lying land of southern England.
Initially, I found it was all too easy to take images only to be sorely disappointed with the results. My early attempts tended to focus on long distant views from the escarpment – as they formed an obvious attraction. I have come to realise however that I was not really making a statement about how I felt about the Downs as a landscape – it was more about the view!
I have since explored the landscape much more and from my many tramps across the chalkland, I have learnt to pick up different characters and moods. The landscape is actually very simply and uncluttered, and I am often minded of the approach Ravilious took in emphasizing the shapes and patterns in the land. Undulations in the shape of the land can be echoed by cloud overhead when the weather and the light is right. The weather though can be a ‘trying’ and dominant element. A summer’s day in the low-lying Sussex Weald can turn out to be an early spring or Autumn storm on the Downs. But then the Downs can also feel like a desert in high summer; unbearably hot and dry with a heavy haze with only the distant sound of skylarks to remind you that life is still around. The shapely escarpment, much scarred by ancient tracks, remains an obvious ‘draw’, and I have learnt that the light – in both quality and direction - is crucial in emphasizing its features. Morning mists and low light are often very beneficial, but structured cloud formations can also be useful in echoing features and shapes on the ground.
I think these experiences have helped evolve my photographic style. Some of this has been about my own development by using the tools of a landscape photographer better than before, but equally, I think it is because I have come to know the downland landscape – picking up its different moods across the seasons, in different weather and through various types of light. I am seeing the South Downs more clearly and I hope I am expressing my thoughts much better.
On a pragmatic level, I have found the need for patience to find the right composition that captures what I am seeking, but then often I have had to continue being patient – and perhaps return at a different time and day - to wait for the light to work as I have wanted it to. So, not every journey on to the hills brings a successful image. But perhaps the most important aspect I have learnt with this is ‘so what?’ One of the advantages of landscape photography is it encourages you to get out there to experience what nature has to offer and to develop a friendship and a knowledge of it. I have been doing that far more and so have experienced the Downs at times and in weather conditions that would not have found me there before. When the light or the mood is not right for taking pictures, then so be it. It is often the experiences that I look back on – sometimes more so than the photographs. The camera though is a close companion throughout and helps me focus on seeing what the landscape has to offer and how it is speaking to me.
I feel there is still a journey to make with the South Downs. It remains ‘unfinished business’ and it has been a good exercise at reducing my mountain-envy!
The landing page for Hengki’s website encourages you to ‘Get Lost in Thoughts’ and that’s something I find increasingly happens these days. For as much as we think that our love of photography is about the image, it’s about many other things. It allows me to get lost in - and from - my thoughts, but also to temporarily escape the everyday. Looking at the work of others also provides an opportunity to get lost, and we should value our ability to see the world through their eyes more than the seeds of envy and insecurity that social media can engender. Hengki Koentjoro was recently, and entirely coincidentally, the subject of End Frame. If that made you keen to see more of his work – which he describes as “Exploring along the borderlines of light and shadow, yin and yang; celebrating complexity in the minimalist; diving into the spiritual in the physical” – read on.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about where you grew up and your early interests? I believe photography became part of your life at quite a young age?
I was born in Semarang, Central Java, Indonesia. I’m 56 years old, married, and have 3 children, all boys. As a child, my parents gave me a Kodak Pocket camera for my 11th birthday; this camera got me hooked right away. I loved the idea of freezing moments in life and preserving the image for years to come. Basically the camera recorded all the activity around the house from guests to family pets, nothing escaped and everything is neatly documented in my private album.
How did you come to study in America, and what perspective did you gain from this? (from the course itself, or from living and working in another country)
I was introduced to Ansel Adams’ photographs at high school and I immediately fell in love with black and white photography. In my mind, monochrome was solely for photojournalism in the newspaper, and Ansel Adams opened my eyes to a side of photography that I had never dreamt of before. I never thought that black and white could be so beautiful.
For the Meeting of Minds conference last year, we printed off a picture for Paul Hill, but sadly it didn't arrive in time for the exhibition. Paul asked us to donate it to the Stills Gallery in Edinburgh. Whilst dropping it off, we had a quick chat with Paul and his partner, Maria Falconer, about art and contemporary photography and some of the subjects he's approaching in his rewrite of "Approaching Photography".
Tim Parkin (TP): I wanted to talk about this possible disparity between what could be called your typical ‘hobby’ practitioner of photography and the more academic/contemporary side of photography (pictorial, romantic vs ‘new’ ways of looking at photography). I was wondering if you still see this dichotomy in photography? Or do we get hobbyists transcending the pictorial or contemporary/fine art/academic photographers embracing a bit of beauty now and again?
Paul Hill (PH): There is definitely a cross over, and there always will be. It’s a personal problem for me, actually sticking to one subject matter. I think it just negates so many possibilities for making interesting pictures or stretching yourself as a photographer. You can end up essentially illustrating your hobby or your interests which makes it very difficult to change tack or make quantum leaps. In workshops, we come across a lot of people who you would say are mainstream hobbyists but they take on board and embrace the more challenging ideas that we talk about. I think they haven’t previously, largely because they haven’t had an art or photographic education, and so to be put in these situations is unique for them. It’s the first time and a lot of them really take to it. Because it’s new, it’s different.
TP: Is it essentially a lack of exposure and a lack of knowledge? So, are they essentially receiving mixed messages from the vernacular use of landscape?
PH: What I was trying to say in the talk at the Meeting of Minds conference was, why are you here, why are you doing it? Are you aware of all the possibilities that are there to explore? Express something that might be your own involvement rather than looking at templates and matrices. These templates have been provided by talented people who found their own way there and were innovative for their time or expressed something which was more than just the information that’s in front of them when they photograph. Photography appears very easy but the more you get into it is a lot more complicated, or at least it can be. Essentially, on a surface level, you can make a picture quite easily.
Express something that might be your own involvement rather than looking at templates and matrices. These templates have been provided by talented people who found their own way there and were innovative for their time or expressed something which was more than just the information that’s in front of them when they photograph.
I put the picture of a butterfly made by my iPhone on Facebook the other day. You may have seen it, Tim. I saw these butterflies which were tortoiseshells and painted ladies, down this footpath. So, I tried to get close with the iPhone and I did and I got them. The results are absolutely stunning. You would not even be able to get that quality if you used a macro and a flash. A normal lens would not be able to have done it because of the minimum focusing distance, so you wouldn’t be able to get close enough, and all the rest of it. I’m writing a new edition of my book “Approaching Photography” and I’m using this example of how photography has moved on since 1982 when the first edition came out.
During my recent MA in Photography at UWE in Bristol, we were asked to identify an image which had inspired us. I chose this early work by Richard Long in which he walked up and down a field to make a line. He then photographed it. The work epitomises much of Long’s work, which he describes on his website as “Art made by walking in landscapes”. He says his work is “Simple creative acts of walking and marking / about place, locality, time, distance and measurement”.
This work, which he describes as a sculpture, is both simple and complex. On a material level, it is a photograph, a photograph of what’s left behind - the line or path - after a simple universal human act - walking. The person who did this has gone. But the trace remains. And as this trace was made over 50 years ago we can assume it too has now gone so the only trace left is the photograph - the only manifestation, memory, of that original line. Long says he can barely remember which field he used!
This part sculpture, part performance, part photographic work addresses the idea of humankind leaving traces on the land. We infer that this line was made by Long walking up and down - an essentially pointless act, as it appears to lead nowhere, except into a hedge. But extrapolating from this it does say something about human endeavour and our relation to the land, our literal footprint – determined, planned, impactful but ephemeral - ultimately all that remains is a blurry photographic record on a fleeting website. Long’s work has developed into undertaking much longer walks and making marks with natural materials in the landscape and in the gallery.
These ideas became important for my own project which I created during the MA. It was based on the Ridgeway path, considered by some to be Europe’s oldest road. Walking along an ancient path, one which has been around for more than our recorded history links us to many previous generations.
A couple of weeks back I visited the Joe Cornish gallery to give a talk, along with Joe Cornish and Lizzie Shepherd, at David Ward's exhibition, "Overlooked". The exhibition itself is fantastic and is well worth a visit but just in case you missed the talks, we recorded them all for posterity (both myself and Lizzie Shepherd were planning a simultaneous CF card failure but Greg Whitton, who helped with the video recording, did far too good a job to pretend that had happened!).
We are publishing the talks in reverse order though as David's exhibition runs until the 14th of December and we're hoping that seeing the talk will convince a few more people to visit.
We'll be running the rest of the talks over the next few weeks in the forthcoming issues. If you're on a mobile device the link you need is https://youtu.be/PW8cPcogNYE as our mobile theme currently has a technical glitch so you won't see the embedded video.
A couple of weeks ago, Al Simmons from Teamwork came to visit to demonstrate the latest camera system from Phase One, the Phase IQ4 150 and also the new technical camera solution, the Phase XT and its range of 23mm, 32mm and 70mm electronic-shuttered Rodenstock lenses.
We went out to Glen Nevis to take a few photographs, test out a few features and, after coming back, recorded a chat about what the new system does and what it means for photographers who may use it.
Below the podcast, I've included a few photographs with samples of zoomed sections. You can also find out a lot more about the Phase IQ4 and XT Camera System on Teamwork's website (links on the home page to both). Al Simmons has just come back to spend a day with us where we tested the camera more extensively and we'll be featuring an article about this in a future issue.
Here's a photo down the length of Glen Nevis taken with the Rodenstock HR Digaron 32mm with a couple of 100% crops. You can see a fullsize jpg of this image by clicking here.
The red boxes show the area of the 100% crops shown below
We also tried out the frame averaging on some rapidly flowing water to check out how it work (seamlessly) and also how much dynamic range we could expect. The following shows the full image and then +/- 5 stops of exposure adjustment and finally a crop of a dark area before and after +5 exposure applied.
We're big fans of Thomas Joshua Cooper here at On Landscape, both personally and for his photography, so it's with great pleasure that we hear he's finally finished his lifelong Atlas project and has a book to go with it. Neil McIlwraith from Beyond Words has a few signed copies left as well as unsigned copies. Here are the details that Neil has sent us ...
Those of you who heard Thomas Joshua Cooper’s talk at the On Landscape 2018 conference may be interested to know that the work he focused on then is now available in a beautifully printed 200-page book.
The World’s Edge is the most significant collection of Thomas’s work yet published. Its 192 images give an overview of Cooper’s career while centring on his Atlas project, in which he charts the extremities of the Atlantic Basin.
These photographs reveal the seascapes and coastlines of the five continents that encircle the Atlantic Ocean. We have a few signed copies left. Unsigned copies are also available.
Thomas published another new title earlier this year. Refuge features twenty images that he made on the East End of Long Island and Shelter Island in 2016, juxtaposed with earlier works depicting sites along the Hudson River, Cape Cod, and Maine.
As always, they were exclusively created with Cooper’s 1898 AGFA field camera. Again signed copies are available.
We have also been very fortunate that Thomas has made available to us signed, mint condition copies of his early classic, Dreaming the Gokstadt. This 1988 volume – long out of print – was inspired by a 1000 year old Viking ship salvaged from a bog in the village of Gokstadt, Norway. Subtitled ‘Northern Lands and Islands’, it principally features images from Scotland, Ireland and Iceland.
Finally we have a few mint-condition signed copies of Thomas’s Shoshone Falls with photographs of and around the famous falls sitting alongside some of Timothy O’Sullivan’s images of the same location taken in 1868 and 1874, which inspired Thomas to revisit the location.
When I visited Thomas in Glasgow for his signing of The World’s Edge, it was clear that he was as busy as ever with new projects. There are plans for a major exhibition in Scotland and as many as seven book projects!
There is nothing new about aerial photographs – people have been making images from the air since the invention of the hot air balloon. We all know the experience of looking out from an aeroplane, fascinated by the view, and most of us have shot an image or two through the window, even if just with our camera phones. However, drones have brought a new perspective to aerial photography, one that opens up a completely different set of compositional techniques compared to traditional landscape photography. Whereas when we take images from a high vantage point, the top of a mountain, a high building or even from a plane, we are looking out into the landscape, the drone allows us to look straight down. Our world view is undermined. Suddenly the landscape looks different, abstracted. There are few clues as to scale. The viewpoint is so unusual that sometimes it is difficult to identify exactly what we are looking at. And this causes the eye to pause and the mind to work. That split second to identify what is being looked at can aesthetically be very rewarding.
‘Encompassed II’, David Hopley
Take David Hopley’s fascinating drone picture above: ‘Encompassed II’. Ostensibly a mundane subject – a tree in a field of wheat with tractor tracks. But the viewpoint has turned this into an image that is actually about something completely different. What we see here is a perfectly balanced geometric patterned rendition of the landscape. Those are descriptors that we almost never come across in landscape photography – geometry, perfect circles, dead straight lines. They don’t exist when we look out, only when we look down.
As a part-time film and large format photographer myself, I can relate to Gevork's journey from film to digital and back again. There are still aspects of large format in particular that make me want to continue using it for my photography. I've been following his work for some time via Facebook and recently asked if he would answer a few questions from our readers. Fortunately, he said yes!
Can you tell me a little about your education, childhood passions, early exposure to photography etc?
I was born in Tehran, Iran to an Armenian family. I migrated to the United States in 1985. I grew up loving Art, mainly drawing and painting. My earliest contact to photography was with an old 35mm Zenit camera that my father had acquired when we visited the motherland, former Soviet Republic of Armenia. My earliest photographic experience began during camping trips to the Deserts of Southern California in 1995 while taking a desert biology course. I used an early Canon AE-1 that was handed down to me by my brother in law.
What are you most proud of in your photography?
What makes me most proud of my photography is how it has evolved over the years and developed. After 20 years, I can finally say that my photos look pleasing to me, some of the time. They take me back to the place and time they were made. They bring back happy thoughts and memories, especially if they involve my family. One of the best compliments I've received about my photography was that my photos gave the viewer the sensation that they were there, or they wanted to be there. They felt what I felt.
In most photographers lives there are 'epiphanic’ moments where things become clear, or new directions are formed. What were your two main moments and how did they change your photography?
The first time I saw an Ansel Adams photography book, and the first time I visited Joshua National Park, Both gave me similar feelings and sentiments, which created the desire to visit beautiful locations and produce images.
After graduating from college, I moved to Guadalajara, Mexico for medical school. Photography was a way to cope with the stress of medical school and a new environment, but soon became one of my passions.
Tell me about why you love landscape photography? A little background on what your first passions were, what you studied and what job you ended up doing.
Back in 2017, Doug Chinnery wrote an overview of contemporary publishing and the rise of the photo book. We catch up with Greg Stewart to find out more about what inspired him to set up Kozu books (a spin-off of his more general printing company), the projects that he's worked on and where he sees things going in the industry.
Can you tell us about your own interest in photography, where it started and how it developed to the point you were thinking about book production?
I have been a keen photographer for most of my life and I enjoyed taking and viewing photographs from a very early age. I always had a lot of photographic inspiration around me.
My dad travelled a lot in his youth, he documented all of the places that he visited and he kept meticulous photo albums of all his travels.
We also had lots of family photo albums at home and I vividly remember going through them all on a weekly basis for most of my childhood and into my early teens! On reflection, I think it’s fair to say that I was slightly obsessed with photography!
I started to take photographs when I was about 7 years old and have always had cameras and an interest in photography ever since.
I also grew up surrounded by books, my Dad was a printer and he used to bring lots of books home that he had printed. So, I guess photo book publishing was inevitable!
Did you have your own website at all or participate in any of the online communities such as Flickr? How did this shape your view of photography?
It was actually Flickr that inspired me to get my first DSLR (Canon EOS 400D)
I discovered Flickr in 2007 and it played a huge part in my enjoyment and development in photography. There was a great community spirit on Flickr and that helped cement my passion for all things photographic, Flickr was my go-to place for inspiration. Everybody was really helpful and encouraging.
It’s difficult choosing a single photograph to call my favourite. I struggled. It took me several days to decide, and even then, I changed my mind. Bruce Percy was certainly on the shortlist with his outstanding minimalist images, as was John Miskelly providing some excellent examples of long exposure seascapes, and also Lee Acaster, particularly his recent work showing really emotive atmospheric images. These three photographers are all quite different in style but do have one thing in common. Their work is, to my mind, an abstraction from reality, and this is a feature that I always find compelling.
My chosen image though is Tree Vision by Sandra Bartocha. I first saw this image a number of years ago when browsing, following links to see where they might lead. I can remember this image stopped me in my tracks. It is taken from a series produced by Sandra and is also an image that is evidently an abstraction from reality. I chose this image from my lengthy shortlist because it is the one single image that has had the most influence on my own photography.
When an image captures my attention and I study it in greater detail, I often find myself asking the same questions.
Alister Benn joined us at our Highland headquarters for a chat about his recent trip to Sweden, where we randomly bumped into each other, and his forthcoming move to Lochaber!
Alister Benn and Ann Kristin Lindaas working the abstract in Sweden
Are you passing through Glencoe in the coming weeks or months? Why not pop in for a cuppa tea and a catch up? We're looking for other stories from our community, whether it's talking about a trip, a project, some of your favourite images. Drop us a line and we will get in touch!
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!
These images were all made in Scotland on various trips. I usually work in colour so black and white is a departure for me but I felt like these photos all possessed a clarity of light and contrast that converted well to black and white. I find that I work best when I am on my own and can immerse myself fully and photograph what moves or inspires me.
These four images represent a series of interconnected new directions in my photography over the last year: a move up (again) to 8x10 and the challenges involved; a move to black and white and alternative processes (cyanotype and argyrotype); dedication to a specific project.
These four images are part of a new project on emotional responses to trees in the (literary/artistic) landscape via forays locally to me in Oxfordshire and Warwickshire, and sometimes elsewhere too. It is inspired by an interest in evocations of landscape in ancient poetry, and by discoveries of graffiti on trees - both fit via the mythological lover Acontius, a significant figure for ancient pastoral poetics, especially in Virgil. The idea of writing on trees and connecting with the landscape fits with the idea I have of photography as a quiet dedicated kind of mark-making, something I’ve thought about via e.g. Sally Mann, and, differently, Alys Tomlinson’s Ex Voto project. I hope to bring this out further and more interventionally through 8x10 and alt-pro.
I’ve only really just begun this new journey but as a quest to make my photography personal to me it is particularly enjoyable and rewarding.
The first three images are on 8x10 (Chamonix 810V with Nikkor super-wide and normal lenses), contact printed on 11x14 Bergger Cot 320 paper. The final is a scan of a 6x6 negative shot on Hasselblad 500CM at Elleric in Argyll.
Through conversations and collaborations over the past few years, I’ve begun to consider what it might mean for me to make landscape work that engaged with more than purely the aesthetic of my images and ‘simply’ capturing a sense of place in a given moment. Let me be clear, I am not wanting to belittle the motivations of a photographer to capture a moment of the sublime through their camera, I’m well aware that this requires great skill and perseverance. However, through a series of self-initiated projects, I’ve begun to dig beneath the surface to explore our connections to places, what makes them special for the individual and how that manifests itself in our lives. For many, that connection takes the form of visiting on a regular basis through either habit or fondness. Others hold places with affection due to particular memories which have been made there, perhaps through a childhood, holidays, maybe a proposal, a loss or even a photograph which draws us back there. There are multitudes of reasons for which we form these emotional connections, and the recent literary boom of writers exploring this proves that we are not alone, far from it, it seems the nation is united in our affection for the landscape around us.
For the many of us who explore with our cameras, myself included, these landscapes offer us inspiration, a reason to create, to express and to share our affections for these places.
For the many of us who explore with our cameras, myself included, these landscapes offer us inspiration, a reason to create, to express and to share our affections for these places. Ours is a tangible connection, in that it will often result in an artwork that the viewer can discern as a specific location, perhaps even hazarding a guess at the time and precise spot from which it was made. Photography also has the capacity to present more abstract representations of place, and this led me to consider how other artists and creative beings, who aren’t using a camera, process and disseminate a sense of place into their work.
I’ve acknowledged the writers, (and I don’t feel equipped to make comment on painting or sculpture!), but having spent much of my life working with music, I was drawn to consider the many composers and musicians who utilise their experience of a place to inspire their creations. Historically, classical composers attempted to capture the sublimity of vast landscapes via the breadth and depth of the orchestra, but in more recent years, other forms of largely instrumental music has begun to approach the notion of landscape in a significantly more subtle and often more abstract manner.
Many of you will be familiar with the music of Brian Eno, some less so, but in the broadest sense, he is a pioneer of ambient music, largely synthesized, merging layers of sound to construct atmospheres and cinematic soundscapes that for some, will be soothing and transcendental, for others, may feel alien and unsettling. For me, Brian Eno’s music offers a window into other realms, a connection to emotional responses and thoughts that may otherwise have remained hidden. His 1982 album ‘Ambient 4 : On Land’, was brought to my attention by a previous collaborator, artist Tom Musgrove. The album includes tracks titled, ‘Lizard Point’, ‘Lantern Marsh’ and ‘Dunwich Beach, Autumn 1960’. My interest was piqued. Where were these places, and what did they have to do with the music?
Monochromatic Lens is the system I use and teach photographers wishing to explore monochrome photography. I would refer to it as Black and White Photography (as we did traditionally when we were using black and white film), but today that implies limiting ourselves from other tones and tints that give monochrome photography so much depth.
I believe in keeping things simple. Predictable and knowable. I believe that by limiting ourselves we can be more creative within the artificial walls we create.
This is a suggested starting point for you. It is my current endpoint. Well, more accurately it is the system that I use today, yesterday and will use tomorrow. This is the system I use for creating my monochrome photographs. It hasn’t changed much over the years once I got it to where it worked for me.
In the age of mirror free digital cameras with electronic viewfinders, visualisation takes on a new meaning. It is suddenly much easier to see what you are doing in the viewfinder than trying to imagine it in your head. Today I can see the monochromatic conversion, the crop, a simulated colour filter, helpful changes to contrast and sharpness, all in the viewfinder. This leads me to only consider and purchase cameras that facilitate my way of working. Unfortunately, this has knocked a few brands and many cameras off my potential shopping list, in favour of ones I can set up and use the way I prefer.
This method is very prescriptive as it is meant to help beginners and others understand my process. I suggest you give it a try and see if it works for you? Alternatively, take what interesting things I say and do, then adapt them to your own photographic procedures and workflow. I teach people to develop their own procedures and workflows. We are all different people, we all see differently, therefore it is not surprising that we all prefer to work in unique and individual ways. I encourage you to develop your own.
Among the many things that came up while talking to Stephen Segasby was the role of perspective. Early in the interview, Stephen mentions that as well as needing time to attune ourselves to a new place, leaving the familiar allows us to re-evaluate what we have done there. We all have a tendency to be too close to our own practice, for the making of images to be our paramount concern. In his answers, Stephen gives you plenty of other things to consider, and hopefully, after reading the feature you will be prompted to think about what you do, and why you do it and may gain some insights of your own.
Can you tell us something about where you grew up and live now, and the extent to which that has shaped you and your interests?
I grew up and lived in Norfolk for most of my life. That was until 3 years ago. Being outdoors was something I was brought up with and outdoor leisure was a way of life to our family whilst growing up. I have many early memories of Wales and the coast especially. Camping holidays and camper van life is in my blood but I have only just realised that having bought my own camper. I think this has had a significant impact upon my work as I like to travel and journey making work as I do so.
The Norfolk landscape is a fascinating place; it has a multitude of environments, landscapes, waterways and coastline that offer an awful lot of interest but granted not the awe of more mountainous regions. Being able to ‘absorb’ a place and ‘consider’ it fully is something I really learned in Norfolk. I closed off my time in Norfolk walking across it from North to South along the Peddars Way and this features at the centre of a large body of work I am currently editing.
Leaving Norfolk for Cambridgeshire for a short period was not that much of a shock to the system. I have always been fascinated by the Norfolk/Cambridgeshire fens which kept my interest and I often made trips to the borders of the 2 counties.
I have found myself ‘learning’ all over again about a new place if that makes sense? It has allowed me the space to really consider all my previous work from Norfolk.
Moving to Yorkshire 2 years ago has been really interesting. I have found myself ‘learning’ all over again about a new place if that makes sense? It has allowed me the space to really consider all my previous work from Norfolk. Several series I worked on whilst in Norfolk have now come together and being separated has allowed a fresh perspective on the work I was making. It has been a tremendous learning exercise and I am busy pulling all the Norfolk work together. The landscape and historical culture are so different in Yorkshire, a big reason we moved here, and although I am making work I don’t think I have really got to the soul of the place.
Back in March, Joe Cornish wrote an article about "A question of responsibility ~ Does being an outdoor photographer inevitably lead to environmentalism?". Continuing this theme we interviewed J Henry Fair, who is an American photographer and environmental activist.
On the Edge is a collaboration between J Henry Fair and the Coastal Conservation League who, in this project, bring our attention to the beauty of, and the impending threats to, our coastal regions.
Tell us about why you love landscape photography? A little background on what your first passions were, what you studied and what job you ended up doing.
Landscapes first enter my thinking from the Dutch Renaissance and parallel the rise of capitalism and the alienation of man from nature. The association with “Paradise Lost” is inevitable. Fascinating that thinkers of the time felt the implications of what was happening as it happened. I studied journalism in school.
What sparked your passion for photography?
Aside from having no skill in music or drawing, photography attracts me because it is the modern art form, and I like to make images and tell stories.
You talk about in the book your connection to the landscape in your childhood a few times in the book, one which stood out was 'Our playgrounds growing up were the coastal rivers and wetlands of the Low country'. How did this experience influence your views about the environment, pollution, etc.?
Growing up playing in nature inevitably affected my outlook on the world. Studies have repeatedly shown that exposure to nature changes a young person’s view. But it was entirely subconscious, so I can’t elucidate. But even my own images of those winding rivers and marshes make me yearn...
Why did you choose landscape photography as opposed to other genres especially the environmental activist aspect and how you've used your photography to convey the narrative about the landscape?
“The Landscape” is such a wonderful genre. As soon as there is a person or a trace in an image, it is no longer Eden. The Industrial Scars series plays with that idea especially. In the coastal series, I wanted to find some real remaining paradise. There are not many, and they are small.
Tell me about the photographers or artists that inspire you most. What books stimulated your interest in photography and who drove you forward, directly or indirectly, as you developed?
It’s important to me to study as much art as possible, both to reinspire and re-mind. One can also study it to stay current. No art is created in a vacuum, we are all responding and commenting on the predecessors whose work we admire. And my favourites change. Being in a time of great technological change, I often look to Dürer as one who understood and utilised the rapid technological changes of his time.
Other favourites in the visual realm would certainly include Giacometti, DeChiricho, Canaleto.
Your previous project and book 'Industrial Scars' explores the detritus of our consumer society which has gained a lot of exposure. How did this influence your next project? What knowledge or reflections did you take from this?
In imagining my next project, I wanted something timely and relevant that would logically follow from the last, and even intersect. I do love aerial photography, though that is by no means my speciality or only focus. But it is a great way to look at the world and show viewers something they have not seen. And it allows the creation of wonderful abstractions from landscapes. I quite like that the Coastline pictures have the same abstract quality as the Industrial Scars, though they are of course both landscapes.
"Comprising less than 10% of the United States’ land area, coastal counties house 39% of the US population and are responsible for 45% of its GDP." With this and the impending climate-induced changes in mind, you have undertaken an ambitious portrait of the coasts of the USA." Tell us a bit about the project and the first chapter 'On The Edge: From Combahee To Winyah'. What inspired you to choose this as the topic of your next project?
As a society, we are heedless of the changes that confront us. The water is rising quickly, and still, we rush to build on the coast. I wanted to create a statement about that incongruity and make a portrait of the current status, hopefully, to encourage a rethinking of the current migration.
As a society, we are heedless of the changes that confront us. The water is rising quickly, and still, we rush to build on the coast. I wanted to create a statement about that incongruity and make a portrait of the current status, hopefully, to encourage a rethinking of the current migration. I had started the series when the state art museum asked me to do an exhibit on the South Carolina coast, which was perfect in many ways: it is my homeland, Charleston is one of the USA cities hardest hit by ocean rise, and South Carolina is the state where the Pliocene Coastline (the last time atmospheric CO2 was the same level as today) is most visible, about 100 miles inland from the present coast.
How did the project evolve? Did you have to refine the vision of what you wanted to achieve?
After the success of Industrial Scars, I was thinking about what project could follow it logically and stylistically. The general lack of climate crisis preparedness in the developed world, and the population migration toward the coasts, precisely when we should be moving away gave me the idea to make a project of the topic.
How did you go about researching the locations in the book?
In fact, since the objective is to photograph all of the coasts, with this project, I fly first, then research specific facilities afterwards.
A lot of the images are taken from an aeroplane - what were the challenges of aerial photography? How did you plan the trips?
Shooting from the air is exhausting, mentally and physically. One sits for many hours in a cramped jostling seat, twisted in an uncomfortable position. One of the greatest challenges is dehydration, due to the limited intake of fluids as the result of having no bathroom. How long I shoot depends on how much there is to shoot, and how far we must go from our launch spot to get there. One can spend a lot of time circling over the location to get the right shot, especially if it is windy.
Weather and season are determining factors as well, in the south, it’s hard to get good shots in the summer, and it’s bitterly cold shooting in the north from an open window in a plane in the winter.
How did you decide on the mix of aerial and ground based photography?
The mixture of aerials and terrestrials was organic. Some of the stories could only be told with a ground-based image. And sometimes luck presented a picture that demanded inclusion.
You say in the book 'Photography is about telling stories, and it’s the narrative that interests me, more than the technical aspects of the medium.' What was the overarching stories or narrative that you wanted to convey to the reader?
The primary story of this coastal series is that the ocean is rising at an ever-accelerating pace, and we need to prepare now. Natural systems absorb storm impact much more effectively than built structures, and much of our infrastructure is on the coast and must be moved. Doing so in a timely organised way will be much better than doing it in haste. There are local stories in this, the first book of the series: the impact of rice agriculture and enslaved peoples in shaping the South East USA coast, and the distorting effects of antiquated building codes and planning board which are susceptible to monied interests.
"That the essential Charleston endures is remarkable, in a city that has been destroyed and rebuilt so many times. War, fires, floods, earthquakes, and hurricanes have ravaged it periodically throughout the city’s long history" Do you see this book as a record of how the landscape around Charleston and South Carolina currently is before any further substantial changes to the landscape? Is it a historical milestone or a call to preserve?
Change is inevitable. An orderly, considered response is preferable to panicked retreat. This book is both a look at the past and present and a call to preserve the natural systems on which we depend.
Change is inevitable. An orderly, considered response is preferable to panicked retreat. This book is both a look at the past and present and a call to preserve the natural systems on which we depend.
"Two of the state’s most valuable bird breeding sites are in such estuaries: Deveaux Bank and Bird Key Stono, small islands in the mouths of the North Edisto and Stono Rivers where many species of birds flock to feed and mate. In the process of creating this series, I tried to record every inlet in the state." You documented the inlets in the book, how did you research these and plan the trips around them?
The intersection of river and ocean are critical historical places for human settlement for so many reasons: food, transportation, resources, waste disposal and water for myriad purposes. But they are also critical breeding ground for many species, which needs often conflict with human uses. I keep a thorough database of what I'm shooting, so it was easy to check off the inlets against a chart.
The intersection of river and ocean are critical historical places for human settlement for so many reasons: food, transportation, resources, waste disposal and water for myriad purposes.
Many photographers have stopped adding locations to photographs but you have included detailed map coordinates for each photograph. What was the reasoning behind this and was there any worry about sharing locations?
I guess the reason some photographers withhold location information is so no one can go back and take the same picture?
Many of the locations in the book are inaccessible except by boat or air, and it seems that this series is very much about geography, so I wanted to make a specific place a part of it.
Were there any of the locations that you found particularly challenging to photograph?
The most difficult image was actually 1,000 images and did not make it into the book.
I had the idea to make a continuous panorama of the coastline, stitching together a consecutive series of pictures taken as I flew at a constant speed and distance up the coast. Prior consultation had indicated that the post-production could be done with artificial intelligence. Sadly that proved not to be the case. So we assembled the 1,000 pictures into a continuous picture that wrapped around the exhibit space, about 325 linear feet.
Interestingly, it is a piece of art that only works in an exhibit context. The confines of a book or internet would render it meaningless.
Photographically, what most surprised you about the project?
What surprised me the most about my idea, was how hard it is to tell any story well. One must be always reexamining one’s starting point. A third of the way into this project I started to get a collection of beautiful abstracts of wetlands and rice fields. They made a nice series and logically followed my “Industrial Scars” series.
But then I realised that it did not tell the story the way it had done in that previous series. And of course, someone else had done it very well already.
Tell me what your favourite two or three photographs from the book are and a little bit about them.
One of my favourite places in the world is one of the largest undeveloped areas on the USA east coast. The ACE Basin is named after the conjunction of three rivers: Ashepoo, Combahee, and Edisto, which join to form St Helena Sound. Their sinuous shapes are so calming.
Growing up as a child of the south entailed accepting the dominant narrative about the history of slavery and the disastrous Civil War, which was a masterful historical revision.
This picture, of a hurricane-proof building in the middle of a rice field for safe containment of the enslaved people forced to work there, exposes that falsehood. I have digitally removed the modern buildings built around the structure.
This fragile piece of land is called Captain Sam’s Spit which provides crucial habitat for many nesting and roosting birds and is one of the only places where bottle-nose dolphins strand-feed, aside from being an essential recreation area for the region. Of course, developers want to build expensive houses and have battled the Coastal Conservation League in court for years. I like for my pictures to be catalysts for change.
4282-135
The introduction was by Dana Beach Founder and Director Emeritus of The Coastal Conservation League. How did you decide to collaborate with this organisation?
The Coastal Conservation League is a very efficient and effective organisation with which I have worked for many years. More than once I realised that I was photographing the beautiful, special places the CCL had been working for years to save.
How did you manage the flow of the book with the images and the narrative?
It was a difficult problem how to create the order of the book and then I discerned the essential elements in the story, and it fell in to place.
Did you manage the project yourself or did you work with an editor?
Alex Papadakis and the Conservation League both provided essential input along the way.
How did you decide on the format of the book e.g. size and paper, print type?
They convinced me that smaller was better in this case, and I must say I like the result. I’m a stickler on image quality, but design elements I leave to pros that I trust, like Aldo Sampieri.
Where was the book printed and how was the experience of working with a printer?
I love the printing press. In our romance with the virtual world, we forget that it was the first mass-communication technology, and far more disruptive. This book was printed at a Tennessee. In the end, they did a good job. I was travelling and missed most of the trauma.
Could you tell us a little about the cameras and lenses you typically take on a trip and how you came to choose them?
In the modern world, cameras are high tech computers, and thus improve constantly. So I try to stay fluid and not be too invested in any one brand. The pictures in this book were done with a mix of cameras and lenses.
Of course with aerials, vibration is always a problem, especially when using a long lens to photograph details. For this, I often use a gyro.
What sort of post processing do you undertake on your pictures? Give me an idea of your workflow.
The largest component of my workflow is research before and after. But I am also a rigorous adherent to an efficient production process.
Everything is organised in a database, from the moment I identify my targets. After shooting, all files are renamed with a number, which remains its file name in every instance, and identifies that image in the database. That database entry grows over the years as I collect more information. The database also records every print, exhibition, editorial usage and all other information about the image and the subject shown.
To really tell a story, one must know everything about it, in order to understand which are the essential components of the narrative. So it must be something about which the teller is passionate, or the necessary time will be prohibitive.
If one of our readers were thinking about embarking upon a large project similar to yours, what insights and learnings would you give them?
To really tell a story, one must know everything about it, in order to understand which are the essential components of the narrative. So it must be something about which the teller is passionate, or the necessary time will be prohibitive. Also, I am repeatedly rewarded and enabled by my efficient method of storing and recalling information in databases.
What is next for you? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
The coastline project is important to me and suddenly has developed legs. So I will continue with that. I feel a little trapped in the niche of being an aerial photographer, which just happened to be a method I used to tell a particular story. But I have learned in my life that niches are not necessarily a bad thing.
I will probably do a project on race and slavery if I can find the time from my other projects.
The book is published by Papadakis and is available from Amazon.co.uk for £45.
If you want to share your ideas or suggestions, or feel you could write or contribute a piece on what we as a community can do collectively to help the causes of landscape, ecosystems and the wild world then please do contact Tim and Charlotte (via the contact page), who are keen to spotlight what has become the issue of our time.
In a recent piece for On Landscape on Reflecting on Minimalism, I included a couple of images from a series called Creation by Passing Ducks, all taken one evening by the Duck Pond in Williamson Park in Lancaster (some more of the series are included here).
In that article, I rather cheekily suggested that these might be considered a sort of watery analogue to the cloud “equivalents” of Alfred Stieglitz, except that I had some doubts about inferring any deeper significance or equivalence of such images in the sense of Stieglitz or Minor White. This idea of equivalence has since come up again as expressed by John Paul Caponigro in a recent article where he states: “The photograph can be much more than a material trace of another material; it can even be much more than a trace of light and time; it can also be a trace of spirit, the energetic confluence of body, mind, and emotion, either single or multiple.”1
Creation by Passing Ducks #1, 2019
I am happy to accept that my scepticism about this spiritual essence is my problem (with my scientific background) rather than theirs. That is not to say that I do not have a serious involvement with the images that I make. I also hope that some vestige of the intent in making the images will be conveyed to the viewer looking at them.
They certainly represent a trace of light and time (I happened to be passing just after the sun had fallen below the level of the surrounding trees but there was a clear sky and very little wind, so perfect if transitory, conditions for this type of image)
Thinking about this issue (in response to also reading some other recent articles2) has made me realise that part of my intent is to reveal something about the real world, even if that something is only to highlight observations that might otherwise pass unnoticed by passers-by. The Creation by Passing Ducks images falls into that category. They certainly represent a material trace of another material (a simple digital image of a water surface); they certainly represent a trace of light and time (I happened to be passing just after the sun had fallen below the level of the surrounding trees but there was a clear sky and very little wind, so perfect, if transitory, conditions for this type of image); they have certainly been carefully selected to have the most satisfactory (to me) impact in representing the scene viewed, in so far as that is possible in this case when the perturbations of the water surface and reflections were changing so quickly. What then is required that they should have any deeper emotional meaning?
The pictures are not of particularly high quality (they were taken while I was testing a new add-on telephoto lens on a little 12 Mp Olympus TG5 and were recorded as simple SOOC jpegs since the light was fading rapidly and I did not think to change to a RAW setting at the time). They have had minimal post-processing. While recognising that they have been recorded as digital numbers which have been subjected to in-camera processing using parameters selected by some remote Olympus colour science team, to my eye they are a good representation of the reality of the water surface as I saw it, even down to the hint of sky colour that can be seen in some of the images (they are all in colour).
Creation by Passing Ducks #12, 2019
Thus, they correspond to my experience of reality at that moment, even if my memory of that experience will already have been influenced by viewing the images after the event. That is something that we cannot escape; moments are fleeting whereas images can be viewed at length and consequently have a progressive impact on our perceptions. That equally applies to images that have been heavily post-processed. Such images, viewed at length, can change the expectation of reality to the extent that some photographers will be disappointed to not match images they have seen of a place when visiting for the first time (or they will try post-processing in some way to achieve the expected result)3. Indeed, I am sure that I am not the only person who, on seeing some remarkable (and sometimes rather artificial looking) landscape image, plays the game of trying to work out what the scene might have looked like to the eye before the application of colour gradient profiles, HDR stacking, luminosity masks, gradient filters, etc4. I am not at all suggesting that all images should be “photo-realistic” – they are necessarily analogues and there may be very good reasons for post-processing to achieve a particular mood or intention or some (emotional) satisfaction on the part of the photographer5. That seems to me to be a bit different, however, to suggesting some equivalence or trace of spirit by which: “The visible can be used to reveal the invisible; the external can be used to reveal the internal” (John Paul Caponigro again).
Despite three centuries of experiment, however, the application of scientific principles in representing water flows in the real world remains rather inexact for rather good reasons.
Creation by Passing Ducks #9
And yet …. perhaps there can be something more to even rather realistic images if we think about them more as experiences than equivalents. There is perhaps a sort of analogy here with the introduction of experiment into science in the 17th Century, leading to a questioning of relying primarily on intellectual deductive reasoning that had been dominant since the Greeks. Following Francis Bacon (1561 -1626) and René Descartes (1596-1650), science started to make much more use of direct experience as a way of learning about the world. In the Age of Enlightenment6, the use of experiment was developed in many areas of science, including that of water. Pierre Perrault (1611–1680) in France did experiments on the subsurface flow of water and was perhaps the first to demonstrate that rainfall over a catchment area was sufficient to maintain the discharge of water in rivers. Edmund Halley (1656-1741) in Oxford did experiments on evaporation of water (in addition to astronomical and other observations) but disagreed with Perrault; he argued that some condensation of rising water vapour in the subsurface was required to sustain river discharge. Blaise Pascal (1623 – 1662) in France established his principle of fluid dynamics also around this time. The science has, of course, progressed a lot since then. Direct experiment and visualisations of flows in both the laboratory and the field have continued to be used in the development of hydrology and hydraulics to the present (in addition to both deductive and predictive use of computer simulations). Despite three centuries of experiment, however, the application of scientific principles in representing water flows in the real world remains rather inexact for rather good reasons.7
What does this have to do with Creation by Passing Ducks?
These images (as with very many landscape images) can also be thought of as a form of a record of direct experiences with reality (with real water surfaces in this case). They are found experiences, and therefore rather different from the planned experiments that we might do in the laboratory where we try and control the boundary conditions to an experimental flow as far as possible. Controlling ducks, or other elements of the environment, is a much more difficult problem.
In particular, they can reveal how complex the nature of reality can be, and how dependent what we see in the image is on what we cannot see outside the frame.
But as records of direct experiences, even if imperfect records, such images can, as experiments, reveal something about the nature of the world. In particular, they can reveal how complex the nature of reality can be, and how dependent what we see in the image is on what we cannot see outside the frame (we see no ducks; we do not see the trees throwing the shadows onto the water, or the sequence of weather systems that produced the clear sky)8. What is deep about these images is the way they reveal that complexity and the incredible variety of patterns that might arise from simple causes, here of just a few ducks swimming around on a calm clear evening. That recognition can, of course, evoke an emotional response about the wonder of nature in the viewer (although perhaps in this case only of that limited class of viewers who are also hydrologists!). There are, of course, much more dramatic and proficient images that reveal that wonder even more strongly. Such images can be studied for insight about the natural (just how do these patterns arise) but that does not seem to be the same as revealing some inner emotional essence of the subject of an image itself.9
Creation by Passing Ducks #4, 2019
Philosophers distinguish many different types of realism (and many different types of anti-realism and idealism). As landscape photographers we probably mostly tend towards a common-sense or pragmatic realist view, i.e. we are happy to accept that the things that we make images of exist in reality and that the light emitted or reflected from them can be used via the means of a camera to create something real (especially in the more tangible form of film or prints) even if any image can be only an abstracted representation of the original. In this sense, landscape images can record experiences and can, therefore, reveal something about the nature of places over a range of scales and about what happens in those places. This implies that the final image should maintain some relation to what the eye experienced at the time.
Landscape images can record experiences and can, therefore, reveal something about the nature of places over a range of scales and about what happens in those places.
Creation by Passing Ducks #7
Being realist clearly does not preclude being artistic, however. The evidence is surely there in the many landscape as art images by many fine landscape photographers that are convincing in the sense that reality could have been experienced like that. The artistic is in the challenge of choosing an image in space and time from the huge variety of the real landscape. It is the selection of just what is in the frame, and just when and how the image is captured (light is all important) that creates the art, whether that is the result of prior planning or purely serendipitous. How the image is captured can be important: a ND grad might well make the overall image look more realistic to the viewer.
I suggest only that if an image is to have any deeper meaning in the realist sense, then keeping a strong link between image and the real landscape is important.
I stress that this is not an argument against the creative taking or post-processing of images, (as Guy Tal has pointed out, the “natural” can still be a deception10 and there will be many different types of experiment that can record the experience of individual photographers). I suggest only that if an image is to have any deeper meaning in the realist sense, then keeping a strong link between image and the real landscape is important. I know it is important for me (even if I am also happy to produce black and white images11 and colour and slow shutter speed images of water that go a little beyond the immediate experience of the eye; see Singine #10, Glâne #3, and Falls below Griesalp, #2, all taken in Switzerland in 2019). However, I remain reluctant to stray too far in post-processing from my (imperfect) memory of the original perception and visualisation.
This is, of course, rather in conflict with the ideas of Jean Baudrillard (and his images12). He suggested that the modern saturation of communication with images, and the potential for the construction of images means that there was no longer a link with reality. The image now precedes the real: the real is dead13. Clearly, since Baudrillard was writing in the 1980s, the number of images being produced has continued to multiply. As noted earlier, we are affected by our consumption of those images; we can reflect on them at length, and explore those taken and manipulated by others before visiting a place. This certainly changes our expectations, but should not necessarily change our experiences of the real when we are actually out in the world. We can still create our own experiences and reflect them in our images, such in those created by ducks.
Singine, Switzerland #10, 2019
Or is this all just another manifestation of C.P. Snow’s two cultures14; landscape with the regard of the scientist rather than that of an artist? Guy Tal, in his recent article on Beyond Equivalence15, suggests that equivalence can be used by an artist to “communicate ulterior, subjective, meanings beyond objective appearances; it can also be a means of communicating in photographs meanings that cannot be communicated in any other way.” So perhaps I am just demonstrating the limitations of my perceptions. Happily, it can still prove to be really rather satisfying in revealing and recording experiences that might otherwise be passed by, even if that special equivalence might be missing.
[2] For example, Deception by Realism and Beyond Equivalence by Guy Tal in On Landscape, and articles by Tim @ Leicaphilia including Life imitating art, or reality imitating images, and Being an Authentic Photographer.
[3] See the concept of “the death of the real” in Jean Baudrillard, 1981, Simulacra and Simulation
[5] Guy Tal gives a good account of the arguments in Deception by Realism
[6] Bacon’s Novum Organum (1610), in which he outlined a methodology of science based on experience, is sometimes suggested as the starting point of the Age of Enlightenment; Decartes Discourse on the Method (1637) was an important contribution that was rapidly distributed around Europe.
[7] See my article on the Science and Art of Hydrology in On Landscape at https://www.onlandscape.co.uk/2017/04/the-science-and-art-of-hydrology/, and Towards a methodology for testing models as hypotheses in the inexact sciences, Proceedings of the Royal Society A, 2019 (doi: 10.1098/rspa.2018.0862).
[8] In sub-atomic physics science has also progressed to domains that cannot be directly experienced, but are rather studied by means of indirect visualisations.
[9] Albeit that scientists will often use image manipulation to try to reveal detail in the original to aid interpretation and further understanding, e.g. satellite remote sensing images, presentation of radio and Hubble space telescope images, polarized rock thin sections etc.
[10] See Deception by Realism On Landscape, Issue 188
[11] Even if, as a user of monochrome film for over 50 years, and more recently a user of infra-red monochrome film, it is difficult to argue that such filtered images are realist to the eye. Perhaps these still feel “natural” to me having grown up at a time when monochrome was the norm. Colour infra-red is, however, definitely a step too far for me!
[12] See for example http://chateaushatto.com/exhibition/ultimate-paradox-the-photography-of-jean-baudrillard/
I was approached by ‘On Landscape’ to contribute to this month’s end frame. As I understand it, the photographer has an almost impossible task of choosing their one favourite image and then write about their reasons why. I think from my point of view, and only having been a keen landscape photographer since 2012, I was rather daunted by this opportunity.
Rather than spend a long time brainstorming accomplished photographers, whose work I know well or even those I know less well, or well-known images others have perceived as exemplary, I decided to choose an image from a photographer that inspired me to pursue landscape photography (even with its immense highs and also repeated disappointments).
The photographer that set me on this road the most is Alex Nail. I guess I feel somewhat akin to Alex in the sense that I also started capturing landscapes on Dartmoor. I remember one of his first ‘constructive’ criticisms on one of my images was ‘your horizon is wonky’. That was it. He’s never been afraid to speak his mind and through the years it has been both beneficial but also sometimes hard to swallow. However, I have admired his work for many years and after leaving Dartmoor, to pursue a professional career, taking him to far flung places, we have kept in touch.
I have recently moved from Dartmoor to Scotland, partly for lifestyle reasons, but also the draw of the Scottish landscape. I have to say this is partly due to Alex’s photographic influence. Having visited Scotland many times over the years, and now being a resident, I have started to see for myself its unique charm and splendour. Dartmoor, for me, really came alive, with saturated, striking early and late light or layered mists and fog, perhaps the odd rainbow. However, the grandeur of the Scottish landscape, it’s peaks, troughs, lochs, tundra and rocks means that it has its own unique sense of drama, even in flat or diffused light or in dreich conditions.
The Equivalent is one of those ideas that in practice grows by the efforts and accomplishments of the people who explore it. ~ Minor White
In the late 1920s, Alfred Stieglitz coined the concept of equivalence in photography, suggesting that photographs may have expressive powers beyond just representing the appearances of things. In particular, he was referring to photographs that are, at least to a degree, abstract.
The abstraction Stieglitz referred to is not the same as what we generally think of as “abstract art” today (i.e., art that is mostly, or completely, devoid of recognisable elements). What Stieglitz has shown is that by obscuring or omitting obvious reference points in a photograph (things such as uniquely interesting subject matter, prominent faces and figures, or other elements that viewers may consider as the obvious subject of a photograph), the subject of a photograph may become a mood, or a feeling, rather than a thing, or a view. The goal is to design a photograph such that the experience one will have when viewing it, will be equivalent with the experience of the photographer when making it.
What Stieglitz has shown is that by obscuring or omitting obvious reference points in a photograph (things such as uniquely interesting subject matter, prominent faces and figures, or other elements that viewers may consider as the obvious subject of a photograph), the subject of a photograph may become a mood, or a feeling, rather than a thing, or a view.
Although perhaps not immediately obvious, the importance of equivalence is quite profound: it is the quality that allows photographs to venture beyond objective representation, and instead (or in addition) also express subjective experience. As such, equivalence can also be said to be the quality that makes photography a suitable medium for art (art being a deliberate, subjective, creation), rather than just a technology for recording objective views.
The landscapes I capture on the remote Scottish Islands are a reflection of solo time in nature, being still and embracing quiet. This forms the basis of my new solo exhibition that will open at The Bosham Gallery on the 5th October.
I thrive in quiet. I need stillness to revitalise and to heal. Part of that is possibly my introvert nature wanting balance in a world that seems to value extroversion. One of the greatest gifts of introversion is the ability to harness the hidden power of solitude.
There’s a freedom is being alone, not needing to respond to anyone or be a version of myself other than my true nature. It allows me to be purely myself and that feeds into the landscapes I take.
A few people recently asked if I would mind them painting from my landscapes. I realised that I did mind. I wanted them to make their own journeys, to paint totally from their own hearts rather than filtering through my interpretation of the landscape.
When you’re creating, it’s important to travel your own journey. You need to be conscious of who you are and create from that place, taking photos that truly speak to you. That’s the case for all kinds of photography including landscapes or, in fact, anything creative. It gives you your own unique style and a strength to your portfolio.
I travel around Scotland in my sprinter van which I’ve converted for sleeping and cooking on the go. It means I can stay in the remotest of locations and am self-contained. I often stay on the islands for up to a week at a time, waiting for conditions to be right.
The Scottish islands are the embodiment of all the values I uphold in my life and work. Their quiet, beautiful stretches of landscape touch the soul with their raw beauty.
The contrast of the stillness of my mind, standing yards away from 12-foot waves crashing down is almost ironic. The process is complete when an image is created which represents the state of mind rather than the literal translation of the scene.
An exhibition celebrating the untouched beauty of the Scottish Hebrides, its remote rugged coastline and endless white sandy beaches. As an introvert who specifically visits these remote islands extending in an arc off the west coast of Scotland in search of solitude, Soraya’s work questions the cultural bias towards extroverts that exists in today’s western society, its obsession with personality over character, and reminds us of the healing power of solitude as the antidote to being constantly connected in today’s frantic digital world. ~ Luke Whitaker, Director Bosham Gallery, September 2019
Exhibition details
See Margaret Soraya’s landscapes from the Outer Hebrides, Inner Hebrides and Orkney Isles in her exhibition ‘Quiet’ at Bosham Gallery, 1 High Street, Bosham, West Sussex PO18 8LS from October 5-December 7, 2019.
Saturday 5th October | PRIVATE VIEW | 6.30-8.30pm
Sunday 3rd November | COLD WATER SWIMMING In Chichester Harbour With Margaret Soraya
Monday 4th November | LADIES DAY | Finding Solitude Through Photography
Wednesday 6th November | INTROVERT DAY | Are You An Introvert Or An Extrovert?
Can you tell me a little about your education, childhood passions, early exposure to photography etc?
I used to draw a lot as a kid, but generally, I was interested in writing more than imagery. I wrote my first novel when I was nine or ten years old, though I doubt it’d be much of a read now.
My dad filmed weddings on weekends to make extra money, and there was gear around the house, including video and stills cameras. He also occasionally painted landscapes and a few of his paintings were on the walls, so maybe that was a start point.
I started experimenting with cameras in my teens and got more into photography when I moved to Glasgow. I walked around the city and headed out to places like Loch Lomond, using a basic Canon camera with black and white film.
The appeal of photography then was much the same as it is now: a chance to walk around, to explore, to be creative, and to spend time really looking at a place and soaking it up, from big scenes to small details. It’s good to get away from the mental white noise of modern life, to slow down and find things that interest you or give you a feeling of stillness and calm.
What are you most proud of in your photography?
It’s difficult for me to say. I think the qualities of your work are probably for other people to decide and point out. But what I try to do is have a sense of ‘life’ in my photos. With people or wildlife, that’s often about capturing authentic moments or a sense of character. With landscapes, it’s about giving a powerful sense of being in a place; light breaking through cracks in the clouds, the stillness of the water, the movement of wind, the crashing of waves. I like a sense of wildness in landscape photos.
A great landscape photo should have some kind of emotional power and get a response from the person looking at it, rather than just being a representation of a location.
A great landscape photo should have some kind of emotional power and get a response from the person looking at it, rather than just being a representation of a location.
Creativity’s important - the photos I’ve taken that I find most satisfying are ones where I feel the composition is original and personal. Some landscapes are simply beautiful and many people could produce a decent representation of that in a photo. But I really want to feel I created the photo, rather than just took a picture of a landscape.
Dingle – the very name conjures up visions of traditional Ireland: folklore, humorous stories told in busy pubs, and song and dance. A very welcoming picture indeed! And so it was that the second half of March 2019 saw four photographer friends meet-up at Cork airport and start the 2½ hour drive to Dingle in County Kerry, one of the five “fingers” in the South-West of Ireland. The gentle Irish landscape was a soothing sight for a city-dweller like me; rolling hills followed by mountains in the distance and finally the coastline as we approached Dingle. Having settled into our rented accommodation, we had time to explore some of the closest coves and later that evening decided on a series of possible locations to visit over the coming week.
My friends are passionate photographers, primarily landscapers, yet with differing photographic interests and different ways of seeing and making images. As often happens in groups, at any one location we usually went off in various directions looking for our own images and probably never had our lenses pointing in exactly the same direction and set to the same focal length. The coast was the main feature, but we also photographed rock details, rust and dereliction, woodland and classic landscapes. There was plenty to do for all of us and we all had the opportunity to be challenged outside our normal comfort zone. In this article I have chosen my own favourite images from the 3 locations we visited most often, namely Coumeenole Beach and Clogher Head and Beach on the western coast and Kinnard Beach in the south. I also show some images from Inch Strand on the south coast, which we visited just once but which worked out better for me than I had hoped, and one image from each of three other locations.
Coumeenole Beach
We went to Coumeenole Beach a couple of times, apart from a recce at the start of our week. On our first proper visit the skies were moody with intermittent sun and I decided to work in monochrome. I made an image that I particularly like for the light over the distant headland and the reflections off the nearby wet cliffs.
We returned a few days later, in what turned out to be even worse conditions: an ever-changing mix of low cloud, mist, fine drizzle and outright rain were the main challenge, later compounded by the incoming tide lapping around our feet. Despite this, we were all quietly working away at making photographs with almost nobody else around to disrupt us. Only at the very end did a group of tourists arrive, leaving footprints everywhere on the sand but by then we were almost done. I am quite pleased with two images I made depicting the miserable conditions, one monochrome and one colour. I think that the moody and mysterious feel comes across in both.
Clogher Head and Clogher Beach
Further over at Clogher Head, there are great views over to the Blasket Islands and Skellig Michael, location for many Star Wars scenes. I found the dramatic coastline here, enhanced by the stormy skies, irresistible and not wanting to miss the light, rather than look for a strong foreground I settled on a simple view out to sea. Although I risked a 2-dimensional result, I felt that the dramatic light was mesmerising. A long focal length allowed me to isolate the pointy rock which stood out all the more against a bright creamy-yellow patch among the clouds. Well, those heavy, brooding and very ominous blue-grey clouds did come in and we found ourselves absolutely hammered by a sharp rain and hail squall!
A long focal length allowed me to isolate the pointy rock which stood out all the more against a bright creamy-yellow patch among the clouds.
We came back here another day, this time to the eponymous beach and once again we found challenging conditions – this time it was bright sunlight and a strong wind churning up big waves that came barrelling into the cove, driving sea spray straight into our lenses. I chose to forego the wider views and thus avoid the spray, concentrating on details. The beach has a good selection of jagged rocks, rounded boulders and sand patterns which kept me happy for an hour or so, especially as more clouds began to appear and diffuse the light.
The beach has a good selection of jagged rocks, rounded boulders and sand patterns which kept me happy for an hour or so, especially as more clouds began to appear and diffuse the light.
On an evening visit near the end of our trip, I was down on the beach again, whereas my friends had gone up onto the An Drom headland at the other side of the bay. As the sun disappeared behind the headland and apparently into a cloudbank (which I couldn’t see) all hope of a sunset faded. In the dying light I packed my bag and went back up to the car park to await my companions. It was beginning to get dark when quite suddenly the sky lit up with an amazing display of pinks and magenta… Disaster! I had no worthwhile subject matter near me, going back to the beach and setting up again with tripod and filters would risk missing the show altogether! Then the thought struck me: shoot hand held from where I was and use the unavoidable long exposures for ICM. Shooting from above the beach with longer focal lengths, I made a series of images of the sea foam coming in over the boulders below and of the headland and pink-magenta sky above. The ICM mixed the blues and magentas to create new colours; I also blended some of the frames in-camera after shooting. To my delight all this worked rather well: the colours and lovely textures due to the in-camera blending created fascinating abstracts, yet I think still recognisable as coastal scenes. I found the whole experience exhilarating. I know others have done this and it’s becoming a popular way of photographing, but to me this was new and it worked. I felt like a child discovering something and having a great time doing so!
We went back to the Clogher area one more time on the last day and this time I too went up the An Drom headland from where my friends had been shooting that amazing sky the previous evening. The top is a bizarre other-worldly landscape of jagged rocks that are really difficult to walk across, requiring constant care to avoid tripping up and possibly twisting an ankle. It is also a difficult area to shoot, but I managed to compose one vista that I rather like and various rock details, using focus stack on some to ensure sharpness throughout the frame.
I managed to compose one vista that I rather like and various rock details, using focus stack on some to ensure sharpness throughout the frame.
Kinnard Beach
Kinnard Beach on the south coast was close to home, perhaps 15 minutes’ drive. On our first exploratory visit the weather was stormy and the tide too high for photography, but we could see that the location offered good potential. Two days later the wind was still quite strong, whipping up the sea, but we had good afternoon sun on a nearby sea stack and on the clouds over the distant mountains across the bay. I have been playing with a bit of ICM over the last couple of years and having hitherto been a rather purist photographer, trying out these new techniques (at least they are new to me) has been good fun and I am starting to produce images that describe the different elements and, perhaps more importantly, the mood and “feel” of the scene before me. The image here is a single exposure of a wave breaking on sand with that of a different wave breaking over the rocks. It’s hand-held so there is some inevitable softness visible in the rocks, but I don’t think that this detracts from my attempt to portray the crashing waves almost making the rocks shudder.
We came back again at the end of our stay, this time in rather flat lighting and drab skies. Although there was some good movement in the sea, once again I felt happier working on details. Right at the end of the evening just as it began to drizzle, I came across wonderfully coloured pebbles higher up on the beach; I shot a series of detail images with the intention of selecting three for a triptych.
And then on my way back up to the car I noticed some bright but pastel-coloured pebbles scattered on the reddish-brown rock face at the back of the beach. The colours, shapes and textures were too good to ignore and I made another composition, using focus stack to ensure sharpness throughout the frame.
The colours, shapes and textures were too good to ignore and I made another composition, using focus stack to ensure sharpness throughout the frame.
Inch Strand
Inch Strand is a vast expanse of beach and low dunes and on our visit we were rewarded with amazing evening sun, battling with constantly changing but predominantly low cloud. I headed into the grassy dunes (reminiscent of Seilebost on Harris) but struggled to find a good foreground. I thought of going down to the water where my friends were shooting, but was worried that I would miss out on the light which could disappear at any moment. I decided to stay more or less rooted to the spot and shoot the play of light on the clouds as my main subject. I was aware that this could turn out to be rather flat, but with the changing light I hoped that something better would result and that sheer joy of just being there would come across. As the scene changed, I again experimented with long exposures both on and off the tripod (up to 10 secs, hand-held), ICM and multi-exposures. Once the sun had disappeared, I headed back to our car but as the others were still shooting somewhere out of sight, I changed to a telephoto and played further with different settings. I am pleased with my images and rather surprised at how the different techniques gave me a range of pictures which really do reflect my experience and memories of that wonderful evening.
Finally, I am also showing four images from some of the other locations, most of which we visited only once. The first is from a small area of forest that had been cleared, leaving a line of denuded pine trees. The stark graphic scene with limited colour made me think in monochrome, but distilling it to the elements that piqued my interest was less easy than I expected. Perhaps the tile should be II I/\II X rather than Trees?
We also headed inland to the isolated but rather pretty Lough Annascaul, where I was taken by the reflections at a quiet part of the lake. Wonderful abstracts came and went as small wavelets developed in the breeze, distorting the reflected tree trunks. I spent an enjoyable half-hour or so, watching the water and exposing a few frames of the changing shapes.
Wonderful abstracts came and went as small wavelets developed in the breeze, distorting the reflected tree trunks. I spent an enjoyable half-hour or so, watching the water and exposing a few frames of the changing shapes.
Lastly there was Brandon Bay where at Scraggane Pier we found an array of details related to fishing: lobster pots, rusty boats and weathered wooden crates that were empty save for some lobster claws. With blue sky above, the partially covered crate I photographed was very blue inside, contrasting nicely with a red claw and part of a leg. A somewhat bizarre and macabre subject, almost malevolent as though the claw might come scuttling across to me… Perhaps my favourite image from there!
On the way back from the pier we saw a fantastic display of distant clouds and rain showers back-lit by the sun. The contrast was very high and I opted for black-and-white as the scene rapidly changed before our eyes. The image shown here gives a flavour of the drama as the clouds moved across the bay; one of my family said it reminded him of a tsunami charging towards us.
All in all, despite at times uninspiring light conditions and locations where I found composing a vista really difficult, for me this was a successful trip and in great company too. I developed my use of the camera in less conventional ways and have extended my photography into new areas. As always, whether on organised workshops or in a private group of friends, the evenings spent reviewing and chatting about our work are a rich source of learning and sharing ideas with each other. I would like to thank my companions for their friendship and supportive manner throughout the trip and their generosity in sharing ideas and images and their encouraging critiques.
I feel my arms begin to tire, forearms pumping with lactic acid as I make another hard move up the crack in the overhanging rock face. I smear my toes on little edges and look down to see the rope snaking away below me, perhaps some 20 feet above my last piece of protection. Falling twice that height and adding rope stretch puts me pretty close to the ground. I look at the gear hanging from my waist harness and consider placing another ‘runner,” but as I look up at the next 15 feet of climbing I realise the effort required to do that could mean I fall off before I get safe.
I lock the first joint of two fingers into the crack above my head and get my feet higher on the wall,the next step up makes a ground fall guaranteed. Again, again, again, adrenalin pumping, arms saturated, brain on fire. Momentarily I imagine hitting the ground from 60 feet, and a smile crosses my lips. I’m alive, really alive. A couple more moves and the lip of the cliff appears in front of my face, one more long reach over the top to find a good edge and suddenly I’m up. The world stretches below me; the misty glens of the Scottish Highlands, smoke from wood fires drifts lazily from chimney stacks, a Willow Warbler sings passionately from a nearby birch tree, I smell the sap rising and the taste of spring. I notice everything, as if for the first time; opening my already open eyes. (As I write these words, even after all these years I can vividly remember every move, little nuances of the rock, even individual holds! How uncanny it is to have experiences burned so deep in our minds.)
I make my belay and start bringing up my brother, who, with the safety of a top rope makes short work of the pitch, powerfully cruising the moves, absorbed in the ballet of movement on rock. How different the experience is depending on what end of the rope you’re on.
On another day, on another route, a different outcome. I fall from a hard move high on the cliff, the gear I’d placed for my protection ripped from the thin crack and I slam downwards, ripping the next piece as well. My brother jumps off the ledge he’s belaying me from to take in some slack rope and I get brought up on rope stretch with my feet brushing the ground. After nearly 100 feet of free fall, I laugh maniacally as I realise I’m alive.
It was these experiences over 30 years ago that focussed my will, absorbed my attention and demanded engagement. With the cost of failure being terminal, the consequences were a very real motivation.
It was these experiences over 30 years ago that focussed my will, absorbed my attention and demanded engagement. With the cost of failure being terminal, the consequences were a very real motivation. No matter what was going on in my outside life; university exams, being dumped by my first girlfriend, or dealing with growing up a loner, once I was on rock, it meant nothing. With extreme climbing, there is no room for thoughts, no space in your attention for irritation, heartbreak or insecurity. This was where I was in control, here I was me, in total, complete.
A few days ago, I walked along a beach, cliffs rising above my head. I’ve been guiding 4 participants on a workshop to the Spanish coast and they are jubilant in their epiphanies. I smile as they engage with the world in new ways, finding themselves in nature and flowing. I notice an overhanging corner on an outcrop, rising perhaps 30 feet above the shingle beach. My fingers itch and I wander over to “take a look.” As my fingers touch the rock, my focus narrows again; I search for a place to smear one foot, twisting it to make it stick. A step up and my hand rises to another hold, then another, I raise my feet, surging upwards. Even after all these years, my body instinctively leans and twists to keep in balance, finding its place in space to be. Hitting the ground from 30 feet hurts, and I was motivated to stay up, not down! Moments later I’m sitting with my feet dangling over the edge, a client glances up and smiles at me, we return a look. He knows, I know.
I am a member of the Society of Scottish Landscape Photographers and following on from a series of successful group exhibitions, it was decided that the society would hold a series of regional exhibitions to allow more members to exhibit in their local area.
As a member of the exhibition committee, I accepted the task of organising two of these exhibitions. One of the venues I sourced was the Birnam Arts Centre, which is based in the quaint village of Birnam in Perthshire. I identified it as an ideal venue in which to hold the exhibition due to the location and beautiful hanging space which is filled with natural light.
Following a series of discussions with the venue, it was decided that the exhibition should consist entirely of black and white images, based on a mix of traditional landscapes and images with a more ‘creative’ edge.
The venue has held a series of 'traditional' colour landscape exhibitions in the past and wanted to offer its clientele something different, therefore the concept for 'monochrome' was born.
Initially, the exhibition was meant to feature photographers from the Tayside area, namely Davie Hudson (Society founder and Chairman), Katherine Fotheringham, Andy Clark, Donald McKenzie, Annette Forsyth, and myself. However, given the space available, we were able to open the exhibition to members based further afield, and Stuart Lamont and John Thow joined us.
Each photographer was allocated a space in which to showcase their work. The decision of layout, frame sizing and image selection were left to each member.
However, to add cohesiveness to the exhibition it was decided that all the frames should be black, and the work priced with the venue's clientele in mind, therefore a ceiling price was introduced.
The brief was embraced by some and found to be a welcome challenge by others who predominantly shoot in colour (myself included).
Back in the days when I attended college (nearly 30 years ago.... gulp!) and I was film-based, I shot, processed and printed in black and white, but I haven't, until recently, produced many black and white images from a digital file, therefore the remit really challenged my processing skills.
I began searching my archives for images to convert to black and white. I initially chose a random set including seascapes and mountain studies. I didn't feel that they 'gelled' as a set however and felt that I wanted my images to have a strong narrative, rather than just a random set. I am increasingly shooting more tree-based images, and that is an element of landscape photography that I enjoy the most, therefore I chose one image from my archive as a starting point, which was almost monochrome when I shot it, therefore it felt a natural step to convert the file to black and white.
I was hit by a stroke of luck in March when the weather turned unusually wintery and we had a full day of heavy snow, and the perfect conditions materialised that I had envisaged to shoot the remainder of my images.
During the summer months, I do a lot of location scouting and I knew the exact location of the trees that I wanted to shoot....it was just a case of waiting for the optimum conditions. The shoot turned out to be better than expected and I managed to produce four images, which completed my desired set of five.
I envisaged a 'fine art' feel to my prints, so I selected Hahnemuhle photo rag as my paper choice, as the textural quality really suited the images.
Each member of the group worked tirelessly to prepare their work, and the exhibition opened on the 31st of August to a welcoming crowd.
Here are some thoughts from the other exhibitors:
Davie Hudson
When the remit for this exhibition was announced I couldn't have been happier. With me having a leaning for the darker side of imagery I do a lot of work in monochrome, add to that the quirky aspect and in my mind I was doing a happy dance. The problem I was going to have was whittling down my large portfolio of Black and Whites down to the space I had, a space I’m happy to say was quite large due to my enthusiasm for the remit.
As with any exhibition (this is now my tenth in total) the knack is to suitably mix the images to both show the whole gamut of your work and have a 'crowd pleaser' and with my 7 images I think I have achieved that and I'm really proud of what I have produced and hung in the gallery.
Donald MacKenzie
Taking part on the exhibition was a gift for me as Black & White is what I do. Whether it’s because of my colour blindness or not, I just find it so much more satisfying to work in Black & White than in colour.
I am a Highlander and want to display the highlands as they really are to local people. So my images are not great landscapes with mountains sweeping down to the sea, they are of things like passing places and single track roads, dry stane dykes that wend their way over a hill .
I am not interested in making images that have huge popular appeal or induce the ‘wow’ factor. I follow the writings of Guy Tal and find he gives expression to all the things that I have felt but didn’t have the skill to state them. For example, he speaks of how the inner rewards of creating anything are “… much more powerful and enduring than short lived spikes of happiness rooted in such things as productivity, popularity, sales, etc.” That’s so true.
Andy Clark
When I first heard the exhibition remit I was a little apprehensive! I decided I wanted my images to work together as a group, complimenting each other and with a similar feel. I love taking photos of trees and foggy conditions so felt for me those images were an ideal fit. I edited quite a few images that I felt fitted my remit and also worked in B&W, and three of my four images were all taken the same winter within three weeks of one another and just felt right together. The fourth image, "on the edge of the field" I felt really complimented the others, as they all have an atmospheric, almost fairy-tale quality to them.
Stuart Lamont
My passion for Landscape Photography came about when I joined my local Camera Club some 18 years ago, this also fuelled my interest in Black & White photography after seeing some of the work club members were producing. I decided I wanted to take it a stage further after seeing some Infrared work in one of the monthly magazines and therefore I decided to convert an old Nikon D200 to Infrared.
The shots below were all taken during the summer months which are particularly good for Infrared as the trees are in full bloom and there is a good contrast with the blue sky behind. If you get the right subject matter you can produce some lovely images.
When the Black & White Exhibition was announced earlier this year I immediately thought that showing some Infrared work would give the exhibition an added extra dimension which I hope the viewers will enjoy.
Annette Forsyth
While I mostly work in colour, I have always enjoyed creating black & white images for their timeless quality and slightly more abstract nature and was delighted to be part of the exhibition at Birnam. For my final choices I decided to go for mountain scenery and coastal images as I knew a few of the other photographers were into treescapes.
Two of my chosen images “Shifting Light on Beinn a’Chearcaill” and “Torridon Wilderness” were taken on a very atmospheric day in February when the cloud lifted and descended at will. “Lower Falls, Glen Nevis” and “The Needle, Quiraing, Isle of Skye” are images from more well known locations that I personally enjoyed. Sometimes it can be a good idea to include a few images that people recognise and may have a connection with.
John Thow
To match the exhibition brief I chose ‘Shimmering Birches’ captured using ICM (Intentional Camera Movement) which gives a blurred and mystical view of some magnificent silver birch trees in Glen Lyon.
‘Fogbound’ is an image of the new Queensferry Crossing over the Firth of Forth. A fleeting moment in time captured by a hand held shot when I spotted a bank of fog rapidly approaching the bridge. I enjoy the simplicity yet complexity of the moody monochromes captured in black and white photography.
Katherine Fotheringham
The brief of black and white images struck fear and horror into me as it wasn't something that I dabbled with too much. I already had one black and white image, 'The Frandy Tree' that I was keen to use, so it was just a case of taking two more images that would complement this image.
'The Praying Hands' is one of my favourite places to visit and I was keen to include it in this exhibition so when I was in the area with snow falling and an atmospheric mist flowing down the glen I grabbed the opportunity to bag the second photo of my three for the exhibition.
My third photo came on an equally miserable cold and snowy day. I had Ossian's Hall at The Hermitage in mind, so when I woke to heavy flakes of snow falling, I headed up to the location to capture the envisaged scene.
Final note....
Preparing a solo exhibition is hard work (as most photographers will identify with), but having to collaborate with seven other photographers was more challenging. Luckily they were a great bunch of people to work with which made my life a lot easier!
Communicating back and forth with the venue, printers, framers, exhibitors, and collating all the information, organising all the press releases, promotional activity etc was not without its challenges and was a very time-consuming but enjoyable experience which I have relished. Will I do it again?.....yes! We have another exhibition coming up in November!
The ‘Monochrome’ exhibition is open to the public until Saturday the 28th of September, from 10am until 5pm, at the Birnam Arts centre in Perthshire. Entry is free.
My latest project ‘Wiltshire,’ is fundamentally about the heritage in our landscape. Kept, lost or rediscovered, our landscape is brought into question more than ever before; how we try to preserve our heritage and natural aesthetic, but also how we try to utilise our land for new uses.
The UK is a small island with a large population, which naturally has created many questions for us today. Our land is at a premium and at times is treated like currency, changing hands and uses on a regular basis. Seen as one of the most viable long-term investments to make, our landscape has been turned into a bank for many.
With lack of space and our continually growing need of land, areas are being reused and reutilised for different purposes.
With lack of space and our continually growing need of land, areas are being reused and reutilised for different purposes. Creating a layered history that sometimes is invisible for us at the surface.
Creating a layered history that sometimes is invisible for us at the surface. But this is nothing new for us to contend with, it is just happening at a higher frequency and we have become better educated in the optimum ways to utilise the land.
Our landscape has forever been changing, historically most drastically during the Industrial Revolution. Work changed from rural activities to urban industry, population moved into the towns creating cities and conurbations, which the country or the world had never seen before. During this growth, there wasn’t a thought for what was there before, as it was seen as a necessity for us to succeed and profit.
For the most, Victorians still believed in urbanisation, industrialisation and carried the same lack of respect for our everyday past in our cities and towns as preserving or nurturing was not in their nature. By the mid-19th century, there was a growth in the new middle class and a creation of leisure time. Their wage was rising and the hours of work were falling. Annual holidays were also created alongside inexpensive travel and cheap hotels, people were able to leave the places they lived for the first time and see more of the nation.
The Light and Form Group’s inaugural ‘Where the Land Meets the Sea’ exhibition takes place at the New Ashgate Gallery in Farnham, Surrey, from 17-28 September 2019.
It features more than twenty works by landscape photographers Phil Edwards, Lisa Mardell and Jo Pannifer, inspired by that magical space where sea, sand and sky meet, and also showcases contemporary silver jewellery by Tracy King.
Ahead of the exhibition, Phil Edwards shares his thoughts on why the group is so drawn to the sea.
"Almost all of us first encounter the sea from the shore, and our response to it is inextricably bound up with that relationship, with how the ocean interacts with the land. That is the shared thread in the work amongst the three photographers on display.
While principally drawn from locations around the UK and Ireland, and, on occasion, made when all three of us were present together, the specific places captured are rarely identifiable. Nor do they need to be. Instead, the images capture a representation of that recalled, unique and ephemeral moment when the act of witnessing the sea and the shore meeting leaves an indelible impression that it itself is informed and layered from previous encounters.
With the unifying palette of the colour images the many hues of blue that the sea possesses, a balancing contrast is present in the the sand, the sunsets and the shadows represented which act to bring harmony to the compositions. For the monochrome works on display, the subtle gradations of light highlight the ethereal sky and the texture of stone and shore.
The use of long exposure and Intentional Camera Movement in several of the images has been employed to recreate the collected and compressed moments of watching the sea and coast interact, and the indelible impression on our memories that this leaves.
In other works, the presence of a bird or a lighthouse figure prominently, but not dominantly, always anchored to that interplay of light and form that is the coast."
Tidal Lines by Phil Edwards
Storm Approaching by Lisa Mardell
Sea Curves by Jo Pannifer
‘Where the Land Meets the Sea’ is being held at the New Ashgate Gallery, Wagon Yard, Farnham GU9 7PS from September 17th–28th 2019. The gallery is open from 10am–5pm but will be closed on September 22nd and 23rd. For more information on the gallery and for more on the photographers see www.lightandform.co.uk
Someone once said to me “Writing about composition is a bit like dancing about architecture”. A large amount what we tend to do is instinctive, both during capture and in post-processing, and it’s very hard to put these things into words. Fortunately, there are a few people out there willing to take up the challenge and over the last week, I’ve been reading a book by one of them. Alister Benn has been writing for On Landscape for a while now and I know he can string an articulate sentence together and it’s plainly clear that he can recognise, capture and present a great photograph and I’m pleased to say he’s done a pretty good job of combining the two into an educational resource about the subject.
It wasn't until just over six years ago that I had not even heard the words 'Digital Single Lens Reflex'.
'Digital Single Lens Reflex, what? what does that even mean?'
The Apple iPhone 4 had just launched in 2010 bringing revolutionary specs to the handset:
Backside-illuminated 5 megapixel rear-facing camera with a 3.85 mm f/2.8 lens with LED Flash.
A true step forward for smartphones. I was very fortunate to own one. The brand new Apple iPhone 4 - white with 16GB of memory. It was mine, my prized possession and I was excited.
An application called Instagram was entirely in its infancy, having just launched the same year on the Apple app store. Word was spreading that it is going to be the next big thing since Facebook.
For me, I truly think this was where my passion for photography began. It was the very fact that I was able to take a photograph, edit it in the app with sliders and then finish it with a personal touch ( that being a film like a border which everyone was doing at that time ) to then upload to this social media application via 3G...It was liberating.
I could express myself via a 5MP digital image ...it was apparent anything was possible with the device I had in my hands.
My best friend of twelve years now - I owe an awful lot to. Ryan Introducing me to The Peak District in Derbyshire. I had known of The Peak District however I never really had the desire to visit only being just over an hour's drive.
One evening over a beer and a burger, he did an excellent job of talking me into walking Kinder Scout. A moorland plateau and national nature reserve in the Dark Peak of the Peak District. The location sounded fanciful - too good to be true.
As both Ryan and I made our way up Grindslow Knoll, through the moorlands both being overwhelmed with every step - memories were captured with each press of the digital shutter button on the screen of our iPhones. They were secured and those photos were ours forever. To show everyone where we had been and what we had discovered.
That was it, landscapes and photography was all I wanted, needed.
Three years later, our knowledge, passion, and desire for hill walking - mountain climbing and the outdoors, in general, had converted us. No longer did we want to spend our weekends in pubs, clubs, and cities - it was the mountains where we wanted to be. Quiet with solitude.
Various mountain paths conquered on Snowdonia and The Lake District, all captured with my smart device. After extensively using the camera on my iPhone for three years - I began to understand it's limitations. I wanted more control - more creativity and to improve my photography. I was ready for the next step.
Fast forward to the present day. Landscape photography and photography, in general, is huge - it's massive. Instagram is the second biggest social media platform after Facebook. We also have Flickr - 500px & Twitter which is also fantastic to share our images online - converse with fellow friends & like-minded people.
And of course, not forgetting YouTube. YouTube is used by 1,300,000,000 people. 300 hours of video are uploaded to YouTube every minute! Almost 5 billion videos are watched on YouTube every single day. YouTube gets over 30 million visitors per day. Each one of us uses Youtube if we want to know something? reminisce? be inspired?
Being inspired is important. It drives us, motivates us - it is what makes us as photographers get up at a ridiculous time in the morning to see the day start and have it all to ourselves whilst everyone is still sleeping.
For some time now I have been watching the likes of Thomas Heaton, Ben Horne, Simon Baxter and more, for education, entertainment, and inspiration.
Whilst they are firm favourites, professionals who go to the best locations with the best gear and sometimes capture images that you can only dream of, it can be a little doubting and unrelatable.
''Oh, I am never going to be able to afford to go to Patagonia?''
Out of the blue whilst browsing on Flickr, I discovered the work of Matt Oliver. I was instantly drawn to his account. I found myself scrolling through his images frantically. One thing I had noticed straight away was that he photographed in The Peak District. I had now fallen in love with The Peak District after numerous visits time after time in all weather conditions with a greater understanding.
If I wanted to see heather in The Peak during the summer, Matt had nailed it. If I wanted mood and drama during Autumn, Matt had nailed it.
It was becoming clear time had been spent with the subject Matt was photographing by really studying the landscape - using his foreground effectively to draw you in immediately.
It was becoming clear time had been spent with the subject Matt was photographing by really studying the landscape - using his foreground effectively to draw you in immediately. Beautiful light splashed against the far distance to make the image come alive. These images were taken, they weren't just a quick snap for a meaningless upload to Instagram for likes, the image had story and heart behind them.
Matt Oliver's work is fantastic but why? Personally, for me, this is the one image I find myself coming back to. One glance and I am instantly transported to Padley Gorge in Autumn. The millstones that have been left behind years and years ago are now 'Reclaimed' by mother nature. The vibrant green moss and what looks to be dead bracken slumped next to an old stone wall barely supported. As a viewer of the image, I have so many questions but I don't want the answers, I'm transfixed by the mystery.
Which brings me to my final thought, my final emotive feeling. I am instantly spired to pack my camera bag to head to The Peak the following day, not because I want to copy this image - not because I want to try to do better than Matt, simply because it is accessible, it's relatable, it's my very own Patagonia.
Location guidebooks are something I have a mixed reaction to. Being directed to the exact location of an image and sometimes being given the tripod holes to work with is something I feel is anathema to the creative aspects of our trade.
However, I can understand that many of these are already common knowledge and so the books merely compile what is already available. This Idaho guide intrigued me, however. The idea is to provide information on off road drives in the area that can be accessed without 4x4 vehicles. There is no real UK equivalent as far as I can tell (these aren't the green lanes of our bucolic countryside for instance) and this sort of off road travel seems a given if you want to explore in the US. I asked the authors, professional photographers and artists Linda Lantzy and Shari Hart for some more information.
Idaho is packed with gems of breathtaking photogenic scenery that can't always be found on a freeway drive, or even scouting the back roads. Unless you know where you're going, you might never get there. The solution, we concluded, was a thoroughly researched, comprehensive guide with detailed directions to little-known areas, complete with colour photographs of what you'll likely find when you go.
With that in mind, and after photographing the wonders of Idaho for more than 10 years, we decided to share our experience in finding these hidden locations in a new guidebook.
"As seasoned back-roads artistic photographers, our experiences have led us to hundreds of photographic gems. Among these are old barns, abandoned antique vehicles, and pioneer cabins, along with many other unforgettable locations," Linda said.
The book is designed for travellers who want more from their treks than museums or tourist traps. Most of the selected routes can be followed without the need for high-clearance vehicles, and none require four-wheel drive vehicles. But they do take you to locations most folks don't know, she said. Expect to find waterfalls, canyons and mountains, farms and ranches and iconic landscapes among the destinations.
Most route directions include the ideal times to start your journey for the best morning light and end with the best sunset locations available. Inevitably, some will be passed during less than ideal light, so Linda recommends marking those locations on your GPS for a return visit.
The authors have driven every route to ensure each trek's accuracy and attractions, from breathtaking scenery and landscapes to barns, antiques, railroad trestles and artefacts that still occupy these unique spaces and speak to Idaho's fascinating history. Journeys can run from 2-6 hours, and some recommend overnight stays to get the full value of the experience.
The authors have driven every route to ensure each trek's accuracy and attractions, from breathtaking scenery and landscapes to barns, antiques, railroad trestles and artefacts that still occupy these unique spaces and speak to Idaho's fascinating history.
The routes guide you from the nearest highway exit or town while providing valuable advice on the best vantage points. They also include cautions and warnings for trickier routes and other suggestions for making your journeys as safe, rewarding and comfortable as possible.
The guide is conveniently separated into regions. To the north, you'll find alpine lakes and hidden waterfalls, and winding rivers draining the snowpack from forested peaks, among other attractions. Central Idaho is a land of contrasts, with towns such as McCall and Stanley anchoring a region featuring some of Idaho's highest mountain peaks. To the south and west, the Owyhee Mountains and desert, towering sand dunes and deep canyon views, and a historic ghost town dominate the journeys, with showy spring wildflower displays to add delightful colour. To the east, the majestic Teton Range and Caribou Mountains reveal their secrets, along with a wildlife refuge and historic Chesterfield. It's a geological smorgasbord.
Shari has served as the Artist in Residence for the Idaho office of the Federal Bureau of Land Management in the Owyhee backcountry. She covers 10 routes in the guide, primarily in the south central region. Her wonderfully evocative images take viewers on "visual hikes" that reflect her deep love of the outdoors.
"I love the high desert, wide-open spaces and our deep canyon ravines with rivers and creeks to explore," she said.
Linda cites her deep love and appreciation for her home state and its geographic diversity for driving her passion.
"With every spare moment I can muster, I head out with my camera gear and my 4-wheel drive into Idaho's least-spoiled places," she said. "It is here, in solitude, where I gather my inspiration to find and photograph new routes and beauty along the way."
A North Idaho native and Coeur d’Alene resident, Linda began her photography career as a young teen and has been immersed in the medium ever since. She attended the Commercial Photography program at Spokane Falls Community College in 1987-1988, but gets her best training in the real world, in the field. Linda explores the roads less travelled, often in solitude, to capture the wild beauty and diversity of her home state. Her images reflect the region’s most breathtaking scenes, captured with striking and dramatic composition.
"I've wanted to be a landscape photographer for about as long as I can remember. As a 12-year-old I would take my little Kodak 110 pocket camera and climb the hills on our eastern Washington farm. From the top, I had a fantastic view of the valley where the mountains converged near the bottom and the mighty Columbia River was barely visible on a good day. My parents weren't too keen on paying for developing countless pictures from a 12 year old, so I learned to be selective about when was a good time to take another photo."
Light, of course, is the most important element in a photograph, and "nothing is as exciting as being in a great location and having amazing lighting conditions. I hope that this is translated to the viewer through my landscape photographs."
Family time pushed photography to the back burner for the next 15 years while she raised two boys.
Looking back at this time in my life I realise how I continued to learn, by always studying light and practising compositions in my mind even without a camera in hand.
"Looking back at this time in my life I realise how I continued to learn, by always studying light and practising compositions in my mind even without a camera in hand," she said. "When the time finally came to that I could re-devote my time to photography, I was more than ready. The next step was adapting my knowledge to the digital world. I spent three years making that transition and building a portfolio before testing responses to my work in different venues. Today I have many art clients that include medical facilities and corporate offices. I conduct a limited number of destination photo workshops in Idaho and continue to produce my yearly Idaho Scenic Calendar."
Like most photographers, she said, "I've always wanted to produce a book of my work, one that appeals to a large audience. The idea just evolved from there to become a photographers guide to help others see what I have seen and share the locations of photographic interest in our great state. As I drive its back roads in solitude, the new routes and photographic finds I make inspire me."
Linda said this book is the culmination of many years of work in Idaho.
"I plan to travel farther and let creativity dictate what and how I photograph," she said. "I do have a new project in mind, but plan on taking a breather before embarking on that journey."
Written and photographed by Linda and fellow Idaho photographer Shari Hart, "Discovering Idaho's Scenic Drives and Backroad Treasures" will take travellers along 48 lesser-known routes into Idaho's most scenic and iconic locations. The book is packed with detailed, turn-by-turn directions, key features along the way, and what to expect when you arrive at each location.
"It's written and designed with photographers in mind, but anyone wanting to see Idaho beyond the highway will find this guide invaluable," Linda said.
The book is 11x8.5 inch, softcover, 48 driving routes, 288 full colour pages, includes non-expiring coupons, QR codes to online maps, detailed driving directions, photo tips, and more!
Over seven years Tina has photographed the Louisiana wetlands and the glacial landscapes of the Arctic and the Antarctic. The project Lamentations is a series of diptychs that function as stories about climate change, ecological balance, and the connectedness of things across time and space. We talk to Tina to find out about the project and how it all started.
What sparked your passion for photography?
My father was an avid amateur photographer, and my grandfather made early 35mm films of his travels (unfortunately on nitrate-based stock, so they self-destructed). During our family outings, my father always had a Leica with him, and later a Minox. When I was twelve, someone offered to teach me how to use a darkroom. I jumped at the chance, in no small part because the offer came in the middle of the hot New Orleans summer.
Tell me about the photographers or artists that inspire you most. What books stimulated your interest in photography and who drove you forward, directly or indirectly, as you developed?
My parents subscribed to National Geographic, but it was the black and white images in Life magazine that captured my imagination. I would devour Life as soon as it came through the mail slot, especially savouring the work of Margaret Bourke-White and W. Eugene Smith.
While I was at the Art Center College of Design in Los Angeles, I became enamoured with Western photographers: Edward Weston, Imogen Cunningham, and, to a lesser extent, Ansel Adams.
In my early twenties, Irving Penn’s sumptuous work—still lifes, portraits, platinum prints, and his voluptuous nudes—called to me. In about 1977 Henry Geldzahler introduced us at lunch in the curator’s dining room of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, an elegant room to the left of the entrance, where the coat check is today. I had been making colour Xerox prints of my work and showed them to him. Penn seemed a bit horrified at the idea that the color Xeroxes of the time, which were far different from the colour copies we have today, might be around forever.
When Penn offered me a job as an assistant, I instantly accepted. But the universe conspired to complicate my decision. Shortly after the meeting, the New Orleans Museum of Art offered me the curatorship of the photography collection. Strangely enough, I don’t remember my process in deciding to go back home, but I did.
Your background is in interior and architecture photography. How and why did you engage with landscape photography and what inspired that move?
After I graduated from Art Center, I felt portraiture was the most challenging area for me, so I embarked on photographing just about everyone I met: David Hockney, Andy Warhol, Diana Vreeland, Paloma Picasso, and many more. Then at some point, I realised the interiors surrounding the people also made a type of portrait. I began to make portraits without the people, hence the beginning of my interiors.
I was working primarily in black and white. Then, in the 1980s, I began to do commercial magazine work, and the editors specified that I use transparency film. My first assignment came out of a cold call to Connoisseur, the jewel in the crown of Hearst publishing. I decided this was where I wanted to work; I made an appointment, and they hired me. My first assignment turned out to be a cover and 13 images of a chateau in France.
What set me apart in those days was my use of what looked like natural lighting. I was striving to make the interiors look like they did when you were in the room. The overall style then was to over-light, balancing the exposure inside with the view outside the windows. By contrast, I would use a very small Dyna Lite strobe box with three heads to ensure that I filled the shadows a bit. When I shoot interiors today, I still use this same strobe.
Who has helped you in realising your photographic ambitions over the past few years?
The University of Louisiana at Lafayette Press published the Artist Spaces book as well as Lamentations. The Ogden Museum of Southern Art and Curator Bradley Sumrall, as well as the Paul and Lulu Hilliard University Art Museum and Director LouAnne Greenwald, exhibited Artist Spaces.
Susan Taylor, Director, and Russell Lord, Curator of Photography, at the New Orleans Museum of Art have nurtured the Lamentations project from its beginning, deciding a couple of years into the project to exhibit it and co-publish the book.
Your book "Artist Spaces New Orleans" gives a comprehensive portrait of the city's artists and their relationship to space. How did this series make you think about your photography and how interconnected that is with other aspects of your life?
I began shooting artists and their interiors in the 1970s. It was mostly portraits of the artists, but I was very aware of the interiors as well. In October of 1988, my photographs of Man Ray’s studio on Rue Ferou in Paris ran in Art and Antiques magazine: six images plus the cover. In August of 1988, in Connoisseur magazine, I photographed the very same interiors that J.M.W. Turner had painted in watercolours. This amazing assignment changed the way I saw my own spaces.
I photographed many other artists’ spaces before the book, but they were on film. It was easier to layout a book with digital images, so I used my first pro-level DSLR, starting in 2005 before Hurricane Katrina, and worked until 2014 on images for the book.
I was Curator of Photography at NOMA from 1977-1982. It was a heady time to be collecting photographs. The National Endowment for the Arts made a number of large grants that helped the museum purchase contemporary photographers’ work.
You were the Senior Curator of Photography at the New Orleans Museum of Art. What did this role entail?
I was Curator of Photography at NOMA from 1977-1982. It was a heady time to be collecting photographs. The National Endowment for the Arts made a number of large grants that helped the museum purchase contemporary photographers’ work.
I mounted numerous exhibitions including Diverse Images, an overview of the collection of the museum as it stood in 1978.
I was responsible for producing the following books:
Leslie Gill: A Classical Approach to Photography. New Orleans, La: New Orleans Museum of Art. 1984.
The Photographs of Mother St. Croix. New Orleans, La: New Orleans Museum of Art. 1982.
Diverse Images: Photographs from the New Orleans Museum of Art. Garden City, NY: Amphoto. 1979.
Also, I was responsible for numerous contributions to Arts Quarterly, New Orleans, La.
The photography collection in the NOMA is extensive, tell us more about the collection and a bit about the role of New Orleans in the history of photography.
The first documented photographs of New Orleans are daguerreotypes by Jules Leon made in 1840, only one year after Daguerre went public with the process in 1839.
My primary source for the following information is Russell Lord’s excellent 2018 book on the photography collection of the New Orleans Museum of Art, published by Aperture: Looking Again.
In April of 1918, the museum exhibited An Exhibition of Pictorial Photography by American Artists. The museum began its own collection of photography in 1973.
In 1932 there was an exhibition of Margaret Bourke-White’s work, and in 1936 and 1949, Clarence John Laughlin, the American Surrealist photographer, exhibited at the museum.
There were numerous exhibitions of photography in the 1950s and 60s. In 1973, John Bullard became the Director of the museum and began a collecting programme and by 1974 had a permanent Curator of Photography, making The New Orleans Museum of Art perhaps the first southeastern regional museum to have a permanent collection of photography. I was the second Curator of Photography.
The collection now numbers over twelve thousand images.
Over the past seven years, you have photographed the Louisiana wetlands, Arctic and Antarctic glaciers in your project "Lamentations" Where did it all start?
When I was about four, I went on a summer vacation with my parents to the mountains. The air was warm, however, pockets of snow remained in the shadows. I was terrified: this cold, white stuff made no sense. Perhaps this started my fascination.
When I was about four, I went on a summer vacation with my parents to the mountains. The air was warm, however, pockets of snow remained in the shadows. I was terrified: this cold, white stuff made no sense. Perhaps this started my fascination.
After working on Artist Spaces I was looking for another project. This series started with a trip to Antarctica in 2011 with about 80 other photographers. The undertaking was a huge commitment, but it opened the floodgates. I was utterly smitten with Antarctica and ice. I went on to visit Iceland, Greenland, Spitsbergen and again Antarctica on two more occasions.
I made the first wetland photographs on January 1, 2014, after a wonderful New Year’s Eve party at a duck camp near Morgan City, Louisiana. That day was magical, misty and mysterious. From that day I knew that the Louisiana wetlands were an under-appreciated subject and I wanted to do more work there.
In the project, you pair images from each place in a series of diptychs that function as stories about climate change, ecological balance, and the connectedness of things across time and space. How did you go about working out the pairings?
As I scoured the photographs I’d made of the wetlands and the ice fields, the pairs began to make themselves known. I had made hundreds of 4” x 6” commercial “drugstore” type prints, and I started matching pairs. Some that are in the book and exhibition are some of the first pairs and others were made as recently as a few months ago.
I taped the first groupings into a sketchbook, then I put them on my magnetic wall. For a year, I worked on them methodically.
How did you plan the images that you wanted to capture—both in terms of locations and messages that you wanted the stories to tell?
When I started shooting on location either in ice or wetlands, I was looking for a specific type of image. This iceberg is one of my favourites. I went looking for a pair and found it in.
The two locations tell the story without much interpretation. Louisiana‘s three million acres of wetlands are disappearing at the rate of about 75 square kilometres annually. Sea level rise is one of many factors. The melting of the glaciers contributes to sea-level rise.
The two locations tell the story without much interpretation. Louisiana‘s three million acres of wetlands are disappearing at the rate of about 75 square kilometres annually. Sea level rise is one of many factors. The melting of the glaciers contributes to sea-level rise.
Lamentations makes plain the crucial, threatening, and global dialogue between water in two physical states. How did this theme evolve as the key story of the project?
I am a native of Louisiana. When I was young, I went fishing with my family. We stayed on a boat in the marsh between forays into open water. My deep appreciation for the abundance, fecundity, and beauty of “my” wetlands started back then. As I became more enamoured with the places that produce ice, I realized the very close connection between the two landscapes.
For several years I sat on a national committee for conservation. As a member, I wrote two reports a year – for part of my time I reported on toxins and air quality. In researching the topic and listening to other reports, I became more and more aware of the changes that are taking place. I continue to write and present on the environment.
You have spent the past seven years on the project. Tell us more about how you managed the time on the project? What took the longest? What challenges were there?
When I photograph, I can never gauge the amount of time I have been working: Time seems to stand still.
The most significant investment was committing the financial resources to travel. Travelling for work was integral to my commercial photography in the 1980s. Because I was a location photographer, my clients were footing the bill. It was a shock to write that first check for my initial trip to Antarctica.
Perhaps my biggest challenge was learning to use my digital gear. There continues to be a learning curve, and I continue to swear I will go back to my trusty Hasselblad or 4 x 5 view camera. I am not ruling it out.
How did the project evolve? Did you have to refine the vision of what you wanted to achieve?
The pairs needed a lot of refining and repairing. Some images have up to three possible partners. At one point I wanted to maximize the number of pairs so I “speed paired” as many images as quickly as possible in about 24 hours. Most of those pairs didn’t work out. Several times I woke up and another pair had come to me in the middle of the night. The lasting work began to take shape after methodical processing. Eventually ah ha moments revealed an indelible communication between certain pairs.
What's your personal interest in this subject?
I was born in New Orleans and have lived here most of my life. When Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005, it became obvious that the storm surge was caused by the loss of wetlands and barrier islands. If we hadn’t lost 25 miles of our coast, south of New Orleans, the storm surge would have been 10 feet lower: every 2.5 miles of wetlands mitigate 1 foot of storm surge.
Your project Lamentations is exhibiting at New Orleans Museum of Art. Tell us more about the exhibition. How did it come about?
Originally the University of Louisiana at Lafayette Press was going to publish the book. As we were readying for publication, Susan Taylor, Director of NOMA, and Russell Lord, Curator of Photography, offered to partner with UL Press, and mount an exhibition of the images.
Could you tell us a little about the cameras and lenses you typically take on a trip and how they affect your photography?
Getting used to the enormous kit usually carried by digital folks is difficult. That first trip to Antarctica I had a 24-70mm and a 100-400mm lens; that was it. I now generally have the 24-70mm and a longer lens and, lately, a wider lens. Changing lenses is a real problem due to dust on the sensor (yes, Antarctica has a lot of dust) so it is best to have two bodies. I have started renting the second body and quite often a long lens. That is the smart way for me, since I rarely use very long lenses, and the gear seems to change so quickly. That first trip to Antarctica was the first time I had shot serious images without a tripod.
How do you create the 'look' of your images (i.e. film, post processing, etc.)?
Having shot Fuji 400 ISO Provia for so long, I try to make my images look like the images I saw printed from transparencies; less sharpening, less contrast and less saturation than the typical digital image. I did a book on colour in 1992 (Color: Natural Palettes for Painted Rooms. New York, NY: Clarkson Potter) and after testing many transparency films, this one rendered the most accurate colour to my eyes.
Tell us more about the printing and framing of the images for the exhibition. E.g. paper, size, etc
There are 52 images printed in pairs on Moab Entrada Rag Natural paper – 26 prints of pairs, each pair printed on the same piece of paper. The prints are sprayed and mounted on Dibond and then framed without glass or plastic.
I want them to think about why the images are in pairs, and finally, to realize that the frozen water in one frame may soon end up inundating the wetlands in our backyard.
There are three groups of sizes: Large (31.375 x 81.375”), Medium (19.775 x 51.075”), and Small (12.175 x either 26.775 or 31.275”), plus one extra large image (21.875 x 89.375”) and one single image (27.275 x 36.075). There are 7 small images, 15 medium images and 4 large images along with one single image in the exhibition.
In the introduction Susan Taylor, Montine McDaniel Freeman Director of NOMA says “Living in South Louisiana, we are all familiar with the reality of a rising sea level and the impact that it has begun to have on our lives. Lamentations is not NOMA’s first project to address how our relationship to water here in the Gulf region links us to a global concern, but it is the first to define through images our connection to faraway glacial regions." Through photography, are you hoping that the urgency of climate change will influence people's actions? What messages do you want people to take away from the exhibition and book?
I want the images to seduce the viewer: first, I want them to see the staggering beauty of what surrounds us, to fall in love with our Earth, to view her fragility and seeming timelessness. Second, I want them to think about why the images are in pairs, and finally, to realize that the frozen water in one frame may soon end up inundating the wetlands in our backyard.
Tell me about your favourite or most significant two or three diptychs from the book.
The first pair I used for my cover mock-ups, until the very end when we chose another image, which I love. The left is a tabular iceberg in the Weddell Sea, famous for these huge bergs. The image on the right was taken on the first day of my formal shooting of the wetlands.
Ice seemingly seeking its pair in the water field. The iceberg on the left is one of my favourites, perhaps due to its odd sense of movement. I have printed it in many ways: Platinum/palladium, salt, B&W and colour.
If one of our readers were thinking about embarking upon a large project similar to yours, what insights and learnings would you give them?
As cliché as it is to say, it is mandatory to follow your passion. The passion is what makes it work.
I don’t know when it started for me, but I lose myself in the shoot. I once had an editor that said to me that I was the only photographer he had worked with that didn’t drive him to take Prozac.
I am grateful for an outside eye to edit. I have always known this, and I could not have done the series all by myself. I am especially thankful to Russell Lord at the New Orleans Museum of Art.
What is next for you? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
For the last five years, I have been working on very large platinum/palladium prints with a master printer (due to the size). The plan is to have ten different images of icebergs.
For the last five years, I have been working on very large platinum/palladium prints with a master printer (due to the size). The plan is to have ten different images of icebergs.
The beautiful thing about icebergs as landscape subjects is that no matter how iconic they are, they change on a relatively constant basis. You can go to a museum or gallery or online and see an image of the “Yosemite Half Dome” and go photograph it for yourself. But you can’t do that with an image of glacial ice, it just won't be the same. I love that.
I am a “straight photographer”: what is there is there; what is not is not. Photographing the wetlands has its challenges — for instance, lack of an object like mountains in the far distance. Therefore, clouds and an interesting sky are mandatory. We have a lot of pure blue skies here in Louisiana that will rule out shooting on those days.
Generally shooting from equinox to equinox in the summer is not possible because of the sky, the heat, and the light. Being at 30 degrees north latitude, we are at the same latitude as the pyramids in Egypt. In the middle of the summer, there are no shadows; the sunlight comes straight down, and the shadows disappear – Fall and Winter are the only times to shoot. Then we go out at dawn and are generally back by 10 am.
I plan on continuing to make smaller images that will be palladium and gum prints. I want to change the tone of the prints subtly – the problem with printing icebergs with palladium is warm tonality; I am trying to shift that very slightly to cool.
I don’t feel I have been successful with printing the wetlands in platinum/palladium. Perhaps salt or another medium would be more appropriate.
I have always liked to tackle areas of photography that are a challenge to me. Some shots of birds were in the original pairs in Lamentations. They didn’t make the cut because they just weren’t as good as I wanted them to be, which prompts me to say that I might do some work with birds.
My friend and boat owner John Williams and I plan on continuing our exploration of Louisiana’s wetlands. Also, I am not finished photographing ice. Next summer I will be back in Greenland.
To avoid criticism say nothing, do nothing, be nothing. ~ Elbert Hubbard
We live in an era of easily won praise. Post a photo to any of the online forums and you are guaranteed that some people will like it – your partner and your mother at the very least. Bingo! Our brains get a little hit of dopamine and our reward pathways are stimulated. Yay, we feel good! Well, so what? It’s natural to assume that this means your photograph is ‘good’. After all, likes are equivalent to a score. Right? It’s an easy leap to further assume that posting images that score better than the first will mean that you’re on the ‘right path’. You can discount those that garner fewer likes – even if it was only because your mum’s computer died.
Sadly none of that is true. More likes doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a better photographer. The image above is the most liked photo on Instagram. What this proves to me is that the ability to build social networks is more important than the artistic worth of an image. More likes might also mean that you’re good at making images with widespread appeal. Popularity doesn’t automatically equate to artistic ability. It may do, but it’s much more likely that it doesn’t. Indeed many in the art world consider the opposite to be true. One of my college lecturers told me that if thirty percent of my images receive popular acclaim I would be doing really badly. A five percent approval rating would be a much better sign of success. He was making the point that we shouldn’t be striving to be liked but rather doing our utmost to be the best photographer we can be.
The question is, how? Measured against what? The answers may not be popular…
Some consider this the ‘snowflake’ generation. Most people in the self-styled First World have grown up in an age without real hardship. Wars are distant affairs, famines even more so (in the West we are many times more likely to die of obesity than starvation). Hard manual work is rare, exercise a choice. Anything we want is just a few key presses away. Political correctness guards against our fragile self-worth being dented. (Don’t get me wrong, some things should NEVER be said.) Consequently, we are thought to be less resilient, more prone to taking offence than previous generations and less able to take criticism.
Fear our work is not appreciated leads to us being risk averse. A lack of “Likes” is seen as an implied criticism, although often with little justification. Yet we can only truly be creative if we take chances with our work.
Fear is the mortal enemy of originality. Fear our work is not appreciated leads to us being risk averse. A lack of “Likes” is seen as an implied criticism, although often with little justification. Yet we can only truly be creative if we take chances with our work. These phrases may be clichés but creativity is “thinking outside the box”, “pushing the envelope”, and “risking all”! There are no easy options for innovation; no failsafe recipes exist for making interesting and moving art. Any recipe is implicitly unimaginative. At least some of the time we should all opt to explore regions unknown to us, employing techniques untested by us.
There’s another fear that’s equally damaging: the fear of explicit criticism. The fear of critical comments about what we have created is also normative. This fear is closely allied to the fear of not being liked but subtly different. They are like opposite sides of a coin with two tails; whichever way up it lands you lose.
Canary Wharf – a mini metropolis, a civic transformation, an urban district, a home… however, we describe this unique east London enclave it is undeniably a feat in construction. Having celebrated its 30th birthday only last year the transformation from derelict wasteland to skyscraper city is incredible.
Over the last 6 years, I have studied the ever changing architectural landscape of Canary Wharf. I have not however sought to visually re-represent the buildings that confront us on a daily basis. Instead, I have looked to Canary Wharf’s other identifiable feature, and its raison d’etre; the mass of water that surrounds it.
Abstracted:Architecture is a study of the buildings in and around Canary Wharf as they relate to the bodies of water that surround them. Initially starting as pure reflections, already abstract in themselves, I have sought to extend the abstraction to create something the eye can’t immediately recognise. Using in camera multiple exposures and blending modes, my resultant images are intended to be peaceful and meditative – a stark contrast to the chaos inherent to the buildings from which they are derived.
The images themselves are produced purely from within the camera. Their abstraction a result of the prevailing weather, patience, skill and an understanding of subject matter for a successful image. My intense levels of vigilance enable me to notice things that would normally get missed. The whole process is a form of meditation and reflection, I often photograph the same area of water for 3 or 4 hours and producing over 1000 multiple exposed images just to get one “perfect” image, without the use of photoshop. Post production is limited purely to contrast and levels adjustments with the intention of presenting the viewer with an honest representation of what the camera saw.
Abstracted:Architecture will coincide with Anise Gallery’s participation in Open House London 2019. I will be giving two free tours of the exhibition as part of Open House, the details and times are below.
Artist talks as part of Open House London
Saturday 21 September: Artist Tour 3pm
Exhibition Open 10am – 5pm
Sunday 22 September: Artist Tour 12pm
Exhibition Open 10am – 1pm
Anise Gallery is located on historic Shad Thames near London Bridge station just past the former Design Museum building and opposite Conran’s head office. It is situated near to Bermondsey Street, the home of the Fashion and Textiles Museum and White Cube and within 5 minute walk of the fantastic Maltby Street Market.
Nearest Transport
London Bridge (10 mins) for Underground and National Rail
Where we start in photography is rarely where we end up. Education and career choices don’t always favour or follow our interests; the important thing is to maintain these until life and time combine to allow us to pursue them more single-mindedly. For this issue we’re returning to Colorado which is home to Dan Baumbach, to find out more about his photographic lives and loves, and how he is finding life after work as a full-time artist.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your early interests and studies, and what that led you to do as a career? How did your father being an artist affect what you did, and didn’t, want to do?
I grew up in Brooklyn, NY, USA. My father was an artist and though he brought in some money from art sales and teaching, my mom was the main breadwinner of the family. I think that affected me a lot in that I initially went into commercial photography and then became a computer programmer and earned a good living for my working life.
Art was extremely important in our household. My parents would go to Manhattan most weekends to visit art galleries. For the summer we often vacationed with other artists in places like Woodstock and Provincetown. I was exposed to a lot of painting and painters, but I never saw myself as becoming a painter. Cameras and taking photographs always appealed to me, beginning when I was about 8 and my mom gave me her Kodak Brownie box camera. When my older brother took a photography course in high school, I too became more involved and started playing with candid photographs of people on the street.
I knew very little about the history and art of photography but I would use my 127 film SLR to shoot candids. One day when I was 15 I met this boy with two Nikon Fs on his shoulders doing the same. I was just playing, but Stephen was very serious. Steven turned out to be 16 years old Stephen Shore. He became a mentor and friend to me for a number of years, encouraging me to get better equipment, and opened up the world of street and art photography for me.
I loved the art of photography, but from my father and his friends, I wanted nothing to do with being an artist so when the opportunity to assist one of the top advertising photographers in NYC came up, I grabbed it.
This early love led initially to a career in commercial photography. What prompted you to move away from that, and then to again pick up a camera after a prolonged period away from photography?
I realised that success in my pursuits was not going to bring me happiness. Happiness or really contentment came from within and I was sorely lacking in that kind of happiness..
For a few years, I made a good living freelancing as an assistant to different commercial photographers. It was a lot of fun and it also gave me time to work on a portfolio. I was attracted to fashion photography because it seemed the most creative area of commercial photography. Even though I thought I was going to be a businessman, I was still more interested in doing art. I just didn’t want to be a suffering, broke, artist.
Today, a chilly autumn afternoon, I am taking one of my favourite walks. I’d like to say it is a regular walk but I take it perhaps only two or three times a year. Despite this, the focus of the walk is often in my thoughts and always in view as I draw closer to the village in which I have made my home in rural Aberdeenshire in the North East of Scotland. That focus is Barra Hill, an iron-age hill-fort that defines the landscape surrounding the village where I live, rising up a few hundred feet above the old cottages, narrow backstreets and new estates that make up the community’s housing. Even the name of the village – Oldmeldrum - is drawn from the prominent flattened dome of the hill.
The presence of the fort and the association with Robert the Bruce – first king of an Independent Medieval Scotland – lead some place-name interpretations for Oldmeldrum to mean old royal hill.
Meldrum is likely a derivative of an old Gaelic conflation of meall-droma, or the Celtic Mealldruim, both of which mean hill of the ridge. The original settlement was located on the hill from around 500 BC up to 400 AD. The presence of the fort and the association with Robert the Bruce – first king of an Independent Medieval Scotland – lead some place-name interpretations for Oldmeldrum to mean old royal hill. And regal it is, rising in a dignified sort of way above the village and clearly flattened and ridged at its crown: remnants of the ditch and earthen wall fortifications encircling the crest of the hill.
Once I leave the modern private housing estate in which I live, with the signature cul-de-sacs, driveways, neat frontages and expensive cars of suburbia, the view begins to open out and the full expanse of the hill lies before me. From here the flattened top is very obvious, and the old network of ringed ditches and walls surrounding it. On its western flank, a ring of trees sprout from a tumulus marking the burial ground of the long decomposed, prehistoric dead.
Before crossing the busy road leading to the centre of the village where I can pick up a farm track heading toward the hill, I pass a large boulder perched on a grass verge at the roundabout linking the B9170 from Inverurie and the road giving access to a small industrial estate. This is ‘Bruce’s Seat’: reputedly the very boulder Robert the Bruce sat upon to survey the progress of the Battle of Barra, and moved from its original position on the hill.
The Battle of Barra, also known as the Battle of Inverurie due to its closeness to the larger market town a few miles to the southwest, was fought on 23rd May 1308. Traditionally associated with the wider Wars of Scottish Independence, it was more accurately part of a bitter civil war fought for the Scottish Crown. It was a victory for Robert the Bruce over his enemy, the third Earl of Buchan, John Comyn, but amounted to an ignoble burning of the homes and farms of the district by Bruce’s men in the infamous Harrying of Buchan. And here lies his seat, from which he may have watched the proceedings of the battle that led to this slaughter, and to which we now attach the stories of bloody history. Here, it says. In this place, remember.
Leaving Bruce’s seat behind, I head for the farm-track which gently climbs away from the road and up toward the woods at the base of the hill. The air is cold, and my breath billows out ahead of me before being swept back and away across the fields, dispersing quickly to invisibility. Before too long I reach the end of the farm track and join a minor road heading roughly southeast to connect with another single track road leading to Bourtie, circling the woodland at the base of the hill. Another tree-ringed tumulus sits aside from the woods, and just visible, crowning the rise of a distant hill beyond a farm, are the heads of low stones arranged in a deliberate fashion.
This is Sheldon stone circle. Only six stones in the circle itself remain upright, but its total diameter of over thirty metres and its prominence on the hill suggests the location was an important place from the late Neolithic to the early Bronze Age. Originally it is thought that up to fourteen stones may have been in situ, and speculation exists about the possibility of there once being a Recumbent stone as seen in other circles close by.
The design is thought to be associated with beliefs and rituals centred on the moon since their alignments coincide with the arc of the southern moon. There are over two hundred such stones currently known in these two enigmatically linked regions, and the absence of one at Sheldon makes it relatively unique in the area.
Recumbent stones, that is, large monoliths placed lying on their sides within a ring of upright stones, are found only in Aberdeenshire and in Cork and Kerry in southwest Ireland. Why this unique feature should exist only in these two seemingly unconnected regions is still a mystery: whether there was a sharing of ideas between the peoples of these two areas in the Neolithic, or the parallel usage of Recumbent stones only a coincidence. The design is thought to be associated with beliefs and rituals centred on the moon since their alignments coincide with the arc of the southern moon. There are over two hundred such stones currently known in these two enigmatically linked regions, and the absence of one at Sheldon makes it relatively unique in the area. Two of the outlying Sheldon stones are known to align tantalizingly with the sunrise on the Celtic festivals of Beltane and Imbolc.
Beltane is the anglicised name for the Gaelic May Day festival, known in Irish Gaelic as Lá Bealtaine and in Scottish Gaelic as Là Bealltainn, occurring about mid way between the spring equinox and summer solstice. The May Day festival features in some of the earliest medieval Irish Literature and Mythology and marked the beginning of the pastoral season when livestock would be driven out to summer pastures. A great bonfire would be lit, the smoke and ash of which was thought to have special protective powers. The fires in the hearths of all the homes would be doused and relit with flame from the Beltane fire, and it is tempting to imagine the early people of Sheldon following similar rituals at the turn of the season, marked by the rising sun over one of these two outlying stones beyond the circle.
Imbolc marks the beginning of spring, midway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox at the beginning of February. It was a festival widely observed throughout Scotland, Ireland and the Isle of Man. Like Beltane, Imbolc is mentioned in the earliest Irish Literature and has ancient roots in the pagan worship of the fertility goddess Brigid, later Christianised by being morphed into the celebration of Saint Brigid. At Imbolc, it was said that Brigid would visit each home. Folk would make up a bed for her, leaving out food and drink. A Brídeóg, a figurine representing Brigid, would be paraded from house to house to protect homes and livestock. Feasts were laid on and holy wells visited, themselves originating in the pagan worship of natural springs.
The road now steeply climbs in a southwesterly direction, skirting managed forestry land to the west and hilly open fields to the east. On reaching Bourtie, rather than turning off to head for the hill itself I continue on to the little kirk set back from the road. Bourtie is a tiny hamlet tucked away amongst trees and the folds of the fields. The humble kirk there claims over eight hundred years of Christian worship but the current building dates from 1806. Many of the stones extant in the small graveyard surrounding the church trace local families from the present day back to the 17th century. However, I have come to try to get a glimpse of a stone with older markings still. Built into the coursework of the church itself is a faded Pictish symbol stone, set high in the right hand corner of the south wall.
These enigmatic stones, incised and carved with symbols and other, more complex designs, are all that visibly remains of Pictish culture. The stones are found generally north of the Firth-Clyde line, east of the country to the Moray coast and into modern day Inverness-shire and Caithness. They reveal a transitional period in history between a now lost pagan culture and early Christianity, with earlier designs of unknown meaning becoming incorporated with Christian symbology in later examples.
I find the stone in the wall, but can barely make out the incised markings, which apparently consist of a crescent and ‘V-rod’ shape, along with a double disc symbol and the so-called commonly found ‘Z-rod’. There are also the remains of a comb and mirror outline. What these symbols mean is anyone’s guess, though studies carried out on common symbols by mathematicians at the University of East Anglia may suggest a form of writing which yet remains undecipherable. After squinting unsuccessfully up at the stone for some minutes, I leave the churchyard and Bourtie’s kirk to head for the hill.
The hill is steeped in mythology and lore, said to be the intersection of the country’s ley lines, and once held a colony of crofters on its lower flanks until the late 1800s. Tap o’ Noth, or ‘Hill of the North’, is another hill-fort with evidence of occupation from around 2000 BC to around 800 BC.
The summit is visible ahead, its dome rounding away from me toward the peaks of Bennachie and Tap o’ Noth to the west and northwest. Bennachie is the most famous hill of the area, and its most prominent peak amongst the three that make up distinct summits along the high ridge of the hill, Mither Tap, is the site of a once powerful Pictish hill-fort. The hill is steeped in mythology and lore, said to be the intersection of the country’s ley lines, and once held a colony of crofters on its lower flanks until the late 1800s. Tap o’ Noth, or ‘Hill of the North’, is another hill-fort with evidence of occupation from around 2000 BC to around 800 BC. It is a scheduled ancient monument, and with an elevation of 563 m is the second highest hill-fort in Scotland: the highest being found in total ruin at the summit of Ben Griam Beg in Sutherland. The stone foundations of more than one hundred houses have been found within its expansive vitrified walls, occurring through the after-effects of intense heat. This is a phenomenon found at many hill-fort sites; once believed to be the result of burning of the timber and stone wall structure in an attack, it is now thought that it was a technique used to strengthen the ramparts, fusing the rocks together in deliberate heating.
Bennachie
After passing through a short section of young woodland along the Meldrum-Bourtie community footpath, I climb the last rise across the open flank of the hill towards the summit. As I approach, the eastern entrance to the hill-fort through the earthen banks and ditches becomes visible, clearly defined in the ridges around the hill. I have an uncanny feeling of trespass as I move from the open hillside into what was once the fort, as though the ghosts of Pictish warriors still guard the ramparts, and there’s an eeriness to the emptiness of this old enclosure.
The slope of the hill falls away steeply on its western side down to the old battle site of Bruce and Comyn, now farmers’ fields, furrowed and ploughed. Oldmeldrum is also laid out at my feet: its old village centre, the new houses at its outskirts, and the small industrial estate slowly growing at its southern borders. Silent cars make their way around the new by-pass and I watch a passenger-jet traverse the sky in a wide circuit for the airport at Dyce as if in slow motion.
I think about the people that lived out their lives on the slopes of Bennachie, the Neolithic farmers at Sheldon and Bourtie gazing at the heavens, marking the seasons and their dead, the Picts, the medieval soldiers and householders who lost their lives here: the almost unimaginable thread of life stretching back, through and beyond this landscape. Then I stand, grab my rucksack and camera, and head down the hill back toward modernity and home.
I don’t know if it was before or after my trip to London that I decided to write an article on ticks and Lyme disease but since I did start writing, my level of Lyme disease paranoia has been a bit scary. As a photographer, I’m out and about in the landscape quite a lot and in the Highlands area where we live, we’ve had specific warnings about the prevalence of the disease. I’ve taken some precautions, I’ve treated my socks and trousers with Permethrin and rarely wear shorts (and have horrendous pale blue legs as a result) and thankfully have not had any ticks in the past couple of years. However, after hearing about a handful of locals being treated for Lyme disease and recently discovering that it’s the smallest, almost invisible nymph stage of ticks (about the size of poppy seeds) that are the most likely to give you Lyme disease, I thought it worth investigating further.
I mentioned London earlier and it was on this trip to help with the Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition that I think I started my worry about Lyme disease. The day after arriving I suffered from a horrible case of sinusitis which included raised lymph glands and a stiff neck. During the journey back I picked up my ‘to do’ article list for On Landscape and picked out the ticks/Lyme article to develop (was this subliminal? maybe). As I worked my way through this I started to discover some quite scary things about ticks and the disease.
Lyme Disease and Ticks
Despite the rumours that Lyme disease was introduced by the US government, it is thought that it actually has a very long history, along with many other tick distributed infections. In fact, it is probably safe to say that ticks have been one of the primary distributors of illness in history (after mosquitos). We discovered the association between ticks and these infections early in the 20th Century but we only really learned some of the idiosyncrasies of how these infections work more recently. The type of bacteria that causes Lyme disease is called a spirochaete, a spiral shaped bacteria that is also behind Syphilis and other relapsing fevers i.e. illnesses that recur many times. It is also, possibly, the bacteria that cause Alzheimer's! Spirochaete have an extraordinary ability to hide within the human body (due to lack of proteins on their surface inhibiting immune response for instance), and they can also mutate away from immune reaction and return in force. It is also difficult to culture them outside of the body (two reasons why diagnosis is difficult - tests may take place between bouts or may not return enough material to diagnose).
One of the scariest aspects of Lyme disease is its resistance to antibiotics. Even if you catch the signs early and your doctor is aware enough to provide a rigorous course of antibiotics, there is still a chance (about 10%) of seeing symptoms for many years after (see Post Treatment Lyme Disease Syndrome). The reason why isn’t totally understood but it could be the ability for the bacteria to get past boundaries within the body that are supposedly resistant to infection (the meninges for instance) which can give neurological symptoms even after strong antibiotics or it might be leftovers of the bacteria or neurological damage. And the symptoms can be awful, in some cases deadly. Memory loss, palsy, muscle failure, dementia, heart disease, coma, paralysis - you name it, Lyme disease seems to be able to cause it.
That such a virulent disease has no vaccine is quite odd. In fact, Lyme disease did have a vaccine but the ‘anti-vaxxers’ were so vehement and combined with the modern litigious nature of society, it soon became uneconomical. The only vaccine available now is for your pets - which is quite insane!
Symptoms
So, after my sinusitis and the start of my article, I started to feel odd aches and pains, especially an odd ache in my shins. As I was researching Lyme disease anyway, I looked up both sinusitis and shin pain and lo and behold, they are both symptoms! “OK”, I’m thinking, “Get your head together, you’re being paranoid. If you had Lyme disease you would get the target mark (see photos below).”. However, it turns out only about 60% of people get the classic bullseye mark. Oh dear - now I’m worried. Then I find an odd mark on my ankle with a bite in the middle which has a sort of ring shape. Fortunately, the aching and the marks could easily be explained by the large amount of climbing I had done in the previous week and I had also been shifting of logs from a forest nearby so is probably one of a bunch of bruises I got. The ring-shaped mark on my ankle could just be one of those bruises and the bite is almost certainly a midge bite (just like the other two nearby). As I’ve mentioned, the non-specific nature of Lyme disease just makes you paranoid. I wondered if I was just a victim of confirmation bias and so picked a random set of symptoms that I’ve had over my life and checked whether they were also symptoms of Lyme disease - and yes they were. It turns out that Lyme can cause a vast number of symptoms.
Here are the range of possible Lyme disease rash patterns. Not all instances of the disease have the bullseye rash!
The progression of the bullseye rash takes multiple weeks. A growing rash is the main thing to look out for if it's not a bullseye
Geography of Lyme disease
Lyme disease may have got its name from a town in Connecticut in the US but it’s a worldwide problem from the UK to Australia. It’s odd that it does have a geographic distribution within these countries (i.e. some places ticks carry it, some don’t) which is probably to do with the environment for the disease pool, small mammals, and the weather conditions for ticks (not too dry). Shown below are distribution maps of the US, Europe and details of the UK drawn from various sources. Within these country boundaries, the hotspots are probably grassy areas with leaf litter i.e. woodland and brackeny paths.
Preventing Lyme Disease
I now realise that because Lyme disease is so hard to spot, diagnose and treat and it’s subsequent debilitating symptoms, it’s absolutely essential to spend the time trying to prevent getting bitten in the first place. And don’t think that because you don’t walk in the wilderness that you’re not at risk. It seems the most dangerous activity is walking your dog in semi-urban areas! Many guidelines say to avoid grassy areas and stay on paths - like that’s going to work for us landscape photographers!
So what can we do to help prevent getting bit. The good news is that the transfer of enough bacteria to cause a problem takes an average of about 24-36 hours and so you have enough time to check for them and remove them. Symptoms don’t normally appear for a couple of weeks either so if you do get bitten, make a note of when you did so you can check later.
Understanding how Lyme disease hosting ticks find you might help also. Unlike many insects, they don’t chase people, jump or swarm, etc. In fact for most of their few years alive they just hide in the leaf litter. When they want to eat, once a year perhaps, they climb up the nearest plant, probably a blade of grass or a branch of a shrub, and wait for something to pass. They detect the heat, lactic acid and/or carbon dioxide and then wave their arms in the air in a process called “questing”. At the end of the arms they have articulated hooks. If you get within range, they ‘velcro’ themselves onto your clothes or hair. Once attached, they spend a few hours climbing, trying to find a nice warm crevice, quite often just a place where tight clothes meet skin, underwear line is common or a crease in the skin behind a knee or armpit. Once there, they then start of “dig in”. If you’re sitting in one place however, you may also encounter some nymph ticks as they wander in the undergrowth. Here’s a good video about how ticks ‘work’.
Avoiding Getting Bitten
You can take some reasonable steps to prevent them latching on in the first place. The most effective repellant strategy is to treat your clothes, especially your socks and trousers, with Permethrin and also to spray your ankles with DEET (or Picaridin e.g. Smidge but it doesn’t work as well as DEET against ticks). On top of this, be wary of picking up ticks from your rucksack or coat as you sit down to take a break. A buff treated with permethrin goes some way to preventing ticks reaching your hairline (where it’s hard to check for them).
This isn’t meant to be a comprehensive guide on what to do, I’ve decided to post this article just to raise some additional awareness of a few facts I’ve discovered that weren’t obvious from the literature out there.
You don’t have to be an adventurer to get ticks, more people encounter them in semi-urban areas and parks than in the mountains
You’ve got 24 hours to find those ticks after any activity so check (and try to get a partner to check perhaps - even if only occasionally for bullseye marks).
You’re more likely to have a problem with nymph stage ticks and they’re very easy to overlook. Wearing light clothing helps you spot them.
Permethrin on clothing is incredibly effective in killing ticks or making them drop off or quickly die if not. You can buy pre-treated clothing from Craghoppers - Nosilife brand socks, pants and trousers make sense, Buff also make treated Buffs. Alternatively, you can spray on Sawyer’s Permethrin to make any clothing insect repellent (be aware it can kill cats until it is completely dried out though).
Finally, don’t get paranoid like me, just be wary of odd, unrelated symptoms and keep an eye on odd skin marks (marking their boundary with a pen is useful. If they grow then see a doctor).
I’m 99% certain my own symptoms are unrelated but the power of the mind to make you worry is incredible. The vast majority of the time you’ll be worrying unnecessarily but it’s worth being aware of these things just in case.
I chose to write about this photograph quite simply because it is in my eyes completely beautiful. Sometimes as photographers we are so busy creating ‘the image’ that we forget to really appreciate the beauty of what we see as we take the image, surrounded by nature at its best, whatever the weather. Hengki Koentjoro is evidently very in-tune with his surroundings in Indonesia and the charm and atmosphere that surrounds him. As he writes about his gallery Altitude: ‘It’s one of the utmost forms of joy in life: the delight of waking up in the youngest hour of the morning, racing with the break of dawn to ascend the height of the earth.’
What I love about this particular image, Altitude 2, is the delicacy of the leaves, which contrasts against the solidity of the tree trunks as they rise up through the image while the light spreads mist-like down through the trees. This type of composition is seen often but rarely captured with such skill where the features work together to create an image which is greater than the sum of each part. It creates a sensation of warmth and air and has a gentle ephemeral feel. From a more technical point of view, I like the way this two-dimensional image creates three-dimensional space, moving the eye up and through the trees into the dawn light above. In this image, Hengki creates both movement and texture. The image draws you in and holds your attention so you look through and around the frame again and again. It’s the sort of image I would never tire of looking at in my own home or elsewhere.
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!
I visited Dail Beag bay on the West coast of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides on a dull grey day. Rather than the broader view, I found myself looking at the near landscape and more specifically an area a few meters square. Breaking waves and the subsequent receding water meant the golden sand and contrasting black rock grains were constantly rearranging into an infinite variety of patterns.
Taking around two dozen shots, I'd stood in more or less the same spot for only five minutes. Despite the restriction on time and location, the scene was incredibly dynamic, endlessly shifting with the rhythm of the sea. Not my usual type of images, but always aware of the need to match my photography to the conditions I was happy with them as a set.
While I still enjoy taking shots of grand vistas in dramatic lighting conditions my recent work has tended towards more intimate details of the landscape. I find this approach more personal and that it provides for better individual expression. These shots are taken in a number of locations including Glen Affric, Forest of Dean and Yorkshire arboretum but hopefully have a common feel about them. It is the relationship between the images that is more important to me than the particular location. I often use multiple exposures and ICM in my photography and unsurprisingly have been influenced by the work of Valda Bailey, Doug Chinnery, Sandra Bartocha and Nel Talen.
When I came to Alaska in 1981, a trip to Portage Lake to see glacial ice up close was a treat that everyone took for granted. The Portage Glacier was rapidly receding. It had retreated from its submerged moraine in Portage Lake and with nothing to support it, the portion of the glacier in the lake was breaking up. I began a project to photograph the Portage valley in the mid-1990’s with the intent of demonstrating that the valley was of visual interest even without the glacier itself.
Even after the glacier itself was no longer visible, I think that everyone assumed that icebergs would be discharged into the lake forever. Climate change was not part of our vocabulary then. Most people, myself included, didn’t realise that the glacier would continue to retreat until its terminus was sufficiently far from the shoreline that it would no longer calve into the lake except in rare circumstances. So it’s unlikely that anyone will make photographs similar to these for hundreds if not thousands of years.
The value of these images for me goes beyond their documentary value. I’ve always been moved by what I’ve seen in the valley, and I hope that you are, too.
From the time of the Vikings onwards, the settlements of man have been dwarfed by the magnificent mountains of Greenland.
Hvalsey is the site of Greenland's largest, best-preserved Viking ruins. Erik the Red, a Viking explorer, sailed to "a somewhat mysterious and little-known land" in 982. When Erik returned to Iceland, he brought with him stories of "Greenland". Erik deliberately gave the land a more appealing name than "Iceland" in order to lure potential settlers. The farmstead of Hvalsey on the south west coast was established by Erik the Red’s uncle in the late 10th century. The church, dating from about 1300, can just be seen as a tiny ruin the bottom right hand corner of the image, which shows the magnificent scale of the mountain behind it.
Aappilattoq is the only settlement in Prins Christian Sund, a waterway that separates the mainland from an archipelago at the southernmost tip of Greenland. The settlement was founded in 1922. Today there are about 150 inhabitants and their average age is just over 30. They make their living from hunting and fishing. The colourful settlement has a local authority service house, general store, general repairs workshop, fire station, school, church and heliport. The peaks that dwarf the village that clings to the water's edge are almost 2000m high but are unglaciated.
Over the last 30 years, many of the isolated smaller settlements without modern amenities have been abandoned and people have migrated to larger towns. This unnamed Inuit hunters’ colony in Kangerdlugssuak Fjord in East Greenland was abandoned in July 1987 (according to the graffiti). The people probably moved south to Tasiilaq, which is the largest settlement on the east coast with 2000 people and growing fast. The surrounding mountains were formed by magma from the earth's interior, forced into the earth's crust.
Nuuk is the largest city of Greenland. At 18,000 inhabitants, it accounts for one third of the population, and it is also growing fast. It is the most northerly capital in the world, just south of the Arctic circle on the west coast. The area was occupied by pre-Inuit people by about 2000BC. The Vikings settled there between 1000 and 1400. More recently it was inhabited by the Inuit. The modern town was founded by the Danish in 1728. The summit of Sermitsiaq, a 1210m tall mountain, is visible from most places in Nuuk.
If there is something I love about landscape and naturalistic photography, especially the most intimate, it is the possibility of being able to describe my mood in the images; the result of which is a photograph that fully describes my current or long term mood. I spent the last few years trying to study the best conditions in the field that could best describe my feelings and moods, such as fear, joy, happiness, sadness, etc., personal feelings and general sensations, which reflect private life, values and social relationships.
And here is how an expanse of sunflowers at sunset, which with its bright colours could mean happiness, can take on different colours, tones and meanings. Using the backlight, and with certain focal points that isolate the subjects, one can describe the solitude of some sunflowers full of life in contrast with other sunflowers that have completed their life cycle. The contrast that many of us live with constantly - a sense of surviving in a world surrounded by the collective malaise (perhaps thanks to political and social conditions, the human being towards self-annihilation). The photograph will be distressing, almost catastrophic, but at the same time, thanks to the subtle light that caresses the flowers, it will be wrapped in a veil of hope.
Technology has a way of getting in the way of our appreciation for our surroundings. It can be a constant distraction, practically requiring a short attention span in order to keep up with the rapid flow of information and imagery. More often than I’d like to admit, my wife reminds me to put my phone away when I should be paying attention to the beauty – or the company – around me. This is why going to remote places, where the option to connect is not there, is a healthy practice to help us refocus our attention. While some people can put away their devices and be really present, even given the constant option to connect, the majority of us can use some help in achieving this! Seeking out even bouts of life with no signal can help us to slow down, focus on the experience, and connect better to a place. This, of course, is likely to result in more meaningful images.
I strive to practice a slow approach to photography, enough to have recently launched a collaborative effort with other photographers centred around this idea Slow Photography Movement. Hence, I like to find places that force me to disconnect. One such destination is the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness of northern Minnesota. In the BWCAW, you can lose yourself in the wilderness for days at a time, and cell signals don’t work, forcing those of us with mild (or less mild) addictions to our devices to turn them off… or better yet, to leave them behind!
Recently I spent four nights in the BWCAW, a significant accomplishment for someone who used to state, almost belligerently, that he didn’t like to “rough it.”
The Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness encompasses over a million acres within the Superior National Forest and includes over 1,000 lakes, 1,500 miles of canoe routes, and over 2,000 campsites.
When I first learned of my wife’s family’s camping tradition, I made sure to drive that point across! I didn’t want to create expectations that this air-conditioning-loving urbanite was going to turn into a carefree backwoods’ adventurer. It didn’t sound very appealing: you work really hard paddling and portaging all your things around, and stay at first-come-basis campsites which provide minimal facilities, while being devoured by mosquitoes. Yet now here I am, doing it. So, what changed? I became a photographer! Suddenly I developed a newfound willingness to step outside of my comfort zone if it meant waking up to the sunrise in a pristine, beautiful landscape. Not only have I survived our yearly BWCAW visits, but I’ve quickly discovered a deep fondness for the serenity of this place, which makes it feel much more remote than it is.
The BWCAW encompasses over a million acres within the Superior National Forest and includes over 1,000 lakes, 1,500 miles of canoe routes, and over 2,000 campsites. Permit at hand, you paddle in and get lost in the wilderness, alternating between canoeing through pristine waters and portaging all your gear between lakes. You have to carefully weigh the benefits of every item you are bringing in order to minimize the load you’ll bear on portages. Even so, since photography is the reason why I became amenable to this type of adventure, one camera body and a couple of lenses - plus my tripod (obviously!) - are essential parts of my expedition outfit.
The beauty of the BWCAW is in the experience as much as the landscape; everyday life quickly feels like a distant memory when you are surrounded by such peace and stillness. It makes you look around and recognize your surroundings, it forces you to be present, and it naturally encourages a slowing down of your attention to fully grasp its beauty.
Capturing this beauty, it turns out, can be challenging; the BWCAW is not about dramatic landscape elements and easily Instagramable locations. Its beauty is often in the details and in the subtle variations of natural elements that might seem very homogenous, even repetitive, at first sight, while paddling from lake to lake. My initial attempts often resulted in relatively boring captures, images which I felt failed to convey the serenity and the experience of this not-so-distant wilderness. Sometimes you need to get to know a place better, to identify what it is that makes it special to you, in order to better represent it. Then, you can say something about it through your photography.
Its beauty is often in the details and in the subtle variations of natural elements that might seem very homogenous, even repetitive, at first sight, while paddling from lake to lake.
For me, the BWCAW is about being enveloped in nature, and being observant of every variation and detail in the subtly changing landscape around you. As I’ve paddled along lakes with picturesque little islands scattered about, I’ve attempted to identify what I’m seeing and to understand what I want to capture.
Would the BWCAW be the same if cell phones worked? It would be challenging to enjoy it the same way. The lack of access to social media makes it easier to connect and foster real experience
The subtle layering of elements and the contrast in textures have jumped out at me: pebble beaches alternating with large smooth rock formations, deep evergreens juxtaposed with the delicate white lines of birch, and jagged cliff edges set against gentle forested hills. The often-crystal clear water adds another layer, as underwater boulders and driftwood play peek-a-boo through the surface, and the glimpses of submerged rocks and logs are juxtaposed with the reflection of pine tree shorelines above. Over the course of my trips to the Boundary Waters, I’ve come to realise that for me it’s about subtle discoveries, about observing patiently and seeing more - noticing more - the longer and closer you look. After a few visits, I feel that my images are finally capturing the layering of these elements and the almost meditative feeling that they provoke.
Would the BWCAW be the same if cell phones worked? It would be challenging to enjoy it the same way. The lack of access to social media makes it easier to connect and foster real experiences. Still, I do bring other technology with me: my photographic gear. While I often put it away when the sun is high, I focus intensely on the photographic pursuit at times, especially at dawn and dusk. This intensity makes me wonder, am I really enjoying this moment and place? Can I truly say that I left technology behind, or am I too focused on camera settings?
Most of the time I am indeed enjoying the moment, possibly even more than if I wasn’t photographing. If it weren’t for photography, I probably wouldn’t be in the BWCAW at all! And even if I were, I wouldn’t have crawled out of my tent at 5 am to see the sunrise. Photography sends me to places I otherwise wouldn’t be, at times I once would have found surprising. So maybe, it is possible that some technology, when used carefully, can make us feel more connected to the natural world; the Boundary Waters is the perfect setting to practice reaching that delicate balance. When done shooting, the option of immediately sharing an image and engaging on social media is not there. This makes it all that much easier to put the camera away and enjoy the company of your fellow campers, sitting around the bonfire beneath a beautiful night sky. After all, the only thing better than capturing the beauty of the Boundary Waters is to experience it firsthand, quietly and without distraction.
I find the keynote to whatever I have done has been unpreparedness. In reality, the only thing in which I have been actually thorough has been in being thoroughly unprepared. ~Alfred Stieglitz
When starting a photography workshop, my co-instructors and I ask participants to introduce themselves and to share with the group what they hope to gain from the workshop. Interestingly, some themes seem to recur more than others. Among these themes is an expressed desire to “learn to be more creative.” This is always music to my ears. I can’t think of many worthier goals for a photographer who has already gained a degree of technical proficiency and experience than to wish to produce more novel, original, and personally-expressive work. More important, that people recognise the value of pursuing such work, is validating. Whether they know it for a fact, or by intuition, being more creative can influence their lives in ways far and beyond just improving their photography. Upon further prodding, some express concern about not being creative (interestingly, often blaming such deficit on monotony in their chosen vocations, which is not entirely unfounded). If you are among those who fear you may not be creative, rest assured that you are. Creativity is a trait of the human brain—it’s not a gift that only some are fortunate to be born with; it’s a built-in feature. However, it is true that not everyone is equally creative, not because of any cognitive deficit but because of lack of practice. Creativity, like most skills, is a trait that can be nurtured and improved with deliberate and repeated engagement.
Creativity, like most skills, is a trait that can be nurtured and improved with deliberate and repeated engagement.
I will propose here some suggestions for improving creativity, but at the outset, I think it’s important to acknowledge two other built-in traits of the human brain that may get in the way of creativity, and that we often are reluctant to admit having. Resisting and transcending these traits consciously is as important to creative success as training yourself in any other skill that may improve your creativity. These traits, that we all possess, are these: laziness, and the desire to conform. Both traits likely resulted from the evolution of the human brain. Minimising brain activity was a priority when humans had little free time, and sometimes insufficient nutrition, to engage in complex thoughts and flights of imagination (by weight, the brain consumes more energy than any other part of the body). The tendency to conform improves social cohesion, which, in turn, improves a group’s odds of survival by encouraging teamwork, minimising internal conflicts, etc. Today, most of us have no existential reason to be too concerned about taking time to think creatively about our photographs, nor do we have to be too concerned about any existential consequences that may result from breaking with common sensibilities and expectations in our artistic pursuits.
Following on from our previous wander around Cornwall (via a relaxing chair in the Highlands), Joe is talking through some of the images taken on a workshop with David Ward. We cover a few topics including bits of Capture One and Lightroom, the use of Polarisers, black and white conversions and a few other bits and pieces.
We spend a lot of time plotting our escape from cities and towns, without necessarily recognising the role that they play in shaping us. It’s easier to say what we don’t like about them, rather than what we do, and to overlook what they can offer. Seeing the images that Verity Milligan shares online, her love of the rural and the remote is clear, but look a little deeper and it’s also apparent that the city that she calls home – Birmingham, UK - is very important to her too. Cars can give us freedom, but also often mean that we ignore what is on our doorstep; an inability to drive (at the time) led Verity to seek out Birmingham’s open spaces and green corridors and fostered an affection for the city as a whole that remains today. Add to that the mutual support offered by the city’s creative community and it’s easy to see how Birmingham and its people have helped to foster her career as a photographer.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do as a career?
Hi. Well, I grew up in Corby in Northamptonshire under the shadow of the steelworks and their inevitable demise. It was a very industrial setting, a new town made of concrete and the sweat of Scottish immigrants of whom I’m a proud descendant. The town itself wasn’t much to write home about, but it backed onto rural Northamptonshire and I was given free rein as a child to explore. In that respect, although it was very humble, I had an idyllic childhood. My father, who was a steelworker, had a keen interest in nature and we would go birdwatching regularly. He also taught me how to watercolour, and I spent much of my youth drawing and painting the birds and landscapes I’d witnessed. Unfortunately, being quite a literal artist, I lost a lot of confidence during A-level art which encouraged me to be more abstract in my approach. I floundered amongst painters who were far more dynamic and ended up with the only ‘D’ I’ve ever got in my entire life. The experience broke my heart and all my dreams of becoming an illustrator or painter fell away. However, I was the first in my family to attend University and I’m still grateful to this day to my parents for breaking the wheel and facilitating my education despite having very little. I took a very academic route with a plan to become a lecturer (which I did), but I was always undertaking some creative endeavour, whether that was writing or drawing.
Forests are the breathing lungs of cities, therefore landscapes should be thought of as models for biodiversity.
As an architect, it is important for me to know how things around me are perceived. However, as a photographer, I try that my photographs portray a further aim. I believe that it is important to show people outside my profession what it is that they are really engaged in, and how unthoughtful ideas and decisions can have their effect on the environment when the balance between man and nature disappears.
Are there any borders in the first place? Where does excavation end?
Today, the tool is no more architecture, but rather a “consciousness architecture” where a more sensitive mindset is introduced. It is said that one way to understand a man-made environment is by examining the level of sensitivity put into that environment. It is also said that the measure of a place’s greatness is found in the quality of its planning. Unfortunately, by doing that, and despite all the advocating against climate change, global warming, deforestation, the reduction of carbon emissions and plastic consumption in addition to several other pressing environmental issues, unconscious planning still exists.
The complex notion of man-made settings in relation to their existing natural landscape has thus been misconceived. In a highly urbanised world that we live in, geography has become the modern element for the creation of conflict. When political and economic factors are involved, this often results in a framework with an undesirable outcome. The construction of this dam located in Mseilha, North Lebanon, is one example.
Aerial views show the irreversible damage that Mseilha's artificial dam has caused to the Lebanese natural heritage. There seem to be no limits for the excavation borders that are continuously expanding and eating up the surrounding existing landscape. The scale of the stone wall built to support the dam is, by itself, massively huge.
So my photos aim to raise awareness. They are boldly a reaction, a response to the profit-based distribution of supremacy in the governmental realm. Close-up photos stand alone to expose the radical disparities between natural and man-made borders, where the landscape’s parcelisation is slowly being transformed into one huge man-made grain clearly gaining prominence.
A “Terrain Vague” as Ignacio de Sola Morales would describe it, a discontinuity or an “urban negative”, call it what you want. Landscape territories must be reclaimed… from shapeless voids to fertile terrains, borders that portray “lines of resistance” against forceful landscape planning implementations.
The Lebanese heritage is at risk, not only in Mseilha’s dam, but in many other sites as well. We need new protocols, not only in legislation but also in developing “conscious” man-made environments, protocols that take into consideration the management of those kinds of landscape processes.
So, the question remains: what next? Little is left to say. We need to recover the place that has remained. There is no Planet B, fellow people, at least not yet.
Place: Mseilha, Lebanon Project Type: Construction (Ongoing) Camera: DSLR Canon EOS 200D EF-S 18-55 mm lens
