In a recent conversation I had with a fellow landscape photographer, he used an evocative analogy to describe the difference between grand scenic landscapes and intimate landscapes; if photographs of a place are equivalent to what makes up human existence, then grand scenic images are the flesh and bones of a place, while intimate landscapes are the soul of the place. If our goal is to tell the whole story of a place, we, as landscape photographers, may deem it necessary to produce work showcasing both grand and intimate landscapes. In my experience examining the work of thousands of photographers, I’ve found that very few photographers can do both exceptionally.
This isn’t to say that a photographer must photograph a place’s grand landscape and smaller details to be considered a skilled practitioner of this craft. Instead, I believe it is pretty uncommon to find many photographers able to do so. The subject of this article, Jesse Brown Nelson, is one such photographer I have admired from afar. In addition to his skills as a photographer able to see both wide and near, Jesse’s story may inspire readers while instilling some ideas on becoming a better photographer.
Sometimes, the most captivating images emerge only when we resign ourselves to the possibility of not finding anything at all. Perhaps it is in these moments that we are truly open to being surprised.
Sometimes, the most captivating images emerge only when we resign ourselves to the possibility of not finding anything at all. Perhaps it is in these moments that we are truly open to being surprised.
Such was the case last autumn when I set out with my camera on the outskirts of Stockholm. It was my first visit to this particular location, and I found it uninspiring. The landscape did not catch my eye in any significant way—it was neither strikingly beautiful nor interestingly bleak. The light was harsh and unforgiving.
After some time spent wandering and brooding, camera in hand, I surrendered to my disappointment. I sat down on a rock and poured myself a cup of coffee from my thermos, finding solace in the simple pleasure of a break in nature when photography fails to deliver.
As I sat there, a peculiar sight suddenly caught my attention: the jawbone of an animal with large tusks lying next to me on the rock. Later, when I consulted knowledgeable friends, I learned it was the lower jaw of a wild boar.
On receiving the invite by Charlotte to contribute a wee piece to the wonderful ‘On Landscape’ magazine my initial natural reaction was, of course, ‘no problem’ and ‘thank you for the invite’ But before I throw myself into something (hopefully!) resembling an answer I feel I must address the weird mixture of emotions and intellectual discombobulation that ensued.
The question seemed so straightforward on first read, basically pick a favourite image and discuss. Shouldn’t be too difficult eh?.. but, Charlotte’s request subsequently found me questioning my relationship to external artistic influences and fishing for glimpses of myself reflected in the vast sea of imagery my subconscious had absorbed over almost 54 years of pointing my eyeballs into the world. Phew! Not an easy ask, but it ultimately made me realise that as landscape photographers we should routinely stop and consider, not just our direction of travel, but who we are and what exactly are the parts that comprise the sum of ‘you’. Then we might, more steadily, move forward once more.
The image I finally resolved to present here, just like the aforementioned request, is one that provokes a simple reactionary pleasure but leaves you with more questions than answers. I initially stumbled over Philippe Halsman’s ‘Dali Atomicus’ while studying photography at Glasgow School of Art in the 90’s. The arresting scene it presents is on first glance a frozen moment of chaos and motion. The black silhouette of a static chair protrudes from the left edge, a flowing ‘S’ bend of clear water is rendered crystal by the shutter while Dali sports a playful grimace as he hovers in tandem with his easel above the studio floor. Three cats considering legal action* are catapulted horizontally across the painting of the winged ‘Leda Atomica’, a portrait of Dali’s wife Gala.
‘That Other Landscape’ is a rare collaboration of three creative Scottish Landscape Photographers showcasing their work in a touring exhibition. The aim is to find out if there can be a space within the ‘art world’ for photography to share the walls as a variant medium rather than a foreign entity.
Photography will always be exhibited in galleries but rarely alongside paintings, sculpture, installations etc. and often only as a body of work, sharing a message or story as a complete collection and usually with an accompanying book. This is ultimately an ambition of most Landscape Photographers, and that’s no different to that of Dylan Nardini, Grant Bulloch and David Queenan either, the three collaborators of this contemporary project.
The work of a landscape photographer involves many years of dedication, development as an artist and endless education. Not to mention the hours spent travelling in the outdoors in all conditions, waiting around for the right moment, exploring a subject to get that jigsaw of a composition to fit together and then the never-ending journeys to the same location to capture that moment they have envisaged in their heads. Then there’s the art of processing and printing that many will argue is just as important, if not more so, than the capture itself. This can be neglected when a photograph is presented on a wall, the perception often places the emphasis more on the capture of that moment in time and its apparent ease to the non-photographer. Ultimately the aim of ‘That Other Landscape’ is to smash this juxtaposition and attempt to inform those unaware that the artistic mind of a landscape photographer is no different to that of an artist in front of their easel with their choice of tool that creates their vision or ‘art’.
This new venture is trying to encourage traditional art galleries to feel comfortable in placing photographs alongside oil paintings, acrylics, watercolours or etchings, confident that they share the same artistic value with no less uniqueness than those mediums do with each other.
This new venture is trying to encourage traditional art galleries to feel comfortable in placing photographs alongside oil paintings, acrylics, watercolours or etchings, confident that they share the same artistic value with no less uniqueness than those mediums do with each other.
Perhaps one day it will be possible to walk through the many small, bespoke art galleries that we see in many British towns and be able to enjoy the sight of a few photographs sharing the space and not looking out of place.
‘That Other Landscape’ has been created by Grant Bulloch, who had the initial idea of putting together a travelling exhibition with a few other photographers. He contacted David and then Dylan to get their thoughts on progressing with the concept. Over the last few years, Grant has travelled to a number of small galleries around Scotland to float the idea with them, and it wasn’t long before they had their first booking.
Natalie at the Smithy Gallery in Blanefield, just north of Glasgow, was immediately intrigued by Grants’ pitch. In her 18 years of showing exhibitions in the beautiful, converted blacksmiths building with all its charming character, she had never held a photography exhibition. Her intrigue was also naturally accompanied by trepidation as she stepped into the unknown, unaware of how her long list of customers would take to this innovative show.
Being written midway through this first show, it is safe to say Natalie need not have worried, as she has been overwhelmed by its success and the response so far with sales, visitors and the positive feedback it has generated. This is a small step for the project, using the experience of each show as they pass, will be hugely beneficial to its future success. Gaining positive reviews from previous gallery owners will make convincing others to take that leap in their space easier as word spreads. So, to Natalie, the collaborators are hugely thankful for having faith in the project.
The Exhibition
Using each of their own unique visual perceptions of their surroundings and often visited landscape, the three photographers have put together a diverse and dynamic collection, showcasing their creative personalities with a variation of styles and subjects.
On show are these distinct styles and interpretations, taken from the intimate to the wider landscape, which share the space on the old stone walls of this historical building. Their work ranges from the iconic grand vistas of the mountain landscapes with snow-bound hills, unexpected ethereal light and clearing storms to the detailed minutiae found in the outdoor environment – fallen leaves, lone trees, cherry blossom, the usually unseen decay and colour of a rusting hull of a harbour yacht and even small polaroid emulsion lifts pulling the viewer into its small world of intrigue. There is texture, feeling, emotion, and storytelling to be found as you walk around the gallery viewing the exquisitely printed pieces which have seen the support of Fotospeed, who were thrilled to help by providing their expertise and archival fine art papers.
Dylan Nardini
Art runs in Dylan’s family. Both his father and sister are accomplished artists, but Dylan chose to pick up the camera instead of the brush. His love of the outdoors led him to become one of the most talented landscape photographers in the UK. He won both the Scottish Landscape Photographer of the Year Award and the British Photography Awards Landscape Category in 2021.
Revisiting familiar locations is a recurring theme of Dylan’s work. The knowledge of how familiar places change with the seasons and the micro climate have made a huge impact on his photography as he returns time after time to the less clichéd and honey pot locations. In many cases you would struggle to recognise the locations of his work.
The knowledge of how familiar places change with the seasons and the micro climate have made a huge impact on his photography as he returns time after time to the less clichéd and honey pot locations. In many cases you would struggle to recognise the locations of his work.
As well as his digital work, Dylan often returns to traditional film photography, using both 35mm and medium format cameras. He feels this allows him to slow down when in the field and to relish the uncertainty and anticipation of what he has captured. This uncertainty is only revealed once he has processed the film, which could be weeks later. Dylan also uses Polaroid as a way to mix film with instant viewing, almost like a hybrid of the two disciplines. By creating emulsion lifts that he transfers to watercolour paper, the way he presents his Polaroid work is therefore quite distinctive. The uncertainty of the finished art then becomes a huge part of this process, as there is no guarantee the emulsion lifts will transfer in one piece or without damage, but this in turn is the attraction to Dylan.
Grant Bulloch
Grant is an architect and designer who has travelled extensively throughout Scotland. He began that journey climbing the Scottish Munros (mountains over 3000 feet) while studying at Edinburgh University in the 1980s and completed them within 20 years, a feat which exposed him to almost all of his country’s scenery and triggered a love of the Highland landscape and culture. Instead of regularly bagging summits he now takes his camera and often documents the relationship between the landscape and the weather around him, sometimes chasing storms and actively searching out how the landscape interacts with what nature throws at it. The pursuit of light is compelling, and his favourite light is undoubtedly that which emerges in the aftermath of a passing storm.
His work “Aberfeldy Snowstorm” was the result of waiting for a cold front to hit whilst in the Birks of Aberfeldy in Perthshire.
“We climbed to the top of the glen hoping to be there to meet the forecasted incoming snow, but it was on our way down that the first flurries appeared. I was still able to shoot across the “Birks” towards the lichen covered trees as they swayed and moved in the snow laden winds.” The resultant image feels more like a tapestry than a photograph. It is the first signed limited edition print of only five on beautifully textured Fotospeed Cotton Etching archival paper.
“We climbed to the top of the glen hoping to be there to meet the forecasted incoming snow, but it was on our way down that the first flurries appeared. I was still able to shoot across the “Birks” towards the lichen covered trees as they swayed and moved in the snow laden winds.” The resultant image feels more like a tapestry than a photograph.
Although some of his works are typical examples of the “grand vistas” of the landscape, featuring locations such as Assynt, Glencoe and the Northumberland coast, at the other end of the spectrum he investigates the textures and patterns of a rock cut basin in the Cairngorms and the rusty hulls of yachts lifted up out of the water and overwintering on the harbour walls of East Lothian. Considering that the project “That Other Landscape” was initially conceived amongst the yachts at Musselburgh harbour, it was fitting that some of them feature in the exhibition. Grant has been commended in the UK Landscape Photographer of the Year Competition twice, was a finalist in the British Photography Awards in 2022 and 2023, and has been shortlisted in the Scottish Landscape Photographer of the Year Competition every year from 2017 to 2022.
David Queenan
Whilst David Queenan is more mainstream in his artistic output, he has amassed a huge portfolio of work over the years and collected a similar number of accolades, initially winning the Scottish Nature Photographer of the Year competition in 2015 and then, more recently, the 2023 Wex Photographer of the Year competition. Alongside these awards, he has been annually recognised in both the Scottish and UK Landscape Photographer of the Year competitions and was the runner up in the former on one occasion. This catalogue of success has made him one of the most consistent and respected landscape photographers in the country.
Whilst David Queenan is more mainstream in his artistic output, he has amassed a huge portfolio of work over the years and collected a similar number of accolades.
His consistency can be put down to many things, but one of the most important is knowing his locality. Based on the south shore of the River Forth, he seldom strays far from sight of the water, and many of his images are based around the iconic and less well-known structures that interact with it. The Forth Bridge and the Queensferry Crossing are two obvious subjects. Further upstream, the Wallace Monument features, too, sitting above the bends of the river, while downstream, North Berwick and its harbour area is also a regular haunt. However, a lesser-known pier, less than ten minutes walk from his house, has been his most popular subject since lockdown. Carriden Pier, a little wooden structure jutting out a few metres from the shore, has been subject to the vagaries of the weather, and David has documented its fate religiously as it slowly decays with each passing storm. Many of his loyal followers have even suggested it should be renamed after him!
David’s other images on show include his work taken around the shores of Loch Awe, Loch Rusky and in the Trossachs, however some of his most talked about photographs are a series of small prints taken in his home town of Bo’ness. 'Trolley Trio' features a number of abandoned shopping trolleys half embedded in the silt of the harbour.
Future Events
The show will remain at Smithy Gallery until June 1, 2024, when it will move to Eleven41 Gallery, Kingussie, in the Scottish Highlands, opening on June 28th and running until July 14th.
Eleven41 Gallery is owned and curated by photographer Ed Smith and is a photographic gallery mainly dedicated to adventure. So, this will be another valuable lesson for the collaborators, whereas a complete contrast to the previous show, will, on this occasion, see the galleries regular customers are used to viewing photography, where Ed exhibits his own images on the whole, dedicated to adventure and mostly found in the nearby Cairngorm mountains. There will also be talks by each of the photographers, including Q&A opportunities, providing something different and enhancing the experience of the patrons each weekend of the show.
More venues are in the pipeline and will be announced on the group’s website in due course www.thatotherlandscape.uk
In this issue, we feature Spanish photographer Uge Fuertes. For everyone who decides to take up photography, there is another who falls into it by accident, but Uge quickly realised that this interest was for him, and it undoubtedly complements his long-standing relationship with and interest in nature and the outdoors. You’ll find the conversation around the role photography plays for the viewer and Uge’s personal approach to making images very interesting and, at times, humorous.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?
I was born 50 years ago in Monreal de Campo, a small village in Teruel, Spain. Since I was a child, I have worked in beekeeping and agriculture. I have always been linked to the countryside, to the open air, where I feel truly free and happy. As a teenager, I used to go hiking a lot around my village to see birds, climb mountains and explore valleys. I studied to become an Environmental Agent, and that is what I have been doing for almost 30 years. Being in contact with nature gives me a certain peace, and I can spend hours observing anything, often learning from the small things around us. Nature is governed by fractal structures, and humans by Euclidean geometry. I think we are more and more absorbed by rectangular and square shapes and less by the fractals that dominate plants, rivers or neurons. Being in contact with nature all the time makes us learn to see it better.
Following on from my previous article, Cloud Allusions, on the topic of ‘Zen and the practice of landscape photography’, which focused on Alfred Stieglitz and his concept of equivalence, I now turn to the work of Edward Weston and Ansel Adams.
Edward Weston’s thoughts on photography are peppered throughout his Daybooks1 (journals predominantly covering the period 1922-1934). Earlier in his career, Weston had worked in the soft-focus style of the Pictorialists, but during the period covered in the Daybooks, he adopted the ‘straight’, sharply-focused approach to photography for which he is best known.
The earliest significant entry in the Daybooks is from November 1922, describing Weston’s first meetings with Alfred Stieglitz, from which Weston took great encouragement, although he did not always agree with Stieglitz’s comments on his work.
The earliest significant entry in the Daybooks is from November 1922, describing Weston’s first meetings with Alfred Stieglitz, from which Weston took great encouragement, although he did not always agree with Stieglitz’s comments on his work. Weston wrote, “Stieglitz has not changed my direction, only intensified it, stimulated me — and I am grateful,” adding that “I have a problem to work out; to retain my own quality and values but achieve greater depth of field.”
Weston eventually solved his depth of field issue in June 1924 by purchasing a cheap rectilinear lens, which stopped down to f/256 to use in place of the expensive anastigmatic f/32 lens he had previously used. Earlier that year (March 10, 1924), he had asked himself, “For what end is the camera best used aside from its purely scientific and commercial uses?” The answer he gave was that “the camera should be used for the recording of life, for rendering the very substance of the thing itself ...” adding that “I feel definite in my belief that the approach to photography is through realism.”
Six years later (Daybooks entry for April 24, 1930), Weston wrote what is perhaps his most definitive artistic statement to accompany a forthcoming exhibition in Houston, Texas:
Clouds, torsos, shells, peppers, trees, rocks, smoke stacks, are but interdependent, interrelated parts of a whole, which is Life. Life rhythms felt in no matter what, become symbols of the whole.
To see the Thing Itself is essential: the quintessence revealed direct without the fog of impressionism — the casual noting of a superficial phase, or transitory mood.
This then: to photograph a rock, have it look like a rock, but be more than a rock. Significant presentation — not interpretation.
Subsequent entries in the Daybooks reinforce Weston’s creed. It is clear that the phrase ‘be more than a rock’ is not intended to imply something ‘other than a rock’ but rather to capture the quintessential nature of a rock — a rock as a symbol of the whole.
Weston’s Daybooks entry for August 8, 1930, refers to the making of what is probably his most well-known image, a study of a pepper. He wrote: “a pepper — but more than a pepper: abstract, in that it is completely outside subject matter. It has no psychological attributes, no human emotions are aroused: this new pepper takes one beyond the world we know in the conscious mind.” He regarded the image as “a mystic revealment,” saying, “this is the ‘significant presentation’ that I mean, the presentation through one’s intuitive self, seeing ‘through one’s eyes, not with them’: the visionary.”
Weston’s Daybooks entry for August 8, 1930, refers to the making of what is probably his most well-known image, a study of a pepper. He wrote: “a pepper — but more than a pepper: abstract, in that it is completely outside subject matter.
In a later entry (February 1, 1932) Weston copied some text from a letter sent to Ansel Adams in which he wrote “I have on occasion used the expression, ‘to make a pepper more than a pepper.’ ... I did not mean ‘different’ from a pepper, but a pepper plus — an intensification of its own important form and texture — a revelation.”
In the entry for August 14, 1931, Weston expanded on his vision of photography, saying, “I am no longer trying to ‘express myself’, to impose my own personality on nature, but ... to become identified with nature, to see or know things as they are, their very essence, so that what I record is not an interpretation — my idea of what nature should be — but a revelation ... an absolute, impersonal recognition.”
In November 1932, Edward Weston and Ansel Adams were both founding members of the short-lived Group f/64, which was dedicated to the pursuit of ‘pure’ (i.e. straight, objective) photography. In an article reviewing this period, Anne Hammond2 makes the point that Weston would have been aware of Kant’s philosophical concept of the ‘thing-in-itself’ (Ding an sich). Kant’s ‘thing-in-itself’, though, is by definition unknowable and cannot be experienced — it belongs to what Kant called the noumenal world in which he posited that objects exist independently of our senses, not in the phenomenal world as we perceive it. Weston’s ‘essence’ of things, however, was not some philosophical ideal but a “simplification ... an ‘abstraction’ ”, recorded through “seeing parts of life always in relation to the whole” (Daybooks, October 1, 1931). He later summarised his approach to photography in an addendum to his application for a fellowship of the Guggenheim Foundation in 1937.3
My work purpose, my theme, can most clearly be stated as the recognition, recording and presentation of the interdependence, the relativity of all things — the universality of basic form ... In a single day’s work within a radius of a mile, I might discover and record the skeleton of a bird, a blossoming fruit tree, a cloud, a smokestack; each of these being only a part of the whole, but each — in itself — becoming a symbol of the whole, of life.
Reviewing a retrospective exhibition of Weston’s work held in 1989, art critic Alan Artner referred to Weston’s statement “to photograph a rock, have it look like a rock, but be more than a rock.” Artner (clearly aware himself of the Zen discourse ‘mountains are mountains’ that I referred to in my previous article Cloud Allusions) commented that “... in the last decade of Weston’s life, after the rock had been more than a rock, he saw that it was only a rock and thus reached a truth he had to learn through experience. ... In a way, Weston was the Zen master of American
photography.” 4
In Buddhism, the term ‘suchness’ (often rendered as ‘thusness’ or ‘as-it-is-ness’) is used to refer to the essence of ‘the thing itself’. ‘Suchness’ is a counterpart to ‘emptiness’ — they are two sides of the same coin. ‘Suchness’ refers to the reality of the impermanent and interdependent nature of all things and that things are just as they are, but all things are inherently ‘empty’ because nothing exists as an unchanging, separate entity. Neither ‘suchness’ nor ‘emptiness’ should be considered as definable attributes, though, rather as conceptual indications of what cannot be expressed — signposts on the way or, in Zen parlance, ‘fingers pointing at the moon’ and not the moon itself. In the Buddhist view, reality is not something which can be grasped conceptually but can only be experienced.5
Weston and Adams always kept in contact after the demise of Group f/64 though their approach to photography diverged to some extent — Weston remaining the dedicated objectivist but Adams admitting to a more subjective approach.
Weston and Adams always kept in contact after the demise of Group f/64 though their approach to photography diverged to some extent — Weston remaining the dedicated objectivist but Adams admitting to a more subjective approach. Adams was clearly influenced in this regard by Stieglitz who, when they first met in 1933, described his concept of the photographic print as the equivalent of what was seen and felt. Adams echoed these words in a statement made to accompany an exhibition of his work at Stieglitz’s gallery in 1936, which began, “Photography is a way of telling what you feel about what you see.” 6 Some years later, Adams wrote “once you admit your personal perception or emotional response the image becomes something more than factual, and you are on the doorstep of an enlarged experience. When you are making a fine print you are creating, as well as recreating. The final image will, to quote Alfred Stieglitz, reveal what you saw and felt. If it were not for this element of the ‘felt’ [the emotional-aesthetic experience], the term creative photography would have no meaning.” 7
Adams, though, was generally reluctant to express what his images signified, as he believed that “if a photograph needs verbal explanation or interpretation, it has failed in its essential objective, which is to transmit a visual experience.” 8 This was essentially the same view that Adams held about all art. “When I encounter a work of art in any form, I make no effort to surmise what it signified to the artist;
In view of Adams’ deep regard for the natural world, it seems to me that his subjective approach to photography was largely on the same page as Weston’s objectivism philosophically, if not aesthetically.
I can only accept or reject it on my own emotional-aesthetic terms,” he wrote in his autobiography.9
In view of Adams’ deep regard for the natural world, it seems to me that his subjective approach to photography was largely on the same page as Weston’s objectivism philosophically, if not aesthetically. In a letter to his friend and patron David McAlpin, Adams wrote the following: “Both Edward Weston and I have certain feelings about the Natural Scene — which we both arrived at independently and which we express differently. The whole world is, to me, very much ‘alive’ — all the little growing things, even the rocks. I can’t look at a swell bit of grass and earth, for instance, without feeling the essential life — the things going on — within them. The same goes for a mountain, or a bit of the ocean, or a magnificent piece of old wood.” 10 (Szarkowski 11 articulated the difference in their aesthetics, arguing that, in contrast to Weston’s presentation of the landscape as sculptural (concerned with the description of things), Adams’ images were more concerned with the nature of the light, revealing the relationship between objects — not with the physicality of things but with their transient aspects.)
Minor White, though, was clearly on a different page to Adams and Weston. White had met Stieglitz for the first time in February 1946 and six months later had taken up a teaching post at the California School of Fine Arts (of which Adams was, at that time, head of the photography department). In the same year, White also met Weston (who was affiliated with the CSFA) — subsequent workshops at Point Lobos, which were led by White and Weston sometimes included Adams too. Imagine that!
In the same year, White also met Weston (who was affiliated with the CSFA) — subsequent workshops at Point Lobos, which were led by White and Weston sometimes included Adams too. Imagine that!
“One should not only photograph things for what they are but for what else they are,” said Minor White. But his ‘what else they are’ was not the same as Weston’s ‘more than a rock’ or ‘pepper plus’ but something ‘other’. In a letter sent to Ansel Adams in 1947 he wrote: “My own personal trend of thinking has been towards psychological analysis of photographs” adding that “an artist has only one subject — himself.” 12 The analysis of photographs would continue to be a major preoccupation of Minor White’s thinking and writing in the years to come. Minor White’s ideas about photographic equivalence, his spirituality and his interest in Zen will be the focus of the third (and final) article in this series — The Sound of One Hand.
References
The Daybooks of Edward Weston, edited by Nancy Newhall (Aperture Books).
Anne Hammond, Ansel Adams: Divine Performance, (Yale University Press,
2002), Chapter 3: Objective Photography.
For any photographic artist, capturing or viewing others’ creative work, whatever the type, certainly stirs emotions within us. Like the title of the article, the album produced by the Manic Street Preachers has always hit a chord with me personally. It truly causes an inner spirit to rise from somewhere, and often, I have no idea why, but the mood of the music and the words sung make me feel quite creative within.
But does the image really reflect how the person taking the scene is truly feeling? I have also realised while writing this that I have often done the same thing, viewed an image and most of the time never really thought about how the person creating the work must be feeling at that time.
When I hear certain melodies from the album, I often imagine myself in a landscape fitting to the music, such as be natural, I’m Not Working and You're Tender And You're Tired, a piece that always make me reflect on conservation and our attitude towards the environment. Like certain types of music, certain types of views give us a feeling of joy or even fear. But does the image really reflect how the person taking the scene is truly feeling? I came to realise while writing this that I have often done the same thing, when viewing an image, I've never really thought about how the person creating the work must be feeling at that time. They say that the camera never lies, but I would like to beg to differ; maybe.
The premise of our podcast is based loosely around Radio Four's "Any Questions", Joe Cornish and I (Tim Parkin) invite a special guest onto each show and solicit questions from our subscribers.
I grew up on the Isle of Wight, which led me to access and enjoy the landscape. As I became more knowledgeable, I became fascinated by the history that I could see in the landscape. When I was walking, I would ask myself what was over the next hill or around the next corner. I am still exploring what is over the horizon or around the next bend of a river. I am exploring the physical world but now also the world of Ideas.
During my MA at Falmouth, I started a Project called Brythonic (Celtic-Wales-Cornwall-Brittany Culture). This project deals with the landscape and the human nature relationship. There are legends of sunken lands that, due to human action, are now lost below the waves. These are Lyonnesse (Cornwall), The Lowland Hundred (Wales), YS (Brittany). We are again in the times of rising sea levels due to climate change, but this is not the first time. There is a message of hope in my project. We have survived changing sea levels in the past, so we will do so now.
There are many different ways of viewing the Landscape. This Project deals with the landscape of ideas as well as the physical landscape. One of the concepts used is Geo-Mythology, the idea that historic climatic and geological events eventually become Myths. My Project also deals with the idea that the UK will become more tropical, a tropical Britain. We are returning to a tropical Britain. If you went back in time, you would find lions and hippos living on the banks of the River Thames.
Texture, form and tonality are aspects of my work used to create a feeling of the past. I Shot on digital and used DXO Filmpacks (Ilford Delta 100) to create black and white images. This was to create a consistent look and feel. The Camera system was Olympus (as it was), M4/3 system. On this project, portability was more important than ultimate image quality. To create the project, I visited the South East and the South West of England. I searched for a range of Wild and Ancient locations.
Avebury in Wiltshire is deep in levels of history and a great photographic location. Falmouth in Cornwall I knew from past visits has a good selection of tropical plants.
The best locations can be around the corner. Long-range travel is not a necessity. The B/W nature of the project grew out of the fact I was being symbolic. Not a direct record of what I was seeing but a vision informed by legend and science. I was working to find simple graphic images, almost like icons. I am moved by the work of people like Jem Southern or Ansel Adams, but you have to go in your own direction. None of my photographs were preplanned.
I am someone who finds images as opposed to someone who creates images. For me, it was more about knowing which locations would be rich in photographic material. Avebury in Wiltshire is deep in levels of history and a great photographic location. Falmouth in Cornwall I knew from past visits has a good selection of tropical plants. A good example of finding what I need, not what I was looking for, is when I travelled to Port Meadow in Oxford. I was looking to visit the Godstow Abbey Ruins, but due to flooding, I could not access them. The Flooding became the subject of the visit. The Flooding images were relevant to the concepts of rising sea levels and lands lost below the waves.
Below Flooding, Port Meadow Oxford
Climate change will affect the landscape now and in the future, but how do I photograph this? I look at the past as a guide to the future. My photographic project breaks down into 4 areas.
Tropical plants: This is to show the future plant life of the UK as global warming continues.
British trees. This shows the period from 10,000 years ago to now but also the fact that life will always return.
Water and Flooding. This is to show our immediate future. Rising sea levels will lead to settlements and lands disappearing underwater. The Water images also reference lands we have lost in reality and legends below the sea.
Photographs of ruins, standing stones, and the human impact on our landscape. The images of ruins are to show the civilisations and cultures that we have lost. Civilisations that have been lost to the sands of time. The message is that we are still here. This means that we have survived climate change in the past and will survive it in the future.
Rivermead Park is one of my local parks. When visiting, I saw this silver birch tree blowing in the wind. The tree represents immortality and hope. The silver birch tree is a pioneer species. This means that when the last Ice Age left Britain, it was one of the first plants to return. I see the silver birch as a symbol of life and hope as it has returned again and again to Britain.
Rivermead Park is one of my local parks. When visiting, I saw this silver birch tree blowing in the wind. The tree represents immortality and hope. The silver birch tree is a pioneer species. This means that when the last Ice Age left Britain, it was one of the first plants to return.
Below Silver Birch, Rivermead Park, Reading, Berkshire
When visiting the Isles of Scilly, I was looking for tropical plants and ruins. With luck, I found both at Tresco Abbey Gardens. The Isles of Scilly show how a warmer, wetter Britain could look.
In Roman times, the Isles of Scilly were one larger Island. This larger Island disappeared due to rising sea levels, leading to the legends of Lyonnesse. Lyonnesse is one of the historic/legendary lands that has been lost below the seas.
Succulent plants, Tresco Abbey Gardens. Isles of Scilly.
This project is the result of my investigation into the human nature relationship. It focuses on Britain, which is now the British Isles. My practice is to use photography to investigate things that are fascinating to me. This project includes mythology, history, climate change, and hope. I am not looking for easy answers but for more interesting questions.
Below Flooding, Port Meadow Oxford
succulent plants Tresco Abbey Gardens. Isles of Scilly.
Below Silver Birch, Rivermead Park, Reading, Berkshire
Instant attraction is a rare beast. It is a serendipitous moment in time, a brief relationship that will stay with you forever, and often, it can set you on a path that can change your life.
Having spent the last thirty plus years studying and dissecting the nuances of countless photographic images, often taking inspiration and more often than not wondering what inspired the photographer to make that image, I can honestly say that instant attraction has only graced me with its presence a handful of times.
Although this image was made just across the border in Belgium, it shows well the frustrations I sometimes feel about nature in the Netherlands: it looks beautiful, but you can't reach it
Introduction
In recent years I had the privilege to be a guest speaker several times at the Nature Photographers Association Strix in the Dolomites in Italy. That association has quite a number of excellent photographers, some of whom photograph exclusively in their own region. These are people who never go abroad for a photo trip. Not because they can't afford it, but because they have no need to! They feel deeply connected to nature in their own region and would rather experience and photograph that nature over and over again than visit new unknown areas.
It’s hard to imagine now that at one point, there was little to match National Geographic Magazine for the impact that photography had in print; perhaps the Sunday supplements could provide it if portraits or gritty realism were your thing. What careers might today’s explosion of images encourage?
Not unsurprisingly, Anna has had an interest in small scenes and the intimate details of landscapes from the outset; I get the sense that she has always paid close attention to books, art and the natural world. The conversation around her favourite images reveals both significant moments in her development as a photographer and the role that her growing understanding of processes (natural or human) and conservation plays in this, as well as the importance of still allowing ourselves to get lost in the moment.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?
I was raised in a bicultural family in Surrey, England. My mother is from the Spanish part of the Basque country, which is where I was born, and my father grew up in Northwest London. My parents’ intention had been to settle in Spain; work brought them back to the UK just before my first birthday, though we travelled frequently to visit family for extended periods of time. Life as a child was all about the outdoors, and my most treasured childhood memories involve climbing trees, looking for bugs and spending my summers swimming in a river, exploring the woods or running through fields. I was and still am a bookworm.
One simple truth I’ve discovered by examining thousands of photographs and having conversations with some of the world’s most interesting photographers on my podcast is that there are so many valid approaches to making a compelling photograph. Some like to meticulously plan their photography outings in order to maximize the potential of any given scene by factoring in the impacts that weather, light, and timing have on the final image. Others enjoy a more laissez-faire approach to making images, relying on intuition and emotional reaction to guide the process of making an image.
Alexandra Wesche interviewed Gregor back in 2022 about his project Drevesa. When Gregor approached me regarding his newest book, my curiosity was piqued, especially considering its prompt release following his previous work. Some photographers take years to craft a second book, so I was eager to delve into the details of his Misplacements project and gain deeper insights into the images.
The book's theme is making images featuring man-made objects that have been abandoned or have outlived their original purpose and photographed in the natural environment.
Alexandra Wesche caught up with you back in 2022, talking about your previous projects, Metascapes, Almost Invisible and ‘Drevesa’. What have you been working on since then?
I continued with the Metascapes project, which is actually an ongoing project. Since the last interview, I prepared two solo exhibitions and was selected for the group exhibition of contemporary Slovenian photography NovaF in May 2023. However, the favourite project that I have realised during this time is definitely the release of my last photobook, entitled ‘Misplacements’ published in a limited edition. Not only are all photos my work, but I also designed the book entirely myself and self-published it.
Your new project, Misplacements, you have been working for 12 years. Tell us about how the project came about and the challenges of finishing the project.
It's true; the photos were taken over a period of 12 years. However, the final work, including all design aspects, took place in 2022 and 2023.
The project arose spontaneously after many years of photographing man-made objects that are either abandoned or have lost their original function and which are placed in the natural environment. In the beginning, I photographed such objects at the locations where I happened to be. Eventually, I got the idea to combine them into a photobook with a bit of an unconventional landscape photography concept. The fact is that there are not many photo books with a similar subject.
The pairing of photographs was an extremely important part of the creative process. Later, I also spent a lot of time trying to find a really good printer, especially someone familiar with unconventional book binding techniques. I wanted the book's overall look to be unique.
You wrote in the introduction of your photo book, “The traces of human activity are evidence of our presence, and human interaction with the natural landscape is diverse. Sometimes it is more, and sometimes it is less visible. This series questions how we interact with the natural environment by placing isolated man-made objects of different forms and functions into a particular landscape so that its transformation is neither very obvious nor visually too destructive.” Tell us more about this statement. What was it what drew you to start the project?
The photos show man-made objects whose purpose is no longer clear, or they have lost their function but are still present in the natural environment.
In this sense, we could talk about some form of pollution of the natural environment, but as a photographer, I was interested in something else. Namely, what kind of visual effect do these alienated objects have in a space surrounded by nature? This idea unites the whole concept of the photobook. I am interested in the landscape not only as documenting the beauty of nature but also as a place where interaction between nature and human influences is present.
Because I am dealing with 'misplaced' objects, I also decided on an unusual design solution and placed the photos mostly on the outer edge of the page or close to the gutter, with which I wanted to emphasise that these photos are really about something that is located in the wrong places.
The photos show man-made objects whose purpose is no longer clear, or they have lost their function but are still present in the natural environment.
Your images are quite varied, from simple detritus to remains of large scale architectural sites. What was it that you felt the images had to have to fit with the books concept?
As I said, all the photos are connected by the idea of isolated, abandoned objects in a natural environment. In the surroundings, where they are located and where photos were taken, there is no active human presence. The diversity you mention is a necessary part of the concept here. What do people put and build in the natural environment and then leave behind. However, this variety later represented a great challenge in the sequencing and pairing of photos during the editing phase.
Do you think that there’s been growth in images and projects which highlight this issue evidence of man’s hand on the environment and do you think they have become more accessible/popular? I’m thinking about Edward Burtynsky and Robin Friend, for example.
Both authors you mention often record already caused and visible pollution on one hand or large industrial and infrastructure facilities on the other hand. However, this is not the case with my photobook. ‘Misplacements’ does not deal directly with the problem of pollution, but it is rather a visual exploration of interactions of abandoned objects which is happening in nature.
The aforementioned authors record highly visible impacts and pollution, while some objects in my photographs are often such that they even escape the gaze of passers-by. Of course, all abandoned objects in nature have a certain negative impact on the environment, but in my case, on a significantly smaller scale. I agree that there is an increasing number of photography projects whose subject is documenting pollution or environmental degradation. I did not have these ambitions and just wanted to create a series of photographs that differs from the usual photographic documentation of pollution but is still somehow connected to the human-nature interaction.
How did the project progress over time, and were there any adjustments made to refine the initial vision and goals?
When, at some point, I realised that I had enough photos that could represent a coherent body of work, I started combining them, pairing them. After the first selection, I was even more careful to catch any abandoned objects in the environment that I could add that would fit the concept of the book. And I actually took some of the most interesting photos during the last months while already preparing my photobook.
I designed and financed it entirely myself in a limited number of 50 copies. Working on a photo book is an extremely creative process, but it should not be rushed. I must have changed at least 10 versions regarding the selection and pairing of the photos, their positioning and the cover.
Were there many key photographs that you knew would succeed when you took them? Conversely, did some of your pre-planned images fail in execution? (or more generally - was it mostly planned or discovered?)
They were completely discovered. That means I found myself in a certain location, at some place, without any prior research. Therefore, the geography where the photographs were taken is very diverse: from the mountains in India to the outskirts of the city where I live. Absolutely nothing was pre-planned.
What have been the biggest lessons you’ve learned about the process of printing (and preparing to print) a book?
This is not my first photobook, but it is the first self-published one where I had full creative control. I designed and financed it entirely myself in a limited number of 50 copies. Working on a photo book is an extremely creative process, but it should not be rushed. I must have changed at least 10 versions regarding the selection and pairing of the photos, their positioning and the cover.
Some of the photos which were selected at the beginning were later eliminated. When working on a photo book, a photographer enters a completely different dimension of creative work than, for example, during the preparation of the exhibition. In doing so, he delves into the photographs in a different way, analysing their overall visual effect in a specific visual flow. Thus, viewing photos in a photo book or at an exhibition is a different experience for both the viewer and the author.
Although the equipment choice is secondary to your own processes, it inevitably affects the way we work to some extent. What equipment do you currently use and why did you choose it?
I use several cameras, but for many years, my primary camera has been the Canon EOS 5D Mark II with the corresponding Canon lenses. It has proven to be very reliable over the years. I found that due to the way I work, I absolutely need zoom lenses because I cannot carry too much heavy equipment with me on my hikes on heavy accessible and often steep slopes for several hours of walking.
But many times, especially in more urban environments, I came across a subject completely by chance, and in this case, I was saved by a smaller Fujifilm camera, which I often take with me just in case during my wanderings.
I use several cameras, but for many years, my primary camera has been the Canon EOS 5D Mark II with the corresponding Canon lenses. It has proven to be very reliable over the years.
Before digital cameras, I worked exclusively with film for more than 20 years. Speaking about cameras, I see myself as a musician who picks up the instrument with which he wants to get the desired sound. Sometimes it's a noisy electric sound, and sometimes it's a tender acoustic sound. In this sense, digital technology is much more suitable for my way of work and for the vision if the final outcome.
Tell me what your favourite two or three photographs from the book are and a little bit about them
I especially like the first and last photos in the book. When designing a photo book, special care must be given to the first and last photos.
For example, the opening photo was taken in Ladakh, India, and I don't really know what kind of object that is. It seems like some kind of fence, but in a location where there are no settlements. And no other objects can be seen in its interior either.
It is a kind of phantom construction that almost resembles a land-art object, but which it is not, of course. It is a typical example of a misplacement. It is similar to the last photo in the book, where the central topic is the sharp road bend, but it ends unexpectedly and illogically in the middle of the landscape.
What is next for you? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
I am a landscape photographer, and I am mainly interested in this genre of photography. This year, I am preparing a new solo exhibition where photos of trees will be presented. I like to photograph common subjects such as trees and forests but in a more unconventional way. Some of these tree-related projects are partially featured on my website. But to be honest, I am already playing with the idea of a new photobook or zine project in future.
In general, I was always more interested in the contemplative side of photography. I surely hope that people will not give up the pleasures easily that art photography can give, both for the photographers and for the spectators.
Lastly, I’d like to offer you a soapbox about something related to the natural world, the benefits of photography, or just living a good life. What would you like to say to readers or encourage them to do?
Photography can mean different things to different people. With the arrival of AI-generated images, very challenging times are coming for photography together with the perception of images in society. It is to be expected that we will be surrounded by more and more AI-generated images. Perhaps, therefore, creative photographic practices might gain even more appreciation, at least in the art world. But it’s hard to say. In general, I was always more interested in the contemplative side of photography. I surely hope that people will not give up the pleasures easily that art photography can give, both for the photographers and for the spectators.
1st edition limited to only 50 signed and numbered copies
Dimension: 260 x 210 mm; 44 pages
HQ digital 4/4 color printing
Inside paper: Fedrigoni Arena Smooth 200 g
Thread sewn; Bodonian binding with exposed spine
Cover: 2 mm board covered with printed Fedrigoni paper
Prior to my first encounter with the work of Peter Dombrovskis, I was incognizant to the breadth and beauty of Tasmania’s wilderness area. Prior to my first major visit, I was equally unaware of the sheer sense of wilderness I would experience upon entering the Walls of Jerusalem National Park on a trip wholly inspired by Dombrovskis’ sublime images of the area. That first trip instilled in me an ardent love of wild, pure Tasmania and many subsequent trips have been taken not just to explore but to experience its wilderness of towering dolerite peaks, valleys of Gondwanan pines and boundless alpine plateaus.
As with any wilderness, the character and beauty of Tasmania’s alpine landscape are found in all components of the area; from the bowed, weathered trunks of 1000-year old pencil pines to the emerald crowns of tall and proud pandani, often perched beneath imposing dolerite peaks.
As Dombrovskis so beautifully put it, ‘When you go out there, you don't get away from it all. You get back to it all. You come home to what's important. You come home to yourself.’
As with any wilderness, the character and beauty of Tasmania’s alpine landscape are found in all components of the area; from the bowed, weathered trunks of 1000-year old pencil pines to the emerald crowns of tall and proud pandani, often perched beneath imposing dolerite peaks. Such peaks, unique to Tasmania, rise like grand fluted organs from the landscape, with which nature composes wild winds and snow squalls to further sculpt the land. Such is the remarkability of Tasmania that its national parks, so well preserved, continually exist as a result of natural forces without the interference of man.
When you walk through these landscapes, the character of the sculpted flora is immediately apparent, often so much so that they hinder walking because their beauty demands you to stop, admire and, more often than not, photograph them. Throughout my past visits to this land, I have been continually inspired to communicate the emotive nature of these plants and to also express myself through composition and the extraordinary subject matter that they provide. More than anything, through this project, I hope to create images that express my love and adoration of Tasmania's wilderness.
Scope of the project
Undertaking this project, I soon realized the species of endemic flowers, trees, heath plants, and everything in between are innumerous, with each individual species full of merit and photographic potential. Since I am not necessarily concerned with a strict timeline for the project, the approach I have chosen is to work with one plant at a time, as long as it is endemic to alpine Tasmania. The choice of subject matter is often dependent on location (and season), as the diversity of flora across the island state is extraordinary relative to its size - one of the many interesting things about the island is how it acts as a time capsule for plants that date back to Gondwanan times. To be able to convey how ancient Tasmania is through these images form part of my intentions for this project, as well as the relationships that alpine flora form with the landscape due to the often-extreme weather they endure on an island in the path of the roaring forties.
One of my main subjects for the project so far has been Richea Pandanifolia, or the colloquial pandani (not to be confused with the more common pandanus). The tallest heath plant in the world, the almost alien pandani grows to 12 meters. Undoubtedly photogenic, this is a plant which favors an interesting juxtaposition in its environments. Oftentimes, they are found growing together in lush groves, as if amongst family. However, they are just as frequently found isolated atop exposed moraines or windswept valleys. The pandani is easy to be smitten with, as I certainly have been. Much of my time on this project has been spent trying to seek out pandani in sublime locations, and as a result, often wondering how something that looks so delicate proves to be so hardy.
The choice of subject matter is often dependent on location (and season), as the diversity of flora across the island state is extraordinary relative to its size - one of the many interesting things about the island is how it acts as a time capsule for plants that date back to Gondwanan times.
A large part of the project is committed to the fascinating trees found in alpine areas. Endemic pines, found atop exposed plateaus and lush valleys riddled with waterfalls, are some of the most dominant trees. The snow gum, another common tree, is immediately recognisable by its beautiful mottled bark, on which patterns unique as the human fingerprint form. The bark of these trees often exude striking, saturated colors after rain and snow. Photographing pines and snow gums is an interesting exercise, as they often exist amidst stunning landscapes, while the individual trees form characterful krummholz as a result of strong winds. Trying to find a composition that perfectly balances both their environment and individual character remains an enjoyable challenge for this project- these trees are always a pleasure to work with photographically.
A large part of the project is committed to the fascinating trees found in alpine areas. Endemic pines, found atop exposed plateaus and lush valleys riddled with waterfalls, are some of the most dominant trees.
The ephemeral deciduous beech, or Fagus, as it is locally known, is perhaps one of Tasmania’s most distinctive trees. The only winter deciduous tree in Australia, it is another Gondwanan relic, with its closest relative being the Lenga trees in Patagonia. The Fagus is undoubtedly most beautiful in the antipodean autumn when its foliage turns golden and often a deep red. While relatively straightforward to find, the most extensive populations of this magnificent tree are often in deep wilderness. When combined with the fickle weather of its alpine environment, planning a trip to photograph the tree in the peak of autumn can prove challenging. As such, creating a series of photographs which express the wondrous nature of this plant forms another key goal for this project.
Logistics
The majority of Tasmania’s alpine areas are incredibly remote, with very few mountains having road access. While this is certainly a blessing and one of the many reasons Tasmania’s wilderness remains so pristine, the alternative to accessing these mountains is usually via a steep, often vertiginous walk-in. As such, most trips dedicated to photography take course over multi day hikes, which are always incredible experiences in themself. I often choose to further extend trips, spending multiple days in a single area in order to immerse myself in the wilderness I have chosen to walk into. This provides me with ample time to explore an area I would otherwise be passing through on a shorter trip and to familiarize myself with any subjects I come across while exploring. I find this approach of giving myself time to open up to photographic possibilities far more rewarding than embarking on a shorter trip with preconceived photographs. I am always amazed by what can be found in an area if the time is taken not just to explore but to patiently observe. With the changeability of alpine weather, it is certainly possible to create a spectrum of photographs from the same subjects in different conditions. One such example is a small button grass field bordered by pine forests nestled beneath imposing peaks. Over the course of the day, the field encountered hoar frost, soft sunlight, heavy rain which saturated the deep oranges and greens of sphagnum moss pillows on which the button grass grows, and amber rays dancing across scattered pandani.
While always stunning, Tasmania’s weather can frequently prove challenging, especially if you are caught off guard by blizzards or gale force winds. This requires careful planning and preparation in order to reduce the risk of injury and becoming stranded. Depending on where a trip takes place, there are numerous alpine huts where one can seek refuge from bad weather. While newer huts are found alongside Tasmania’s popular multi day walks, such as the overland track, there are still many less known huts which can provide dry and warm shelter, especially in winter. I have found using these huts as a sort of base camp over a few days to explore an area to be both productive and rewarding.
Another challenge, common with any multiday walk, is having to carry multiple days’ worth of food and equipment. Thankfully, water is abundant in Tasmania, and I am able to fill up my bottle every hundred or so meters from a bubbling aquifer or stream. In terms of camera equipment, I normally carry a sturdy tripod, a digital camera with 2-3 lenses in addition to a large format 4x5 camera, also with 2 lenses and 5 film holders worth of film. While carrying all of this certainly makes my pack heavier than it should be, It is worth the freedom to be able to work without hindrance when I find something to photograph. Being able to observe Tasmania’s beauty through the ground glass of a large format camera is always a tranquil and moving experience, regardless of what I am photographing.
Being able to observe Tasmania’s beauty through the ground glass of a large format camera is always a tranquil and moving experience, regardless of what I am photographing.
Locations
As for the specific areas where I am working on this project, most of my trips take place around Tasmania’s central plateau. An elevated area of around 900 meters, the central plateau is a region once lifted up by tectonic activity and carved out by glaciers, leaving many of the mountains Tasmania is known for. These span across much of the plateau, forming national parks such as the Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park and the Walls of Jerusalem National Park. Beneath the pronounced peaks of these national parks, forests of native conifers form, often circling lakes, alpine tarns and rivers.
While most of the mountains in these national parks are formed of distinct dolerite pillars, alpine areas found west of the central plateau, such as the West Coast Range, Denison Range and Arthur Range, are a world apart. Largely encompassed by the Southwest National Park, these ranges are separate from the central plateau and are formed of conglomerate and sandstone in the north, which give way to jagged quartzite peaks further southwest. While many species of flora are common across most of alpine Tasmania, the conditions they grow in are not. This leads to uniquely characterized flora across different ranges and national parks, often as a result of the exposure to the environment in which they grow.
The future of the project
While this project is well underway, I still have several goals before I can consider it complete.
Similar to photographing the deciduous beech, I hope to further expand this project to cover the numerous flowering plants found across alpine herb fields, such as the elegant scoparia flowers and cushion plants.
Similar to photographing the deciduous beech, I hope to further expand this project to cover the numerous flowering plants found across alpine herb fields, such as the elegant scoparia flowers and cushion plants. In conjunction with this project, I have been printing select images after each trip which has helped me to properly appreciate and reflect upon the results of photographic trips long after they conclude. In turn, I have found that taking the time to reflect upon each stage of the project through printing has helped me to both realize specific goals and areas of improvement, as well as being able to better plan upcoming trips.
Even though I have visited many of Tasmania’s alpine areas, I feel that these are places of limitless beauty and, hence, places that I could continue to return to for as long as I am able to. To complete this project, there are still some areas I hope to visit (and revisit!), as well as certain species of flora I have yet to photograph. Having planned numerous future trips, I am hopeful that I will be able to finish this project before winter in the southern hemisphere in 2025.
The National Library of Australia holds the entire collection of photographs by the late Peter Dombrovskis. These 4x5 colour transparencies are kept in refrigerated storage but scans of the photographs can be seen on the library’s website.
Peter almost always photographed his landscapes on solo trips. The photograph reproduced here is of Blue Lake Creek, one of the four glacial lakes in mainland Australia, and it is very special to me. In 1986, he made a series of photographs in Kosciuszko National Park, and by chance, I was there too with my late brother-in-law, Colin Tyrer, both of us making photographs as well.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature, which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios which has been submitted for publishing. Each portfolio consists of four images related in some way. Whether that's location, a project, a theme or a story. Added:
Recently, I had the joyous experience of driving across Namibia with a group for friends. I piloted the 'girl car' through the rough and ready roads of the Namib Desert. The landscape is harsh, hot and desperately beautiful. One of my key destinations was the dried up salt pan of Sossusvlei, where the dead trees still stand after they were cut off from water by the dunes thousands of years ago. I determined to get there for sunrise mostly to beat the hoards of tourists who would arrive after the outer gates to the park were opened. We stayed at one of the two lodges inside the park, which gave us a bit of a head start, and it was certainly a privilege to have the place to ourselves for an hour or so before the crowds arrived.
It was quite spiritual to see the sun rising over the bright red dunes and beginning to illuminate the trees. This was somewhat spoiled by the irreverence some visitors had as several started climbing the fragile trees for the all important selfie. A guide I spoke to told us that it is likely that as tourism increases, the behaviour of some tourists will cause the area to be fenced and closed off to wandering tourists.
As a geologist and photographer it was inevitable that I'd take photographs of rocks. This group of "intimate landscapes" were taken near my home on the Northumberland coast in the UK. I like grand vistas as much as the next landscape photographer, but I feel that the restricted scope of these images allow the viewer to focus on the silent narratives expressed by geometries and juxtapositions of the elements without distraction, and emphasise the motifs that are the result of complex physical, chemical and biological processes. The ambiguous magnitude underlines that these processes are universal and take place on all scales.
I’m a pathologist in London, Ontario, Canada and while I typically enjoy street and landscape photography, every now and then, while looking down my microscope at someone’s biopsy or operative surgical resection, I will be struck by the beauty of the human tissue. These are 4 examples of such images. I haven’t titled them as I don’t think it’s important what they represent; other than that, they’re a mixture of normal and abnormal.
The protagonist in these 4 photos is the horizontal pattern. In nature, we rarely encounter uniform patterns on a large scale, but by using a telephoto lens, we can subtract unwanted elements from the scene and thus magnify subtle patterns or shapes; I think it is a great way to push my creativity. This series of photos was shot with a 500mm focal length in Navarra, Spain.
Over the course of the last few months, we have experienced what feels like a record-breaking amount of rain. The land around me is in a constant flux of flooding. The creek behind the house has not held so much water in many years, and the yard -- despite our best efforts -- seems to hold upon it more water than the pool itself. This has caused quite a few issues, namely that the grass in certain sections cannot get to grow, and the puppies are struggling to find spots in the yard to go about their business. If this rain were to continue on for just a few more days (it has already been raining nonstop the past three), I'm not certain the yard would be recognizable. Already there are road closures and downed trees, branches littering the yards and tearing down powerlines. The fields surrounding the house are soggy messes of mud and untilled cornstalks. What used to be thin streams of water now rush like raging rivers, flattening whatever lies in its path.
When I first witnessed this in December 2023, I began to formulate a photographic project. How could I document this flooding in a creative yet direct manner? What story could I tell through my art?
At the time, my camera of choice was a Chamonix 45F-2, a large format film camera which I paired with a Nikkor-W 210mm 5.6 lens (approximately 70mm in 35mm format) and Ilford FP-4 black and white film. This meant my process was abysmally slow and quite costly; while this helped me to more thoroughly contemplate the photographs included in this series before having exposed a frame, it also put me into a bind where I was constantly debating the worth of each composition. Instead of capturing what I saw around me, I was spending more time questioning each of my decisions, therefore letting go of multiple potential photographs. When you're working on long term projects or on singular images, this can be beneficial. But when you're attempting to document something which easily disappears the next day, this deliberation means you miss out on a lot of opportunities.
The premise of our podcast is based loosely around Radio Four's "Any Questions", Joe Cornish and I (Tim Parkin) invite a special guest onto each show and solicit questions from our subscribers.
Ellie's work has continued to inspire me with her projects, enthusiasm and creativity. Each project focuses on addressing human impacts on a specific environment, such as the New Forest in the South of England and on the plight of extremely rare and endangered UK chalk streams. Her body of work leaves the viewer with a call to action that these environments need preserving.
It was 2017 when we first interviewed you; that’s 7 years ago! What have you been working on since then? Were there any highlights or experiences that you’d like to share?
I can’t believe it’s been seven years! Since we last talked, I’ve made five bodies of work: Fires 2018, Seascapes 2020, Stillness 2021, Chalk Streams 2023, and the Seascapes Triptych 2013, which is ongoing.
During this time, the emphasis of my work has shifted because I felt it was impossible to make landscape photography without considering climate change. While I have continued to think about how we form our understanding of landscape from a constructionist point of view, these bodies of work also place climate change and its ramifications on specific ecosystems at the centre of my approach to image making.
For the Seascapes series overlaid light captured on the surface of water from the sea, rivers, lakes, flood zones and winterbournes onto woodlands and forests local to my home in Dorset in the south of England. I was interested in the flooding taking place across Britain and the impacts it was having on the landscapes local to me, and more widely the threats of climate change in the UK, with particular reference to forests and riparian environments.
More recently, the Chalk Streams and Seascapes Triptych have highlighted the plight of ecologically rare and threatened rivers and heathland ecosystems in the southern counties of Dorset and Hampshire
Particular highlights in my career during these 7 years have been seeing my work exhibited here and abroad. I loved working with Richard Kalman (director of Crane Kalman Brighton Gallery) on my recent solo show at Crane Kalman Gallery in London in July/August 2023. I was also thrilled to have a solo exhibition at Zingst Horizonte Photo Festival in Zingst on the Baltic Sea in Germany. The billboard sized images are being exhibited in a meadow by the seaside until June 2024.
In the middle of our walk of life, I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost.~Dante, The Divine Comedy
Since the early days of storytelling, the forest has provided a fitting metaphor for a variety of topics.
It's an environment over which we have limited control. It's a place that can be obscure and barely accessible. It serves as a symbol for a journey into the subconscious, for growing up and personal development. As such it is a popular and strong theme in all the arts, that never seems to lose its impact or substance.
The dark wood is a venue for disorientation, for being lost, but also for braving unknown dangers and inner fears. You need to face and enter the dark forest to find a way through it. A particularly well known story in Brother Grimm's fairy tales and Romantic paintings, both of which continue to inspire modern fantasy literature and movies.
The idea and structure of the book reminds me of a similar journey that another Italian, Dante Alighieri, described for his hero in his poem The Divine Comedy.
Italian photographer Antonio Aleo ventures on a similar journey in his photo book Hypnosis. However, Hypnosis is not just a book with beautiful woodland photography. Instead, it's a very personal journey into the subconscious mind based on his experiences with actual hypnosis therapy.
The idea and structure of the book reminds me of a similar journey that another Italian, Dante Alighieri, described for his hero in his poem The Divine Comedy. In the same way, the reader is taken on this journey in three parts. The otherworldly stages Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso serve a similar purpose as Antonio's chapters Darkness, Metamorphosis, and Inner Peace.
The first part 'Darkness' is, like its name suggests, a moody and somber series of images. We are led through a dark forest landscape with wider tree photographs as well as intimate scenes of leaves and tree bark. The mood is ominous. However, the darkness is not all-encompassing. There are always glimpses of light and spots of subtle colour. Towards the end of the chapter, we are being guided out of the dark with images of waterfalls and streams. Water is a perfect theme for this. It is light and directional, and when you are lost, it is usually a good idea to follow a river. There is always hope, these images seem to say.
The second part is called Metamorphosis, a wonderful and fitting title. The forest is constantly changing, but the strongest change happens in autumn, when the leaves undergo a beautiful metamorphosis to prepare for a season of rest and to gather strength for new life. Antonio starts this part with some lovely autumnal scenes that portray this transformation very well.
To find our way out of disorientation, we often need to change our perspective and mindset. This process can be forceful and painful. What better element to represent this than wind? The wind of change that removes the foliage from trees and covers the forest floor with a blanket of leaves and later snow. Wonderful photographs of wintry storms are the perfect bridge into the third and last part of the book.
To find our way out of disorientation, we often need to change our perspective and mindset. This process can be forceful and painful. What better element to represent this than wind?
Inner Peace. Is that not what most of us strive for? To be at peace with ourselves, the people, and the world around us. To be calm and have the necessary resilience and strength to lead a balanced life despite the chaos and struggles on this planet.
The forest can be a place of quiet and serenity during all seasons, but particularly so in winter, when the autumnal storms have given way to light snowfall. When most of the wildlife is resting and the vibrant colours are toned down to monochrome scenes. Again, Antonio has picked a perfect collection of images to express this state of mind that seems so ephemeral but yet so worthwhile. Paradise indeed.
'Hypnosis' is designed in portrait format, which I personally like, because it's the classic book format and usually easier to handle. For photography books, it is often a problem because landscape format photos will be disturbed by the gutter. In this case it is solved by only using photographs that feature mainly textures. Thus, no main subjects are being damaged and portrait format photos are also featured in a good large size.
The book cover is elegant and very dark. The cover image is taken from the first chapter 'Darkness' and serves as a good starting point for the journey.
The placement and sizes of images are varied and interesting. Double spread images complement each other perfectly and despite the relatively large amount of images, there's enough breathing space to make some images stand out a bit more.
The theme of hypnosis and a psychological struggle from stress and depression to mental balance is a very strong topic. The three chapters with short text introductions serve as a helpful structure to communicate the photographer's intention.
There are a few text elements in this book: a preface by Guy Tal, an introduction by the photographer, and another shorter introduction for each chapter. The longer text gives the personal background for this project. The short texts have a more poetic feel and set just the right mood for the following image collection.
The theme of hypnosis and a psychological struggle from stress and depression to mental balance is a very strong topic. The three chapters with short text introductions serve as a helpful structure to communicate the photographer's intention. The sequencing of images also enhances this structure as there's a common element serving as a bridge from one chapter to the next: water from chapters one to two and wind from chapters two to three.
The selection of images in each chapter is well chosen, cohesive and transports the message clearly and elegantly. The subtle and tasteful photo editing keeps each collection together as a smaller body of work.
All of the images originate in forest landscapes, but this book is not just comprised of a series of pretty woodland photos. Instead, it's a thoughtful and deep invitation to explore your inner self and unconscious mind.
The general nature of the theme makes it easy to identify for anyone who is going through a phase of internal or external struggle and can bring moments of peace and clarity to the receptive viewer. It's a book that grows on you each time you pick it up. What more can a photographer want?
Just as this butter knife incises and illuminates a dark Venetian canal, so did Venice illuminate our world. Since its founding in the 6th century as the Republic of Venice, this city became a major financial and maritime power during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, an important centre of commerce, art and music, and a rich merchant republic. And of course, today, it remains an urban or street photographer’s paradise.
As with many of the best images, the sense of mystery and ambiguity in this image invites the viewer to engage with the image and to ask questions of it, all of which enhances the visual experience. But another aspect of this image that particularly appeals to me is that it highlights the importance of looking versus seeing. As a pathologist who spends time looking at images down a microscope and making diagnoses based on morphological findings, I stress to our trainees the difference between looking and seeing. Pathologists and photographers must go beyond the passivity of looking to actively see (and to seek) important diagnostic findings or photographic scenes that are not to be missed.
This past summer, I embarked on a 35-day journey to hike 500 miles and climb 30 mountains along the Colorado Trail. On this journey, I spent a great deal of time reflecting on the meaning of life, how to find a greater purpose and other heavy philosophical questions. I also tried to find a way to think through how, if at all, photography intersects with such existential pondering. One conclusion I stumbled upon was that photography can be a fantastic gateway and vehicle through which these questions can be answered for each person if one chooses.
The subject of today’s essay embodies this idea, not only through her photography but how she engages with others online. Suzanne Mathia is a photographer born and raised amidst the rolling green hills of the English countryside but now finds solace and inspiration from her home in the desert southwest of the United States. Suzanne has always impressed me as a person and a photographer, so I feel very grateful to be able to write about her and her work. Suzanne is an expert in Adobe Lightroom and always takes the time to generously answer even the most mundane questions from people in her social media circles. She also creates wonderful artwork through the lens by combining feminine elegance with mystery and intrigue. Her photography leverages her insatiable curiosity to discover nature’s hidden beauty and provides viewers with the space to take a deep dive into nature. Let’s examine how these variables help Suzanne stand out amongst her peers.
By the 19th Century, Sheffield’s rapid industrial expansion stimulated population growth, calling for a reliable water source to provide power for industry and to improve sanitation for residents, many of whom lived in squalid shared housing. Consequently, an ambitious programme of reservoir construction was undertaken. The Dale Dyke dam excavations began on 1st January 1859.
On the evening of 11th March 1864, during a violent storm, a crack was spotted in the embankment of the recently completed Dale Dyke dam. The resident engineer, John Gunson, was summoned to inspect the now widening fissure. Just before midnight, despite desperate efforts to relieve water pressure, the central section of the embankment collapsed, causing 700 million gallons of water to cascade down the narrow Loxley Valley towards the sleeping town of Sheffield. This three-story high cocktail of water, trees, boulders, masonry, machinery, and human and animal waste carried away people and livestock. The inundation obliterated homes, farms, and industry in its path. It fell upon the industrial heartland of Sheffield town where, at Ladies Bridge, crowds gathered to witness the horrific spectacle.
The flood surged towards Rotherham, swamping engineering works and drowning staff there. The swollen Don inundated the countryside depositing mangled corpses and wreckage along its path towards Doncaster. The final toll of human lives lost was between 240 to 300, with 27 individuals never recovered or claimed. In the aftermath of this fearful inundation, an untold number of people died through their injuries or disease.
Sheffield’s Rivers Today
Because it is at the confluence of five rivers, the Don, Sheaf, Rivelin, Loxley and Porter, Sheffield is susceptible to flooding. Since 1864, there have been nine major floods. However, the devastation has not been as extensive or as tragically complete as it was on the 11th and 12th of March 1864. Primarily this is due to improved engineering techniques
Because of sewage discharges, industrial chemical releases, and agricultural run-off, the river Don at Sheffield had, by 1900, become one of the most polluted rivers in Europe. Although there have been major steps to improve water quality since there are now worrying signs that our waterways are under threat. Combined Sewer Overflows (CSOs) are systems that should only allow sewage release in extreme emergencies, but the ‘Rivers Trust’ has compelling evidence that CSO’s are used routinely in Sheffield.
The state of the Don feeder rivers, the Porter, and the Sheaf mirrors that of other rivers in the UK – 86% are in a poor ecological state. In addition, climate change has caused more frequent storms throughout the UK. Greater urbanisation and flood plain developments exacerbate the situation further. For many years deforestation and the destruction of many peat lands has sped up water flow from the hills surrounding the city leading in turn to more flood dangers in the Sheffield basin.
Fearful Inundation - Exhibition Details
Both exhibitions are on now. Admission is Free
Exhibition 1 - Sheffield Central Library, Surrey Street, Sheffield, S1 1XZ. Running until April 27th
Exhibition 2 - St. Nicholas Church, High Bradfield, Sheffield, S6 6LG. Running until 7th May
When I reached out to Peter earlier this year, he was just heading off to Norway, closely followed by what was described as one of the strongest storms to hit the country in several decades; winter travel always has the potential to surprise. This all seems a marked contrast with the body of work that caused me to approach him: quiet, softly lit, images of his Ireland. I always like to select images from a photographer’s home ground, irrespective of where their adventures may take them - it’s where I think we most reveal our individuality - and in recent years it feels like moments of calm are increasingly important to us all, whether found or shared.
I’ll perhaps begin by asking you how your trip to Norway was - you arrived in time for Storm Ingunn? It was pretty rough in Northern Scotland so this may not have been the workshop exactly as expected?
I was traveling to Norway to do a photography workshop so when the logistics start to fall apart, things get a little complicated. I have to say the storms in Norway were pretty crazy, and we actually spent an extra night in Oslo.
on the mountain crests
a line of wild geese
and the moon’s seal
Yosa Boson
a clear waterfall – into the ripples fall green pine-needles Matsuo Bashō1
In a recent article for On Landscape (A little piece of Eden), I included three short poems about Mallerstang written during the Covid lockdown to accompany the abstract images of water. These were examples of the haiku form that originated in Japan. I am sure that many of the minimalist landscape photographers amongst you will already have looked at the application of some traditional Japanese belief frames such as Zen, concepts such as wabi sabi, and poetic forms such as the haiku, senryu, and tanka. Michael Kenna, for example, perhaps more than any other photographer, has often been linked to Zen with his photographs. There have also been a number of books describing the practice of what has been called Zen Photography, often equated with minimalism2.
We should be careful not to be too superficial here, of course, since Zen is a Japanese form of Mahayana Buddhism, originally introduced to Japan from China. It is known for its practice of meditation to obtain self-knowledge and for the ascetic and simple lifestyle of its adherents. It is much more than minimalism3, and Michael Kenna practised a minimalist approach to photography well before his many trips to Japan and Korea, having grown up in the industrial town of Widnes in Cheshire in England and been primarily influenced by the work of Bill Brandt4. It is reported that Henri Cartier-Bresson (1908-2004) was influenced by a copy of Zen and the Art of Archery that was given to him by the painter Georges Braque (1882-1963). This had been originally published in German by the philosopher Eugen Herrigel (1884 – 1955) in 1948 after he had spent a period teaching in Japan5. For those of us who were around in the 1970s, the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by the American philosopher Robert Maynard Pirsig (1928 – 2017), published in 1974, was much more influential.
But perhaps the better analogy for landscape photography is with the simple poetic forms associated with Zen, such as the haiku6. In his book Forms of Japan, published in 2022, some of Michael Kenna’s photographs are printed in conjunction with some haiku by classic Japanese authors such as Bashō, Boson and Issa7, and Michael Kenna is quoted as saying, “My photos are more like haiku than prose”8
How a lost wedding ring, an innkeeper and perseverance cut through the fog of loss & reminded me that when creative inspiration leaves, a journey along the timeline from lost to found remains though likely veiled and unseen.
Elation welled up in me as I spotted, glinting in the bright midday sun, nestled in a sandy rut, the shimmering, threadlike golden crescent of metal, nearly the colour of the sand that cradled it. That sandy rut was one of a pair that, together, carved a road of sorts. That road bisected the swath of land that lay under a length of a high-voltage power lines. A strip of spongy undergrowth stretched below the powerlines that slashed through the Cape Cod National Seashore.
The power lines lay adjacent to a tangled and stunted forest of oak and pine that sat between my nearby motel and Marconi Beach. I had been stood there the evening before, suspended it seemed, on the springy undergrowth, my tripod up to its ankles in vegetation. I was photographing those pylons and power lines as fog shrouded the scene. The fog providing an element essential for finding my composition—while, lost in my own ‘fog’ of concentration and creation, I unknowingly dropped my wedding band.
The fog providing an element essential for finding my composition—while, lost in my own ‘fog’ of concentration and creation, I unknowingly dropped my wedding band.
That elation—pure jubilation—at discerning the shining curve of gold snugged in the sand immediately filled the pool of despair that eddied and deepened during the sixteen or so hours since I grasped that I had lost my wedding band—a ring of gold engraved with an intertwining dog motif said to symbolize longevity. It had been several hours after returning from the power lines that I finally realized my ring was gone, my finger bare. I had spent those hours oblivious to the fact it was missing from my finger, not entirely surprising as I often took it off to cook or wash up, setting it down for stretches of time. It was not uncommon for panic to take hold before I recalled where I had placed it.
That day, without it, I had ambled around Wellfleet, Truro and Eastham, scouting image making locations. Without it, I ate fried clams at a rustic clam shack. Without it, I smoked a cigar in the open air at the edge of the forest by my motel, John Coltrane, for company. Without it, I packed my gear for an early morning start, my finger ignorantly bereft of its life partner.
It wasn’t until later, a baseball game murmuring in the background, as I was readying to turn in for an early start the next morning, that I thumbed my finger only to find it missing. Panic was staved off as I searched, mollified by my habit of removing the ring only to find it placed nearby. Despair settled in as my search became frantic. Bags were disembowelled, pockets and pouches filleted by fraught fingers, blankets and pillows upturned and shaken like pickpockets in fables. No wedding band turned up.
It was then that I started trudging along a timeline of loss and grief, gloom coming in like the tide. At some point along that timeline of despair, as place after place I searched turned up nothing, I conceded grimly that it was truly lost. I had recognized that I would live my days out, forever worrying about the spot where the ring had been, thumbing the empty space like a wound that would never heal. I comprehended longevity as I never had.
During that time without my wedding band, in those ensuing hours after I discovered the loss, I was on a journey with an end I could not fathom. I was traversing an arc of time—a timeline from lost to found. It was an arc of emotion from grief and sadness and remorse to glints of optimism and a shimmer of hope offered by an innkeeper’s own story of lost to found that led, ultimately, to complete euphoria.
That timeline from lost to found could not reveal itself while I was on that joyless ride. On that ride along the timeline from lost to found, a fog of sorts encroached, eclipsing hope and shielding me from inspiration.
That timeline from lost to found could not reveal itself while I was on that joyless ride. On that ride along the timeline from lost to found, a fog of sorts encroached, eclipsing hope and shielding me from inspiration. From complete ignorance, I slid helplessly into entrenched despair. That entrenched despair sublimated into a vapor of rapturous elation when I came across that shimmering crescent in the sandy rut.
I didn't begin to take photography seriously until a couple of years ago when I retired and started hiking most summers on the 500-mile Colorado Trail. Like most outdoor photographers, I imagined I'd become the next Ansel Adams. I aspired to portray the great landscape vistas of the trail.
As a "serious" photographer, I started to acquire photo books as an important part of my photography education. Most of these were by photographers I wanted to emulate. One of the books I acquired, however, was This Land: An America Portrait by Jack Spencer. This book was a revelation to me and has changed my photographic trajectory, or at least the way I think about photographs. Spencer, a self-acknowledged "pictorialist at heart," captures in his images more than a landscape. He manages to capture, especially in his images of the American West where I grew up, my sense of what has happened to America and the American landscape.
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.
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”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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”
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.
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!
For our 300th issue, we wanted to revisit one of our favourite photographers and someone who contributes a great deal to the landscape photography world, Sandra Bartocha. I've always been an admirer of Sandra's work and we've worked together a few times including when she gave a talk at our conference in 2018 and when she helped us as a judge for the Natural Landscape Photography Awards. I'd highly recommend getting a copy of either "LYS" or her more recent book, "Rhythm of Nature".
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Since Michela last interviewed you in 2016, what has changed or evolved in your photography journey, or what aspects have brought you the greatest satisfaction?
I think I’ve come quite far since, personally and as an artist. We all survived a pandemic, which was quite cathartic for me. I remember speaking about the hamster wheel that many freelancers experience as part of their daily routine to survive as a photographer. In 2020, everything came to a halt: no presentations, no exhibitions, no assignments. I moved up north to the region of Germany where I grew up. A landscape that had always had a huge place in my heart. Suddenly I had all the time in the world, time to reflect, time to venture out every day and take images. It was a wonderful, warm, and intense spring; there were no tourists …and I absolutely enjoyed feeling and observing the changes in nature very closely that occur daily but often go unnoticed in our busy digital lives. This period was a catalyst for many ideas and projects finished. I am so much clearer these days about where I’m heading artistically and what gives me the greatest satisfaction. And that is seeing images in print – be it in books or exhibitions, having the opportunity to engage directly with the audience.
The premise of our podcast is based loosely around Radio Four's "Any Questions", Joe Cornish and I (Tim Parkin) invite a special guest onto each show and solicit questions from our subscribers.
Our second podcast featured Lizzie Shepherd where we discussed his exhibiting pictures, creative photography, lightweight gear and much more. You can see this podcast here but we're also making the podcasts publicly available on most streaming platforms. You can find out more at this public link.
Photography might be the most practised craft that exists today. Especially with how popular smartphones have become, nearly every person on this planet takes photographs in some capacity. 3.2 billion images are uploaded to the internet. Every. Single. Day. When using a camera, we have so many choices for potential subjects of our photographs: people, animals, buildings, cars, trees. The entire physical world can be photographed. But every time we take a photograph, we have to start by making this first important choice; what will we photograph?
The subject of our photography—the things we choose to make photographs about—is vastly more important than the kind of camera or lens we use to do so. In fact, I have come to believe that the relationship you have with your subject is the greatest determining factor of the quality of the photographs you make of it. As a photographer myself, I have found very little to no interest in making photographs of people, cityscapes, automobiles, man-made structures, weddings and events, or anything else besides natural things and places. This is why nature is the sole subject of my photography because I have a strong interest in it, and why I do not photograph anything else. My love for nature is what got me into photography, as I feel it is the best medium I can use to portray the natural subjects and scenes that I find meaningful. I didn’t become interested in nature because I loved photography and needed to find something to photograph. My love for nature got me interested in making photographs of nature. That’s why it’s called “nature photography” instead of “photography of nature”—nature first, photography second. My main genre is nature, the sub-genre is photography.
Terra Silva are two Latin words. They loosely mean "the land of the forest". Since this project is about forests and trees and since my native language is a direct descendant of Latin, I thought it would be a fitting title. More so, the idea came about in 2015 while I was freezing in a bothy writing in a journal about my experience in Cairngorms National Park, photographing the Caledonian forest, a Latin name given by the Roman Empire to the north side of Great Britain.
On that particular trip to Scotland, I probably had the biggest strike of luck of all the trips dedicated to the project. On the second day, the temperatures dropped, and it started to snow. The landscape was shaped by the cold spell. The Scots pine trunks stood out against the blank canvas created by the transient snow. Sometimes, everything was silent but immediate and gripping. Being alone could only enhance this feeling. Other times, the wind blew with great power, rushing the clouds and leaving brief moments for the sun to shine. The swiftly changing weather of Scotland graced with some good memories. It reminded me that I finally needed to change my seven-year-old boots - walking hours on end through dense vegetation covered in melting snow will get your feet wet.
Diversify my approach
After Scotland, I imagined myself going on trips all over the planet to photograph various forest ecosystems, a thing that usually requires a generous budget and plenty of time, none of which I had. So, instead, I did a few scouting trips for future photo tours where I focused almost solely on photographing trees. This way, I could justify spending the money.
After Scotland, I imagined myself going on trips all over the planet to photograph various forest ecosystems, a thing that usually requires a generous budget and plenty of time, none of which I had.
Then, I invested a lot of time in photographing the forests of my home country, which are some of the oldest and richest land ecosystems in Europe.
I did a lot of backpacking in my local mountains, taking my time without being worried about breaking the budget. Between 2015 and 2020, I managed to make some of my favourite images since I started photography while being responsible with the finances, but also have a better understanding of the place through multiple visits. Though I admit there were several occasions where I got lucky with the right conditions on my first visit. I'm the kind of photographer who doesn't plan too much (although there was always some planning involved) and I do think that every type of landscape and any kind of light can produce unique images. So I worked with what I had, trying to diversify my approaches of the same subject instead of exploring new places with each visit.
Reviewing my existing catalogue
Another thing I did was to look at my portfolio before 2015. I felt there were a few older images that would fit the project quite well, images that I always liked, that stood the test of time. However, I was afraid that this might turn the project into a collection of images from my portfolio instead of images that I set out to make specifically for Terra Silva. I came to the conclusion that this was an acceptable compromise if wanted to present the best images of trees that I could possibly make. The first image in the book, as every project should end with a book or at least some printed form, is a good example of that. Made in 2013, this little pine tree photographed in Norway was discovered by my wife while we made a quick stop on our way to the next camping spot.
The problem with a project about trees is that it can go on forever. So I had to make a decision at one point. I had around 120 images that I felt were worthy to make up a book. A first edition of Terra Silva, to be more exact.
It also inspired the illustration on the cover and was a good link between a past stage in my photography and a newer one, where I worked with more intention on creating images with a common theme.
Book design
The problem with a project about trees is that it can go on forever. So I had to make a decision at one point. I had around 120 images that I felt were worthy to make up a book. A first edition of Terra Silva, to be more exact. Because I know I'm never going to stop working on it. There are still places to see, forests to explore, and images to be made. I started the image selection in 2022 while continuing to produce new work. At the beginning of 2023, I entered the last phase, the book. Since I published another book a few years before, I had some previous experience in book design, which I did myself. I'm always keen on learning new things, and design, in general, has always appealed to me. I knew I wanted the same dimensions, 28x22 cm, as the first book. This is because I would like to be able to present my whole portfolio as a collection of books that look and feel the same (just an idea; it might change with time).
There are, however, a few advantages with smaller books. They are more affordable without sacrificing quality in production. As people are less and less interested in physical books, a high price might make them even less interested. More so, I want my books to appeal to a wider audience, not only photography book connoisseurs but people who like nature and the outdoors and people who like arts in general. As for the paper, I wanted something that would feel organic, closer to what one would experience upon touching a tree or a leaf. Matt paper was the ideal candidate, although I knew it could be tricky to print on. The printing house I worked with, Editoriale Bortolazzi Stei in Italy, sent me a few samples and in the end I went for a matt paper with a velvet surface and a high thickness - GardaPat Bianka (pure white shade). The details and colour reproduction came out great while keeping that organic feel I was after. Of course, these choices are subjective, and I think it's important that you, as the author, are satisfied with the final product. My expectations were surpassed.
My biggest challenge
The biggest challenge in making the book was the text. Writing is something I enjoy, even though it doesn't come as easily as photography to me. I set out from the beginning to take the scientific route, reading books and studies about forests, ranging from the history of trees on our planet to why they are critical to the land environment and our relationship as a species to them.
Terra Silva was a joy to make, and I'm grateful for all the time I spent among the trees with my camera. However, there were moments, especially during those many days spent in front of the computer, when I felt desperate or frustrated like this wasn't going to end any time soon.
This approach helped me figure out another important aspect: the structure of the book. It has 4 chapters - Time, Resilience, Community and Stillness, each with an introductory text and 4 shorter texts on lesser known facts about trees. To make the challenge even greater, I emailed several scientists and book authors in the field of dendrology to see if they would be interested in writing the foreword. All politely refused because they didn't have the time. Then I wrote a few photographers only get the same answer or to be postponed until I couldn't wait any longer. So I ended up with no foreword. A bit sad at first, but at least I could use that spread to put two more images in the book.
Terra Silva was a joy to make, and I'm grateful for all the time I spent among the trees with my camera. However, there were moments, especially during those many days spent in front of the computer, when I felt desperate or frustrated like this wasn't going to end any time soon. After a while, I took it as part of the process. There has to be some struggle for art to make its way and become relevant.
Forests have always been a part of my identity, so I knew I had to bring this book to life. In spite of not having a generous budget that would allow me to explore more - a trip to California to see the oldest and the tallest trees on earth is probably my biggest regret. In spite of having spent a lot of time at home taking care of my son (he was born in 2017) when I should have been in the field. In spite of having long periods of stressful work (as a freelance photographer and guide, you spend most of your time doing anything but photography) or simply feeling overwhelmed by daily life. Sometimes I just sat with the disconfort and frustration, accepting that there were other priorities.
Looking back at all these years, Terra Silva was a constant thing in my life, almost like a string which connected big and small events, like asking my wife to marry me on a camping trip far away, the birth of our son, the travels we did together, the shared mountain hikes with old and new friends or the time spent by myself in the wild.
So I made a point of taking advantage of every small occasion to work on the book. I would go for a run to clear my head in the nearby forest, taking the camera with me (I call it trail running photography). Instead of reading before bed, I would sit in front of the computer for 20 minutes selecting images or working on a spread. Bit by bit, the book was completed in November 2023, just in time for Christmas.
Looking back at all these years, Terra Silva was a constant thing in my life, almost like a string which connected big and small events, like asking my wife to marry me on a camping trip far away, the birth of our son, the travels we did together, the shared mountain hikes with old and new friends or the time spent by myself in the wild. I remember all these moments when flipping through the book as each image connects to a beautiful memory. Who knows, without realising it’s probably why I started the project in the first place.
When I recovered from the shock when Charlotte asked me to provide an End Frame article, I was then a bit flummoxed as to what picture I should choose.
Should it be one of the late great Adams, Weston, Bullock etc. or one of the modern masters, Cornish, Waite, Kenna?
I thought that all these great photographers are well known, and that it might be interesting to choose someone who is not a public figure. Looking through my photographic books, I decided to choose Barry Thornton.
Barry, now sadly passed away, was a British photographer who straddled the analogue and digital worlds. He held a senior role in corporate training but eventually gave this up to earn his living as a photographer.
As well as image making, he designed black and white film developers and other chemistry, ran training courses in all aspects of processing and printing and wrote several books. He was an early adopter of digital printing, and he helped me considerably with my start in digital printing.
The image I have chosen is titled “Wiltshire, October”. It depicts the wide-open spaces of the Wiltshire Downs.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature, which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios which has been submitted for publishing. Each portfolio consists of four images related in some way. Whether that's location, a project, a theme or a story. Added:
California’s Pacific Coast is replete with photographic opportunities ranging from dramatic bluffs to sea stacks, craggy rocks, piers and tafoni. The tafoni formations resemble a honeycomb and is formed by the forces of erosion on rock surfaces. While making this collection of photographs, I wanted to accentuate the textures and patterns of tafoni. Soft directional light provided the perfect conditions to translate my vision into reality.
All the photographs in this collection were made at Bean Hollow State Beach situated roughly 50 miles south of San Francisco.
There are many secrets to be found on the rock platforms on the beaches close to Sydney (Australia). There are special places where the rocks are glorious colours – blue, green, yellow, orange and red. Sea snails make art as they weave their way through the sand at the bottom of a rock pool. Delicate jewel chains of seaweed hide in narrow cracks in the rocks. The high tide sweeps over the pools, causing mini streams and waterfalls. Sunlight catches the ripples and every moment is different. I look for colour, textures, movement, and abstract patterns which reveal themselves momentarily. The day has to be just right for photography – a gentle trickle of water over the rocks, a slight breeze, and a clear sky to avoid the reflections of the clouds.
I do like watching the waves. It is relaxing and always exciting and unpredictable. Usually, I can spend hours trying to figure out or predict the next move and the next splash. More than watching waves, I like taking photos of waves. Long exposure, mid-telephote lens, and tripod are my choices of techniques and equipment. Opportunities to get creative are almost limitless. Slight changes in photographic parameters can capture different views and structures of water motion. I'll use three parts of a 4x4 profile photo to present my theme. I decided to use a 1:1 aspect ratio to emphasize the abstract nature of the subject.
I started making more abstract landscape images in 2021. National lockdown rules confined me to my local park. The few vistas it has were always (and understandably) well populated. That, combined with a period of deep introspection, prompted me to start looking more closely at the trees.
The more I looked, the more I could see things that I had not seen before. Forms in the trees dug up memories, stories and significances. It was such fun. Abstraction is now a concept I play with on a regular basis. I found these four on a recent trip to that same park where it all began (with profound thanks to Joe Cornish for inspiring “Wisdom”, in particular, with his recent collection, Inner World).
In this issue, we have a conversation with Eric Erlenbusch, who has realised a long-standing desire to both see and share where he lives, which began at an early age with time spent outdoors. Only later did a camera begin to help him realise his ambition and ultimately prompt him to flip the needle between interest and career. He has long had an ambition to do more than simply record what nature looks like: visual storytelling and passion are essential. We talk about the role of the camera in noticing and engaging with viewers and the different ways of sharing photography that he is exploring.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?
Firstly, I’d like to thank On Landscape for the opportunity to share my journey with photography. I grew up in Missoula, MT, which is between Glacier National Park and Yellowstone. My family wasn’t particularly outdoorsy, but I was always athletic through sports. In my teens, I joined my family during hunting season for outings into the woods and a few random camping trips. Around the age of 15, I vividly remember a day I believe my love of Nature began; I felt bored one Saturday morning, so I randomly took my parents’ mountain bike and rode a local trail which ended at the Wilderness boundary. Since that day in Nature, I haven’t felt boredom in my life again.
Around the age of 15, I vividly remember a day I believe my love of Nature began; I felt bored one Saturday morning, so I randomly took my parents’ mountain bike and rode a local trail which ended at the Wilderness boundary.
During high school, I had a friend who shared some interest in being outdoors, and while only both being 16 years old, we headed into the nearby mountains for an overnight winter camping trip. Looking back it sounds bizarre that our parents allowed us to do this; I have fond memories from that trip and our subsequent adventures, as he unfortunately passed away a few years later in an avalanche accident. I continued to explore the Bitterroot Mountains and the surrounding mountains of Montana, as much as possible on weekends and during the summer. I purchased a USFS map for $5.00 and began exploring, wondering where each trail went and what it looked like, often solo with my dog or with a friend. This same friend and I bought a snowmobile in high school and used that to further explore and ski in Winter. Looking back, I really just wanted to see where I lived and share it.
I met a friend shortly after who also enjoyed climbing and we began to climb mountains, from Granite Peak in MT (highest point) to failed attempts in Glacier NP to summiting Mt. Rainier out of Seattle. Through all these adventures, I often took a 35mm point and shoot, and stuffed it with Kodak Gold as a way to share snaps of these adventures. This was the extent of photography for me at the age of 20; my interest was solely in Nature and adventure. I moved to Utah to attend the U of U and continue my studies in Meteorology; I’m a self-proclaimed weather nerd and thought this was my career path. I worked and skied at Alta/Snowbird through school and quickly met even more adventurous, like-minded friends. Through adventures in nature, I began noticing there were more and more moments which stood out for me to want to share.
How did photography come into your life, and what were your early images of or about?
In 2005, I broke my leg skiing and later that year I moved to Seattle, WA, with my partner at the time. She had an older SLR with a “real” lens and I recall feeling as if I could see for the first time upon using it. I decided I wanted to teach myself photography and began using Velvia 50 and spot metering through the camera to learn light. Weekend adventures to the Olympic Peninsula and the Cascade Mountains gave ample opportunity to shoot and learn. I also spent countless days at my favourite place in Seattle, the Ballard Locks. I was hungry to learn, shoot, evaluate and repeat. Photography was very much a slow learning process and was always in the background for me at this time.
It was in Seattle that I began a career in Hospitality Management for a global company, which then allowed me to move to Park City, UT. I liked my job, connecting with people and living where nature was literally at my doorstep.
The colourful aspens and atmosphere created what felt like a Monet all around me. This was my “ah-ha moment” in Nature. I looked at the time, realising I had to leave to go to work (I was late), but I was leaving something I loved for something I didn’t love.
In the fall of 2012, I was out hiking and shooting one morning before work, as a clearing storm created lifting fog and magical light. The colourful aspens and atmosphere created what felt like a Monet all around me. This was my “ah-ha moment” in Nature. I looked at the time, realising I had to leave to go to work (I was late), but I was leaving something I loved for something I didn’t love. I decided at that moment that my life was going to follow a different path toward what I love. The following April I set off on a 4 month road trip around the Western USA and haven’t looked back yet.
Here in the forested mountains and limestone farming valleys of eastern West Virginia(US), wooded river and stream bottoms bristle with terrain features, vegetation communities, habitats, ecological dynamics, and natural architectures that I can’t resist. From high terraces bordering uplands, to near shore islands and bars flanking main channels, they are inexhaustible subjects.
Kenneth Grahame (who wrote The Wind in the Willows) put it right. Sometimes, there’s nothing else half as worth doing as bumping my canoe along river banks - I mean right up against them. And I slip into guts and creeks and explore on foot, too.
One day, a tiny flicker of movement materialised into a mole (Scalopus aquaticus*) clambering down a recently collapsed bank like that shown in the right mid-ground of “Mole Hall”. The little creature launched, and to my amazement, with stubby legs churning it slalomed through fallen branches and reached open water. Across the main channel’s 250 m, it laboured and then climbed up the bank. It disappeared in floodplain litter.
Mole Hall
One day, a tiny flicker of movement materialised into a mole (Scalopus aquaticus*) clambering down a recently collapsed bank like that shown in the right mid-ground of “Mole Hall”.
The incident stayed with me. Reflexively, I thought about the ever-higher and more frequent flooding that has been changing the bottoms thereabouts for years. At night, The Wind in the Willows (1908 Kenneth Grahame) also came to mind. This is an Edwardian children’s story about a community of anthropomorphised small animals living in picturesque rural England. It stars a mole and a stream.
Over the following days, the feat kept coming back to me. I was charmed by the little and humble places in nature that Grahame sang, and I was reminded that a lot of eyes actually do gaze at the world from down low. But I grumbled to myself about the pressures caused by climate change.
Among other things, I reconsidered my taste in river banks.
*The species name “aquaticus” derives from the animals’ slightly webbed digits but not from any exceptional aquatic habits.
Eddie is a woodsman. He’s also a professional wood craftsman, and among the items he makes for himself are hunting bows. Every year, he goes out after white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus) for the table.
On a snowy morning, Eddie ambushed a deer in a big creek bottom near home. Deer sometimes wait out a heavy storm in the protection of low-lying bottoms like the one shown in “Snow in the Woods on Flynn Creek.”
Snow In The Woods On Flynn Creek
Just as Eddie released the arrow, however, the still unsuspecting animal moved a little and consequently suffered a serious but not quickly incapacitating wound. Eddie knew that he might be in for a long and possibly unsuccessful chase if he tried to close right away and the deer saw or smelled him for the first time. He also knew that if he remained hidden and waited 20 minutes, the deer probably would soon tire, bed, and then get stiff and slow. He waited.
The north-south running headwater fork of a big creek near home is steep and fast over its last mile. There, it plunges through a narrow ravine stuffed with dense evergreen rhododendron (Rhododendron sp.) thickets.
As he picked up the trail, heavier snowfall threatened to erase it. Then, a complication: A bear’s tracks started crossing the deer’s. The bear was looking for the wounded deer, too.
Eddie often stopped to look around through the falling, swirling snow.
To his surprise, during a scan in patchy undergrowth, Eddie saw just yards off and facing away, a big old grey muzzled black bear(Ursus americanus), a boar, or male. It was sitting, nose up in the air, searching the rising wind.
Eddie stood and watched for a minute. Then, on impulse, he noiselessly crept up behind the preoccupied bear and tapped it on the shoulder with the tip of his bow.
He said the animal turned casually, did a double take, spun, and was gone. Soon after, Eddie located the deer and puts it down.
The north-south running headwater fork of a big creek near home is steep and fast over its last mile. There, it plunges through a narrow ravine stuffed with dense evergreen rhododendron (Rhododendron sp.) thickets. But by pushing through, one eventually makes out bright gaps ahead. Then, the bottom levels widen, and the woods open up here and there, as shown in “Flood Debris Jam on the North Fork.”
Flood Debris Jam on the North Fork
The next mile, which is still as far up the fork as I’ve been, is a complexly structured, mostly wooded wetland. The fork meanders across the floor. Beavers (Castor canadensis) have built dams, ponds, and dwellings, as shown in the image “Bank Lodge.” There is also some meadow.
Bank Lodge
Although the forest here is generally more open than that lower down, the going is still circuitous, in good part because of a large number of fallen ash(Fraxinus sp.) and hemlocks(Tsuga canadensis). The invasive woolly adelgid (Agrilus planipennis) killed the hemlocks, and the invasive emerald ash borer (Adelges tsugae) killed the ash. Decades have passed, and the snags have come down, adding another dimension to a bottom floor already supporting life forms and microhabitats enough to entertain any naturalist.
Many watercourse bottoms, often densely forested, dark, wet, and little travelled, have been the setting of Western folklore. It doesn’t take being a romantic, however, to look down into one and wonder what goes on in these places.
One late fall morning dozens of fox tracks got me searching after discovering them on a small sandy patch of abandoned woods road. The den turned up 50 meters away, set at the edge of a swampy stream bottom. It was dug into a low earthen mound likely raised decades before by the root disc of a long since rotted away wind throw. A thicket surrounded everything.
Many watercourse bottoms, often densely forested, dark, wet, and little travelled, have been the setting of Western folklore. It doesn’t take being a romantic, however, to look down into one and wonder what goes on in these places.
Three afternoons later I made myself comfortable in the fork of a leaning tree overlooking the site. A sharp two note bark announced a red fox(Vulpes vulpes) pair’s separate entrances from the swamp at the start of the evening. Then, for an hour, they played, poked around, and lounged in the den area. But abruptly and without ceremony, they followed their respective steps back into the dusk filled swamp. The male stopped to look directly up at me for long moments as it passed below.
Outdoor activity in my rural state traditionally and typically tends toward the communal. ”We” go fishing. “We” go hunting. “We” go pick ramps**. “We” go pick cranberries***. “We” rake and bale the hay. The cooperative approach can offer social opportunity as well as enhanced productivity or recreational enjoyment. Among individuals and communities that have remained at least to some degree close to the land, I’ve never detected much idealisation of the individual’s experience in nature as more authentic or more deeply felt.
To be sure, some people do spend a lot of time alone in the woods, but nothing much is thought of it. It just goes with the task at hand. The admiration earned by people here who do spend a lot of time alone in the wild - trappers and gatherers of marketable medicinal plants notably – is a reward for their skills and success and not for personal development through solitary experience in wild nature.
The communality appears to contrast with the importance attached to the individual experience in nature that is common in the swath of society that reads and subscribes to Thoreau.
During Thoreau’s third and last trip to the still being logged Maine woods, in 1857, he refused to halt the party at the occasional isolated cabins along the route. This despite his guide’s explanations that such visits were an always observed courtesy to people welcoming news about the outside world, and what’s more, were a vital exchange of information about conditions ahead and behind.
But for Thoreau, part of the contemporary intelligentsia, a true wilderness experience in good part was the absence of people, or at least the absence of people who were not Native Americans living strictly by tradition, a type he did not encounter. In a way his definition of wilderness considered what it was not, rather than what it was.
Now and then I duck into the creek shown in the photograph “Creek Mouth”. It’s located on one of the area’s bigger rivers. I tie up to an over hanging branch, slip down into the bottom of the canoe, lean back against the seat, and I have lunch.
Creek Mouth
My creek figured in the actual border conflict. During the early and mid 1700s, Native American military units from the more westerly Ohio River watershed often routed down this creek’s hollow on their way to raiding English colonial settlements to the east.
The view out of the mouth reminds me of a famous passage in James Fenimore Cooper’s 18th-century colonial border warfare novel The Deerslayer. In that piece, an old trapper lives in a houseboat on a remote lake, and when danger threatens, he drops the craft into the head of the lake’s outlet stream. The stream is hidden from view by a curtain of low-hanging boughs.
My creek figured in the actual border conflict. During the early and mid 1700s, Native American military units from the more westerly Ohio River watershed often routed down this creek’s hollow on their way to raiding English colonial settlements to the east.
Today, the spot lies within a big tract managed by the National Park Service. It is popular with anglers from across the region.
I sit in the bottom of the canoe and lounge back against the seat. I enjoy my lunch. Fishing boats drift by now and then, their anglers casting, casting, casting. From the left and a little downstream occasionally come the happy conversation and the laughter of small parties fishing from the bank at a popular spot. There the outflow from the creek and the currents in the river’s main channel combine to form a range of depths, temperatures, and bottom features that attract a variety of riverine life.
For a time at least, all seems right with the world.
Just landed on a near shore island at the top of a braided reach, I noticed a white-tailed deer fawn at my feet in the wing-stem(Verbesina alternifolia). Crouching, I worked fast to frame “Oops!” and then backed off. Readers might know that for the first week or so of life fawns generally will not budge no matter how close the danger. Their best defense is going undetected. I have seen older doe chase dogs and coyotes(Canis latrans) ranging too close to hidden fawns. Not far off and always watching, mother attends the very young fawns sparingly and by that often avoids alerting predators.
References
** Ramps(Allium tricoccum) are a wild woodland onion traditionally collected in the spring and featured at community social dinners.
*** Cranberries(Vaccinium sp.) are found in high elevation bogs and traditionally attracted gatherings in the fall for picking and socialising.
Far too often, I hear photographers complain about things that supposedly hold them back as artists or businesspeople. “The algorithm is broken!” “Social media is a waste of time!” “I have no reach on Instagram!” “Their photos are worse than mine; why are they finding success!?” “I can’t find inspiration to get out and make new images.” “My gear is too old!” “I don’t have time to make new photographs.” I’m sure we have all heard our colleagues say some of these things as if the world has some form of control over their destiny that they can’t shake.
Brittany was born blind in one eye, which makes seeing the wide-angle perspective an impossibility; however, what I’ve learned about Brittany’s journey in photography is that she’s been able to turn that disability into an advantage.
I believe that we are the masters of our destiny and have all the tools we need to overcome any obstacle in our path toward artistic success (however you choose to measure that). The subject of this week’s article, Brittany Colt, is a testament to this idea. Brittany was born blind in one eye, which makes seeing the wide-angle perspective an impossibility; however, what I’ve learned about Brittany’s journey in photography is that she’s been able to turn that disability into an advantage.
Brittany did not let her blindness set her back as an artist and lover of nature; she relished the challenges outlined before her. She grew up in the picturesque State of Washington, where her love for art and creativity was nurtured and cultivated. She was given a Kodak 110 camera to help her see the world in a new way, which immediately sparked her interest in photography. Following her childhood, Brittany established her first photography company in 2012, working in the portraiture and wedding industry at first and later branching out into the film industry, where she assisted with set design, costumes, wardrobes, cameras, lighting, and more, which eventually culminated in her producing a film.
Disrupted Landscapes examines three representations of landscape in which personal histories, family trauma, and political narratives combine with the geology, geography, and the topographical uniqueness of England’s thin places. The idea for the exhibition developed from Mandy Williams and her ongoing series, also called Disrupted Landscapes.
In this work, she distorts and displaces images of the white cliffs of Dover and its politicised coastal landscape. This suggests the fracturing of the idealisation of the English landscape and the increasingly hostile environment of a country divided by class, geography, and wealth in the post-Brexit age.
Mandy Williams
Different strata of land are revealed in her photographs of the coastal chalk. We are looking at geological time, trace elements of a world where the earth buckles and bends to the beat of shifting plates and layers of lava, rock, and sediment.
Taking this chalk landscape, prone to fragmentation and disruption, Williams applies graphic elements, cutting up the landscape into shards and splinters of space, shattered and disconnected from where they came from.
Dawn Rodgers
The stratas of landscape revealed in Dawn Rodgers’ Sorrow are those connected to memory and grief, to this world and what lies beyond. Sorrow is a book and exhibition that is an ongoing exploration of the complexity of grief and bereavement. Focussing on the death of her brother 30 years ago, it is an expression of the absolute sorrow of unreconciled grief and the desolation of absence.
The story of Sorrow is told through images from Rodgers’ family album combined with documentation of her brother’s death. The hard facts of his death certificate, the reduction of a life to dates, times, and places bleeds into the ink stains that Rodgers integrates into her work.
Mixing these multiple layers of memory with images of the hillsides and beach environments of Dorset, Sorrow invites the viewer to connect the link between the traces left behind by her brother and how that loss has become scoured by Rodgers into Dorset landscapes that resonate with the past. Sorrow is an expression of loss, of life, possibility, and of Rodgers’ own ability to find words to describe the brutality and finality of bereavement.
Colin Pantall
Colin Pantall’s 3 Valleys looks at how memory and time transform the landscape around his home in Bath. The repeated walks he takes in 3 valleys traverse places where echoes of the past resonate through the contours of the land. Through these walkings, repeated over 20 years, different histories emerge: geological, economic, botanical, physical, and family histories. And with each revealed history, the images become ever more distant, anemoic memories of a place and a time that is just a figment of photographic imagination, that never really existed, and is preserved only in the photograph.
Images that were once a portent of impending mortality become memento mori, a neglected patch of grass is transformed into a restorative sanctuary, and an image of a valley where Jane Austen once walked becomes a nostalgic visit to a fenced-in and degraded landscape.
In Disrupted Landscapes, the earth holds knowledge, holds histories, and provides pathways between different strata of being and selfhood.
Exhibition Details
Disrupted Landscapes
Wednesday 13 – Sunday 16 March 2024 Four Corners, 121 Roman Road London E2 0QN
Private View: Thursday 14 March
In this series of three articles, my intention is to examine some ideas about the practise of landscape photography in the light of the teachings of Zen Buddhism. The words ‘Zen’ and ‘photography’ used in conjunction inevitably lead to a consideration of the work of Minor White and his ideas about photographic ‘equivalence’, which originated with Alfred Stieglitz. Ansel Adams (who also embraced the concept of equivalence) and Edward Weston (who had different ideas) were also important figures in the development of Minor White’s thinking. All four photographers had met each other at some point in their lives.
Zen teachings can be notoriously difficult to comprehend, often appearing to be self-contradictory (because differing points of view may be expressed) and/or paradoxical (because their intent is to discourage conceptual thinking), so I don’t intend to dive in too deeply. Instead, I’m going to focus on what Stieglitz, Adams and White (and various photography critics) had to say about equivalents and what Weston said about his alternative viewpoint and see where that leads. Stieglitz is the main subject of this first article, but to provide some background, I will begin with a quick diversion to outline how Zen was transplanted from the Orient to America.
Significant migration from China to California occurred during the gold rush from about 1850 onwards.1 Although numerous Chinese temples were subsequently built along the west coast, these were a reflection of popular Chinese religious culture, which was a mixture of Taoism, Confucianism and Buddhism that differed substantially from Zen. Some limited migration from Japan to Hawaii was allowed in the 1860s, but large-scale migration from Japan to mainland USA did not take place until around 1900.1
Significant migration from China to California occurred during the gold rush from about 1850 onwards.1 Although numerous Chinese temples were subsequently built along the west coast, these were a reflection of popular Chinese religious culture, which was a mixture of Taoism, Confucianism and Buddhism that differed substantially from Zen
A pivotal moment in the transmission of Zen to America occurred in 1893 when Soyen Shaku attended the World Parliament of Religions in Chicago, becoming the first Japanese Zen priest to visit the USA.1,2 Soyen did not speak English, and his speech to the Parliament had been translated by a young student of his, D.T. Suzuki, who would become a prolific and widely read writer on Zen. Suzuki himself arrived in the USA in 1897 to work on the translation of Buddhist texts. Soyen revisited the USA in 1905, residing in San Francisco for several months, initially giving public talks to audiences of Japanese immigrants, then, with Suzuki in attendance, travelling to Los Angeles and later by train across America to locations including Washington and New York, speaking to a more American audience. Soyen then returned to Japan, with Suzuki remaining in the USA to translate and edit Soyen’s manuscripts for publication in book form.3
Another of Soyen’s students, Nyogen Senzaki, had travelled with him to San Francisco in 1905. Senzaki remained in California after Soyen’s departure but, under strict instructions not to teach for twenty years, he did not start to give public addresses until 1925.1,2 A second group of Zen Buddhists arrived in San Francisco in 1907; all but one eventually left, but Sokei-an, who remained, walked across the Shasta Mountains to Oregon in 1911, before moving on to Seattle and reached New York in 1916. Sokei-an went back to Japan to complete his studies in 1919, then returned to New York in 1928 to teach and founded the Buddhist Society of America in 1930.1
There is no evidence to suggest that Stieglitz (based in New York) or Weston and Adams (both based in California) had any direct involvement with Zen, but given the circles that they moved in, it is likely that they would have had some awareness of it by the time of the 1920s/30s. (For example, Stieglitz’s circle included Ananda Coomaraswamy, curator of Indian art at Boston Museum of Fine Arts, who published a book on Buddhism, including a chapter on Zen in 1916.4) My intent here is not to argue that they were influenced by Zen but rather to examine to what extent their ideas about photography and the nature of reality were consistent with it.
Alfred Stieglitz began to photograph clouds in 1922, by which time he was in his late 50s. The following year, he published an article on How I Came to Photograph Clouds, setting out his motives for doing this. “Clouds and their relationship to the rest of the world, and clouds for themselves, interested me,” he wrote and “I wanted to photograph clouds to find out what I had learned in 40 years about photography. Through clouds to put down my philosophy of life.”5 Stieglitz initially likened his series of cloud images to pieces of music (‘Songs of the Sky’) before settling on the term ‘equivalents’.
What precisely Stieglitz’s equivalents were intended to express remains a matter of conjecture among photography critics and scholars. The prevailing view is that the equivalents are meant to be understood metaphorically — as symbols for something not directly seen, i.e. a divine or spiritual presence or the photographer’s personal thoughts and feelings. In her influential book On Photography, Susan Sontag simply wrote that Stieglitz’s equivalents were “statements of his inner feelings.”6 Kristina Wilson, however, drawing on Stieglitz’s experiences running an art gallery (The Intimate Gallery in New York) during much of the period when the equivalents were made, gave precedence to the spiritual rather than the psychological aspects of his inner life. Although much of Wilson’s argument was based around the work of the artists that Stieglitz represented, she considered that both the gallery and the equivalents were intended to induce a spiritual experience of “oneness with humanity and the universe.”7
Rosalind Krauss stressed the importance of the crop in photography, arguing that the cloud equivalents signified “the absence ... of the world and its objects, supplanted by the presence of the sign.”8 Kate Stanley though argued to the contrary that “as symbolic fragments of the sky, Stieglitz’s equivalents conjure the ‘whole’ from which they are cut ... emphasising the air that enjoins cloud to cloud, cloud to photograph ... photograph to viewer, and viewer to cloud, palpably and infinitely.”9
What precisely Stieglitz’s equivalents were intended to express remains a matter of conjecture among photography critics and scholars. The prevailing view is that the equivalents are meant to be understood metaphorically — as symbols for something not directly seen, i.e. a divine or spiritual presence or the photographer’s personal thoughts and feelings.
John Szarkowski found the notion that the equivalents represented Stieglitz's philosophy of life deeply unsatisfactory because such a claim was unverifiable and also implied that “we are interested in Stieglitz not because he gave us the pictures, but the converse: we are interested in the pictures because they give us Stieglitz.”10 Szarkowski then referred to an observation that John Ruskin had made in 1856 about poets, paraphrasing Ruskin’s words thus: “there are three types of sensibility: to the first a primrose is simply and unambiguously a primrose; to the second it is not a primrose but something else, perhaps a forsaken maiden; to the third it can contain many other meanings without ceasing to be entirely a primrose.” Szarkowski stated that in Ruskin’s view the greatest poets were of the third kind. Ruskin’s meaning though was a little more nuanced. He did state that “in general, these three classes may be rated in comparative order, as the men who are not poets at all, and the poets of the second order, and the poets of the first.” But he added that the two orders of poet that he recognised “must [both] be first-rate in their range, though their range is different; and with poetry second-rate in quality no-one ought to be allowed to trouble mankind.” The second order of poets he called the ‘Reflective or Perceptive’ (which included Wordsworth and Keats, for example) and the first order he termed the ‘Creative’ (including Shakespeare and Dante).11
Remarkably similar sentiments to Ruskin’s three types of sensibility were expressed by Edward Weston in a letter sent to Minor White commenting on a draft of a paper that the latter had written about Weston’s photography.12 (I suspect that this was the unpublished paper, written around the time of Weston’s exhibition in New York in 1946, that White referred to when interviewed by Paul Hill and Thomas Cooper in 1975.13) Weston expressed his feelings on White’s draft by quoting a version of an old Zen saying:
To a man who knows nothing, mountains are mountains, waters are waters, and trees are trees. But when he has studied and knows a little, mountains are no longer mountains, waters are no longer waters, and trees are no longer trees. But when he has thoroughly understood, mountains are once again mountains, waters are waters, and trees are trees.
Detailed explications of the ‘mountains are mountains’ discourse have been given by the Zen scholar Masao Abe14 and the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh.15 In essence, at the first level of understanding, mountains, waters, and trees are all differentiated, and it is oneself that makes these distinctions; the self too is differentiated, giving rise to the question “Who am I?” and then to query “Who is asking ‘Who am I’?” and so on.
In essence, at the first level of understanding, mountains, waters, and trees are all differentiated, and it is oneself that makes these distinctions; the self too is differentiated, giving rise to the question “Who am I?” and then to query “Who is asking ‘Who am I’?” and so on.
The realisation that the self cannot be grasped — in Buddhist terminology, that the self is ‘empty’ — gives rise to the second stage, where nothing is differentiated. The second stage provides some insight into reality, yet it is not everyday reality as we perceive it. The third view, that ‘mountains really are mountains’, completely subsumes the previous two standpoints — everything in the world exists in itself but is experienced only in relation to everything else. Thich Nhat Hahn used the example of drinking tea: at the moment of drinking, you and the taste of the tea are one experience — this is the “world of Zen ... the world of pure experience without concepts.”
Regarding clouds, Thich Nhat Hanh wrote, “If you are a poet, you will see clearly there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. Without a cloud there will be no rain; without rain the trees cannot grow; and without trees we cannot make paper ... Everything [time, space, the earth, the rain, the minerals in the soil, the sunshine, the cloud ...] co-exists with this sheet of paper.”16
Clearly, from a Zen perspective, we can equate Stieglitz’s clouds for themselves with mountains as mountains, clouds representing his philosophy of life to mountains are no longer mountains, and clouds and their relationship to the rest of the world with mountains are again mountains. Although it seems unlikely that Stieglitz would have been aware of it, it is worth noting that the Buddhist term that is rendered in English as ‘emptiness’ is a translation of the Chinese characters for ‘sky-like’2 so cloud images would be a very apt metaphor for expressing the empty nature of all things.
Stieglitz’s own words are perhaps more revealing about his approach to photography than is generally acknowledged in some critical appraisals of his work. In 1925, during the period the cloud equivalents were made, Stieglitz wrote to the artist Arthur Dove, saying, “So far the summer has been unproductive ... I have a print or two ... and I haven’t the slightest idea what they express!” [cited by Szarkowski10].
In Ansel Adams’ autobiography, he recalled that when he first met Stieglitz in 1933, he asked him what he meant by ‘creative photography’18. Stieglitz replied, “I have the desire to photograph. I go out with my camera. I come across something that excites me emotionally, spiritually, aesthetically. I see the photograph in my mind’s eye and I compose and expose the negative. I give you the print as the equivalent of what I saw and felt.”
In a similar vein, Dorothy Norman, a close associate and biographer of Stieglitz, quoted him as saying, “I am interested in putting down an image only of what I have seen, not what it means to me. It is only after I have put down an equivalent of what has moved me that I can even begin to think about its meaning,” and “The moment dictates for me what I must do. I have no theory about what the moment should bring ... I simply react to the moment.”17 As for the meaning when he had thought about it, in response to someone looking at one of his images who asked, “Is this a photograph of water?” Stieglitz replied,“It happens to be a picture of the sky ... Are the sky and water not one, if one truly sees them? ... In fact, I feel that all experiences in life are one, if truly seen.”17
Stieglitz later admitted to an emotional aspect of his photography. In Ansel Adams’ autobiography, he recalled that when he first met Stieglitz in 1933, he asked him what he meant by ‘creative photography’18. Stieglitz replied, “I have the desire to photograph. I go out with my camera. I come across something that excites me emotionally, spiritually, aesthetically. I see the photograph in my mind’s eye and I compose and expose the negative. I give you the print as the equivalent of what I saw and felt.”
Dorothy Norman wrote that Stieglitz “might easily be thought of in terms of existentialism, or Zen Buddhism since what preoccupied him most was the reality of experience itself”, though Stieglitz himself said, “I seem to be claimed by every ist. Yet, no ism in itself has any final meaning for me. All isms contain some measure of truth ... I suppose that if I can be said to subscribe to any ism whatever, it may be that I am simply a fatalist.”17
It is not entirely clear to me whether, in Ruskin’s terminology, Stieglitz would be considered a ‘creative’ or a ‘reflective/perceptive’ photographer (though Szarkowski’s implication was the latter).
It is not entirely clear to me whether, in Ruskin’s terminology, Stieglitz would be considered a ‘creative’ or a ‘reflective/perceptive’ photographer (though Szarkowski’s implication was the latter).
Ruskin did admit that the different classes of poet are “united to each other by imperceptible transitions, and the same mind, according to the influences to which it is subjected, passes at different times into the various states.”11 I would draw a distinction, though, between Ruskin’s primrose that “can contain many other meanings without ceasing to be entirely a primrose” and the Zen realisation that “mountains are once again mountains”. I would argue that the ‘poetic’ primrose is meant to be understood as a symbol for specific things and/or feelings, whereas the Zen mountain is a facet of the undivided, interdependent whole.
I would also add that the insight that ‘mountains are mountains’ is not the sole preserve of Zen. Similar sentiments were expressed, for example, by Nan Shepherd in The Living Mountain: “... the mountain is one and indivisible, and rock, soil, water and air are no more integral to it than what grows from the soil and breathes the air. All are aspects of one entity, the living mountain. The disintegrating rock, the nurturing rain, the quickening sun, the seed, the root, the bird – all are one.”19
Mountains are mountains, primroses are primroses, clouds are clouds, and, as will be discussed in the follow-up article, The Thing Itself, Edward Weston’s rocks are rocks, and his peppers are peppers.
Acknowledgement
I am deeply grateful to Roy Money for providing details of Reference 12 and helpful comments on an earlier draft of this article.
References
Rick Fields, How the Swans Came to the Lake, (Shambala Publications, Boulder, Colorado, 1981).
Helen Tworkov, Zen in America, (Kodansha America Inc., New York, 1984), Introduction, pp.3-20.
Soyen Shaku, Zen for Americans, translated by D.T. Suzuki, (The Open Court Publishing Company, Chicago, 1906).
Ananda Coomaraswamy, Buddha and The Gospel of Buddhism, (G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York, 1916), pp.252-258.
Alfred Stieglitz, How I Came to Photograph Clouds, The Amateur Photographer & Photography, vol.56, no.1819 (1923), p.255.
Susan Sontag, On Photography, (Penguin Modern Classics, 1977), p.123.
Kristina Wilson, The Intimate Gallery and the Equivalents: Spirituality in the 1920s Work of Stieglitz, Art Bulletin vol.85, no.4 (Dec. 2003), pp.746-768.
Rosalind Krauss, Stieglitz/Equivalents, October, vol. 11 (Winter 1979), pp. 129-140.
Kate Stanley, Unrarified Air: Stieglitz and the Modernism of Equivalence, Modernism/modernity, vol.26, no.1 (Jan 2019), pp.185-212.
John Szarkowski, The Sky Pictures of Alfred Stieglitz, MoMA no.20 (Autumn 1995), pp.15-17.
John Ruskin, Modern Painters, Vol.III (Containing Part IV: Of Many Things), Chapter 12: Of The Pathetic Fallacy.
Edward Weston, carbon copy of letter to Minor White, (Weston Archive, Center for Creative Photography), cited by Amy Conger in Edward Weston: The Spirit of Zen from Lao-tse to Louis Armstrong, unpublished lecture at Huntington Library, San Marino, CA, (Sept. 2002). (Lecture cited by Roy Money, https://theawakenedeye.com/pages/minor-white-and-the-quest-for-spirit/ )
Paul Hill and Thomas Cooper, Dialogue with Photography, (Dewi Lewis Publishing, 2005), pp.267-268.
Masao Abe, Zen and Western Thought, (MacMillan Press, 1985), pp.4-18.
Thich Nhat Hanh, Mountains are Mountains and Rivers are Rivers, in Zen Keys (Anchor Books, 1974), pp.71-88.
Thich Nhat Hanh, The Heart of Understanding, (Parallax Press, 1988), pp.3-5.
Dorothy Norman, The Equivalents, Aperture (Spring 1960).
Ansel Adams and Mary Street Alinder, An Autobiography, (Little, Brown and Company,1985), p.78.
Nan Shepherd, The Living Mountain, (Canongate Books, 2014; first published 1977), Chapter 7: Life: The Plants, p.48.
My ‘End Frame’ would always have to be a picture by Thomas Joshua Cooper. The difficulty is in choosing just one !
My first meeting with Thomas was before the internet, before the digital revolution, and certainly before the arrival of social media and the Metaverse! It came after a 390 mile drive from my home in Cork, in Southern Ireland, to Culzean Castle overlooking the Firth of Clyde on the west coast of Scotland. It was late summer 1982, (over forty years ago !) my mode of transport a ‘tired’ but trusty Renault 4, and after a long drive and ferry crossing I was set to join my new classmates at Culzean for a photographic field trip. I didn’t own a camera or have any idea what lay ahead, and especially how the future and my moving to Scotland to study at the revered Glasgow School of Art would pan out - but it was most certainly exciting and the introduction to a whole new world for me. All quite overwhelming for a 19 year old, young man from Cork.
Since I first met Thomas all those years ago, I have cited him as being my biggest inspiration. It was he who ‘planted the seed’ in my becoming totally absorbed in the world of photography as an art form.
To those of you unfamiliar with Thomas Joshua Cooper and his work - he is today seen as one of the most celebrated and distinctive landscape photographers working anywhere in the world. He was born in California in 1946 but has lived in Scotland since 1982. He was the founding head of photography at Glasgow School of Art but spent much of his life seeking out the edges of the world. Like artists such as Richard Long and Hamish Fulton, Thomas is a traveller and nomadic artist whose extraordinary photographs are made in series at significant points around the globe, most often at its extremities.
Using an 1898 Agfa field camera and specially made photographic plates, Thomas creates extraordinary, meditative landscape photographs printed with selenium-toned silver gelatin. The capturing of any one image can involve days, weeks and months of preparation and arduous travel. The locations are found on a map, tracked down and then photographed, each place the subject of a single negative made with a weighty antique field camera. They are meditative, almost philosophical images, exquisitely printed by the artist in the 19th century manner with layers of silver and gold chloride.
In our Featured Photographer interview with Jaume, we described Jaume’s images as a celebration of nature and of place, with many derived from the area around his home close to the Lake of Banyoles in northeastern Catalonia, Spain. This remains true, but you will find a rather different portfolio these days: strikingly monochromatic, employing inventive pairings of images. It builds on an early love of black and white, using darkness to simplify, and continues to exploit abstraction to give freedom of interpretation.
It illustrates the case that working in one place is not a limitation but a portal to possibility. As you will see, that doorway has led to some unforeseen but exciting opportunities.
What has changed for you, photographically speaking, since we spoke back in 2018, or has given you the most enjoyment during the intervening period?
Very happy to reconnect with you, Michela. I appreciate the invitation!
Indeed, many things have happened during these years. The COVID-19 pandemic has undoubtedly been the most significant event since we last spoke and has partly been responsible for some changes in my photographs during this period.
Right after the lockdown, a friend sold me a compact camera with a 35 mm lens, small and portable. I wasn't sure if I would use it because it took me out of my comfort zone, accustomed to longer focal lengths that worked well for simplifying. This influenced my perspective in the following months; I got used to seeing the world through this new lens.
After the confinement, I almost always carried it with me when I went out. I started exclusively shooting in black and white. It wasn't intentional; it just happened that way; I couldn't bring myself to photograph in colour. The images I captured were dark and highly contrasted, practically devoid of greys, only black and white; all or nothing. Never before had we collectively experienced life and death so closely, and I suppose that was the reason driving me to seek these kinds of photos.
The Scream, the Netherlands, 2006. I must confess that I only noticed the face in the water when seeing the image on my computer screen and not when taking the image.
Introduction
During the fall of last year, I had the privilege of being one of the judges at the Natural Landscape Photography Awards. One of the things that struck me there was, on the one hand, the large number of entries in the Intimate landscapes category and, on the other, the very high quality of many of these images. Of course, this is just a snapshot, but there are numerous other trends and figures that indicate that intimate landscapes have become very popular among landscape photographers. On Google, you already get 60 million (!) hits if you search on the term Intimate landscapes, and there are now countless articles and blogs on how best to create these kinds of images.
We can therefore conclude - 44 years after the publication of Eliot Porter's book that gave the genre its name - that intimate landscapes have become one of the main movements in landscape photography.
When listening to podcasts about landscape photography, such as Matt Payne's famous series F-stop, collaborate and listen, you will regularly hear photographers who have discovered intimate landscapes in recent years and now have a preference for this type of images. If you are still in doubt, take a look at the cover photos of the last 30 editions of OnLandscape magazine, and you will see that many of the chosen images can be categorised as intimate landscapes. It, therefore, seems that intimate landscapes have now become as popular with photographers as grand landscapes, although this observation may still involve a bit of wishful thinking and tunnel vision. In any case, the rise of this type of landscape photography is undeniable, and we can therefore conclude - 44 years after the publication of Eliot Porter's book that gave the genre its name - that intimate landscapes have become one of the main movements in landscape photography. For me, as an early adept and also as one of the advocates of this movement, this is very gratifying to note. At the same time, it also raises some questions, which I will discuss at the end of this article. Before I go any further, it is worth noting that much of what I note here about intimate landscapes can also be said of abstract landscapes, including the abstract aerials that are now widely made with the drone. How exactly the categories should be distinguished from each other, by the way, is a tricky question, as many abstract landscapes could also be referred to as intimate landscapes.
The Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty and National Parks might be our destinations, and these are managed, georgic places, where much hard work and effort maintains an ecological balance. However, true pastoral is more likely to be found in the edgelands, where our slipstream has created a zone of inattention. Here, even plants and animals meant to live oceans apart are finding their point of balance in the overlooked landscape we flash by in the blink of an eye~'Edgelands, Journeys into England's True Wilderness'. Paul Farley & Michael Symmons Roberts. Jonathan Cape, 2011
Born in Nottingham, Matthew Conduit arrived in Sheffield in 1978 to study fine art at Sheffield City Polytechnic, and this city has remained his creative base and home.
Conduit has had a lifelong fascination with overlooked, marginal places. These are all once thriving industrial sites that have become an overlooked domain of self-seeding invasive plant species and the feral. They are also places of mystery and beauty that are, like his images, in continuous flux, shaped not only by time but by the social and economic environments that have determined their changing function and purpose.
For more than three decades, Conduit has revisited the same sites around Sheffield and continuously worked and reworked his images. In his beautiful large-scale prints, the high resolution and detail are fundamental to the expression of his ideas about aesthetics, place, context, and history, resulting in arresting images that slowly reveal their content.
The Land exhibition features a careful selection of photographs made from the last ten years, all never exhibited previously, and includes later work that explores the former Alum mining sites and cliff faces along Yorkshire’s east coast, the first time in many years he has left the city to make work. ‘Treasure’, still-life images that document found objects he has collected over the years whilst exploring the landscape is also featured for the first time.
Each of Conduit’s images serves as a visual narrative, weaving together the threads of his ongoing dialogue with forgotten places, inviting viewers to witness the transformation and rediscovery of these overlooked corners of the world.
Each of Conduit’s images serves as a visual narrative, weaving together the threads of his ongoing dialogue with forgotten places, inviting viewers to witness the transformation and rediscovery of these overlooked corners of the world.
Background
Matthew Conduit was born in Nottingham, and studied Fine Art at Mansfield College of Art and then Sheffield Polytechnic from 1978-1981. Staying in the city, he exhibited widely thereafter, including solo exhibitions at Impressions Gallery, York and at the Axiom Centre for The Arts, Cheltenham. He also featured in various group exhibitions, including the Collins Gallery, Glasgow, with Paul Hill, Keith Arnatt and John Davies, and The Photographers Gallery, London. He took a break from making work in the late 1980’s to concentrate on cultural building projects but resumed his photography in the early 2000’s, which culminated in an exhibition and book publication, ‘Chora’, at the Sheffield Institute of Arts in 2011, his first for 20 years.
Conduit was Director at the Untitled Gallery in Sheffield from the mid-1980s and relocated the gallery to its current location in the city in 1988 (now Site Gallery). He then worked for over 20 years developing the Cultural Industries Quarter and the Workstation/Showroom complex in Sheffield and as a freelance creative industries consultant working across the UK. Conduit has also worked with Heeley Trust since 2009 to develop Sum Studios in Sheffield, where his studio is based and where he continues to develop new work and operate the Untitled Print Studio.
Recently, Conduit curated ‘Regeneration - The Sheffield Project’, a major group exhibition at Weston Park Museum and accompanying publication reviewing the work commissioned and exhibited in the 1980s by the Untitled Gallery when he was Director, concerning the city and its regeneration up to the World Student Games. Artists featured included John Davies, Anna Fox, John Kippin, John Darwell and Bill Stephenson.
Working Process
Matthew Conduit’s images rely on a very high resolution to produce fine detail in his large-scale prints. Earlier work was produced on scanned 5x4 colour sheet film, but in recent years he has worked digitally. He scans a scene and takes many different images - in some cases, up to 80 images, which are then stitched together on a computer in the studio to complete the whole image. He then spends many hours retouching numerous twigs, branches and grasses that are often misaligned between frames. It is a long and difficult process, which can be interrupted by the light changing or a breeze moving the subject matter at any time. As a result, he only makes pictures in even, overcast light and on the stillest of days. The process also means that he never gets to see the completed picture until he is back in the studio.
Earlier work was produced on scanned 5x4 colour sheet film, but in recent years he has worked digitally. He scans a scene and takes many different images - in some cases, up to 80 images, which are then stitched together on a computer in the studio to complete the whole image.
Notes On Locations
Brightside
Brightside Recreation Ground and the site of Limpsfield School was formerly the site of Unwin and Shaw's coal pit, generally known as the Brightside Colliery, where nine miners lost their lives in separate accidents from 1865 to 1873. The coal seam was worked out, and the mine was completely closed by 1886.
Blackburn Meadows
Blackburn Meadows Nature Reserve is on the site of Sheffield’s main sewage treatment works, which opened in 1884. The nature reserve was developed in 1993 out of the redundant sludge beds that remained following the modernisation of the sewage works between 1956 and 1969 and was expanded further in 2005.
In 1942, Olympia Oil and Cake Company, based in Blackburn Meadows, was outsourced to produce 5,273,400 cakes by the Porton Down biology department. These were used in Operation Vegetarian, a British biowarfare military plan to disseminate linseed cakes infected with anthrax spores onto the fields of Germany.
Shire Brook Valley
Shire Brook Valley Nature Reserve was formerly the site of Coisley Hill Sewage Treatment Works, Rainbow and Carr Mills, Birley East and Birley West Coal Mines, and the Beighton Road Landfill site, under which the Shire Brook is now culverted. The area was also heavily farmed from the late 1700’s.
The Shire Brook was the historical boundary between Northumbria and Mercia and was the border of Yorkshire and Derbyshire up until boundary changes in 1967, when Sheffield expanded its boundary to include Hackenthorpe and Beighton.
Catcliffe Flash
A ‘flash’ is a body of water that forms where the land below it has subsided. Whilst these are mostly found in areas where mining has taken place, some can occur naturally. Collectively, they are known as Flashes. Catcliffe Flash was likely formed as the elevation of the land beside the River Rother dropped due to coal mining subsidence from neighbouring Orgreave Colliery, which was actively extracting coal for 170 years up to 2005.
Alum
Dating back centuries, alum was essential in the textile industry as a fixative for dyes. In the 15th century, Europe’s Alum production was controlled by the Catholic Church and ultimately by the Pope, and the vast sums of money from Alum exports in Europe went to the Vatican. Alum was discovered on the Yorkshire coast by landowner Thomas Chaloner and has been mined for up to 300 years.
Alum was extracted from quarried shale stone and then burnt in huge piles for nine months before being transferred to leaching pits to extract the aluminium sulphate liquor. Human urine was then added to turn the sulphate into ammonia aluminium sulphate. At its peak, alum production required 200 tonnes of urine every year and was imported from London, Sunderland and Newcastle.
The last Alum works on the Yorkshire Coast closed in Sandsend in 1871. Conduit is fascinated by this alien landscape, still scarred centuries later by the toxic process.
The last Alum works on the Yorkshire Coast closed in Sandsend in 1871. Conduit is fascinated by this alien landscape, still scarred centuries later by the toxic process.
The Edge
Conduit became fascinated by the varying cliff faces along the East Coast many years ago but only started to photograph them around 2012. This was initially a largely aesthetic exercise, but he grew to consider them in terms of representing the very ‘edge’ of the landscape, where millennia of history unfolded. More recently, the signs of the impact of coastal erosion have taken on an additional significance. This work also led to the Alum series, which Conduit discovered while photographing The Edge.
Treasure
Treasure is an ongoing series of images made of objects collected while traipsing the landscape. The earliest object in the series dates from 1980. The images shown in the exhibition include two from the ‘Bark’ series, where Matthew collected large pieces of fallen bark from a dead English Oak tree, and ‘Leaf Stack’, where collected leaves have been threaded together and then hung in the studio, where they have dried out and coalesced. Matthew started photographing these objects from 2015 onwards.
Graves Gallery, Sheffield, January 2024
Exhibition Details
Sheffield Museum, Graves Gallery, (Above the Central Library), Surrey Street, Sheffield, S1 1XZ
The premise of our podcast is based loosely around Radio Four's "Any Questions", Joe Cornish and I (Tim Parkin) invite a special guest onto each show and solicit questions from our subscribers.
Our first podcast featured Alex Nail where we discussed his mountain photography, colour management and much more. You can see the first podcast here but we're also making the podcasts publicly available on most streaming platforms. You can find out more at this public link.
Our next guest will be Mark Littlejohn so if you want to get any questions to us in advance by 12th March. Please send them to submissions@onlandscape.co.uk.
An old Haynes’ picture postcard of Golden Gate Canyon found at a paper antiques show first caught Janet's eye. It transported her back to a place from her childhood. The significant regional and socioeconomic differences in the US, compared to that experienced as a child, had a direct impact on her work as a photographer. Janet uses a methodology called "historical empathy, which relies on archival materials to guide depictions of the complex landscapes found at the intersection of nature and culture." Eager to delve deeper into her latest project, I reached out to Janet for an in-depth conversation about her latest project.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?
My origin story as a photographer begins with adolescent summers in NW Wyoming, an introduction to a 35mm rangefinder and the darkroom in junior high, and later working as an outdoor education instructor. These experiences influenced much of what followed. Wyoming expanded my sense of place; a manual camera and the darkroom shaped my earliest perception of self as a photographer, and outdoor education confirmed my fondness for teaching. I discuss this story further in my essay “Education of a Photographer” in More than Scenery.
At what point did photography become more than a hobby? Did anything in particular prompt this? You worked as an outdoor education instructor. How did you transition to a photographer?
Once in the darkroom, photography was never a hobby; it was a passion. Early on, I sensed it would shape my life. On a most fundamental level, photography is my way of being in the world. Working in outdoor education was also a good fit for many parts of me.
If I hadn’t already dipped into photography, I might have remained in outdoor education rather than settling in academia. I have a range of interests, and I’ll never know what might have been….
I love to be outdoors. Making my way through a wilder world using my body, knowledge, and skills satisfies my soul, and I love to teach. If I hadn’t already dipped into photography, I might have remained in outdoor education rather than settling in academia. I have a range of interests, and I’ll never know what might have been…
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?
I read widely and variously. I look deeply at work in many modes, but photography and painting hold my attention the longest. Walker Evans, Lee Friedlander, Emmet Gowin, and Andre Kertesz are a few photographers I studied in my youth and still enjoy. A little later, Linda Connor’s work held my gaze. Looking at and thinking about work by other women became a strong focus as I wrestled with where I fit in the medium's traditions and feminist theory. Critical theory encouraged my inclination to lean on other intellectual disciplines. There is a lot of great photography being made these days, and it’s a joy to follow the work of many younger artists.
On your website, you write about being “geographically bilingual and having early experiences leading to an awareness of significant regional differences within the United States.” Tell us more about how this experience informed your view of the different landscapes in the regions and how that impacted your creativity.
People often talk about the importance of travel and being a global citizen. While I believe that to be true, I also worry that too few people in the U.S. have experienced the sharp regional differences at home. If we were more aware, we might also be more empathetic. Spending summers in a very different part of the country at a young age opened my eyes to significant regional and socioeconomic differences in a way that drives my work. My photographs frequently tap into an awareness that even when a place looks familiar, a life there may differ significantly from my experiences. I work to remember this and use research to understand such differences.
As Barry Lopez suggests, I understand landscapes as the intersection of nature and culture. Historical empathy as a method grew out of this belief, but historian Robert Gross coined the phrase to describe my methodology some years ago when writing a letter to support my work; it stuck
You mention a methodology you call ‘historical empathy, which relies on archival materials to guide depictions of the complex landscapes found at the intersection of nature and culture.” Can you tell us more about this methodology, how you devised it and how you use this process in your creativity?
As Barry Lopez suggests, I understand landscapes as the intersection of nature and culture. Historical empathy as a method grew out of this belief, but historian Robert Gross coined the phrase to describe my methodology some years ago when writing a letter to support my work; it stuck. I had the benefit of a vital “classical” education growing up. Still, I railed against the holdover beliefs from New Critical Theory that a work must be interpreted solely using intrinsic information and excluding historical, social, economic, and biographical influences from “reading” a work. This view of art felt limiting, so I began digging in other places to expand my understanding. Now, I lean heavily on different ways of knowing to understand the landscapes I photograph more deeply.
Your current position is a Professor of Art, Area Coordinator, and Graduate Advisor at the University of Connecticut. Has teaching influenced your style and approach to photography?
How can teaching photography not influence my photographic work? I had a student who opened my eyes to the obvious. He was a golfer who competed in college. Afterwards, he taught as a golf pro, and his game improved.
The view of Golden Gate Canyon caught my attention after looking through the Wyoming cards at a paper antiques show. It’s a classic 19th-century proscenium picture space borrowed from painting by Western exploration survey photographers of the 1870s and ’80s.
He believed that focusing on the fundamentals made the difference. I, too, have found truth in his belief. I work hard not to stifle my intuitions but recognise some choices are more carefully considered when I hear my teacher’s voice saying don’t be lazy, don’t forget, do it now before it becomes a problem, are you sure there isn’t a better vantage point, if you look a little longer? I hope my students also will hear my voice in their heads in years to come. It’s sometimes hard to separate teaching and photography; I’ve been doing both for so long.
More than Scenery - Yellowstone, An American Love Story was inspired by a vintage picture postcard of Golden Gate Canyon by Frank Jay Haynes. Can you tell us more about how this sparked the idea of the project and how it evolved?
The view of Golden Gate Canyon caught my attention after looking through the Wyoming cards at a paper antiques show. It’s a classic 19th-century proscenium picture space borrowed from painting by Western exploration survey photographers of the 1870s and ’80s. I noticed multiple copies of this view and thought it strange since it is not known today as one of Yellowstone’s “greatest hits.” When I turned it over, the message took me back to that childhood place of wonder tempered by a lifetime of work in landscape photography and raising a family: “I can not describe the Yellowstone, as the dictionary is only a book. It is more than scenery, and in some places, it is so beautiful that the men take off their hats & the women are Silent!”
Lucy Lipard wrote the introduction to your book. What’s your connection to Lucy, and how did this collaboration come about?
When I returned to finish my undergraduate degree at the University of Colorado, an influential professor suggested I read a recent book by Lucy Lippard, From the Center, a 1976 collection of feminist essays. This book validated much of my resistance to New Critical Theory. I was surprised later to learn the extent of her interest in landscape. Later, books, Overlay, 1983, Mixed Blessings, 1990,. Lure of the Local, 1998, and On the Beaten Track, 1999 all informed my work. Over the years, our paths crossed in various informal ways, and we had mutual colleagues and acquaintances. She had previously worked with George Thompson, my publisher, and I was honoured and pleased when she accepted our offer to write.
In the introduction, Romancing the West, Lucy writes, “The subject of this book is not another fruitless attempt to describe or simulate the effect of Yellowstone’s magnificent “scenery” so much as it explores human responses and human presence, including the artist/author’s.” (page 13) How did you approach capturing these human elements?
This project was grounded in the visitor’s experience of the park from my first reading of the vintage postcard quote. Trying to imagine visiting Yellowstone as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity shaped my perspective. From there, my curiosity led the way. However, it took time for the book’s unique structure of the three portfolios, “Views from Wonderland,” “Collecting Yellowstone,” and “Stories from the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem,” to unfold. As I worked, my appreciation for the complexity of the park increased; what I paid attention to changed, and where I pointed my lens reflected those changes. I came to think of the portfolios as triangulating the park’s heart from distinct vantage points.
This project was grounded in the visitor’s experience of the park from my first reading of the vintage postcard quote. Trying to imagine visiting Yellowstone as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity shaped my perspective. From there, my curiosity led the way. However, it took time for the book’s unique structure of the three portfolios, “Views from Wonderland,” “Collecting Yellowstone,” and “Stories from the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem,” to unfold.
“We are accustomed to calendar photographs of our stunning national parks, and, more recently, we are also exposed to the critical landscape photographers who inform us about the downsides of human impacts on the scenery. Pritchard’s rejection of grandiosity is suggested by a deceptively casual approach to photography (bolstered by extensive thought and historical research) that contradicts the expected coffee-table/calendar mode and testifies to the artist’s vision, acumen and commitment.” (page 14) Was this an intended style of photography, or did it evolve from your trips into Yellowstone? Do you think that ‘grandiosity’ can get in the way of communication?
The “style” of this work, described as a “rejection of grandiosity” by Lippard, is intentional. It is the outgrowth of questions I have asked since my undergraduate years in Boulder, photographing the foothills along the Front Range of the Colorado Rockies. There, poised with my view camera along the dividing line of the eastern plains and western mountains, I first questioned my place in the photography. Pushing against the male-dominated genre of landscape, I depicted the “grand view” through a scrim of cottonwood leaves, forcing the viewer to focus on the ordinary rather than the extraordinary. My strategy in More than Scenery is “a deceptively casual approach,” which rejects the “coffee-table/calendar mode.” My “style” in More than Scenery lies at the intersection of the calendar and the critical photograph. While my “style” is neither, I’ve learned lessons from both.
“The heavy hand of humankind is depicted innocently: a hand holding a chunk of obsidian taken from the cliff in the background" (page 108), "a fleeced arm holding a picture of a waterfall in front of the real place" (page 10)—nature at home and decontextualised.” (page 14). When you were making the images, did you think about the messages that you wanted to communicate to the viewer? How did you go about achieving this? Did you think about the messages that you wanted to convey and then made the images or vice versa? Or was there a different process, perhaps through curation?
A photographer/artist makes many choices along the course of a project. One’s sense of a project shifts and changes in response to work, research, reviewing results, moving this image next to that one, and learning back from one’s work, always working to understand what one has done rather than what one thinks they have done. New choices are made, hypotheses are tested, adaptations are adjusted often on the fly, and so on. In the beginning, I had curiosity. That identified a place to start.
I refined the concept as I worked, and the process became more directed, but I always left room for chance. This project, spanning thousands of photographs, required frequent reassessment, checking in with what was and wasn’t working, and always keeping the strong outliers in my mind because as an emphasis shifted here or there, gaps might open up, making room for pictures that hadn’t fit before. Final edits left some stunning photographs out of the book for the good of the whole.
“Hiding behind the scenes of Pritchard’s photographs are the invaluable and still unknown ecosystems ignored by most visitors, cherished by scientists worried about climate change and the disappearance of species. They are finally becoming a focus of beleaguered park management, whose budgets were constantly being raided by an unsympathetic federal administration.” Was climate change something that you were actively thinking about when you were working on the project? Was there a clear message that you wanted to leave with the viewer? (page 15)
An awareness of the impacts of climate change is unavoidable for anyone paying attention.
More than Scenery weaves a picture of a complicated landscape that appears one thing to visitors, another to those steeped in its histories, and yet again another when seen through the lens of recourse and management issues.
Weather patterns shift, water resources are diminished, food sources follow these changes, and animals follow the food. Yellowstone is all about the menu.I worked on this project long enough to see change. Wildfire patterns are shifting, and flood markers such as a hundred-years or five-hundred-years have lost meaning. This work shows the human hand everywhere on the land, even when we don’t see people.
The clear message of this book is simple if complex: Yellowstone is not one thing. As Lippard says, this is not a coffee table book. More than Scenery weaves a picture of a complicated landscape that appears one thing to visitors, another to those steeped in its histories, and yet again another when seen through the lens of recourse and management issues.
“The photographs I have made of Yellowstone National Park and the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem surrounding it are not a tale of paradise lost but are sparked by the memories of my life in Wyoming when a dream turned real. That landscape of childhood and adolescent wonder set the stage for my life as a photographer, allowing me to connect nature with family, love, belonging, and separation. A lifetime of longing for the place where I was not living.“ Do you think completing this project has helped you heal the sense of separation and the longing you had?
You ask if this project healed my sense of separation and longing. The longing is a comforting presence, an understanding that my life plays out over a more extensive terrain than any one place. I’ve often thought my work was about paths not taken in my life. There are any number of other doors I could have walked through when I was younger. I chose photography, which has allowed me to explore a number of those paths, albeit differently than if I had made a career of X, Y, or Z. With a camera as my guide, I can dip into history, literature, writing, environmental studies, and science, etc. Although it’s true, I must sometimes remind myself I am not a historian or any of those other things and prioritise the needs of my chosen path.
“Research for the book began beneath the generous dome of the American Antiquarian Society’s reading room in Worcester, Massachusetts, where I was a Jay and Deborah Last Fellow in June 2008. Sitting in the library for forty hours a week for four weeks was not my natural habitat. And yet, the strength of my belief in the value of learning more about Yellowstone’s history and origin story compelled me.” Tell us more about the research that you did into Yellowstone. Why was it so important to you to understand more about the history and origin?
When I was younger, I visited Yellowstone for less than a day on my great American road trip the summer before University. My friend and I drove in the west entrance, watched Old Faithful erupt, and left through the south gate because it was crowded, and we were impatient. Later in life, I appreciated the once-in-a-lifetime experience for a visitor in a way I could not when I was young.
The research helped me see beyond myself. I learned to read details in the land through history; an unnatural flat along the west side of the Yellowstone River in Yankee Jim Canyon is an old railroad grade that brought early visitors to the park, a spit of land that seems a natural causeway in Yellowstone Lake is an old carriage road, and so on.
The research helped me see beyond myself. I learned to read details in the land through history; an unnatural flat along the west side of the Yellowstone River in Yankee Jim Canyon is an old railroad grade that brought early visitors to the park, a spit of land that seems a natural causeway in Yellowstone Lake is an old carriage road, and so on. I saw first-hand how changes in technology mediate one’s experience of place. The picture postcard that sparked this project was purchased from a Haynes Picture Shop and mailed in 1916.
In contrast, today, visitors use personal devices to capture their memories, changing from film to digital point-and-shoot cameras to cell phones and even illegal drones throughout this project. Selfie sticks are now everywhere, and photo frenzies happen. Through the eyes of science, the large boulders scattered in the Lamar Valley were named glacial erratic, telling a story of ice sheets long ago. The trees sheltered in their lee speak of dominant weather patterns, yielding the expressive term nurse rocks. These few examples highlight how enlarging my knowledge changes my understanding, which guides my camera.
“Six weeks of fieldwork in Yellowstone began to shape the project. I saw common threads of shared experiences in the Yellowstone landscape by photographing people visiting the park. Through numerous visits over the years and countless hours in libraries, museums, and any place else where I could find a reference to the park, More than Scenery evolved.” Could you expand on how the project evolved and comment on how it changed from your initial ideas? (page 25)
Initially, the quote called to me. I had faith in my process to follow that call, but More than Scenery evolved as I worked in the field and various archives. The portfolio structure traces that process. When I first went to Yellowstone in the fall of 2008, I could not escape the visitors, and “Views from Wonderland” was conceived. Although I spent time in the American Antiquarian Society reading room before my first visit to the park, those photographs of books were intended to be notes. It was not until the end of my fellowship that I realised these images had the potential for more, and “Collecting Yellowstone” took flight. “Stories from the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem” about the natural history wonders and resource and management issues took longer. Not because I wasn’t making these images early on but because I wanted this project to be more than pretty pictures or another condemnation of Manifest Destiny and our wrecking ball approach to settlement. Finding my place in that took time.
“Three thematic portfolios comprise the heart of this book. Inspired by the Haynes postcard, which served as my benchmark, I photographed early twenty-first-century visitors to the park. Visiting Yellowstone is a heavily mediated experience for most. Visitors drive through “Wonderland” (page 26). Tell us about the three thematic portfolios and how you built the narrative around them.
Although I touched on this above, I will add a bit. The three-part structure of More than Scenery is unusual and only emerged slowly. At first, I believed I needed to weave the pictures together to present a more cohesive narrative. However, I found myself resisting and so delayed.
I couldn’t figure out how to justify the three portfolios for a long time until I realised it is a form of triangulation bounding my primary intellectual and visual concerns, a way to point to the more considerable complexities of Yellowstone as a place, as an idea, and as bureaucratic reality without being didactic.
I couldn’t figure out how to justify the three portfolios for a long time until I realised it is a form of triangulation bounding my primary intellectual and visual concerns, a way to point to the more considerable complexities of Yellowstone as a place, as an idea, and as bureaucratic reality without being didactic.
“Stories from the Greater Ecosystem (Portfolio III) took shape when I more carefully considered our role as stewards coming to appreciate the wonders of the Yellowstone landscape fully.” (page 26) The challenges of popularity and protection, ownership and wilderness are difficult to distil. What conclusions did you draw from your work on this topic?
What did I conclude? My appreciation for the messiness that is Yellowstone evolved. I grew more empathetic to the sincerity of a one-time visitor’s wonder but cautious of their ignorance, which can lead to danger. I began with a sense that the origin story of the park was complex, pitting centuries of indigenous habitation against the brutality of Manifest Destiny. My increased knowledge about the economic incentives for establishing the park fuelled this fire. I also learned more about the management issues driven by the diversity of stakeholders across the Greater Yellowstone ecosystem. The short answer is yes; my most concrete conclusion is that there is nothing simple about the park. Yellowstone is one of our most iconic landscapes and a microcosm for the enormous challenges we face in the twenty-first century as we struggle to know how to steward the land, right the wrongs of the past, and leverage science to develop plans for a changing future.
Tell me what your favourite two or three photographs from the book are and a little bit about them (please include these images in the ones you send over)
Haynes’ picture postcards of Golden Gate Canyon
Wow, I can only choose three favourites: that’s tough, but I can tell you about the five that summarise the project. Haynes’ picture postcards of Golden Gate Canyon first caught my eye, but one held the provocative quotation that started me on this path [p. 2–3].
Bison (Bison, Bison) Along the Lamar River
Next, “Bison (Bison, Bison) Along the Lamar River” [p. 33] shows a woman viewing Bison through the window of a Yellowstone Association tour bus. The woman is safely seated behind glass, ironically protecting the animals and herself.
The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone by Thomas Moran
“The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone by Thomas Moran,” which hangs in Lobby 2N at the Smithsonian American Art Museum in Washington D.C., is Moran’s most famous painting. Marketed in the 19th century as a wonder, viewers paid a sum to see the big reveal when curtains were drawn aside [p. 32]. Museums like parks preserve heritage, and what could be more symbolic of our idea, the good and the bad of it, than a famous painting of an even more renowned view hanging in a preeminent museum?
Rose Creek Acclimation Pens
“Rose Creek Acclimation Pens” were used in 1995 and 1996 to house Gray wolves brought down from Canada for reintroduction [p. 154]. Extirpated in 1926, by the mid-1940s, the perception of National Park Service rangers was that a mistake had been made; the ecosystem needed its apex predator to thrive.
Emerald Pool
“Emerald Pool” is an example of the natural history wonders that draw over four million visitors from around the world to visit Yellowstone each season [p. 179].
My first glimpse of this was in a woodblock print of a Hayden Survey photograph by William Henry Jackson published in the Twelfth Annual Report of the Hayden Survey, a U.S. government document published in 1878. The reproduction captured my attention, and I have visited the pool numerous times (see plate 3, p. 78).
Were there many key photographs that you knew would succeed when you took them? Conversely, did some of your pre-planned images fail in execution?
Some photographs stood apart early on, and I felt some were gifts while pushing the shutter release—others required multiple visits to a site. Some days, I arrived at sites and knew the stars were aligned, the weather was what I hoped for, the time of year would yield this information versus that, etc. If the photograph involves people, luck plays a more significant role. But no matter what kind of photograph I hoped to make, perseverance played a role in achieving my desired results.
Sequencing is obviously important - how do you manage the flow of the images and visual narrative when you're working on a book?
Funny you should ask this. I have understood the role of sequencing in a book of photographs ever since encountering the work of Duane Michal’s and Robert Frank’s The Americans when young, but I found with this book, I wasn’t particularly good at it. I knew which photographs belonged in which portfolio and recognized critical pictures to include. It was also clear to me which sequences did not work and when images needed to be sacrificed for the greater good, or empty pages functioned well as breathers. However, the subtleties of movement from this page to that eluded me at times, and for this, I leaned heavily on advice from George Thompson. I am grateful for his support.
The subtleties of movement from this page to that eluded me at times, and for this, I leaned heavily on advice from George Thompson. I am grateful for his support.
What have been the biggest lessons you’ve learned about the process of printing (and preparing to print) a book?
The biggest lesson I learned is that I will go on press next time. Trying to communicate about colour through the designer David Skolkin to the printer in another country was challenging. David went to great lengths, but it took extra effort and patience on the part of the team; everyone was great to work with, but being there would have made things more accessible. Could the results have been better? We’ll never know.
Although the equipment choice is secondary to your own processes, it inevitably affects the way we work to some extent. What equipment do you currently use, and why did you choose it?
All equipment, cameras and tripods, computers and hard drives, and all the endless bits and pieces serve a purpose; I let function drive my choices. I used many cameras during this project. Most of the pictures in the book were made with DSLR cameras, which changed with availability. A few were made with mirrorless cameras, and a few scans are also included. I used digital point-and-shoot cameras for notes and, later, my iPhone. A medium-format digital camera accompanied me on a few early trips but never fit my needs. I finished the project with a Nikon D850 and would love to have had that camera for the entire project. However, now that I have returned to Hasselblad, I can’t imagine a camera more suited to my working methods. I have used Macs since 1986 and Epson printers since 1995. I see no reason to change. But cameras don’t make pictures; people do, so I included the essay “Education of a Photographer” to address the larger question of how I became the photographer I am.
What is next for you? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
I am currently in the midst of another long project. Photographs in Abiding River: Connecticut River Views & Stories expressively document the land and riverscape of the Connecticut River and its watershed.
am currently in the midst of another long project. Photographs in Abiding River: Connecticut River Views & Stories expressively document the land and riverscape of the Connecticut River and its watershed.
Much like my Yellowstone work, these photographs provide depictions of place, expressing a subjective vantage point through conversation with the language and history of photography. Much like More than Scenery, the river book will coax a more extensive story from context, sequence, and stories, this time pointing to that which is not named, human lives lived alongside the dynamic, shifting force of a steady presence played out across time in a landscape that stretches back long before humans that most see only in its current iteration. This book will follow the course of the river’s main stem, north to south, weaving multiple threads into a larger whole rather than searching for the heart of its story through triangulation.
Lastly, I’d like to offer you a soapbox for something related to the natural world, the benefits of photography, or just living a good life... What would you like to say to readers or encourage them to do?
Photography is my way of being in the world. It allows me to travel paths not otherwise taken, to spend time outdoors, which nourishes my soul, and to add something to the world. In short, it helps keep me sane in a world where I might otherwise feel powerless. My family keeps me tethered to and enriches my day-to-day life, while photography provides a place to dream; the balance feeds me emotionally and intellectually. I am fortunate and wish life could be so rewarding for everyone. The opening sentence of my Acknowledgments section says it all: “I have the good fortune of a guiding passion and the security of a supportive family without whom none of this would have happened.”
With over 6000 chapel/capel sites dotted across the country, it is clear that the religious landscape of Wales was once deeply dependent on a place to worship. The early places of worship were meeting houses on farms or held in upper rooms of a public house; you would even find them being held in cow sheds. As the congregation grew, local builders were then commissioned to build a chapel, which would then be able to house the growing fellowship; at times, these would be knocked down and rebuilt again or enlarged to seat up to 1500 people as congregations grew so fast.
With over 6000 chapel/capel sites dotted across the country, it is clear that the religious landscape of Wales was once deeply dependent on a place to worship
During the period of 1860 Welsh chapels/capels had enough pews to seat three quarters of the population, this number then grew again substantially following the 1904 revival which was lead by Evan Roberts who is now berried at his family grave in Moria Capel, Gorenizion.
Until the 1689 Toleration Act, it was not legal for dissenters to meet for worship, so the buildings did not have a real identity. This changed by the 1700s, and there was a more distinctive trend to buildings with long wall facades, normally with a large central window allowing the light to flood in onto the pulpit so the speaker could be seen clearly. From 1840 onwards, the long-walled model was looked at as outdated, and the far more common square-planned gable chapels/capels would become the norm. These modern day chapels had more of a worship characteristic, unlike those of the earlier days, which looked far more domestic.
Firstly, it’s an honour to be asked to write the End frame article for On Landscape magazine, so thank you very much Tim and Charlotte for that. When I initially read the email from On Landscape, I had no hesitation whatsoever in my first choice of photograph. I was quite busy at the time with workshops, however, so I didn’t get a chance to look at the image again, with this article in mind for maybe another week or so. In that time, I began to think more about my choice. I think Some favourite photographs can be compared to favourite tracks or albums of the past. You might very well have played the CD to destruction back in the day, but listen to it now (and especially with your kids present). Well, lets just say time moves on! Thankfully, once I had the chance to grapple my copy of Joe Cornish’s First Light out of our cramped and creaking bookshelf, a wave of comfortable reassurance swept over me as I looked at this image once again. Even though I’ve probably not looked through the book in over ten years, I was highly relieved to think that this image, in my opinion anyway, can be compared to one of those timeless classics that you can come back and listen to again and again, and still get the same thoughts and feelings you did the very first time you heard it.
While looking through First Light, it also dawned on me that many of the images in the book, especially Shell Pocket Twilight, are much more than just a photograph. They are a point in time when all those natural forces and processes that shape and change the landscape around us suddenly stand still. Having visited Mewslade Bay and other locations along the Gower Peninsula more than once myself (after seeing First Light), I was inspired to have a go at creating my own set of images from here. What is immediately apparent is that this location is ridiculously difficult, not to mention downright dangerous to reach. If there’s a polar opposite to those famous round Dolerite boulders at Dunstanburgh in Northumberland, then I think this must be it! The Limestone cliffs here are made up of a series of sharp edges and jagged, dagger like protrusions, and any slip while attempting to climb over the cliff, and into the cove, would almost certainly result in serious injury. As far as I know, unless there’s a spring tide, the sea hardly clears the entrance to the cove, even at low tide, making it treacherous to get in and out that way before your exit is cut off. Needless to say, I never got to actually see this part of the bay!
It’s important to remember that landscape is a construct. ‘Landscape photography’ tends to major on the ‘natural’ though our interpretation of this is effectively a construct too. We may carefully ignore the parts that we find less aesthetic or overlook the fact that nearly all of what we see has been shaped by man’s activities, some visible, some over time and in ignorance of what ‘went before’ less so. We continue to change our planet: land, sea and atmosphere, not just directly but by our reliance on trade from afar and the way that consumerism has shifted our understanding of resources and seasonality. And even in our attempts to archive the Earth’s resources, we may be tripped up by what has already been set in motion.
I was drawn to Janet’s images by their fluid beauty but they may challenge you to think about your own definition of photographic genre, for all that we do is interconnected and our path into revelation may be our own life experiences.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?
I grew up as the middle child of a working-class family living in Marrickville, a suburb of Sydney; we moved to Maroubra in the 1970s. Marrickville was, back in the 1960s, a working-class suburb with a high immigrant population. It was known as ‘Little Athens’.
I don’t remember when I started my interest in art, and I’m not sure where it came from. I grew up in a household where sport was the centre of the universe and creativity was far from encouraged. After I finished school, I enrolled in the local TAFE college to study art.
I can remember being jealous of the Greek kids at school because their jacks were actual bones, and I only had the coloured plastic ones.
I don’t remember when I started my interest in art, and I’m not sure where it came from. I grew up in a household where sport was the centre of the universe and creativity was far from encouraged. After I finished school, I enrolled in the local TAFE college to study art. This started a lifelong love of making, teaching and studying art.
How did photography come into your life, and what were your early images of or about?
Photography was one of the subjects in my Fine Art course at the TAFE college. I really enjoyed the medium but gave it up after seeing a Diane Arbus publication. I thought that it was the most amazing photography that I had ever seen. I felt that if I couldn’t take photographs like Diane Arbus I should not even try. It was a couple of years later, whilst doing my BA in Visual Arts, that I returned to photography. I found myself drawn in by the medium and settled into documentary style portraiture.
The major shift in my photographic practice happened after I had my three daughters. I called this period my ‘Pink Pause’, where teaching and motherhood dominated my life. During this time, two of my three children were diagnosed with Coeliac Disease and food allergies. This may not seem significant, but it started my obsession to understand our food chain, sustainability and the environment.
Lately, I have become acutely aware of the work of some excellent Japanese landscape photographers, including the focus of this week’s article, Yuki Kamishima. I’ve been trying to articulate what has drawn me to their work, forcing me to spend a great deal of time studying the work and engaging in thoughtful conversations with folks noticing the same work. Having not spent much time studying Japanese landscape photography, I feel that the “newness” of these Japanese landscape scenes is undoubtedly one factor in my newfound appreciation of these photographers; however, I think there’s much more going on here.
I believe that significant cultural strengths may serve as a foundation for Japanese landscape photographers, and that is why I have found a deep appreciation for their images.
A proper analysis helps reveal fundamental differences between some Japanese photographers and their photographs compared to their Western counterparts. I believe that significant cultural strengths may serve as a foundation for Japanese landscape photographers, and that is why I have found a deep appreciation for their images.
As a nature photographer, my primary goal is to help those who view my work to appreciate the value of pure, unspoiled wilderness. To that end, creating captivating images that seize and sustain the viewer’s attention is key. The longer you can get someone to look at a photograph, the greater the odds are that they will connect with its subject matter. Still, in this fast-paced world where people can consume hundreds of images and videos in a matter of minutes, the big question is, “Why should they stop scrolling just for your image?” While the answer is multi-faceted, practising the art of mystery can be very effective for creating more captivating and engaging images.
I photographed this scene almost an hour after sunset. There was only a faint, ambient light softly illuminating the landscape, and the lack of direct light washed out its colour, making it appear more white. Since I excluded the light source, I was able to overexpose it and raise the luminosity extensively in post-processing in order to bring out the soft highlights and shadows and give it this serene, ethereal, pure feeling.
In September 2012, when I was in a photographic stage, which I called “practice & portfolio”, I made a two-week trip to the Greek island of Santorini. During my “practice & portfolio” period, as the name suggests, I made regular trips to various locations offering different kinds of landscapes and cityscapes in order to build up a travel and landscape portfolio. These trips were part of a series of trips that I financed with the money I saved during my previous career, which lasted a decade, in another visual art.
One evening, I decided to photograph a viewpoint from a series of steps I walked by earlier that morning and reckon that it would yield a higher potential if photographed sometime before sunset, when the sun would light the landscape sideways, enveloping the scene with much softer and warmer hues. This long series of steps followed a broad curved shape at first, which then turned into a gentle "s" shaped path, a perfect line leading the eyes towards Oia's windmills in the background.
This path of steps was built right on the edge of an elevated and steep ridge. When looking towards the village of Oia, the descending steps overlooked the sea on the left, while on the right, the scene was characterised by a seemingly endless perspective of typical white Greek houses. It was an idyllic location, infused with a classic summer flavour and illuminated by uninterrupted side lighting, which filled the atmosphere with a gentle warmth coming from the seaside.
One evening, I decided to photograph a viewpoint from a series of steps I walked by earlier that morning and reckon that it would yield a higher potential if photographed sometime before sunset, when the sun would light the landscape sideways, enveloping the scene with much softer and warmer hues.
Away from the tourist noise, I carefully choose the exact step to unfold my tripod before waiting for sunset. Suddenly, a man came up and set up his tripod and camera right next to me, on the same narrow step where I, too, was standing. Despite there being many other steps before and after me, that precise step must have appeared to be the best one for him, too. Without moving my tripod, I took a step back and let him place his gear.
Since I had a few more days to spend in Santorini, I said to him that I could leave the spot to him and come back the following day to photograph that view. He declined, saying that we could both be there, share the small space, and shoot the sunset together. After a while, we started talking and he humbly explained he was a well-known American photographer, he hosted a TV series about photography and authored many books. Impressed, I asked for his name and business card.
After the shoot, I checked his website and saw his work. It impressed me, but I couldn’t yet grasp how famous he was. As I was eager to meet him again, I searched for him the following day. I found him eventually and I explained I was dedicated to becoming a professional photographer. He mentioned it was already great for me to be out there, doing what he was doing: making images. He explained that he had been a travel and wildlife photographer for 40 years, and it was a great lifestyle, but loving such a lifestyle is as important as having a strong passion for photography itself.
These words were spoken to me by Art Wolfe. I didn’t know who he really was back then, and only once I got back home, I did do further research on him and buy some of his books. After that conversation, he and his colleague, Gavriel Jecan, allowed me to tag along as they kept exploring Oia until dusk when we split our ways.
These words were spoken to me by Art Wolfe. I didn’t know who he really was back then, and only once I got back home, I did do further research on him and buy some of his books. After that conversation, he and his colleague, Gavriel Jecan, allowed me to tag along as they kept exploring Oia until dusk when we split our ways. They left for Thailand to lead a workshop, and I stayed there, still unable to fully comprehend what had happened in the past two days: Art Wolfe placing his tripod 3 inches next to mine, letting me photograph alongside him as if we were colleagues, and discussing his photography and lifestyle with me. At that time, I was 27 years old, and only 13 months before that day, I held my first camera in my hands. It was all very abstract to me.
While on the first evening, we were photographing a classic vista across a Greek island from late evening to dusk. On the second day, I saw him moving around much more and photographing all sorts of things, especially architectural details and cats near beautiful doorsteps. The part that intrigued me the most was when I saw him curl up on the ground to photograph the ruined planks of an old wooden door. I admit my naivete made me wonder what he saw in that and why was he photographing with such eagerness and passion, what, to me, appeared to be just an old door.
Abstract workshops
A few years later, he started to offer specific workshops on abstract photography either along a coastline or in rural settings in old villages with abandoned vehicles or trains.
Attracted by the idea of training my eyes and creativity on finding and framing small patterns and pleasing arrangements of details on rusted surfaces, I began searching for abandoned trains near my home.
Recalling him photographing those details in Santorini and the curiosity to learn more from him while spending a proper amount of time photographing with him made me think of joining him.
Attracted by the idea of training my eyes and creativity on finding and framing small patterns and pleasing arrangements of details on rusted surfaces, I began searching for abandoned trains near my home. But as I gave priority to my trips to improve my travel portfolio, I couldn't justify to myself the need to do a workshop on abstract photography and moved on.
Since then, throughout the years, whenever I would find appealing details to photograph, I would do so, but I never met a single piece of surface to inspire me to make a series of photographs from it.
Every time I went to my wife's grandmother's home, 200km south of our home, in a small village in Bourgogne called Tannerre-en-Puisaye, I would see in the garden this old door and felt a certain attraction to it. As we rarely went there, at times I never took the time to study and eventually photograph it, while other times I didn't have my photographic gear with me.
Eleven years apart
Only on my last visit there for a family reunion, as everyone was about to go to an event nearby, I decided to stay in the garden to photograph that door. As we joined the family reunion on our way towards the south of France for a long photographic trip, I had my gear with me and was finally able to photograph it.
At first gaze, I could only see a couple of interesting motifs on the old wood, but as I kept looking, I began to recognise a series of unexpected designs. Some of them had shapes resembling human figures bearing a torch or holding something upwards.
This made me open my backpack, unfold the tripod and start photographing.
The necessary calm to perform an attentive observation of the old wood’s surface led to contemplative moments of interpretation upon new appealing findings. This tranquil exploration, mostly done through gazing while standing still, was contrasted by an eagerness to photograph various compositions born of immediate intuitions.
The making of nine photographs of this small wooden door, which illustrates these words, took about one hour. While framing some of the compositions, I had a feeling as if I had already begun to work on those images way before that moment. The connection I had always felt for those wooden planks materialised that afternoon.
When the family returned, they were surprised to find me curled up on the ground to photograph the intricate design of the old door and even more so to learn I have been doing that since they left. For them, it was just an old door, but for me was the perfect “location” for my own personal abstract workshop.
The making of nine photographs of this small wooden door, which illustrates these words, took about one hour. While framing some of the compositions, I had a feeling as if I had already begun to work on those images way before that moment.
I asked some questions about the door and learned that it was placed there by my wife’s grandfather over 40 years ago. It used to be brand new, with the wooden planks perfectly aligned and smooth, but now it had a run-down look, full of bumps and holes, and nothing was straight anymore.
Some people asked me what I saw in that door and why it took my interest so intensely to invest much time and focus. As I said above, that was also what I wondered about Art Wolfe in Santorini and so after explaining my reasons for photographing the old door, I shared with them my Santorini story, even if they didn’t know who Art Wolfe is, just like I didn’t.
I felt like Art Wolfe involuntarily taught me something that day in Santorini, which stayed with me ever since and took eleven years to fully resurface in my consciousness to come full circle. Eleven years apart, Art Wolfe’s passion still inspired me. He was able to stimulate in me the desire to be immersed in the same creative process I saw him disappearing into in Santorini as he photographed an old door.
Unconsciously, that lucky meeting with Art Wolfe stimulated in me my interest in that door from the first moment I saw it. The appreciation of such an old object and the realisation that all those faults on its surface were holding photographic opportunities came from him and that encounter.
Unless Art Wolfe reads this text, he will never know about his impact on my photographic journey. Like him, we too, by simply practising our passions and sharing our stories, may never know who we may inspire and how we may flare up someone else’s creativity. This has the power to set in motion a chain of events that would lead a person to follow his passions, discover new horizons, produce personal work and potentially inspire someone else. Just like Art Wolfe did while being curled up on the ground to photograph an old door.
When I first started landscape photography, much of my work was inspired by subjects and locations. In more recent years, my approach to photographing landscapes has evolved to become more expressional and emotional. The lure of iconic destinations no longer has the appeal it once did. And in the same vein, the lure of new locations has also diminished.
My attitude changed when I came to the realisation that to understand a landscape, it’s crucial to spend time immersed in it before I can begin to convey aspects of it through my photography and create more personal bodies of work.
During the last ten years, I have done very little photography-related travel. Most of my photography has taken place where I live, in New Zealand. I have a set of locations that I love and keep returning to again and again. I’ve got to know these places well and also use them for my workshops. You’d think perhaps that familiarity would lead me to plan the types of images that I hope to create—or that my approach to photographing there might become quite fixed—but the opposite has been true. By really getting to know a place, I’ve heightened my sense of exploration.
I revisit these revered landscapes with a completely open mind, which enables each visit to present new opportunities for experimentation - to play around with the story I want my photographs to tell.
I revisit these revered landscapes with a completely open mind, which enables each visit to present new opportunities for experimentation - to play around with the story I want my photographs to tell. The constraints of having to find new paths that lead to expression have enhanced my creativity, and I’ve done some of my best work within these familiar places. Not since 2012, when I travelled across Africa for a couple of months on a photography trip, have I travelled overseas specifically to take photographs. This insight might seem surprising for a full-time landscape photographer. My travels abroad since then have mostly been without my camera. I’ve chosen to treat these trips as holidays or travel experiences, not as a time to work on my photography. I don’t feel the need to photograph every landscape I visit. I prefer to be more engaged with the landscapes I photograph, taking the time to explore and form a connection, a relationship with the place.
So, when contemplating working on an expedition in Antarctica, the location appealed to me greatly. I had always wanted to visit and photograph this unique landscape. But, at the same time, I also felt a sense of hesitation and uncertainty as I didn’t quite know the direction I wanted to take with my photography whilst there. I also could not imagine how the images I would create could fit within existing bodies of work. However, I was excited by the potential to explore an expressive approach in a fresh landscape.
Whilst considering the interesting challenge that lay before me, I thought about my New Zealand-based work and what unites it. It is not the New Zealand landscape—the location as a subject—that is the defining factor for my work. For me, it’s much more about exploring my relationship with the landscape which leads to my style. There is freedom that comes with the fact that my work is not about the landscape itself. It was an interesting challenge, considering how to shoot images of a very different landscape in a way that expressed their individual stories and meaning while offering continuity of style.
It felt impossible to envisage until I’d spent time in the vast, icy expanse and been able to process the vistas, their energy, and the associated thoughts and feelings that would ignite ideas that would form an approach to creative expression.
While considering the expedition to Antarctica, I decided I’d also like to create a fresh body of work that conveyed context about Antarctica and included my personal experience of being there—but the exact nature was difficult to define before visiting. It felt impossible to envisage until I’d spent time in the vast, icy expanse and been able to process the vistas, their energy, and the associated thoughts and feelings that would ignite ideas that would form an approach to creative expression.
The 28-day voyage would depart from New Zealand and sail south to the Ross Sea via the Sub-Antarctic Islands. Going to the Antarctic for the first time, I knew that during the first 12 days we’d have in the Antarctic Circle it would be extremely challenging to be able to see, experience and process all the elements of this completely new environment. I knew that creating and refining a narrative that could inform the basis for a new collection of work—expressing meaning, context and depth—would be a challenge within the limited timeframe. It was unlikely I would be able to return to build a stronger relationship and connection with the place and allow my thoughts to percolate and evolve.
I find it isn’t possible to tell a story from a first impression. A story needs to unfold in layers, requiring a continuous cycle of reflection. An additional element to the challenge would be having no constraints or boundaries initially. These would need to be defined once I had a level of familiarity with the place. With previous collections, the creative process has been refined via multiple visits and opportunities to reflect and recalibrate the messages I want to express and how I think I can achieve that. The question continually resonated in my mind, ‘How much could I achieve on just one trip to the ice?’
As we traversed the wild Southern Ocean, I could feel the anticipation building, and as we crossed the Antarctic Circle, I felt quite overwhelmed. There were photographs to be made everywhere! Grand, icy vistas, icebergs, ice patterns and, of course, wildlife. I found myself creating lots of images - it’s something we all often find ourselves doing when experiencing exciting new places. I was conscious they weren’t all going to be photographs that would represent me as a photographer; I was simply enjoying recording the landscape and my memories.
I photographed with two different purposes, one capturing the journey, the other a considered approach to create images that encapsulated personal meaning that incorporated elements of my unique style.
I photographed with two different purposes, one capturing the journey, the other a considered approach to create images that encapsulated personal meaning that incorporated elements of my unique style.
After returning to New Zealand, I reflected on the trip. Photographically, had it been a success? Did I come away with images that I’m happy with? I feel that ‘success’ in photography is very difficult to define. I can easily create an image of a magnificent landscape that would receive attention on social media - but I know this type of image is unlikely to hold any deep personal meaning for me, and that I would use it to convey my style. So the answer to my question is, sure, I did come away from Antarctica with several images that were successful, including some of the wildlife—something I have chosen not to focus my photography on in recent years.
Some of the images I took illustrate elements of my personal style, but, at the same time, similar images were created by other photographers on the expedition, and I did not feel these offered a unique perspective. But there were also photographs I made that could sit within and complement existing bodies of work created throughout different environments here in New Zealand. Thinking about this, it was simple to envisage how these photographs would work within existing collections as I have a deep understanding of the messages I intend to convey. I didn’t have a preconceived approach, but I did have defined constraints around the subject, compositional elements and lighting within individual portfolios. So, when opportunities arose, I saw images that would add depth to my previous collections, rather than offering an alternative expression in a different environment.
This may be a landscape I never return to, and if I did may not offer the same lure of visiting an unknown destination—seeing things for the first time—and maybe a little bit of that magic will be lost.
After being back home for about a month. I hadn’t looked through the images I’d made in Antarctica in any detail as I knew I needed some distance from these. Having shot so many images, I’d felt quite overwhelmed going through them, but I was incredibly excited about the prospect of developing a new and very different collection. One of my first photographs of Antarctica provided the inspiration to form the basis of a new collection that I had wanted to evolve. During the rest of the trip, I made subsequent photographs in this style to be able to collate and refine the beginnings of a new series.
This may be a landscape I never return to, and if I did may not offer the same lure of visiting an unknown destination—seeing things for the first time—and maybe a little bit of that magic will be lost. But, I feel that I now understand this environment and how I wish to photograph it—and hopefully, I can make more images to build a portfolio of work from Antarctica. If I do ever return, perhaps I’ll see the landscape in a very different way or just start working on a completely new set of images, and the idea I have of extending this body of work will go out the window as I start again from scratch. But this is the thing I love about returning again and again to the same location: it’s the chance to be able to explore it more expressively, to see things you wouldn't and couldn’t have seen the first time, and move away from just representing it to understanding it and being able to express your relationship with the landscape.
When I saw this photograph by Marianthi, my first thought was that I was not sure if I was looking at the sea, but I definitely felt it. I really felt that the photograph titled “Tidal Pool #5” shows the sea, but I have decided not to ask Marianthi but to leave it to my imagination.
I was neither sure about what exactly was in front of her camera nor if she used multiple exposure. What one can be sure of is her photograph is very sea-like. Oceans and seas (probably most great lakes, too) are strongly connected with blue colour in human brains. It is not just one blue but the full spectrum from pale blue to deep navy blue.
Even if sometimes some shallows are green or brown, they are still a part of something bigger which remains blue. It is not only this range of blue but a sense of wind added that makes the white stripes on a blue background. All this playing with blue I can find as a key element of the Marianthi’s photograph. Moreover, the way the layers of blue shades compose with each other reminds me of traces which waves leave on a beach.
While most people know the sea well, the view is left asking - where was it taken – is it a view from a beach? Is there any better place to take a walk and dream a bit than a narrow strip of sand with safe land on one hand, endless water on the other and a fresh breeze on the face? When I think about seascape, I usually mean beachscape. A psychiatrist could say that one of the reasons I enjoy this photograph so much is because I find my comfortable environment in it. However, “Tidal Pool #5“ gives something more, and it is also very sea-like.
When Covid caused many countries to restrict social contact, we thought it would be great to start a podcast series called the "Lockdown Podcast". It was mostly myself, Joe Cornish and David Ward discussing photography in general. It was not only great fun; I think it was reasonably popular considering the number of people that have asked: "Are we doing anything like that again?". The answer is now "Yes!" and here it is. Modelled loosely on Radio Four's "Any Questions", Joe Cornish and I (Tim Parkin) will be inviting a guest onto the show and soliciting questions from our subscribers.
Our first podcast features Alex Nail, and we've had questions about his new book, mountain photography, colour management and much more. I hope you enjoy the series, and please let us know if you have any suggestions or questions about the podcast (technical, audio, etc)
Our next guest will be Lizzie Shepherd so if you want to get any questions to us in advance by 12th February. Please send them to submissions@onlandscape.co.uk.
Once a couple of months has passed, we plan on making the podcast available on all the major hosting platforms for free but if you want to access the podcasts as they come out, they'll be listed as articles like this or you can subscribe to this rss feed.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature, which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios which has been submitted for publishing. Each portfolio consists of four images related in some way. Whether that's location, a project, a theme or a story. Added:
I travelled to Norway in January 2023, where I visited Senja, Sommaroy, and Lofoten. The winter weather in Norway in January can be quite extreme, but the scenery is absolutely outstanding, and once you go well-prepared with the proper clothing and footwear and, of course, extra batteries, you can be guaranteed that you will come back home with some stunning images. The days at this time of the year are very short, with sunrise around 9 am and sunset around 4 pm, but the dawn and dusk light can often last for up to two hours each. The low diffused light remains pretty constant for the rest of the day, and at night, of course, there are plenty of opportunities to capture the Aurora Borealis.
My wife and I had our first visit to the Orkney Islands in July 2023, basing ourselves on the Mainland and the islands linked to it by causeways. The first impression was how green the island was, with lush pastures for cattle, fields cut for silage, and growing crops of barley and oats. This gently undulating landscape is almost treeless, and the fields are bounded by stock-proof fencing and a few stone walls. There are many lochs and the low-lying marshes are dominated by yellow flag and meadowsweet, while the upland areas are heather moorland with evidence of long-abandoned peat cuttings.
Orkney is rich in archaeology, and the stunning sites of Maes Howe, Skara Brae, the Stones of Stenness and the Ring of Brodgar have been recognised as The Heart of Neolithic Orkney World Heritage Site. But at the other end of man’s long occupation of the islands, I was struck by the many defensive infrastructures associated with the use of Scapa Flow as the base for the country’s naval fleet during both World Wars.
Photographically I had no pre-conceived ideas of what to expect and I did not treat the holiday like a full photographic visit. Rather I looked for images that reflected my interpretation of what makes Orkney such a unique and special place.
A farming landscape
The Ring of Brodgar, one of the key sites in Orkney’s Neolithic ceremonial landscape
Abandoned gun emplacements, part of the Hoxa Head defences, overlooking the approaches to Scapa Flow.
One of the Churchill barriers was constructed in the 1940s as a blockade to prevent enemy ships from entering Scapa Flow.
In my project, 'The British Coast', I aim to embrace the notion that beauty can be discovered even in seemingly ordinary seascapes. The project's objective is to unveil the captivating charm of the United Kingdom's coastal regions (Essex, mainly), exposing the hidden magic that lies within them.
By employing the long exposure technique, I purposefully reduce any distractions within each scene, allowing the viewer to focus on the picture's subject and fully engage with its essence. This technique seamlessly merges the passage of time, smoothing the waves, blurring the movement of clouds, and capturing the essence of the coastal environment in a captivating and mesmersing way.
These seascapes showcase the dynamic interplay between land, sea, and sky, portraying the constant dance of waves, tides, and atmospheric elements. By immersing viewers in these captivating scenes, I invite them to witness the timeless beauty and profound serenity that the British coast has to offer.
The outer Dovercourt lighthouse in Dovercourt news Harwich, Essex.
The beach is close to the Languand Fort in the port of Felixstowe.
Near my home is a protected wetland, the Laguna de Santa Rosa. It's a lovely place, accessible year-round by a network of trails but in winter the water rises into flood and becomes very wide, the trees are now leafless, and the feeling there changes from something verdant green to something else, just blacks, whites, and greys.
Around sunrise on a foggy winter morning the place is moody, quiet, magical even, and nothing moves except the waterfowl. It is easy to forget that civiliasation is not far away. These photographs were taken within a quarter mile of each other on such mornings.
Jay Tayag’s black and white image ‘Empty’ caught my eye after browsing the 2023 NLPA competition results. It shows mud cracks – always a popular subject – on the Eastern Sierra, but these diminish and disappear into still water and are highlighted at the water’s edge by the morning sun. It’s an image made on film – if you browse Jay’s Instagram, you’ll see that alongside the final photograph, he shows negative or transparency alongside set-up and location shots. Jay works with computers, and I can’t but help but wonder if this is another factor in his love of the slow meticulousness of large-format film photography. He talks about how he came to use an antiquated process – even if his camera is now very 21st century – and what he gains from it, irrespective of the outcome.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?
My name is Jay Tayag, I was born in the Philippines but moved to the United States when I was about 7 years old. Our family moved around a lot until we settled in Port Hueneme, California (Southern California). In high school, I went fishing, played tennis and rode mountain bikes. It wasn't until college that I started camping and snowboarding. After college, I became a computer programmer. Little did I know that these outdoor activities and even computer skills would help me in my ultimate pursuit of large format landscape photography.
Zion leaf litter
How did you become interested in photography and what were your early images of, or about?
Photography has been on the back of my mind since I was in college. My brother had taken it up, and it piqued my interest. I was just too busy and too poor to take it up at the time. It was only after college that I was able to take a beginner film photography class around 2002. I had a blast. It exposed (pun intended) me to a different way of seeing and introduced me to the darkroom. If I wasn't taking photos, I was in the darkroom working on my prints and smelling the fixer. Unfortunately, a little after the class ended and when my monthly membership to the local darkroom expired, I slowly lost the momentum.
The photos that I took then were guided by the assignments that we had. Some examples of these were to take a picture of the same subject in different ways on one roll of 35mm film. It was around the time when 9/11 happened, so I decided to take pictures of the American flag. It wasn't exactly what the instructor had in mind as I was taking pictures of different American flags, but he let me roll with it.
The assignment and my camera gave me direction and a purpose. It was like a scavenger hunt. The camera took me to places where I would have never imagined going without it. I really enjoyed that feeling.
The assignment and my camera gave me direction and a purpose. It was like a scavenger hunt. The camera took me to places where I would have never imagined going without it. I really enjoyed that feeling. We emulated past masters' works to learn how and why they took the photos that they did. I had Paul Strand. His photos of Wall Street and the blind person were my first introduction to "street" photography… and I was terrible at it.
It wasn't until a little later in 2008, when I took photography up for the second time, that it basically stuck. It was when my wife was expecting, and I wanted to take meaningful photos of my baby when she arrived. This time, we purchased a digital camera, and I dived head first into this new world of photography. I shot everything. Sunsets, sunrises, flowers, the kitchen fan, fireworks, neighbourhood cats, etc. I learned how to shoot macro, do light painting, long exposures and even, heaven forbid… HDR. (Early HDR was soooo bad) I learned how to shoot water droplets using off camera flash. I bought the Adobe Lightroom software. I even started my webpage (which looked very different from today). So, when baby Grace arrived, I applied all that I learned on her. She was probably the most documented baby on the block. She was born to a daddy paparazzi. Thankfully, I didn't do HDR on her.
Sunrise in a Death Valley salt flat
When and how did you get into large format film photography? What is it about the equipment and the process that appeals to you?
I started shooting large format film in 2017. But before that, I had been shooting digital since 2008. Around 2015, I started to feel something was missing. I would come back from a photo trip with around 1000 images and feel good about 3 of them. A little afterwards, I wouldn’t feel any connection to any of them. It was then that I found Ben Horne's YouTube channel. It initially caught my eye because he was exploring Death Valley, a place I had just started exploring myself. He also had a funny looking camera that I had no interest in.
I started shooting large format film in 2017. But before that, I had been shooting digital since 2008. Around 2015, I started to feel something was missing. I would come back from a photo trip with around 1000 images and feel good about 3 of them. A little afterwards, I wouldn’t feel any connection to any of them.
The more I watched his videos, the more I learned about how he took his images. He wasn't taking dozens of images at a time, no HDR, no focus stacking (he actually did that once, though). He took forever to take a shot, and sometimes, he wouldn't take one at all. He walked around with a huge backpack just to carry his photo gear. He didn't take himself too seriously, and he didn't really talk a lot of technical details, but he took you through what he was thinking and experiencing… and that captivated me. After a couple of years of watching his videos (and Alan Brock's YouTube channel as well), I purchased a 4x5 camera, and I was a beginner again. Photography was exciting and fun once more. I made a lot of mistakes, but I learned from them.
You can look at large format landscape photography in either a glass half full or glass half empty kind of way. Yes, the technology is ancient. It is bulky. It is heavy. Film is expensive. It is hard to use. It is obsolete. However, because it is all those things and more, it slows me down. It makes me focus. It’s no longer about how many shots I can take; it just becomes about the one I am about to take. It helps me to be more present and savor all that is around me. There are lots of things you will not be able to shoot with this gear, but if you embrace it, the limitations of the gear will not confine you. It will free you to quickly find what you CAN shoot.
Eastern Sierra pond in fall
I like the tactile feeling of it. The weight of the gear. The feel of the wood on the camera. I have to unfold the camera and set it up myself. I decide which of my 4 lenses to use. I have to manually focus the camera and apply any needed camera movements. I decide what film to use. I choose the aperture and shutter speed based on the meter reading that I take with my handheld light meter. I have to remember to adjust for reciprocity failure if needed. Add filters, if needed. If the conditions are right, I make a shot. When I get home, I process the film, scan it and edit the image. With this equipment and process, I am intimately connected to each image. A lot of effort and thought goes into each one. It is a slow, manual process, so I make fewer images. Because of that, every successful image is a treasure, and every failure is a lesson.
Looking back at it, shooting large format film was the single best thing that I did for my photography. It definitely is not for everyone. It's not about the technology, or how many images you can take, or the convenience, or the megapixels, etc. For me, it's about the experience before, during and after making the shot. There is a feeling of pride that lasts when you see one of your successful images on a light table and hold the film in your hands. The film that YOU made from beginning to end. Well, actually, it's about the film that I made, but you get the picture.
Looking back at it, shooting large format film was the single best thing that I did for my photography. It definitely is not for everyone. It's not about the technology, or how many images you can take, or the convenience, or the megapixels, etc. For me, it's about the experience before, during and after making the shot.
Three Brothers after a winter storm in Yosemite
Which cameras and films are your current favourites? Has this changed in the time you’ve been using film?
My current favourite and recently purchased camera is my Chamonix Alpinist X 8x10 field camera. It’s a modern wooden field camera that uses carbon fiber and anodized aluminum parts. It’s so precise and well-built that it’s just a joy to use; old school tech with a new school twist. It’s very lightweight for an 8x10 camera at about 6 pounds. As with everything large format, it’s expensive but after about 4 months of using it, I still feel that it was worth it.
My first large format camera was a "Shen Hao HZX45 II A" 4x5 camera. I shot with it for 4 years and then transitioned to an Intrepid 8x10 MkII. Then over to the Intrepid 8x10 Mk III until I got the Chamonix. Each new camera became the favourite. Hopefully, I won't be purchasing any more new favourites for a while. (I took a big hit on that last one.)
My current favourite film is Ilford Delta 100. It's a very clean film. I'm comfortable rating it anywhere from ISO 50-400 with no noticeable grain on 8x10. I develop using HC110, 1:32 dilution. Since I started shooting 8x10, I gravitated towards black and white film because of the ridiculous price of Fuji Provia 100, a colour slide film which is my second favourite film. And because of the disappearance of Fuji Velvia 50, another colour slide film… my third favourite.
When I was shooting mostly 4x5, Velvia 50 was a lot more attainable and I primarily shot with that film. Black and white was somewhat of an afterthought since I was really infatuated with the look of slide film on a light table… and still am.
Eastern Sierra high contrast reeds
What part does digital play in your process? Which parts of the workflow especially interest you and have you got to the point of printing your negatives and transparencies?
As far as actually taking the photo, there is very little that digital takes part in other than using my Sekonic L-758DR light meter. The camera is really just an expensive light tight box that holds your lens on one side and the film on the other. I use the Viewfinder app on my iPhone to help me frame up the shot before I take the camera out. I use the same app to take scouting photos. I tend to take some videos and pictures on my phone that get synced up to the Adobe Cloud and eventually to Lightroom Classic on my computer.
The part of the workflow that I am currently most interested in and the reason I still haven't replaced the printer is the platinum palladium print process. I have been threatening to contact print my negatives using platinum palladium for a while now.
These photos and video help remind me what the scene was like when I was there. I also take some hand notes of my settings and miscellaneous things on a little notepad.
After I go home and process the film, I scan it with an Epson V800 flatbed scanner. The film goes into a binder. I remove the dust spots from the scanned image with Photoshop, apply sharpening and import it into Lightroom. In Lightroom I use the iPhone shots from the location to get the GPS location and add the notes from my notepad to the image exif data. I try and do most of my editing in Lightroom as I like the non-destructive nature of it as well as its cataloging capabilities. After that, the images will eventually go on my website and social media.
Unfortunately, I don't have a dedicated darkroom to traditionally print my negatives and my inkjet printer broke down a couple of years ago. When the printer was working, I definitely printed my photos. It's very satisfying having the print in your hands.
The part of the workflow that I am currently most interested in and the reason I still haven't replaced the printer is the platinum palladium print process. I have been threatening to contact print my negatives using platinum palladium for a while now. I managed to collect all the equipment that I need to do it with. It's a little intimidating starting something that can get pretty expensive and time consuming. Then again, I'm shooting 8x10 film, so that shouldn't be a reason not to start platinum palladium printing. I think it would be great to be able to have an all analog process from capture to print. (iPhone photos and videos excluded.) So since I said it here on this article, I guess I'll have to start eventually.
Would you like to choose 2 or 3 photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about why they are special to you or your experience of making them?
Tree in fall colour, Zion Canyon
Tree in fall colour, Zion Canyon
This photo was shot on 4x5 Velvia 50. It wasn't really taken by me but by my 10 year old daughter. Back in 2019, I took her to Zion National Park for her first camping trip. We were just exploring the canyon and came upon this tree. I thought it would be fun to show her how her dad took photos. I set the camera up, had her look under the dark cloth and let her take the shot. This was her first large format photo. (Or actually, the second exposure. Follow the link for more details on what happened.) That was a great trip, and I'll always remember it.
Eastern Sierra tree in infrared
Eastern Sierra tree in infrared
This tree in the Eastern Sierra was shot on 4x5 IR film in 2021. When I first came across the tree, it was a bit windy. So, the image didn't turn out due to all of the motion blur. I came back the following year and was fortunate enough to capture it on a calm day. I eventually got an 11x14 platinum palladium print made by Michael Strickland, and it looks absolutely beautiful. It's currently framed and hanging on the wall behind my computer. Every so often, I take a magnifying glass and count the leaves. This is the reason why I want to try my hand at platinum palladium printing.
Flooded badwater basin
Flooded badwater basin
This was a recent photo taken in October 2023 at Death Valley. Badwater Basin became a lake due to Hurricane Hillary hitting the area in August of that year. The storm, however, damaged all the roads going in and out of Death Valley. I was monitoring the road status for months until it finally opened. I found my opening with the weather, work and home, and I made my way there. I scouted the area and found a good spot well before the light. I had plenty of time to set up my camera and enjoy just being out there. This was shot on 8x10 Fuji Provia 100. Provia only has about 5 stops of dynamic range. (Think shooting jpg.) I had to meter it perfectly so that the detail in the dark mountains (left), as well as the detail in the highlights, would be preserved. I used a soft 2-stop grad and placed it just below the horizon to make sure the glow from the sky, as well as the glow in the water, wouldn't blow out. Once the sun started to set, everything became still and quiet. I had to stand perfectly still for at least a minute so that the ripples from my movements went away to ensure that I could capture a perfect reflection. Then, I made the image. It's the quietest place that I have experienced, and the view that evening was surreal. It is one of the many reasons why I love visiting Death Valley. Seeing this film on a light table reminds me why I shoot large format films (and why I can't stop shooting colour completely). To me, this shot was made, not taken. The process of making it started after Hillary left Death Valley.
Tell us a little more about your ‘local’ area and the places that you are drawn back to?
I consider myself very lucky living in Southern California where the Eastern Sierra, Death Valley and Yosemite are all within driving distance from me (about 4-6 hours’ drive). Their proximity is key because I like visiting places often to get a better understanding of them.
The Eastern Sierra has some of the tallest mountains in the lower 48. It is the place I go for fall colour, but it offers so much more than that throughout the year. There are hidden gems scattered all over Highway 395, no matter the season. You just have to take the time and look. Admittedly, I have only explored the easy to get to areas. I would like to someday hike into the backcountry to experience the amazing landscape there.
The Eastern Sierra has some of the tallest mountains in the lower 48. It is the place I go for fall colour, but it offers so much more than that throughout the year. There are hidden gems scattered all over Highway 395, no matter the season. You just have to take the time and look..
Dead bush on volcanic soil in the Eastern Sierra
Death Valley is so vast and diverse geologically from its sand dunes, salt flats, playas, badlands and canyons that it's just hard to choose which one I would want to try and shoot given the very limited time I usually have. The more you get to know this place, the more changes you will notice every year. The extreme silence and solitude that you can experience there is like no other.
There is nothing like Yosemite right after or during a winter storm. Consider yourself very lucky if you are in Yosemite Valley at that time. Anywhere you are, everywhere you look, it'll feel like you are in one of Ansel Adams' photographs.
You have a number of compositions on your website in both colour and black and white. Do you shoot using film or convert later? Do you have a personal preference between colour and monochrome?
I try to stay true to the film that I shot. If I shoot colour film, the final image will be a colour image. If I want to see both, I'll shoot both colour and black and white film. I usually have a good idea of how I want the final image to look like before capture.
Currently, I prefer to shoot with black and white film. I like the timelessness of it. It simplifies the image and emphasizes shapes and textures. Since it's a negative film, it affords more creative freedom with dodging and burning. I think 8x10 black and white film would be ideal for contact printing.
Eastern Sierra pond
Joshua Tree NP rocks
What difference has photography made to your view of the world? What have you gained through it, and in particular through large format work?
Photography has given me a set of new eyes. It taught me how to see differently… artistically. It’s like the movie The Matrix. Once I took the red pill, everything looked different, and there was no going back. It took me to places I would never have gone if I didn't have a camera. It made me learn more about the particular areas I visit year after year. When I learned more about a place, I gained a deeper appreciation of it. When you appreciate something, you want to protect it. So I try and leave the places I visit better than I found them and practice a leave no trace principle.
Large format teaches you patience and perseverance. It's a slow process, and it doesn't do well if you hurry it. The slow process gives me more time to enjoy the scene that I am photographing. When mistakes inevitably happen, I get angry, and I might cry, but eventually, it encourages me to come back and try again.
I’ve found a small but great community of large format photographers out there. I've had the pleasure to actually meet some of them and consider some of them my friends. They are all passionate about their craft and are great people.
I’ve found a small but great community of large format photographers out there. I've had the pleasure to actually meet some of them and consider some of them my friends. They are all passionate about their craft and are great people.
Eastern Sierra frozen mud cracks
Do you have any particular projects or ambitions for the future or themes that you would like to explore further?
As I mentioned before, I have wanted to try platinum palladium contact printing some of my negatives. It's been on my mind ever since I started shooting 8x10 and it's another reason why I started to shoot more black and white film. If it does well, maybe I'll start offering some of them for sale. If that doesn't work out, I’ll have to leave it to the professionals and buy a printer.
In terms of themes that I would like to explore… In the short term, I think snowy scenes are pretty magical, especially in black and white. Being from southern California, those kinds of scenes can be pretty rare. Hopefully, I'll get to shoot some this year. In the long term, when my daughter is off to college, I would like to take longer trips to visit and explore my bucket list of places to go: Utah, New Mexico, Northern CA, Oregon, Washington, Yellowstone, Glacier, etc.
If you had to take a break from all things photographic for a week, what would you end up doing? What other hobbies or interests do you have?
I would like to say that I would spend it getting in shape outdoors. I am very fortunate that I live near the beach, and during the summers, when my photography slows down and my daughter is out of school, I tend to run on the beach in the mornings before work and try and take walks in the evenings. (I've been putting on some weight lately, so I really need to do this.) I'm happiest outdoors. Since it is the start of winter, I would love to dust off the snowboard and go snowboarding with my brother and friends as if I were in my 20s again. Who knows if I'll get to do that, though?
Sunset on the Pacific
And finally, is there someone whose photography you enjoy – perhaps someone that we may not have come across - and whose work you think we should feature in a future issue? They can be amateur or professional.
Ian Ruhter does some incredible work on wet plate collodion. He is a highly experimental photographer, which I love and admire. He once had a project where he drove around in a delivery truck that he turned into a camera obscura. In essence, he turned the truck into a giant camera. He made some incredible images with that truck. His Color Field project is also pretty amazing. I would love to learn more about what he is currently up to.
Thanks, Jay. You may have tempted a few more to consider dipping their toes into the deeper waters of film. Do let us know if you fulfil that ambition to print…
Jay’s photography can be found on his website, and if you’d like to see images and what goes into them, you’ll find him on Instagram.
You can find out more about The Darkslides, the collective of large format film landscape photographers that Jay mentioned, here. https://www.thedarkslides.com/.
For almost three years, I kept revisiting the Portofino promontory in Liguria every time fog and mist were to be seen shrouding the headland not far from where I live. Such peculiar transpiration phenomenon – which is rather frequent in the area and essential to the local microclimate – completely transformed before my eyes an otherwise familiar forest, stripping it of its geographical connotations in order to accommodate an ethereal and non-existent place which was being distilled upon Earth.
I almost felt as if I had been given the opportunity to witness a prodigious spell whilst it was being cast, as the air – now instilled with suspended icy and watery drops for my lungs – would turn the surrounding landscape into a translucent appearance, constantly emerging and disappearing, as I penetrated and breathed the fabric of a lucid dream.
We come from all walks of life. Photography has distanced itself from the trappings of class and has welcomed all comers. Regardless if we use a Phase One or just a cell phone, our true image sensor is our imagination. We have this in common; we can see things beyond just the literal and discern their deeper meanings. And, if we’re lucky, perhaps translate that greater importance that we sense into a physical form we can share with others.
We aren’t photographers. We’re thinkers. Philosophers. Protectors of nature.
We have a passion to see and share our sight with others in the hopes, if nothing else, to have just one person understand. But, even if we don’t, we still achieve it for ourselves.
We have a communal desire to get out into nature, tread lightly, and think hard. To sit and ponder, or sometimes to have no thoughts at all, surrounded by beauty and solitude. Could this be the pinnacle of human existence? We think so.
I was attracted to the yellow “cascade” of a distant larch, falling into the red-orange leaves of what I think is a young beech; Great Wood Borrowdale
A colourful beauty!
I was just 13 years old when my father first took me on a camping holiday to the Alps, and as we hiked along mountain paths, he pointed out the various trees growing on the slopes. Of course, Christmas Trees were especially exciting for a young boy to see in nature, but I also remember the Arolla (Swiss) pine with its long and sometimes curved needles and the elegant Larch. This tree - Larix decidua or European larch - is the only native European deciduous conifer, dropping its needles (actually leaves) in the autumn. There are two other European species, namely the Carpathian larch and the Poland larch.
Other larch species can be found around Europe, such as the Russian/Siberian larch and the Japanese larch, though these are not considered native. For this article, I gathered information from a variety of websites, including the Woodland Trust, Wikipedia, Forestry England and British and overseas suppliers of tree seedlings. For those who want to know more, there is an excellent and quite detailed paper here: https://forest.jrc.ec.europa.eu/media/atlas/Larix_decidua.pdf
I was just 13 years old when my father first took me on a camping holiday to the Alps, and as we hiked along mountain paths, he pointed out the various trees growing on the slopes.
Young shoot showing early autumn colour: Great Wood Borrowdale
Larch can reach typically around 20 metres but also grow to as much as 45m in height and 3-4 metres in width; it thrives in cooler parts of the northern hemisphere, e.g. forests at high latitudes and high in the mountains further south. Larches are long-lived, 250 years is usual but there have been some that lived for 1000 years and even 2000 years.
Here in Europe, larches can most often be found in the Alps, Carpathians and some forests in central-eastern Europe. Larches can withstand huge swings in temperature and survive very hard frosts; they prefer wet but well-drained soil conditions. They are susceptible to canker in wet, boggy soils. There are few places in the northern Baltic states where larches grow, possibly because of poor habitat conditions. Incidentally, here in the UK, it was introduced by the English botanist and gardener John Tradescant in the seventeenth century.
Young female flower-cone; Virginia Water Surrey
Older cone and younger female cones in the background; Virginia Water Surrey
According to a BBC article from last year (https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-south-scotland-62178124) all larches in south-west Scotland will be felled over the next 10 years or so, as this is the best way to combat the disease phytophthora ramorum. That’s a staggering 10 million trees!
Larches are probably best known for their beautiful golden yellow autumn colour, though later in the season, the yellow turns to orange and brown before the needles finally drop. In mountainous regions the colour varies with elevation and to what extent the trees are sheltered. Higher up the trees might be yellow whereas lower down (or in a warmer spot) the needles can still be green. In the spring the bright green shoots bear “flowers” with creamy-yellow males pointing downwards and red/pink/purple females that grow upwards.
Larches are probably best known for their beautiful golden yellow autumn colour, though later in the season, the yellow turns to orange and brown before the needles finally drop. In mountainous regions the colour varies with elevation and to what extent the trees are sheltered.
These turn into small greenish cones which ripen to a reddish brownish. Older cones can stay on the tree for several years.
An upright larch at Lago de Braes still shows summer green needles. Some of its friends on the other bank are already yellow
Larch is generally considered to be fast growing and in forestry nurseries can be used as a wind-break to protect slower growing trees such as oak and beech. The wood of the larch is strong and is used in furniture making, boat-building, fencing, and various outdoor wooden articles, roof shingles (which can often be seen on old Alpine chalets), and other construction uses where durability is required, as well as for paper pulp. Opinions about the strength of larch vary, but apparently, those that grow in tough climatic conditions (e.g. Siberia, Canada) are indeed more than strong enough for heavy construction use. Larches can grow very straight with few lower branches, thus giving long planks almost free of knots.
Elegant larch in soft directional sunlight; Tires Village, Dolomites (infra-red)
The resin from larch has a variety of uses in industrial chemistry (including to make solvents), in perfumery and in medicine.
A few of the images shown here are from the Great Wood in Borrowdale and Virginia Water in Surrey, but the majority are from the Italian Dolomites, which I visited in the autumn of 2019.
Larch trees support a variety of wildlife, including some moths and their caterpillars, birds such as capercaillie and black grouse and, according to my research around the internet, species such as siskin and lesser redpoll, which I freely admit I have never heard of!
A few of the images shown here are from the Great Wood in Borrowdale and Virginia Water in Surrey, but the majority are from the Italian Dolomites, which I visited in the autumn of 2019. Perhaps counter-intuitively, I have made a number of images of autumnal larch in mono infra-red. Although autumn colour is the main attraction, I find that the upright elegance of larches, often mixed with firs and spruces, makes for an attractive pattern of tones.
I was attracted to the yellow “cascade” of a distant larch, falling into the red-orange leaves of what I think is a young beech; Great Wood Borrowdale
Young shoot showing early autumn colour; Great Wood Borrowdale
Older cone and younger female cones in the background; Virginia Water Surrey
Young female flower-cone; Virginia Water Surrey
An upright larch at Lago de Braes still showing summer green needles. Some of its friends on the other bank are already yellow
Elegant larch in soft directional sunlight; Tires Village, Dolomites (infra-red)
Elegant larch in soft directional sunlight just turning yellow; Tires Village, Dolomites
Autumnal larch, detail; Dolomites
Sunlit larch against the shaded dolomite of the Sella group, a huge bastion of rock; its colour comes from the blue sky above.
Sunlit larch against the shaded dolomite of the Sella group, a huge bastion of rock; its colour comes from the blue sky above.
Misty larch, en route to Lago Lantro
Larches as far as the eye can see!
Larch impressions – 1
Larch impressions – 2
Lago Antorno with larches and other conifers (infra-red)
Lago Antorno & the Tre Cime di Lavaredo again with larches and other conifers (infra-red)
I first saw this image at the Meeting of Minds Landscape Photography conference in 2019. It was just one of many outstanding and compelling photographs that we witnessed during Sandra’s awe inspiring presentation.This particular image immediately etched itself on my conscienceless and has stayed with me ever since. Rarely do I see an image that reawakens my youthful wanderlust and makes me yearn to leap on a plane and fly off to some unspoilt wilderness north of the arctic circle.
Advendalen is a 30km long valley on the island of Spitsbergen and features in Sandra’s book LYS. This impressive collection of words and photography is the result of a four year project she embarked on with fellow photographer Werner Bollmann. The landscapes, plants and wildlife of northern Europe are poetically assembled in a manner the captures the moods, moments and drama of life above the arctic circle with harmony and deep feeling. It is a book the sets out to show the essence of the landscapes rather than endeavouring to depict classic views of familiar places.
The rugged rocky coast of Varanger was photographed with a long shutter time (140 seconds) in the blue hour
Introduction
Like most photographers, I am generally particularly concerned with photos taken not long ago. Photos from ongoing projects and recent photo trips are extensively reviewed, assessed, selected and edited. A very small proportion of all those photos are then eventually used and published, and that small selection then will represent these trips and projects from that moment on. After that, all the other images are rarely looked back at.
Nevertheless, it can be very interesting and inspiring to occasionally look back in more detail at a photo trip made some time ago. Not only will you, with today's perspective and knowledge, perhaps discover other gems among the photos or make different choices in image editing due to more advanced techniques. It is also fun to relive the trip in all its facets again, especially if it is a trip you keep fond memories of. For the vast majority of the world's population, photos are first and foremost memories. Why shouldn't that function have any significance for photographers?
Recently, through my photos, I went back to a photo trip that was perhaps the perfect trip in many ways, a winter trip to the remote Varanger fjord in northeastern Norway. I'm going to explain why this was such a special trip for me, will you travel with me?
Vanda’s images are full of life, love, joy and place - and increasingly the kind of place you might get to on your way to or from work, or in your lunch hour. She seems to be able to squeeze every (soft and misty) moment out of the day. The beauty extends to Vanda’s website, too - the way that it is laid out, the use of words and poetry, and the overall sentiment. She freely admits that for her, photography is about life rather than life being about photography.
When I first interviewed Vanda for On Landscape, her photography was driven by a love of travel, especially to the coast. Over time - without losing any of that desire to explore the country she loves - her work has become much more personal and she now admits that she needs to develop a connection to place to photograph it.
In the intervening period, Vanda has become a popular speaker and presenter, and a regular judge for photographic competitions.
I’m trying to get my head around how time has flown since our Featured Photographer interview with you in 2014. Do any particular experiences or highlights come to mind during this time? I know that you were particularly pleased to receive a Gold medal for your Thursley Common ‘Winter Sun’ portfolio in the RHS Botanical Art and Photography Portfolio Competition.
Time has certainly flown by fast. It seems like yesterday, yet so much has happened since.
For me, landscape photography is a solitary pursuit. I usually venture out on my own to be able to fully immerse myself in my surroundings and create a connection with the scene. However, there are times when sharing your experiences and your work with others feels right. Social media is usually the obvious answer, but there is nothing better than meeting in person. Joining several photography groups, such as Landscape Collective UK, Arena Photographers and most recently, the more informal Dorset Landscape Group has been a welcome change. I get the best out of both worlds. I get to spend time with highly talented, like-minded photographers who cover a wide range of styles and perspectives. The encouragement and support I receive make me feel free to share my work, including my most personal and unfinished projects, knowing that the feedback and advice will always be truthful and non-judgmental.
Speaking about sharing, I also started to get invitations to camera clubs, photographic societies and events. It has been a wonderful experience to be able to give something back and to encourage others to find their own view of the world. One of the most memorable events was my first ever presentation day. I still remember the butterflies in my stomach when standing in front of a large audience at an educational institute in Belgium. There have been many other days and evenings since. Some abroad, such as an unforgettable Fotofestival in Denmark, where I met some incredible photographers. Many others here in the UK are all very enjoyable, sharing my work and thoughts with many talented people and making new friends along the way.
There have been several joint exhibitions, the OXO Gallery in London, Denbies Wine Estate in Surrey, and a couple of galleries in France, amongst others. The Thursley Common portfolio, exhibited together with several other medalists in the Saatchi Gallery in London, was a total surprise and the cherry on top of the cake.
For every artist the journey into creating the things they wish to be making starts with gaining enough technical knowledge so the tools that are used do not get in the way of creating. For photographers, this means that when you first get your hands on a camera, you need to learn how to operate it, what aperture, shutter speed, and iso mean and how to use them to your advantage. How a level horizon line is most often more pleasing than one that is not, where to focus, how to use the different focus methods available in the camera, and the list goes on. If your technical knowledge is sufficient to not get in the way of making the photographs you feel called to make, it is time to shift the focus to composition and not spend too much time learning other technical things a camera can do that you will probably never use.
A painter knows how to use a paintbrush, what kind of surface he likes to use and which paints he prefers. Rarely does he know the entire chemical composition of the paints he is using.
A painter knows how to use a paintbrush, what kind of surface he likes to use and which paints he prefers. Rarely does he know the entire chemical composition of the paints he is using.
He knows about the way the paints behave on certain substrates, but he spends his time learning how to paint, what pressure to use with his brush, the way a bend of the wrist can make the paintbrush flow more easily over the canvas, how to mix the paints, juxtapose colour and distribute elements over the frame, rather than getting in lost in technical trivia.
I have a secret I need to confess. One of the selfish reasons I co-founded the Natural Landscape Photography Awards was to find more ways to expose myself to photography that has gone under the radar due to the democratisation of sub-par photography thanks to social media algorithms. Much to my glee, the Awards have accomplished that goal in spades.
I’ve been so lucky to discover some incredible photographers who otherwise would have never come across my radar, and of course, in turn, I want to expose the rest of the world to their work. One such photographer is Sho Hoshino, a Japanese photographer specialising in forest scenes in the Nagano Prefecture, just west of Tokyo.
I’ve been so lucky to discover some incredible photographers who otherwise would have never come across my radar, and of course, in turn, I want to expose the rest of the world to their work. One such photographer is Sho Hoshino, a Japanese photographer specialising in forest scenes in the Nagano Prefecture, just west of Tokyo. By studying Sho’s work, I think there are a few takeaways worth noting that other photographers can learn from:
Leaning heavily into an emotional connection with place will yield tremendous photographic results;
Creating depth in our 2-dimensional photographs using colour, texture, and light helps to transform them into 3-dimensional pieces of art;
Revisiting similar locations throughout the four seasons helps solidify our connections with them and can help yield great results.
When I first reached out to Sho for this article, he shared with me how his love for forest photography was spawned. One day while shooting at the foot of Mt. Fuji, he encountered an unexpected thick fog. At first, he was depressed because his main objective was to photograph Mt. Fuji, but then the fog and forest brought back the sensations of his childhood. His interest in trees was reawakened, and he quickly shifted his photographic focus to the forest, tapping into a long-lost emotional connection with the place. By focusing our photography on places we have an emotional connection with, we improve our chances of making great photographs. Since we have a deeper familiarity with the subtle nuances that exist there, we are able to notice things other photographers cannot, which allows us to infuse ourselves into the outcome of our work.
Another aspect of Sho’s work that I find appealing is how he is consistently able to create a sense of depth in his images of the forest. Anyone who has ever photographed in the forest knows that it is not very easy to make sense of the chaos found there, and it can often seem impossible to convey the charm and intricacies of the forest through a single image. Sho has been able to create a sense of depth by using three tools - colour, texture, and light. By pairing complementary colours such as red and green, Sho masterfully gives the eye a way to move through the frame. Similarly, the use of texture from mosses, snow, ice, frost, or flowers provides the viewer with tidbits of visual interest throughout the frame, accentuating the feeling of depth. Lastly, by using light or lack of light in playful ways, Sho creates depth by forcing the viewer’s gaze through the image in a thoughtful pattern or direction. These are all excellent tools in the landscape photographer’s toolbox that we should all pay more attention to.
Sho has been able to create a sense of depth by using three tools - colour, texture, and light. By pairing complementary colours such as red and green, Sho masterfully gives the eye a way to move through the frame.
Finally, Sho has found a way to visit locations over and over again throughout all four seasons. By revisiting the same areas in a variety of conditions, photographers enable themselves to increase their familiarity and strengthen intimate bonds with a place, which in turn improves how we see photographs there. In fact, Sho shared with me that this year he physically moved his home to the Nagano Prefecture in order to be closer to the places he loves to photograph. This is something that I think serious photographers should consider in their own pursuit of the craft. While it may seem a lofty sacrifice to move you and your family closer to the places you love (and it indeed usually is), it will most certainly enable you to create better work in a more consistent fashion. All too often, I hear nature photographers complain about how far away they live from their favourite places while at the same time talking about their frustration with not being able to elevate their photography or make it financially as a photographer. As harsh as it may sound, I think if you fully intend to be dead serious about your pursuit of this craft as a professional, sacrifices are needed.
To truly give yourself the best chances of success in landscape photography, it is ideal to live close to the places you are most connected to in your work. Often times, these places have fewer job opportunities and are more costly to live in, so it truly is a sacrifice to make it a reality; however, the end result is that you are more able to consistently photograph the subjects you love on a more frequent basis - all hopefully yielding better photographic results.
To truly give yourself the best chances of success in landscape photography, it is ideal to live close to the places you are most connected to in your work.
In 2015, I moved my family to an expensive mountain town in Colorado that had very few job prospects, with the knowledge that I was putting myself closer to the places I love to photograph. It was a risky move that still costs me more money than I’d like to admit; however, I wouldn’t change my decision for the world because I now have my favourite places within a short drive any time I want to make photographs. Seeing Sho make a similar choice in his own photographic pursuits solidifies my opinion that this sort of sacrifice can pay off in helping us make more personally meaningful work.
If you enjoyed this article and want to listen to my conversations with other great artists, consider subscribing to my podcast, “F-Stop Collaborate and Listen” on your favourite podcatching application.
Do you know someone you feel has yet to be discovered and should be featured here? Reach out and let me know - I look forward to hearing from you.
There has been a proliferation of aerial images in contemporary Australian landscape photography. These aerial images are quite often very abstract in nature, which begs the question – what is the visual language of aerial photography?
Australia is an age-old worn-down land. It is the flattest and driest inhabited continent in the world. It is not easy to comprehend from ground level. But from the air, the Australian land reveals its powerful identity, full of contrast: harsh and varied. A land weathered and carved by the forces of nature and the passing of millennia.
Australia is an age-old worn-down land. It is the flattest and driest inhabited continent in the world. It is not easy to comprehend from ground level. But from the air, the Australian land reveals its powerful identity, full of contrast: harsh and varied. A land weathered and carved by the forces of nature and the passing of millennia.
To most people, flying is a way of getting from A to B, but for me, it is an opportunity to observe the landscape from a different perspective. It is quite surprising how revealing the landscape can be, even from a commercial jet. The aerial point of view has compounded my appreciation of Australia’s landscape’s diversity. Each journey becomes a flight of discovery as the countryside below tells something about its natural history and evolution. The challenge for me is how to interpret the complexity and intricacies of the landscape before me..
When starting out in photography, I was puzzled why people took black and white landscape images. Perhaps I could see a place for it in minimalist, long exposure seascapes where the palette is naturally monochromatic. But otherwise, it felt like an affectation, as if the photographer was trying a little too hard to give their images the sheen of “fine art”. Why would you take colour away from the landscape, I thought, when that’s not how the world looks?
Discovering this image from Nathan Wirth helped me realise that black and white landscape photography is not about showing how a landscape looks. It’s about showing how it feels.
Ian Hill writes on his website that he is compelled by the imagery of words as much as pictures. Photography is a process of enquiry; he observes, listens, and tries to understand the land. Although he lives in a well-known area, his black and white images abstract place and question our connection and response to it.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?
I grew up in the flatlands of South Lincolnshire – a little ironic, given that I have lived amongst mountains for most of my adult life. I left there when I was 17 to study Geology and Environmental Science and went on to work in environmental education. Most recently I have had a career in developing low-carbon projects; I currently work at a University in Scotland, helping academics to do interesting things with environmental research. I live, however, in Cumbria, on the edge of the Lake District.
How did you become interested in photography, and what were your early images of or about?
Oddly, I don’t remember why I became so interested in photography. I think photography adopted me rather than the other way around.
In my late teens, I devoured culture; I was an avid reader, and I started to visit the art gallery in nearby Lincoln. I think I was desperate to understand a world that was more varied and interesting than the rural area in which I lived.
In my late teens, I devoured culture; I was an avid reader, and I started to visit the art gallery in nearby Lincoln. I think I was desperate to understand a world that was more varied and interesting than the rural area in which I lived.
At around this time, I picked up an old camera which was lying around my parent’s home, and started to take and develop B&W photographs; the local landscape, the odd flatness of the land; the way snow lay in furrowed fields in winter. I have no idea how I learnt these skills; I guess I borrowed a book from the local library and simply experimented. I developed films in the airing cupboard at home. I had access to one of those old ‘Gnome’ enlargers at my school – you know the sort, they look like a 1960s hairdryer and emit the fading glow of a dying lightbulb. I loved it. I was hooked, irrevocably.
Very early, I realised that black & white was my medium – I had been brought up on monochrome photos in the family cupboard, and this was an era (the end of the ‘70s or beginning of the ‘80s) when newspaper photographs were still in B&W. The ability to capture texture and tone somehow captivated me, and I began to notice the work of photographers which was in B&W.
I never liked photography. Not for the sake of photography. I like the object. I like the photographs when you hold them in your hand.~Robert Mapplethorpe
For some time, I have been questioning my love of photography. It seems an almost heretical thought to consider, given it’s what I do. Whether I call myself a photographer or a photographic artist, it’s what my life centres around. It has given my life purpose. And yet, I ask myself, do I love photography, or instead do I love what photography offers me? Is the act of photography nothing more than a means to an end rather than an end in itself?
Out of curiosity, I Googled the term “photography for photography’s sake,” a take on the classic “art for art’s sake” argument, a belief that art should exist independent of any utility. As expected, “photography for photography’s sake” means one makes photos because it is intrinsically rewarding and without regard for fame, popularity, or social media “likes.” Fair enough, those are all very poor and inadequate reasons for photography. Interestingly (and perhaps tellingly), no definition listed creativity or self-expression as possible outcomes of photography. Are those not much worthier reasons?
Whether I call myself a photographer or a photographic artist, it’s what my life centres around. It has given my life purpose. And yet, I ask myself, do I love photography, or instead do I love what photography offers me?
For years my wife and I have been planning a trip to Ireland. When the time comes, I plan on leaving the camera home. Aside from the burden of having to lug my equipment around, the photos I would make would be mostly superficial impressions of the Irish landscape. They would most likely be documentary in nature, objective representations of what I saw. How could they be anything but? I know nothing of Ireland other than what I’ve seen in photos.
It is clear that there is no classification of the Universe not being arbitrary and full of conjectures. The reason for this is very simple: we do not know what thing the universe is.~Jorge Luis Borges,
from The Analytical Language of John Wilkins
Inspiration comes in many forms. In this case, it was reading The Ongoing Moment by Geoff Dyer that provoked an idea. Dyer, right at the beginning of the book cites the Jorge Luis Borges short story called The Analytical Language of John Wilkins1. In that story, Borges describes different attempts to create a language that would define a classification of things by the nature of how the language is itself structured. John Wilkins (~1614 to 1672) was a natural philosopher, a founding member of the Royal Society of London, and eventually the Bishop of Chester2. He made an attempt to create a universal language and related system of measurements (similar to the metric system in being based on powers of 10). That is not, however, the focus of attention here. The extract relates to Borges’ description in the story of the Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge. This, he suggests, is a certain Chinese encyclopaedia in which it is written that the world of the animals can be classified as follows:
those that belong to the Emperor
embalmed ones
those that are trained
suckling pigs
mermaids
fabulous ones
stray dogs
those included in the present classification
those that tremble as if they were mad
innumerable ones
those drawn with a very fine camelhair brush
others
those that have just broken a flower vase
hose that, from a long way off, look like flies.
A perfect and all-encompassing classification (perhaps I will have to go back to Borges – I have never really been a fan of magic realism but his classification is wonderful in the literal sense of the word). The inspiration, of course, was then to think about how we might classify landscape photography in a similarly wonderful way. Indeed, it turns out that we can directly borrow the categories of the Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge, but some need a little modification. Here, then, is a first draft (with some commentary and a little judicious twists of meaning). As in the original, the classes overlap to some extent.
The inspiration, of course, was then to think about how we might classify landscape photography in a similarly wonderful way. Indeed, it turns out that we can directly borrow the categories of the Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge, but some need a little modification.
a) those taken by Ansel Adams
Ansel Adams (1902-1984) can surely be regarded as the emperor of influencers in landscape photography – at least for a certain period of the 20th Century. Emphasis on technique and “natural” landscapes (sparking a reaction in what came to be called the New Topographics movement) but providing a framework for educating photographers (particularly in his books on The Camera, The Negative and The Print, which are still in press in the 1995 editions revised by Robert Baker). Less convincing in colour. His influence persists today – at least for those working in (or imitating) monochrome large format.
b) those embalmed in museums
One definition of embalmed is the sense of being fixed for the foreseeable future. For photography that can be interpreted as prints that are being curated and stored under ideal conditions for their preservation (images stored on vulnerable digital media really do not come under this category). Such embalmed images include notably again Ansel Adams and other celebrated photographers in the collections of the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and the Smithsonian American Art Museum in Washington. Other important permanent collections of historical landscape photography can be found at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, the Musée de l’Élysée in Lausanne, and the Art Institute of Chicago. Ansel Adams actually produced what he called Museum Sets of some of his most popular prints, with the intention that they should be sold (at a discount) only to Museums or to buyers with a history of donating to Museums or Educational Institutions. These constraints were embodied in a contract that also applied to subsequent owners. Images from the photographers commissioned by the US Farm Security Administration in the 1930s (including Walker Evans, Dorothea Lange and Arthur Rothstein) are held in the Library of Congress (see (g) stray dogs below).
c) those that have trains
One of many sub-genres of landscape photography (see (l) below). Even if the train is the main object, rather than the landscape itself, if the train is not too prominent then the landscape might be of greater interest (to some of us) – though lighting and framing will be constrained by when and where a photogenic train (often with a steam locomotive) actually passes a location. Experience on the Settle to Carlisle line suggests that this sometimes involves the dangers caused by groups of fast moving cars on narrow roads as train photography enthusiasts try to get between prime locations faster than the train.
Landscape with train: A fleeting appearance of the sun coincided luckily on 21 May 2022 with the passage of the southbound Cumbrian Mountain Express hauled by 46115 Scots Guardsman on the approach to Ais Gill summit on the Settle-Carlisle line in Mallerstang. The distinctive mass of Wild Boar Fell dominates the scene; the train has just climbed up the shoulder of the fell along the Eden valley, which separates Wild Boar Fell from Mallerstang Edge. Photo by John Cooper-Smith (with permission).
Similarly applies to some other sub-genres, such as wildlife photography, though the subject is often much too prominent, and the landscape is ruined by being out of focus ….
d) suckling pigs (recipes)
There are, of course, many examples of mermaids with little or no clothing photographed in the landscape. Most examples tend not to show the fishy tail (although, rather peculiarly, photos of mermaids with fishy tails appear to have become a sub-genre of portrait photography for which there are also instructional videos on YouTube)
Suckling pigs are raised to be slaughtered and eaten young, for which there are a variety of recipes. The analogy here might be the many various recipes that are available on YouTube videos for improving your landscape photography. Just searching a couple of photoblog sites yields titles such as: How to Master Mood in Landscape Photography in Under 5 Minutes; The Only Rule You Need for Landscape Photography; The Six Pillars for a Good Landscape Photo; How To Get Stunning Light Each Daytime for Landscape Photography; How to get Great Landscape Photos in Dull Conditions; How to use a Wide Angle Lens for Landscape Photography; How to Shoot Landscape Panoramas with a Telephoto Lens; What is the Best Position for the Horizon in a Landscape Photo; or Six Practical Drone Tips to Get Better Landscape Photos. To be sampled critically (links not provided here … but you can always search on the title of course!).
e) mermaids
There are, of course, many examples of mermaids with little or no clothing photographed in the landscape. Most examples tend not to show the fishy tail (although, rather peculiarly, photos of mermaids with fishy tails appears to have become a sub-genre of portrait photography for which there are also instructional videos on YouTube). More generally, this class comprises of landscapes featuring nude bodies, a topic that has attracted many celebrated photographers including Edward and Brett Weston (1886-1958 and 1911-1993), Bill Brandt (1904-1983), and Jean-Loup Sieff (1933-2000). As with train and wildlife photography, this will often detract from the landscape, but in some cases, the light and shade on the forms of the nude become the landscape, as in the ultra-wide angle images of Bill Brandt.
The Mermaid as landscape: Bill Brandt, Baie des Anges, 1959
This has now been taken to extremes, of course, by the landscapes of Spencer Tunick (b.1967), featuring hundreds or even thousands of naked people, such as his images on the Aletsch Glacier taken in conjunction with a Greenpeace campaign about glacier loss3.
This is an important category. There are many fabulous landscape images in the sense of being excellent, but perhaps more interesting are those in the older definition of fabulous as imaginary. The use of imagination, of course, implies photographic Art, which might be interpreted in two senses: (i) there is the sense in which an image is post-processed to be unrecognizable from the scene that was before the camera (sky replacements, object removal, overuse of the saturation slider, or adding snow leopards into Himalayan landscapes4, etc); (ii) there is the sense in which the photographer wants to convey his image of the unseen characteristics of the object photographed (essence, metaphor, Borges’ magic realism, etc). We could say that this category, therefore, represents photography as performance (see also the comment on synthography under h).
g) stray dogs
Stray dogs perhaps appear more commonly in the genre of travel photography but, as with trains, can often have remarkable landscapes in the background (there are apparently over 9500 stray dog images on Getty Images and over 35000 on istockphoto.com). Some celebrated stray dog photographs are listed here5, including that of the Parc des Sceaux, Hauts-de-Seine, by Joseph Koudelka (b.1938) in 1987.
Joseph Koudelka, Parc des Sceaux, Hauts-de-Seine, 1987
h) those that are included in the present classification
This class is evidently self-reflexive. Considering the classes as sets, then in set theory, it is completed by class (l) below to include all landscape photographs ever taken and hence implying some redundancy (see under (j) below).
Those that are not included in the present classification should perhaps include the special category of “synthography” in which digital landscape images are created by computer programs that have gone feral given some descriptive text input6.
i) those that tremble as if they were mad
This class clearly refers to photographers who use intentional camera movements (ICM)7. Unintentional tremblings have in the past few years been greatly reduced by the implementation of in-camera and on-lens image stabilisation.
j) innumerable ones
This class has evidently grown dramatically in the age of digital and smart phones, now that everyone and his monkey can be considered to be a photographer. This has led to the production of innumerable redundant images in the sense of the philosopher Vilém Flusser8 (1920-1991), notably of course of sunrises and sunsets but with an unfortunate tendency for the landscape to be obscured by the photographer standing in front of it.
Selfie by Naruto the Monkey, obscuring the landscape but with nice bokeh 9
k) those spotted with a very fine camel hair brush
Many of you will not remember but this is a hark back to the pre-digital age when many hours were spent after sessions in the darkroom with brush and ink to obscure the effects of tiny dust spots and blank spots in the negative on the final print. This was an important (and time consuming) skill in producing exhibition quality monochrome prints.
Many of you will not remember but this is a hark back to the pre-digital age when many hours were spent after sessions in the darkroom with brush and ink to obscure the effects of tiny dust spots and blank spots in the negative on the final print.
a) others
This class clearly exists just in case we missed anything important. We can include here a number of sub-categories including:
those with swirly bokeh
those with a milky way in a blue sky and a foreground taken earlier
those with the sounds of cow bells
those with an aurora
those with Buachaille Etive Mòr
those on repeat
those that are panoramics
those with slot canyons
those with centred horizons
those with more than a rock
those with shipping forecasts
those on repeat
those with red-filtered black skies
those of rivers and sand bars taken from the air
those taken in subglacial caves
those with circular star trails
those with Aspen trees in autumn
those with red lava at dusk
those with hoar frost
those with a clump of wild flowers in the foreground
those with the rule of thirds
those that only exist on Instagram, immediately forgotten
those with trees in mist
those with the colours of Landmannalaugar
those with blurry water
those with resonance
those with the golden ratio
those with black Deadvlei trees
those where all the ice has melted
those with the descending call of curlews in spring
those that sell
those on repeat
m) those that have just broken a link with the real
With this category we have to be somewhat circumspect since it has been generally agreed in the discussions in On Landscape that no photograph can be considered as real (except in the sense of being a physical artifact). While some representations might be considered more real than others to the viewer (possibly even those synthographics generated by ignorant computer programs), perhaps we should say no more (but see the category of fabulous ones above).
n) those that from a long way off look like a photographic workshop
or multiple workshops gathered together in a classic location with photographers in serried ranks, tripod to tripod, all disappointed that the light is not as good as in the photos they have seen of the same location (e.g. Mesa Arch, Horsetail Falls, Jøkelsàlen, etc). Something best viewed from afar and avoided. Has been a major mechanism of relatively unknown places evolving into classic landscape photography locations, before the workshops move on to something new (from Iceland to Lofoten, to Greenland, to the Lencóis Maranhenses in Brazil, to …)
The Earth viewed from space: Spot all the photographic workshop groups
That seems to have covered just about everything but if you think that some other categories should be added, then please make suggestions in the comments.
My favourite place to photograph is the Fontainebleau Forest. From my first visit, I felt a strong bond and a natural attraction to it. A personal affinity as tangible as the imposing boulders that dot the landscape. I’m not happy to leave it, and when away, I find ease in knowing that I’ll soon be back there, which is also where home is.
Two decades of travelling and relocations and the consequential crescendo of an ever more abstract concept of “home” that built in my mind made such attachment with any place highly unlikely.
I never thought I would describe a place in such a way, to the exclusion of all other locations, known or unknown. Two decades of travelling and relocations and the consequential crescendo of an ever more abstract concept of “home” that built in my mind made such attachment with any place highly unlikely.
But where is home if not in our minds? And what is a voice, if not the loudest expression of one’s self? So, how can I profess such surprising fondness for a real place, which coexists inside and outside my mind, to suddenly wanting to call it “home”? I do so for the voices in my head.
Being there
I had no knowledge of the existence of this natural area before moving next to it following my girlfriend’s career change. The first time I stepped on the sandy terrain of the Fontainebleau forest and gazed around the scenery, I heard a whisper in my ears telling me where to go. A longing feeling for this unknown geography materialised in me. As my visits to the forest increased, I heard my instinct speaking to me through this voice more often. At times, I would just hear, "Go that way", "Stay here", or "Look harder". Over time, my need to spend more time in the forest increased, and I began to trust and follow this voice more.
It might seem odd to be reviewing a book which, self-evidently, is full of documentary photography, not landscapes. But this is no ordinary photo documentary book; its creator, Paul Wakefield, is unquestionably one of the world’s greatest landscape photographers. And for that reason, if no other, it is a compelling work for On Landscape readers.
I admit a strong personal interest. Paul and I met for the first time at a National Trust photographer’s social gathering in London in the early 1990s. I already had all his books, co-authored with Jan Morris, and was more than a little overawed to be speaking with someone whose work so inspired me. Oblivious to my nerves, Paul was keen to talk about his personal documentary work in India. He intended, he told me, to make it into a book.
I admit a strong personal interest. Paul and I met for the first time at a National Trust photographer’s social gathering in London in the early 1990s. I already had all his books, co-authored with Jan Morris, and was more than a little overawed to be speaking with someone whose work so inspired me.
I recall then that he didn’t really see this work as especially distinct from his landscape photography. His landscape work, his commercial work, his documentary work was in a sense, all personal. But in India, he did forgo his beloved 5x4 inch Ebony and shoot, as he explained then, with a mixture of Leica and Fujifilm 6x9 (fixed lens) cameras. No one I knew shot digital at the time, and his use of colour negative film was probably the biggest revelation.
Paul and I have met several times since, and the India work has come up occasionally in conversation. But it did seem as if, like many photography passion projects, this was one that might never see the light of day.
So it was with some surprise that we sat down to coffee together a couple of months ago, and he showed me the first copy off the press of Signs of Devotion, a body of work that started in the 1980s and was essentially completed by 2001, over twenty years ago.
Anyone who has his book, The Landscape, will know the standards Paul has set for design, printing, paper quality, and binding. If anything, Signs of Devotion perhaps surpasses it. The paper is an unusually heavyweight, textured (coated) stock, well-matched to the style of the images. He has a knack for finding special writers to work with, such as Jan Morris in his early books and Robert Macfarlane in The Landscape. Sara Wheeler’s beautiful essay opens Signs of Devotion, and combined with Shrivatsa Goswami’s excellent introduction, these written contributions raise expectations as we move into the photographs.
Yet, even so, the photographs exceed them. The precision and purpose of Paul’s pictures give his scenes and subjects the same significance and depth as a Renaissance painting. This analogy might seem odd, given that late 20th century India is a world away from 16th century Florence, Venice, or Flanders. But the curious, hazy softness and warmth of the light, presumably a combination of heat, dust and humidity, along with the dense fabric of his compositions, make this comparison unavoidable.
The precision and purpose of Paul’s pictures give his scenes and subjects the same significance and depth as a Renaissance painting. This analogy might seem odd, given that late 20th century India is a world away from 16th century Florence, Venice, or Flanders.
Photography and painting do have plenty in common, but the practitioner in each art has to know the particular strengths and limitations of their medium. Self-evidently, photography has to prioritise the unfolding reality in front of the camera. In Paul’s case, his sense of timing, space, and the choreography of figures remind us that he is, first and foremost (perhaps I would say this) a landscape artist.
Because he sees and thinks with a landscape photographer’s sense of positioning, perspective and eye for detail, these images have a richness and complexity that rewards the attentive viewer more than any other documentary photographs I have seen. Almost every picture seems packed with incident and detail, all of it observed, noted, included – framed – because it represents something of the essence of life on the street (as it mostly is) in India. The viewer can revel in the process of interpreting the story in each one as if approaching the end of a particularly engaging jigsaw puzzle.
It is often said that painting is an additive art (defined by what is put in) while photography is subtractive (defined by what is left out). Yet Signs of Devotion is filled with many images that seem defined by what is left in. However trivial or random small objects, shapes and surfaces might seem, in these compositions, they contribute to the whole. They are evidence that everything matters, that humanity and other animals exist in – and depend on – the incidental texture of everyday reality.
The work proves the importance of immersed observation. It is as if the photographer has become part of the place and the moment, lost in the daily tasks, duties, and often chaotic social interactions and events that make up the mystery of the Indian street. Some of the images defy our sense of what composition is, and yet they work due to their tension and balance (pp. 23, 28, 66). It is important to remember that although the work was completed some years ago, it represents hundreds or even thousands of hours on location with the camera.
For sure, he must have made thousands of photographs in India, and Paul’s final selection no doubt leaves out many more wonderful images. The final sequencing is understated and based on visual compatibility, which is sometimes geographically specific. For the most part, the viewer may draw their own story from the page pairing and the overall flow. I have been happy to browse through again and again, spotting previously unnoticed details or marvelling at the human stories that play out on the streets and riverbanks of India. Each photograph is worth spending time with. Some, pages 11, 19, 21, 45, 46, 52, 67, 78, 89, verge on the miraculous.
For sure, he must have made thousands of photographs in India, and Paul’s final selection no doubt leaves out many more wonderful images. The final sequencing is understated and based on visual compatibility, which is sometimes geographically specific.
Most photographers have more than a passing interest in method and technique, but when that method is almost completely invisible because the images are so absorbing, then that is the greatest technique of all. It’s tempting to comment on Paul’s understanding of the colour characteristics of negative film and the visual consistency of limiting his approach to a couple of lenses at most, but really, none of that seems to matter.
What does matter is the sense of time, or perhaps, an absence of it. Sara Wheeler’s essay is entitled, a Hand to Catch Time, an idea echoed in the orange hand print that fills the page before the photographs begin. There are dates on all of the photographs in the excellent catalogue pages at the back of the book, but there is little to indicate that the date was 1992…or 1892…or possibly 2092? This must be an illusion… a local would notice changes that have happened, clothing and transportation, for example. But surely many of the scenes, and especially the rituals observed, were the same five hundred years before and, with luck, will be in another five hundred years. As with all photography, Paul’s Leica may indeed have caught a specific moment in time, but somehow, the images defy time’s gravity.
The work is so compelling that we are left wanting to know more. I was lucky to have Paul talk me through the background to a few, but he has left the captions in the catalogue very simple, just place and year date only. Such minimalism leaves much to the imagination. But it would also be good to know more of the circumstances behind each image. Or perhaps some of them, anyway.
I have only been to India once, in 2010, and then to Ladakh, that Himalayan stronghold in the far north of this gigantic country. It probably isn’t typical of India and so I came to this book with little personal history, insight, or preconception of what to expect. Reading the excellent introductory essays and, above all, having feasted on the images has helped me feel I have made an inner journey there.
I’d like to finish by quoting from Shrivatsa Goswami’s final passage in the book itself:
Paul Wakefield has properly walked upon this path of seeing. He has seen the vast field of Indian rites as they are. His eye behind the camera has received, rather than imposed itself on the seen. His absence allows the seen-scene to fill the frame. He has immersed himself in this cultural space. His devotion to untainted truth and beauty makes it possible for ordinary moments to speak for the extraordinary. His pictures depict life as it is; from courtyards to market lanes, animals to trees, temples to festivals. Paul has allowed his seen subjects to speak for themselves.
I wish I’d written that!
Paul’s book is available on his website. It is, naturally, highly recommended!
There is often an ancillary to being a committed coast hugger. Whilst living in fiery southern England, access to the stretch of coast I explored was usually through the New Forest. Often, there was light streaming through the chaos of the trees and bracken, and so, rather than heading straight through, I started to stop and consequently concentrated on the forest itself. Soon, there was a project. The New Forest is an extremely popular place for visitors throughout the year, especially so during daylight hours in summer. Through the project, I wanted to show how the forest looked outside of those times and perhaps provide a motivation for other photographers to engage with an environment in their own personal way.
It is fair to say that much has been said about getting to know your part of the landscape, which is invaluable in terms of accessing and recording the change or nature of light and the way the land evolves. Such was my first engagement with Forvie in Aberdeenshire. Initially, it was the beach, the sea and how, in the winter months, the sea and sky merge within the same colour palette. That sense of peace and of losing yourself in the landscape and the photography process.
To get to the Forvie coast, there is a need to trek/hike/yomp (I call it a trek, but my partner says it is a mild stroll) through the sand dunes. I was used to a few dunes when living on the south coast, but these were something else. The Sands of Forvie are part of the Forvie National Nature Reserve, which covers almost a thousand hectares of sand dunes and dune heath between the North Sea and River Ythan estuary.
The Sands of Forvie are part of the Forvie National Nature Reserve, which covers almost a thousand hectares of sand dunes and dune heath between the North Sea and River Ythan estuary.
The dunes are highly mobile - the fifth largest sand dune system in Britain - and can reach up to twenty metres in height.
During the past five years, there has been an extensive engagement with these dunes and I have made many photographs of the textures, the abstracts and of the dune system.
The first engagement was in late January and was mostly about recording the dune system in context by making wider images with the sea as background and some sunset sky. There was also the attraction of recent frost, causing the dunes to look as though covered by an icing sugar coating with a strong sun, allowing a variety of textures with shadow lines like mini fantasy worlds. It was wonderful - the curves of sand lines leading to the dune tops with a small cloudscape accompanied by images of an abstract nature of the sand patterns and the effect of the frost alongside the relationship with the grasses. Well, it was all very enjoyable being out next to the coast in the fresh Aberdeenshire weather, and something obviously had happened. I wanted to return and although there were no project ideas at that time, I felt that it had to be in frosty conditions and to immerse myself in a relatively small area of the dune system.
I returned a year later due to the frosty conditions and although they were a few dune portraits, they did not have the sea as background - they were isolated against cloudy skies. I began to take more and more abstract images as though as if from a panoramic view of an Arabian landscape. The strong sunlight really helped, as did the strong winds of the previous days that had swept away any footprints and provided excellent ripples. This sort of approach continued into the next year with more and more concentration on abstracts and forms.
In 2022, there was a different shift in my approach. During a second visit in March, I thought could I make a coherent project from just a day's visit with images being part of a wider body of work? From that single day, I made a small monochrome project called March Days (March as, well, that was the month and March as in the route March takes to get to the dunes…), and a subsequent book was printed.
By then, there was a driving force to return to see if work might be made within these types of constraints. January Days was a second body of monochrome work bringing together dune portraits, textures, forms and abstracts divided into crest, deep, flow, frost, grass and ripple.
By then, there was a driving force to return to see if work might be made within these types of constraints. January Days was a second body of monochrome work bringing together dune portraits, textures, forms and abstracts divided into crest, deep, flow, frost, grass and ripple. A further small book was published. This approach has continued to the present day. In the middle part of the year, much of the dune system is fenced off for protection of bird breeding sites, but my work is always concentrated away from those in a very small part of the dunes.
There is something special about losing yourself in the photographic process, trying to create a series of works within a tight time and geographical constraints. On reflection, it is the way that I work within my projects, although never intentionally.
A visit is best after a good wind-bound day and ideally frosty conditions, and there is no need for the so-called golden hours as I have and continue to make work in the bright, cloudless midday sunshine with the consequence of wonderful textures and shadows.
In 2018, my wife and I vacationed in northern England. Still fairly new to landscape photography, I brought my camera gear and a desire to shoot outside our home region of Atlantic Canada. I was also determined to visit the Joe Cornish Gallery in Northallerton, Joe Cornish being one of the few British photographers of whom I’d then heard. I was, of course, delighted to see prints of his work and also to find prints by American Charles Cramer, another early favourite of mine.
Browsing the gallery’s other offerings, I was suddenly arrested by a powerful winter scene: lodged in the snow, an explosive tangle of bare, stunted birch trees dominate the foreground; more birch retreat into the distance. At the horizon, a pink evening glow might be the Belt of Venus. Gosh, this could almost be a Canadian winter scene – except where I live, we don’t have that splendidly gnarly type of birch.
What first drew me to Lizzie Shepherd’s Arctic birches at sunset, Lake Tornetrask, were its lovely muted colours. Winter in northern regions is sufficiently devoid of strong colour that we’re tempted to revert to monochrome. (A splendid example, Lizzie Shepherd’s Snow Lines, forms the subject of Rachael Talibart’s “End Frame” essay in issue 226.) Colour is essential here, however, and the overall scene is rendered in cold, calm pastels: blue-white for the snow, just slightly bluer for the evening sky, and delicate pinks for the distant, sunkissed mountains. (Yes, that’s not Venus’ belt but snow-capped mountains, likely on the far side of Sweden’s Lake Torneträsk.)
Delicate colours, then: bright, frigid, and still. The birches, however, riot against this stillness, their twist-ed limbs writhe in strongly contrasting patches of blue-white and black; and the more distant mass of birch draw a fuzzy grey band below the pink and blue mountains.
I think it’s fair to say that only a handful of people consistently take great photographs of the mountains in the UK. For one, the act of getting up into the mountains isn’t trivial. For an additional hurdle, if you want all season coverage, getting up into the mountains in winter is a hard and potentially dangerous activity.
Once you’ve filtered for the people who can do this regularly, you need to filter them down even further on the ability to take great photographs. The biggest difference between roadside1 and mountain photography is that if you want to recompose a picture, instead of walking around your subject for a few minutes, you need to climb up and down cliffs and potentially try to find another mountain to ascend to get a different view. This means a great deal of planning in advance if you want to be in the right place.
[1] if you want an arbitrary definition, anything less than a km from the car
Finally, once we’ve filtered down to people who can do this, we then get to the point where we’re looking for people who are willing to commit to a multi-year project to amass a body of work on an area and to build this into an engaging book.
Finally, once we’ve filtered down to people who can do this, we then get to the point where we’re looking for people who are willing to commit to a multi-year project to amass a body of work on an area and to build this into an engaging book.
I reckon that means there’s maybe 10 photographers in the UK capable of committing to this and it’s not surprise that only one or two follow it up long enough actually to produce a book.
So, we should be grateful to Alex for the persistence, vision and skill to get to this point. And that’s before even considering the book!!
The Project
So before taking a look at the book, what is it about. The Great Wilderness sounds like it’s a secret hideaway in the depths of the Himalayas, a place that takes a backcountry flight to get close to and then multiple kayak portages to arrive at the base of a hidden glacier below imposing mountains. Well, it’s probably as close as you’ll get to this in Scotland and the alternative book name would have been “The Fisherfield Forest” which suggests an old growth Canadian boreal forest in the depths of the Yukon, which is equally misleading when, in fact, it’s a mostly treeless region of bog and remote mountains on the West coast of Scotland. For those a little familiar with the Highlands, it spans the area between Loch Maree and An Teallach/Loch Broom.
I asked Alex why he chose to follow up the Northwest book with this particular area
And there is so much on offer in the area. It’s one of the most geologically interesting places in Scotland, with some of the oldest rocks in the world. It also has some of the oldest pinewood forests in the area around Loch Maree, internationally recognised by UNSECO
“The natural progression from ‘Northwest’ seemed to simply be ‘West’. So during the first lockdown summer, I headed to Kintail for a few days. It's a wonderful mountain area, and I enjoyed some great weather too, but it was clear after that first hike that there was less photographic potential. The more continuous ridges in much of the highlands might be great if you want to bag multiple summits in a day, but it places restrictions on the views from the tops and restricts early and late light from getting into the valleys.
The following week I was running a workshop in Fisherfield and realised just how much potential there was that I hadn't really delivered upon in Northwest. That autumn I planned a trip hiking in the Dundonnel area that went brilliantly, and that sealed the deal.”
And there is so much on offer in the area. It’s one of the most geologically interesting places in Scotland, with some of the oldest rocks in the world. It also has some of the oldest pinewood forests in the area around Loch Maree, internationally recognised by UNSECO.
Alex has divided the book into four main sections covering An-Teallach, Fisherfield 6, Letterewe and finally Loch Maree. Each section has a map, an introduction and there are four essays spread throughout detailing some of Alex’s experiences creating the pictures for the book.
There are also some visually engaging maps of the area that are art works in themselves. Exploring them is like looking for treasure on a old pirate map and in the following pages, treasyre is exactly what we get. Here’s a sample of the map from the An-Teallach area.
I think you’ll agree that a wandering eye on this feels more organic than the equivalent Ordnance Survey map.
The Book
I won’t say a lot about the quality of the book beyond the fact that you won’t get much better. The printing is amazing, the cloth-wrapped hardcover with the embossed lettering and graphics is superb, the paper is thick with a subtle silk sheen, and the binding is tight without hindering the view of the double-page spread panoramas included. Check the photos if you want to see more.
I’ll admit my involvement to some small degree during the printing phase of the book process. Alex and I both print books at Johnson’s of Nantwich, a fabulous small print company that have been very helpful in allowing us to work on press and also to experiment some with the way that the files are prepared for the book, the proofs printed and to see how the final book folios come off press, allowing us to tweak the colours as things are printing.
If you’ve ever printed a book, I think you will probably have encountered the occasional problem, and a company is made or broken by its attitude to how these can be avoided, fixed or circumvented in a different manner. Our experiences have been no different (with multiple printers) and Johnson’s allowed Alex and I to try different methods to achieve the best printing results. Whilst not perfect (no litho print process is - although with the very knowledgeable press manager Matt gets it close) it has meant that the printed images are very, very close to the digital files I can see in Indesign.
The success of printing is a balance between never being happy with how good things are going so that you keep on trying to get things better and having a pragmatic approach where you can see the big picture. Between myself and Alex I think we hit a decent balance (he’s the perfectionist by the way!).
I asked Alex if he learned anything while creating his second book project and if he had any advice.
“As far as starting out goes, a project like this is incredibly daunting. So its best just to start and see where you get without tying yourself down to specific goals. Initially I did a few trips with the vague idea that this would be my next book and made 30 or so images that I felt were publishable. Only a handful of those images ended up in the book, but it nevertheless gave me some momentum. If I’d used the kind of specific planning approach, I eventually employed right from the outset it would have been much more difficult to get going and far less enjoyable. So start small and perhaps start with a Zine - it’s a brilliant format to share work and with a small digital (not litho) print you can keep costs down too (not least because case binding a hardback book is about half of the cost!)
As for the design and organisation, I know of a few people who are far more qualified to talk on the subject (Sandra Bartocha springs to mind)! But I do think it is important to make design choices that are personal to you. In many ways, the design of the book is as boring as it gets! Photographs are simply presented, generally full bleed or with even borders on each side because I don’t want viewers get distracted by an unusual ‘designer’ layout. There are no blank pages for “breathing space” – I find that annoying! The paper is a high quality, but still fairly standard 200gsm silk paper so you don’t notice the paper either. But I’ve pushed the boat out in other respects. I’ve gone with a green cloth cover because I just got bored of all these neutral tones we tend to see on the covers of photography books (and I loved this particular book cloth). I also tested the cloth quite extensively to make sure it didn’t mark easily, something that has bothered me about other books in the past that only look smart when they are new! I also both embossed and foiled the cover, which adds an extra process to the production and adds a fair chunk to the cost, but to me that kind of thing builds a bit of curiosity and excitement to open the book in the first place.”
The Photographs
As much as all the binding, paper, maps, essays, graphic design and the likes are very interesting and a key component of a successful book, its the pictures that we’re here for really. If they don’t live up to expectations or are repetitive or if there are too many ‘fillers’ then we won’t be fully satisfied.
Fortunately, and not unexpectedly with Alex, the images are all excellent. There are some absolute standouts (the selection of which will probably be different depending on your tastes) but there are also a breadth of subject and place that gives an organic sense of place.
Fortunately, and not unexpectedly with Alex, the images are all excellent. There are some absolute standouts (the selection of which will probably be different depending on your tastes - see a few of mine below) but there are also a breadth of subject and place that gives an organic sense of place. Nearly every image is a long view of some sort (Alex doesn’t add lots of intimate details, so you’ll have to get that kick from the foreground interest) but the compositions are such that you can feel you’ve actually walked alongside Alex in some way.
One of the pleasing sections for me reflects well on Alex’s environmental credentials. Despite spending time photographing the amazing islands of Loch Maree, he has chosen not to tell that undoubtedly interesting story because to do so might draw too much attention to a very delicate environment. He’s absolutely right to do so, as there have only recently been devastating fires from camping on one of the main islands, with locals spending multiple days trying to put them out. I hope some of this delicate approach rubs off on the book’s readers.
Everybody will have their own favourite photographs from the book, and I'm no exception, so I asked Alex if I could include a few of my favourites, without spoiling some of the surprise for if you buy the book! So here's a couple and there are a few more in the gallery at the bottom.
Conclusion
I think it’s fairly obvious that I really like the book. Alex has hit publishing gold again with “The Great Wilderness”, a visual feast delivered from the most remote mountain area in Scotland. I spent my own money buying a copy (I know the margins on books like this, so I’ll always buy if I can) and don’t regret a penny. It epitomises much of what I like about photography, and photography books in general. I also reminds me so much of why I moved to the Highlands.
If you’re a photographer and love grand landscapes and mountains, then look no further for your next book, and if you don’t have Alex’s first book (NorthWest), I’d keep an eye on those second-hand websites! Highly recommended! (and it will sell out!).
Go and buy the book direct from Alex’s website - give him something to do while he’s helping nurse the baby!
My final question to Alex was “what’s next?”
“The worst thing about finishing 'Northwest' was giving myself a one-year break from projects, which actually manifested as a purposeless creative vacuum, so I won't make that mistake again! Torridon is next, and I plan to almost exactly duplicate the format and design for that book. I think some people will see this as a little repetitive, just going over old ground (literally) that I covered in the last book. But I have realised that if there is anything that sets me apart as a photographer, its a determination and level of obsession which ultimately allows me to produce work that few others would be willing to commit to. I already have some images under my belt, but it will be a few years at least before that book emerges, and perhaps more once the full implications of raising a child hit home!”
And finally, keep an eye out for a new podcast feature in the New Year with Joe Cornish where Alex will be our first guest!
In this issue, we talk to Mark James Ford and feature some of his photography. I say some, as Mark has a diverse portfolio that includes panoramas, landscapes, flora, fauna and astrophotography. We’re concentrating on the abstract and macro, but you’ll find links to explore his other work in our feature. Mark has had a long standing interest in photography and a foot firmly in both art and science. Now living in Germany, he has access to some special places that motivate him beyond the local that the universality of macro can sometimes suggest through its removal of context.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do? How did photography come into your life and what were your early images of, or about?
I was born in a suburb of Birmingham, England, in 1963 and grew up on the outer edge of a satellite town. In the one direction, school and everything to do with urban life; in the other, fields, woods, and a wonderful view across Staffordshire to the distant spires of Lichfield Cathedral some 15km away. Spending much of my free time - from an age where I was allowed to venture unattended and through my teenage years - in this semi-rural environment, I was exposed to and developed an appreciation of Nature and the changing of the seasons.
I have always been very creative. Between the ages of twelve to sixteen I spent many hours almost every evening in the school in an informal group that did nothing but draw, sketch, and paint exploring and developing ideas and methods continuously. I will be forever grateful to the teacher who gave us this opportunity and pushed us ever harder to understand what we were doing and why, and who was able to enthuse us so effectively. During this period, actually, at the age of twelve, I drew a series of 6 pictures of a single rose as it opened, matured, and eventually died. A process which mesmerised me completely and which introduced me to the idea of the ‘Beautiful Death’. This idea we pursued many times with other natural objects. It should probably then be no surprise that this aspect of Beauty has stayed with me all of my life, ultimately manifesting itself in my love of Autumn.
This interest in everything that is around me - what I see, what I can’t see, and what lies behind the beauty that is the natural world - led to a passion for the sciences and particularly chemistry, which I think is the most creative science. Unusually I guess, I pursued chemistry with just an equal passion as fine art, combining the two when, between the ages of 17-18, I was allowed to use a fully kitted out dark room (photography was not on the school curriculum). Teaching myself, I photographed and developed black and white film learning as many development techniques as I could and the actual meaning and execution of processes like ‘dodge,’ ‘burn’ and ‘mask’. The images themselves were, in retrospect, naive and immature, but sometimes the seeds of future work could be seen in pictures that did little more than show a simple structure or shape (man-made or natural) or a lone tree.
