It gains momentum from some unseeable distance, beginning beyond comprehension. Hidden forces make it swell and pulse and breath forward, backward, and side to side - it is ceaselessly in motion. As though from an invisible channel deep within, it begins to have a sense of form and direction that is outside of the realm of choice, ambition, or direction. The form, which at first is obscured and buried beneath itself, starts to make itself known, to be distinct and recognizable, to impinge itself upon from where it came; it is unignorable. Suddenly - with all of the forces that inspired it, all of the distance it has traveled, all of the power that it can generate - it leaps forward with a restless desire and reaches towards the emptiness in hopes of an unknowable end.

At the apex of its power it is imposing, beautiful, unstoppable, dangerous, and necessary - and there is nothing left for it to do but to see itself out in a brilliant cacophonic crash of sparks that diffuse into the depths, once again part of the great unseeable force that, without a sense of agency, begins the process anew in an endless cycle. Despite this, evidence of its existence and influence remain on the edge of the vast expanse, shaping and reshaping that which holds it.

We are upon the wave - this particular, unique combination of time and space that is a small part of the grander cycle of existence. Like waves, the human realm unfolds in similar cycles and movements, in violent crashes and unseen channels, reality being constructed through the destruction of the past and the future being shaped by the consequences of the present. If we are lucky (which, if you’re reading this, you probably are), we have the chance to actively engage with the cycle, to be a part of the wave instead of a passive onlooker, to assuage the striving and helpless desire to influence, impose, and demand, to understand our small yet still (relatively speaking) significant role in this. To be, in more simple terms, alive to the facts of living.

The realms of art - and by extension (some) photography - are not exempt from this inherently cyclical, wave-like nature. The evolution of art is unimaginably complex and defies any “real” explanation beyond “this happened then this happened then this happened,” leaving us with a trail of loose artifacts and remnants of what the humans before us might have thought, might have been like, might have seen and experienced - a vague shadow of the long-gone, full-blooded echoes that thought and felt and lived. Looking backwards towards the overwhelming, expansive horizon of the past requires some simplification if we are to make anything useful out of it. Even in individual lives this must be so.

What results in this backwards looking exercise is what we call “art history:” the categories of inclusion/exclusion, the dividing lines between names, peoples, and cultures, the illusion that it was meant to be because it happens to have happened, the path to here and now. Yet we don’t often think of ourselves as being inside the path of history, as influencing and being influenced in the present.

Let’s consider a recent wave in photographic history: the “straight photography” movement started by Ansel Adams, Willard Van Dyke, Imogen Cunningham, John Paul Edwards, Sonya Noskowiak, Henry Swift, and Edward Weston (among other less prominent members), which began with the infamous Group F64. The primary photographic aesthetic of the time, Pictorialism, is not easily defined but can be summed up as: prioritizing artistic expression (whatever that meant to artists of the time) and visual beauty over the “simple” act of documenting reality, often achieved through soft focus, often heavy manipulation, and subjects that were intended to evoke strong emotional responses. To grossly simplify, Group F64’s goals were to differentiate photography from other fine art mediums (e.g. painting) by embracing the inherent qualities and strengths of the camera - the ability to record, in precise detail and sharp focus, real entities (objects, nature, people) in the physical world.

From our privileged position today this may seem silly; of course cameras capture the physical world, and of course they can represent its beauty in astounding fidelity and accuracy while at the same time expressing something of the artist. But Group F64 had a tough go at it, struggling against pervasive biases and misunderstandings in the establishment circles of art, their particular wave defiantly forming against the shapeshifting expanse, hurtling towards something as yet unknown. There are many reasons for their success, some being: 1) advancements in camera technology continuously improved the ease of accurately representing the physical world as well as the quality of the representations, 2) a few particularly strong-headed members of the group (as well as some outside the group, such as Alfred Stiegletz) ceaselessly promoted the philosophical and artistic positions that bound the movement together, and 3) unpredictable changes in the cultural landscape that happened to align with their movement made their photographs, which were continuously improving in quality, more appealing to a broader public (again, simplifying a hugely complex series of events impacting untold numbers of people into a small number of words).

This success did not happen overnight; yet within the full course of what will be known as photographic history, this period of time is just a single wave in the evolution and unfolding of our most cherished medium. And even within Group F64, not all members were fully in agreement on the limits, strengths, values, and uses of photographic art, and, even as it was being formed, the far-ranging consequences were not yet understood by the artists themselves.

Heading back to today, we take the current state of photography for granted, as if the current aesthetic preferences of photographers and non-photographers comes from some unknowable, inherent source. We are still, 91 years since the founding of Group F64, in the wake of their wave, influenced in subtle and obvious ways by the consequences of this movement. Though photography has continued to evolve into a multitude of things, nature photography remains entrenched, from a cultural and historical point of view, in the works of Group F64 (most prominently, Ansel Adams). This is strange, especially considering that the art of painting has transformed and evolved tremendously in style and form since the 1920s: surrealism, art deco, social realism, abstract expressionism, pop art, minimalism, modernism, and postmodernism being a rough sequence.

Similar arcs are followed in any such artistic movement: a new idea or method emerges, subscribers of the past ideas cry foul in indignation, the revolutionaries hold their ground, converts emerge slowly then all at once, the new idea becomes the old, and a newer idea comes to start the process again. The most critical juncture of this process is the emergence of new ideas, ideas formed not in isolation but in the messiness of a present that is irrevocably and intrinsically born from the past. It may be that a single person is the source of a novel technique, philosophy, idea, or approach; it may also be that a change arises from a collective, semi-conscious shift in cultural attitudes. Regardless, a wave crashes.

Most importantly, whether we like it or not, we are upon a wave ourselves - right now, right here. At some point in the future, the art that is being made today will be known and categorized as “X period” or “X movement,” and the personal, unique, passionate, unclassifiable work we make will fall into some human-made bucket. As experiencers of art, we have agreed that it is helpful to group, categorize, and define work within concepts because it gives us greater context and understanding for why an artwork exists in the way that it does. Why does a van Gogh have such bold and visible brushstrokes, use such vivid and intense color, depart in such a way from observable reality? The easy (and boring) answer is that he was part of the Post-Impressionist movement; the complex (and interesting) answer is, in a way, unknowable.

Will we, in our position of privilege as tacit ambassadors, take responsibility for the role we have in the unseen consequences of the unfolding of the medium which we claim to love, or will we act in the darkness of ignorance and egocentrism, under the illusion that we exist in a vacuum of free will and self-determinism?

Beyond the wave that we all sit upon, there are our smaller, more subtle individual splashes. We each have our set of influences, our personal history that makes us the photographers (or artists, if you use that term) that we are. We emerge quickly from the salty soup and slip back into it even faster, barely noticeable. Despite the transitory and feeble influence we may have, it is influence all the same. Knowing that we are upon the wave, that we too have influence and are influenced, where does that leave us?

As artists, it’s natural to desire uniqueness and individuality in our work, especially if we claim to make expressive and personal art. Novelty and the emergence of new ideas is critical to how art develops; without novelty, uniqueness, and individuality art would be stale, boring, and useless. The difficult truth is that not all photographs (or art, more generally) can be truly unique, that within any medium there is a process of unfolding both for the individual and for the collective community of artists, that categories of art exist on continuums and are useful in giving viewers a place from which to experience art, that creating art is as much about understanding the history, nuances, and limits of what came before us as it is about our attempts to chart a personal path through the haziness of our point of view.

Setting aside the larger facts - that I was born in 1990s, that I grew up mostly in California, and that I have my own specific combination of genetics and environment - my photographic influence can be backtracked like so: the first landscape photographer that I knew and interacted with in 2020 is my (now) friend Martin Gonzalez who in turn introduced me to his inspirations (Eric Bennett, Alex Noriega, Sarah Marino, Guy Tal, TJ Thorne, Ben Horne, Jennifer Renwick, and Brent Clark), leading me down a path of consuming and being inspired by how these artists saw the natural world, discovering who in turn inspired them while at the same time learning that there was a loose community of similarly-to-me influenced photographers making images in the bounds of my newly found aesthetic preferences, and over time actively attempting to learn more about the history of photography and other mediums of art in order to understand the evolution that led to today. I know this is a precariously poised unfolding that could have gone in various, undefinable paths.

This, of course, is only part of the story. The point is that we all have a story like this; we all come from somewhere, artistically speaking. To recognize this within oneself privately and publicly allows one to consciously strive to use their influences in a way that respects others’ contributions to the wave and to themselves without attempting to copy or recreate, to understand that - though their images may not be 100%,

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the flexibility and control you have over your reaction to new information), this points to a sobering truth: all art is derivative (even that photo of wet mud in pre-dawn light you took just last week). This is no excuse for intentionally derivative and duplicative art or art that is clearly attempting to supplant and displace original works with nothing new to add. What I hope to impart here is not hopelessness but hope. It’s ok to not make hyper-unique, wholly novel, influence-free work; it’s ok to be influenced by what you consume and what came before you. Within the constraints of creating art upon this particular wave, there is plenty of space for your personal point of view, your uniqueness, and your particular splash. In fact, it is these constraints - the limits imposed by the aesthetics of today and the unknown possibilities of the future - that create the next wave, and you may be lucky enough to find yourself upon it, again at the edge of discovery and consequence.

In summary: don’t strive for or even hope for ultimate individuality, be aware of and proud of your influences (and be honest about them), be upon the wave and embrace being a part of it but don’t let yourself be consumed by it, remember that what you do today matters not only for yourself but for the next generation also.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
~Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

All is calm, expectant and at rest. You are out of the world’s chatter, its corridor echoes, its muttering. Walking: it hits you at first like an immense breathing in the ears. You feel the silence as if it were a great fresh wind blowing away clouds. ~Frédéric Gros, A Philosophy of Walking

As we are all landscape photographers, I am, of course, mostly talking to the already converted. But there is a great deal of evidence that walking is good for you, even if the recommended daily dose of 10,000 steps has recently been revised to suggest that only 3967 is sufficient¹. As well as the general benefits of being out in nature, recent research studies have suggested that walking can reduce the effects of weight gaining genes, reduce cravings for sugary treats, reduce the risk of breast cancer, reduce joint pain, and boost immune function². It has even been suggested that it might boost creativity³. And in my experience, it just helps you to feel better. Many recent popular books have stressed the benefits of walking for both health and temperament.

Some that can be recommended include The Salt Path on the coastal paths of South-West England by Raynor Winn (though its sequels a little less); A Walk in the Woods on the Appalachian Trail by Bill Bryson; Wild on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed; The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot, by Robert MacFarlane (actually multiple walks); How to Walk by Thich Nhat Hanh, and In Praise of Paths by Torbjørn Ekelund. There are also many well-known older books, including Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes by Robert Louis Stevenson, written in 1879⁴. This is a classic case of the Englishman (or in his case Scotsman) abroad finding it difficult to accept local advice, but the book became celebrated enough that the route he took through the Cévennes from Le Monastier to Alais (now Alès) with Modestine (his stubborn and resistant donkey) is now known as the Stevenson Path. Other classics are John Hilaby’s Journey through Britain (1968), describing his walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats, and A Time of Gifts by Patrick Leigh Fermor, published in 1977 but describing part of his walk from the Hook of Holland to as far as Constantinople in 1933/34 (there were 2 further volumes, the last published posthumously).

For my part, I travel not to go anywhere but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move, to feel the needs and hitches of our life more readily …. And when the present is so exacting who can annoy himself about the future. ~Robert Louis Stevenson, Travels with a donkey in the Cévennes

Passed on the GR70 Stevenson Path: Fencepost with gorse and GR waymarker

The Stevenson Path is actually a somewhat longer route starting in Puy-en-Velay⁵. Many other well-signposted long-distance paths are already well known, such as the Pennine Way, the pilgrim routes to St. Jacques de Compostelle in Spain, and the network of Sentiers de Grandes Randonnées in France (the Stevenson Path is the GR70)⁶ . More recent additions include the Rota Vincentina or Fisherman’s Path in Portugal⁷; the High Scardus Trail in Albania, Kosovo and Macedonia⁸; the West Highland Trail in Scotland⁹; the South Downs Way in Sussex and Hampshire¹⁰; and by combining the Welsh Coastal Path with the Offa’s Dyke Trail you can now verify the size of Wales by walking all the way around it¹¹.

All, intentionally or not, draw in ancient and modern mythologies of walking - from pilgrimages and diasporas to flâneurisms and derives - as part of their effect. … it is assumed that the artist/walker comes and goes, does no harm. It is assumed that the artist loves and seeks to protect the landscape through which he moves. ~Andrea Phillips. Walking and Looking¹²

On the TransSwiss Trail: The packhorse track to the St. Gotthard with waymark

As a way of travelling, of course, it is slow, but with patience great distances can be achieved, and at a pace that allows you to look at the flowers, listen to the birds, rest by running waters, and chance by photo opportunities. Such opportunities are not generally planned, but are rather serendipitous, views passed by en route. This means, however, a degree of concentration is required to spot those opportunities when they arise, something that induces focus on your surroundings as you walk. But walking allows that in ways that faster means of travel by bike or car do not do so to the same extent. With speed comes other things to concentrate on.

Walking is the best way to go more slowly than any other method that has ever been found.~ Frédéric Gros, A Philosophy of Walking

Of course, walking was once a necessity to travel anywhere if you were not rich enough to afford a diligence or horse – hence the expression to travel by “Shank’s pony”¹³. In print, walking has been recommended by writers such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) in his book Reveries of the Solitary Walker (1778) that he had been working on in the months before he died (albeit, that the book is primarily an extended complaint against those who have persecuted him – his house in Môtiers was literally stoned in 1765).

I can find no manner so simple and effectual, to execute this purpose, as to keep a faithful register on my solitary walks and the reveries which accompany them; when I find my mind entirely free, and suffer my ideas to follow their bent, without resistance or control. These hours of solitude and meditation are the only ones in the day when I am entirely myself, and for myself, without diversion, or obstacle; and when I can truly say, I am what nature designed me.~ Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Reveries of a Solitary Walker, 2nd Walk

Rousseau’s writings later inspired the Prelude of William Wordsworth (1770-1850). Others who have been inspired by walking have been Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) in his lecture on Walking delivered in Concord in 1851; and the French philosopher Frédéric Gros who wrote a Philosophy of Walking published in 2008.

Walking is not a sport. Putting one foot in front of the other is child’s play. When walkers meet, there is no result, no time: the walker may say which way he has come, mention the best path for viewing the landscape, what can be seen from this or that promontory.Frédéric Gros, A Philosophy of Walking

The philosopher Immanuel Kant (1728-1804) never left his home village of Könisburg but would take a walk every day at 5pm regardless of the weather and always alone because, breathing through his nose, he did not want to have to talk to someone. The route he used is now known as the Philosopher’s Walk. He did not walk for exercise (in summer heat he would go very slowly and rest in the shade) but to clear his head from the imperatives of thinking and writing. Another philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), was even more committed to walking particularly when he was staying at his house in Sils Maria in the Engadine in Switzerland. He would walk for up to eight hours a day as an aid to thinking (and coping with migraines), scribbling notes as he went. Many of his (rather dense) books were composed in this way, including Thus spake Zarathustra (there is a Zarathustrastein at the edge of Lake Silvaplana near Sils Maria).

Walking remains a relatively cheap way of travelling (depending on how far you need to pay for accommodation if walking long distances) but takes time. While the slow speed is an advantage for the photographer, taking the camera for a walk also has some disadvantages. One is the additional weight that needs to be carried, especially if walking for many days, which with digital might also require a need to recharge batteries)¹⁵. The second is that in focusing on potential images, especially the small-scale details, the need to look around means that you spend less time looking at where you put your feet, increasing the possibility of tripping over something¹⁶. I also find that the continued concentration can add to the fatigue, especially when walking with others so that it is only polite not to spend too much time exploring a potential image giving rise to a certain stress in taking an image quickly.

Passed on the TransSwiss Trail: Detail of reflections on the Doubs River

You might already know the types of things you expect to see, from looking at a map, reading a guide, searching Google Earth, or using apps such as Photopills¹⁷– the mountain views, the tumbling streams and waterfalls or wide tranquil rivers, the wild flowers, the old farm buildings and alpine chalets, or sometimes the railway lines or motorways at the bottom of the valley. But you still need to find the image or thought (there is perhaps an analogy here with the strolling street photographer or flaneur). As Susan Sontag put it:

The photographer is an armed version of the solitary walker reconnaitering, stalking, cruising the urban inferno, the voyeuristic stroller who discovers the city as a landscape of voluptuous extremes. Adept of the joys of watching, connoisseur of empathy, the flâneur finds the world 'picturesque'.Susan Sontag, On Photography

On the TransSwiss trail: roads at the bottom of the valley - the old road, the new road and the railway climbing towards the St. Gotthard Pass

Finding the image for the landscape photographer will always be a challenge: It might be a detail, a particular play of light on the landscape, or the anticipation of a composition of elements coming into alignment to left or to right as you approach. And do not forget that the image might be behind you, so that it is worth looking back now and again.

It is one of the secrets of walking: a slow approach to landscapes that renders them familiar. Like the regular encounters that deepen friendship. Thus a mountain skyline that stays with you all day, which you observe in different lights, defines and articulates itself. When you are walking, nothing moves: only imperceptibly do the hills draw closer, the surroundings change. ….. When we are walking it isn’t so much that we are drawing nearer, more that the things out there become more and more insistent in our body. Frédéric Gros, A Philosophy of Walking

A conjunction of elements coming into alignment, Val Roseg, Switzerland

This results, however, in a third disadvantage of taking a camera for a walk in that it can break up the rhythm of walking, punctuating the progress with a series of pauses. Such pauses can be a good excuse to stop when tired or going steeply uphill, but rhythm is important in walking. The continuity and simplicity of the rhythm of putting one foot in front of the other provides the opportunity to create distance towards the goal for the day and away from the stresses and strains of everyday life. There are not too many decisions to be made and those are simple: where to place the next foot (rather important on rough ground when traversing steep slopes or on forest paths with roots); and which way to turn when you meet a junction¹⁸.

The further I walked, however, I found, in contrast, that my mind began to quieten down. And emptied. I stopped thinking, and instead focused on my tiredness. The weight of my feet. The pain in my back. And I began to wander and wonder whether walking could provide a way through the thoughts that dominate my work. A way through intellectual practice. Cliff Andrade, Researching Walking as Art Practice, 2021¹⁹

One satisfying element of walking a long-distance path (whether designated or, even better, of your own invention from studying the maps) is the sense of progress through the landscape without having to return to your starting point. This is easier, of course, in some places than in others. The public transport system in Switzerland has allowed me and my partner Monique to follow some of the national trails in sections of a few days without having to carry too much weight (important now we are over 70 …. even if I am still a bit jealous of those who can backpack both camping gear and large format film cameras into the wild²⁰). In recent years, we have completed the Via Jakobi from Lake Constance in the north to Geneva in the South; the Crêtes du Jura down the western frontier with France; and the TransSwiss Trail (from Porrentruy in the west to Tessin in the south-east, in that way. All have been extremely rewarding.

Passed on the TransSwiss Trail: The Reuss on the approach to the St. Gotthard

Such walks are liberating as well as keeping us in good shape. Even if not taking the camera for a walk, the physical effort does not leave much energy for other worries. Such multiday walks do not allow any control over the light, of course: you have to be pragmatic and accept the serendipity principle in balancing progress in distance with the time spent in waiting for the right light… and the patience of your walking companion(s). But staying overnight, particularly up in the mountains does allow opportunities at the beginning and the end of the day²¹ (and at night for the astrophotography enthusiasts, though it is quite a good idea to get some rest to be ready for the following day!).

Serendipity: View of a glacier avalanche below the Breithorn from across the Lötschental

First light on the Breithorn from Obersteinberg

Early morning light: the Jungfrau from Lauterbrunnental

But at every junction of course we have the Robert Frost problem of the road not taken. We will often have a goal in mind in deciding which path to take: the continuation of a long distance route, some new valley to explore, some col to traverse, the evening’s accommodation to reach. It is convenient to follow the marked paths, but what about the “roads less travelled by” that might “make all the difference”. It is a similar problem to that of choosing what to photograph: of always going to the classic landscape photograph locations or seeking the serendipitous surprises of some road less travelled. Why follow the herd? Of course, on most long-distance paths herds of sheep or goats are more common than herds of walkers – with the exception perhaps of parts of the Camino de Santiago de Compostella route in the south of France and northern Spain. In that case if you are not a pilgrim yourself and really want to make images of landscapes rather than other pilgrims, then it might be better to choose another route!

Passed on the TransSwiss Trail: Spring in the Val de Doubs

Actually, going on foot in the 21st Century already represents the road less travelled by, whatever path you might choose to take. And, as Rebecca Solnit puts it in her book Wanderlust, walking provides a way to “find what you did not know you were looking for”. Many of the photographs taken along the way are just recording the journey, allowing us to “possess the moment” (Sontag again) and add it to our store of visual memories. But, with luck, just occasionally the opportunity might arise for something better, that combination of elements coming into alignments in just the right light - unplanned even if not exactly unlooked for because, with a camera to hand, we are always looking for that opportunity. To quote Rebecca Solnit again, walking supplies “the unpredictable incidents . . . that add up to a life …” and, for those who do not walk, denies “a vast portion of their humanity.”

What is it that makes it so hard sometimes to determine whither we will walk? I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright. It is not indifferent to us which way we walk. There is a right way; but we are very liable from heedlessness and stupidity to take the wrong one. We would fain take that walk, never yet taken by us through this actual world, which is perfectly symbolical of the path which we love to travel in the interior and ideal world; and sometimes, no doubt, we find it difficult to choose our direction, because it does not yet exist distinctly in our idea.Henry David Thoreau, Walking, 1851

There is nothing like walking to get the feel of a country. A fine landscape is like a piece of music; it must be taken at the right tempo. Even a bicycle goes too fastPaul Scott Mowrer (1887-1971)

Viewed from the TransSwiss Trail: morning mist above Worb

Passed on the Stevenson Path: Tree and Rock with Lichens

Passed on the TransSwiss Trail in autumn

Passed on the TransSwiss Trail: Cappella dei Morti south of St. Gotthard Pass

Spring white narcissi on the Col de Lys

Passed on the Stevenson Path north of St. Jean du Gard

Passed on the Stevenson Path: Trees with Lichen

Passed on the Stevenson Path: Lichens and Moss

Sefinental near Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland (taken with an IR Converted X-E2, giving extra weight to carry)

References

1. See https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2023/aug/09/3967-steps-a-day-the-new-magic-number-for-a-healthy-happy-life
2. https://www.health.harvard.edu/staying-healthy/5-surprising-benefits-of-walking
3. https://www.apa.org/pubs/journals/releases/xlm-a0036577.pdf
4. Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes can be read at https://www.gutenberg.org/files/535/535-h/535-h.htm
5. https://www.gr70-stevenson.com/en/trail.htm. The journey was repeated (with donkeys) as a way out of depression by Christopher Rush in his 2006 book To Travel Hopefully, published by Profile Books, and in a very amusing retelling, by Hilary Msacaskil and Molly Wood, in Downhill All The Way: Walking with donkeys on the Stevenson Trail, also published in 2006. One of the first recorded followers of Stevenson was John Alexander Hammerton as recorded in his book In the track of R. L. Stevenson and elsewhere in old France that appeared in 1907 (but in his case on a bicycle, which in some places may have been no less of a hindrance than a donkey).
6. https://www.gr-infos.com/gr-fr.htm
7. https://rotavicentina.com/en/
8. https://www.lonelyplanet.com/news/hike-albania-kosovo-macedonia-high-scardus-trail#
9. https://www.westhighlandway.org
10. https://southdownsway.org
11. https://undiscovered-wales.co.uk/2020/11/14/what-its-like-to-walk-right-around-wales-tips-and-tales-from-the-trail-with-seasoned-hiker-michelle-gollins/. The size of Wales is commonly used as a unit of area – see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_unusual_units_of_measurement#Wales. England is 6.275 times the size of Wales.
12. Andrea Phillips, in Walking and Seeing, provides a more philosophical discussion of the place of walking in contemporary art, but with a focus on the urban landscape. As an example of the type of exposition: “Walking, in this sense, is one marker of an economy of art in which the desire for process-based, participatory, embedded experience has replaced ideals of abstracted contemplation for reasons that compound a schism between ethical engagement and aesthetic representation. Walking has enchanted us precisely because of its own unfinished nature, because it does not seem to acquire a regulatory air, because it is a proposal, not even a maquette or a map, that which Giorgio Agamben would call a 'means without end'." (Cultural Geographies, v12, 507-513)
13. This phrase seems to be of Scottish origin, a play on the word shanks, meaning legs. It is first recorded in The Tea-Table Miscellany: Or, a Complete Collection of Scots Songs, published in 1729 by the Scottish poet, playwright, editor and librarian Allan Ramsay (1686-1758)
14. See, for example, https://walkingart.interartive.org/2018/12/hbm-walking
15. I try to travel as light as possible, either with an Olympus TG waterproof camera with an added telephoto lens (but the lack of a viewfinder is always a bit frustrating) or with Fuji digital cameras and their smaller “fujicron” prime lenses. Both are more than adequate for prints to at least 25x25cm. I did once set out on the Via Jacobi in Switzerland with only 2 spare batteries for the TG with the idea that would only allow an average of 5 images a day to concentrate the mind on choosing only the best. I found that this was a good discipline, but that walk had to be cut short, so I never actually ran out of battery.
16. Something I am somewhat renowned for amongst my nearest and dearest. Fortunately, no injuries have resulted (yet)!
17. See https://www.photopills.com
18. However, it is always worth being careful at junctions, especially where interesting long distance paths are both marked with the same type of trail blazes (red and white bars in France, Belgium and Switzerland, for example). I have once or twice followed the bars, thinking I was on the right track, only to realise that I had missed a turn at a junction of two trails).
19. See https://www.walkingartistsnetwork.org/2021/06/14/researching-walking-as-art-practice where Cliff Andrade describes the start of a walk from John O’Groats to Land’s End in the Walking Artists Network (WAN) blog.
20. See, notably, Alex Burke at https://www.alexburkephoto.com
21. I learned this at an early age when Youth Hostelling in the Lake District with some friends in about 1965. Staying at the Black Sail hut in Ennerdale, which faces west, the setting sun dipped below a layer of cloud, with the reflected light making the cliffs at the head of Ennerdale glow orange. I still have the Kodachrome slide somewhere …..

When I originally proposed the idea of On Landscape to my wife Charlotte over fourteen years ago, I would never have thought that it would have lasted as long as it has. On this 300th issue, I decided to take a look back at all of those previous issues to pick out some highlights for you to revisit (if you haven’t already). I’ve chosen a range of styles and genres of article, please let me know if you have any particular favourites in the comments.

Issue 3

Creativity in Landscape Photography by Rob Hudson

An early article about creativity from Rob Hudson which talks about the superficiality of landscape photography driven by aesthetics only and how seeking deeper meaning in his work and “thinking like a poet” can provide deeper connections for the artist and the viewer.

Also in Issue Three was a popular article looking at some of the idiosyncrasies of the bayer sensor in “Where have all the berries gone” and part one of Joe Cornish’s series on “Aspect Ratios”

Issue 15

The Psychology of Saturation - Tim Parkin

Here's an article I put together after seeing some research on colour perception. It's a look into how we remember colour and how it affects our perception of saturation and purity of colour.

Also in Issue Fifteen is an article on “Wilderness and the Mind of the Photographer” by Malcolm MacGregor and an article on “Photographing Trees” from myself and Dav Thomas.

Issue 24

Gustave Le Gray - Master Photographer

One of the pleasures of writing articles for On Landscape is diving deep into different topics. I’ve written a few “Master Photographers,” but one of my favourites was Gustav Le Gray. It was also an excuse to buy a couple of fantastic books.

In the same issue, one of our readers wrote an article about an “Iceland Photo Tour”. In a nearby issue, Dav Thomas wrote an excellent article entitled “Hello, nice to meet you” on the pleasure of seeing your photos for the first time and a range of photographers comment on Gursky’s record breaking photography sale.

Issue 40

Giving Beauty a Bad Name - David Ward

One of the best writers on landscape photography has contributed some amazing articles for On Landscape, and this seminal essay on beauty is a great example. I highly recommend following the links to other articles by David.

In this issue we also have Joe Cornish writing on the subject of “Do you Manipulate Your Images”

Issue 53

An Interview with Hans Strand by Tim Parkin

With a digital magazine, there’s the opportunity to go into depth, especially with interviews. For our fifty-third issue, we had a very long and fascinating discussion with Hans Strand that covered a whole range of topics. The second part can be found here.

This issue also featured the third instalment of our “readers' questions” discussion with Joe Cornish, which is well worth checking out. Here's a link to parts one and two.

Issue 74

Minor White, and End frame by Joseph Wright

Our very first Endrame from Joseph Wright and what a classic! One of my favourite Minor White photographs.

In the same issue we had a short discussion on Harry Callahan’s less well known landscape work and we also sat Joe Cornish and David Ward down to discuss each others favourite images.

Issue 118

Chromatic Scales, a Meeting of Minds talk by David Ward

In one of those “if nobody else is going to do it, I suppose we’ll have to” moments, On Landscape organised a landscape photography conference at a wonderful venue in the Lake District, UK featuring some amazing photographers including David Ward, whose talk “Chromatic Scales” is featured in this issue. You can follow the YouTube link here to watch all of the conference talks.

Also, in this issue, Rafael Rojas talks about “Oriental Philosophy and Photography” and looks at how mystery is important and we have an interview with Nick White, a photographer who spans the gap between contemporary and classical photography.

Issue 132

Photography on the Trail by Alex Roddie

Alex Roddie writes about how longer trips into the landscape force you to adapt to the adventure, not taking pictures, an approach that changes your creative outlook.

Also in this issue, Guy Tal writes an intimate account of why he takes pictures in “Photography and the Wonder of Life” and in a nearby issue I look at the photographic genius that is Josef Sudek.

Issue 149

The Myth of Control by Tim Parkin

We’re huge fans of Peter Dombroskis and the publication of a new book and exhibition was an opportunity to take a deep dive into his work. While researching for the issue, I was particularly interested in the wide variety of versions of his most famous photograph and fell down an interesting rabbit hole about how much control we have over our own work when/if it ever becomes famous.

One of our readers interviewed Les Walkling who was preparing the artwork for the book and exhibition and another reader visited the exhibition and wrote a review of it. It's a shame the book wasn't what we could have hoped for but the discussions around the release and exhibition were interesting.

Issue 182

Multiple Exposures, Textures and Layers by Cheryl Hamer & Glenys Garnett

We have regularly featured artists who look at and work with the landscape in different ways and this issue included an article by a group of artists who work with multiple-exposures, ICM, textures and layers. In the same issue, Kas Stone looks at how words, titles or captions, etc, relate to pictures in “A Thousand Words” and we also had one part of the mammoth look at graduated filters I undertook.

Issue 208

Landscape and the Philosophers of Photography by Keith Beven

Keith Beven has written some in depth articles about various aspects of philosophy, creativity and science in On Landscape, and this issue includes part two of a two part essay on photography’s relation with reality (part one here).

Also in this issue, we featured Al Brydon’s creative and emotive project “Graveyard Bins” and a feature from one of our favourite photographers, Trym Ivar Bergsmo, about working in the long arctic night, “Shooting in the Dark”

Issue 227

Grounded, an interview with Gill Moon

We tend not to feature too many book reviews in On Landscape and when we do it’s because the book is either just spectacular or we can talk to the photographer about the story behind the book. Sometimes its a bit of both and this was the case with Gill Moon’s article around her “Grounded” book project.

Also in this issue we interviewed Melanie Friend and discussed her projects and in particular “The Plain” and how she brought narrative elements together in a photographic project.

Issue 258

Past Masters, Expressive Photography part Two by Francesco Carovillano

One of the pleasures I’ve had editing and writing for On Landscape is the deeper dives into the peripheral elements of art and photography. I’ve written some articles on the history of landscape painting and its relevance to photography, and in this issue, we have Francesco Carovillano writing the second part of a fantastic series on the impressionists. For more about the history of art, I've intermittently written a series with the first instalment here.

Also, in this issue, we have one of our regular writers, Theo Bosboom, writing about wildlife photography - well, almost. It’s actually writing about photographing the Atlantic coastlines less mobile inhabitants, “Limpets in the Landscape” but as always with Theo, his project work and writing make this so engaging.

As a bonus in a nearby issue, we had special featured photographer installment but instead of Michala Griffith interviewing someone else, she’s talking about her own work in “Michela Griffith Revisited”. Well worth reading to find out more about the On Landscape team!