As heavy rain was pouring down in New York City, laying down on a black couch in a typical Manhattan apartment with exposed brick walls and exterior fire stairs, I paused the movie I was watching to pay attention to a conversation my newly met colleagues were having about the 9/11 attack photo reportages.
Shortly after, Jordan turned to me and asked: “Did you see Steve McCurry’s photo with the towers in smoke and a cross in the foreground?”
“Yes, everybody saw that photo”, I said.
Excited, Jordan went on saying: “That’s right, he changed the world! With that kind of photography, you can change the world.” Then, glazing outside the window added: “You can’t change the world with landscape photography”
I silently wondered: “Can’t you?”.
The conversation ended on that note. I put back my headphones and kept watching my movie, but I kept thinking about that statement for a while without reaching a conclusion.
Listening to music, smelling a perfume, touching a surface, reading a book or watching a movie can highly influence our mood to the point of taking us back in time to revisit specific memories and thus elicit in us all sorts of emotions. In defence of the ever soaring buying prices of football players, I once heard a well known art critic arguing on TV that the athletic feat of a football player can make a spectator feel an emotion equivalent to what he would feel while looking at a Caravaggio masterpiece. Just like a well crafted expressive landscape photograph has the power to do. That said, I have to admit I experienced that less time through a still landscape photograph and even less while watching a football match.
The project “By Degrees” was conceived in 2021 when being a bit of a map nerd, I found myself one day pondering the places where lines of latitude and longitude intersect. I had never knowingly been to such a place, so was intrigued to find out where was the closest to my home. Having located it – some 43 miles to the south – I then wondered where its next closest neighbours were. Perhaps inevitably, this led me to plotting all the intersections on a map of the UK and then considering the feasibility of photographing them all. I quickly realised that it would involve a huge amount of travelling and that it would be a daft idea to attempt it alone. But why not involve others? I took my idea to the RPS Landscape Group committee as a proposal, and so By Degrees was born!
Getting the project off the ground involved firstly working out where all the intersections are and plotting them on a map so that people could easily identify their nearest ones. I figured that people were more likely to get involved if they could relate abstract coordinates to a place that they knew. The mapping wasn't too difficult as you can just type, say, "53N 2W" into Google Maps, and it will show you the exact location.
The lines of latitude and longitude intersecting over the UK and Ireland
It turned out that there are 34 places where lines of latitude and longitude intersect over land in the UK, and I was really pleased to find that people volunteered for every intersection. The project brief gave participants the choice of photographing either the view from their chosen intersection or a view with the intersection in the frame.
It turned out that there are 34 places where lines of latitude and longitude intersect over land in the UK, and I was really pleased to find that people volunteered for every intersection.
From the outset, we planned a special edition of the landscape group's printed magazine and so anticipated that there would need to be a process for selecting which images should be published in cases where several photographers photographed at the same locations. To achieve this, we established a selection panel comprising RPS members Simon Hill, Hon.FRPS and Joe Cornish, Hon.FRPS, Vanda Ralevska (regular judge for Landscape Photographer of the Year) and Nigel Clifford FRGS, president of the Royal Geographical Society.
Inevitably, of course, I was keen to take part myself and so I photographed the two intersections closest to my home and also two others that I pass regularly when visiting my family in central Scotland. What I very quickly learned through my own participation was just how difficult it can be to make a decent image when the location is just a seemingly random spot on a map! Challenges that participants had to address included not only uninspiring locations but also getting access to private land and getting to some pretty remote places.
One of my personal favourite images was Ann Miles’ stunning panorama of a field of crops (chard?), showing that with a bit of inventiveness, even a seemingly endless flat landscape can be made engaging.
53N 0W, Lincolnshire, Ann Miles
I also have to acknowledge the efforts that some participants went to in order to get their images. Jean Robson needed a 7km cycle up a dirt road, then a climb up and over a col covered in deep heather and finally a plod across a bog in order to get to the intersection at 57oN 4oW to take this image of the Monadhliath hills.
I also have to acknowledge the efforts that some participants went to in order to get their images. Jean Robson needed a 7km cycle up a dirt road, then a climb up and over a col covered in deep heather and finally a plod across a bog in order to get to the intersection at 57oN 4oW to take this image of the Monadhliath hills.
57N 4W, Dumfries & Galloway, Jean Robson
As the deadline for image submissions approached, it began to look likely that nobody was going to photograph at a couple of intersections in the Highlands (57oN 3oW in Aberdeenshire and 57oN 5oW in Assynt in the Highlands). Unsurprisingly, these were the two most remote locations, requiring several miles of tramping across heather moorland on a compass bearing. Rather than leave these intersections unphotographed, another landscape group committee colleague and I set off to photograph them ourselves. Whilst heather moorlands drying up because of summer droughts is most definitely not something to be celebrated, it did mean that this final challenge was slightly less arduous than it could have been. And so it was, in September 2022, that the project was completed.
As far as I am aware, such a project has never been undertaken before, and we believe that it is, therefore, unique. Feedback from participants was really enthusiastic, with people often saying how much they had enjoyed the challenge of photographing “odd” locations!
A Selection of Submissions
The following is a curated selection of images from the project. All captions are from the photographers.
53N 0, Lincolnshire, Ann Miles
My exact location was 53degrees 0 minutes 51.16 seconds North/ 0 degrees 0 minutes 1.57 seconds West. I am facing West so panorama covers from S to N. Meridian which was approximately 1 km south of my location. The intersection is in the direction of the far left of my scene.
55N 4W, Dumfries & Galloway, Jean Robson
Taken from about 100 meters from the intersection, because the farmer advised against entering the field with a bull in it. Taken looking in a SSE direction across the intersection.
51N 2W, Wiltshire, Richard Draper
The puddle arrow points to the middle of the field where the intersection of 51N 2W lies. I was about 80 metres from the point at 50°59'58" N 2°00'02" W and at 155 metres altitude. I was facing east on 30th January 2022 as the winter sun was close to setting. This is a lovely part of Cranborne Chase at the southern end of Wiltshire close to the intersection with Hampshire and Dorset. The nearest village is Bowerchalke, where the river Chalke rises and flows into the nearby River Ebble.
52N 0W, Hertfordshire, Diana Buzoianu
This point is in the middle of a field of solar farm and it shows a wonderful juxtaposition between nature and the creative minds of humans to harness clean energy.
52N 0, Hertfordshire, Diana Buzoianu
I couldn’t pick a better time for photographing this coordinates ..the storm Eunice was just approaching. I had my vision of capturing the image of this golden oak tree from above from my drone but the storm made it definitely impossible to fly. As I was looking for other ways of capturing the point, a beautiful rainbow was just beginning to shine through the heavy grey clouds of rain. Just for a few seconds a stunning view of the tree enveloped by the rainbow appeared. That was definitely more than I could ask for.. This oak tree is right on the coordinates 52N.3W and stands tall in the middle of a field in the village of Michaelchurch Escley in Herefordshire.
52N 4W Carmarthenshire, Neil Purcell
52N 4W, is on a site adjacent to the B4337, at Dinas Quarry, Pen y Ddinas, near Llansawel in Carmarthenshire.
The hill of Pen Dinas was an area of unimproved pasture, known locally as 'the Warren’. Once upon time, there were the remains of a summer-house 'within some sort of ancient encampment' (Notebook on Carmarthenshire 1804-10). It is probable that the 'ancient encampment' was a later prehistoric type hillfort, which are otherwise scarce in the locality.
The remains of the summer house, or possibly a prospect tower, were said to have been part of the nearby Edwinsford estate.
The site, now owned by Tarmac, is abandoned, having closed down in the late 1980’s. When operational, it mostly produced granite grit for road construction, as well as a surprising amount of quartz crystal.
The exact intersection is inaccessible, buried beneath deep brambles and bracken. Facing WNW, I opted for this shot on the topmost part of the site, which is approximately 300 metres north of the intersection, and which speaks a little of the history and nature of the place and the people who once worked there.
52N 5W, Pembrokeshire, Michael Cooper
This intersection point is located in Dyffryn, Goodwick, Pembrokeshire. The actual intersection point is at the back of this abandoned ruinous old building, to the rear of this wall is dense impenetrable scrub on private land. I am standing approximately 5-6 m NE of the actual intersection point facing roughly SW
53N 1W, Nottinghamshire, Kevin Gibbin
Looking approximately north-north-west with Cocker Beck on my right, the intersection is on the left of the image just in front of the hedgerow.
53N 4W, Gwynedd, Saul Richmond Huck
The intersection of 53N 4W is alongside one of the Diffwys lakes in the Moelwyns in Snowdonia. Having climbed as far as the exact location it seemed a shame not to climb a bit further to elevate myself above and look back over the intersection to show it in its storm-beaten surroundings. The image was taken at 53°00'10.0"N 3°59'50.0"W. The intersection is at the left-hand side of the picture 360m away and is located underneath the left-most limb of the left-hand lake. The vista is looking southwest over the Croesor Valley towards Porthmadog with the slopes of Cnicht on the right.
54N 2W, Yorkshire, John Foster
Burning heather on Barden Moor at 54N. 2W. My exact location was 54.00341 N, 1.99263 W. I was facing SSW and I was around 300 yards from the intersection. I think the intersection is approximately where the tractor is, to the extreme left of the shot. The heather burners didn’t want me to come any closer.
55N 7W Co. Derry, Robin Taylor-Hunt
The intersection point sits within a pasture field, overlooking an area of farmland that lies in between Lough Foyle to the north-west and the striking skyline of Binevinagh to the north-east. However, on the morning I was there the visibility and light was not too exciting, and so I ended up going for a close-up of the intersection point itself - this dried out old dock plant within the grass field.
58N 7W, Isle of Harris, Alex Nail
58N 7W on Harris is one of the most scenic latitude and longitude intersections in the whole country. I camped at the spot overnight with my wife and our dog at the end of May hoping for a sunset but instead finding overcast conditions and an icy northerly wind. I was up at 4.30am the following morning to find clear skies and I made my way to the northern side of Loch Braigh Bheagarais to align the loch with the distant view of the Harris hills and Luskentyre. This photo was taken at 58°00’05”N 7”00’09”W. The true intersection lies just 300m from this point, on the far left edge of the image, but ultimately this majestic view was too much to pass up!
57N 3W Aberdeenshire, John Stewart
The intersection is a 5 mile walk from Ballater. I chose a very warm day with thunderstorms predicted. It is situated near a grouse moor so had to choose a Sunday when the grouse get a day off being shot. I am about 200 yards from the point looking south east towards Mount Keen which is the most Easterly Munro (over 300 feet). Luckily the ground was very dry as this area is usually a bog. The intersection is more-or-less central in the frame in the lower ground behind the foreground rocks.
57N 3W Aberdeenshire, Colin Balfour
Taken from the intersection point looking south-southeast towards Mount Keen (939m) which is the most easterly Munro.
57N 3W Aberdeenshire, Mark Reeves
Taken at the intersection following the driest July for over 100 years, this image depicts a totally dry upland peat bog. The image looks towards the munro Mount Keen (939m) some 3km to the SSE. The heather and grasses were rendered white by the use of an infrared camera whilst the peat, visible in the bog gullies in the foreground and middle distance, appears black.
I first met John Blakemore when he led a course at the wonderful Inversnaid Photography Centre (sadly now closed) near Loch Lomond. Described by Fay Godwin as a ‘celebrated fine art photographer, teacher and workshop guru’, my week with John reinvigorated my photography, giving me the courage to identify and develop possibilities that I hardly knew existed and the confidence to regain my own photographic path.
The picture I have chosen is a part of John Blakemore’s tulip journey called ‘Tulip Celebrations - 4’. Before I explain my choice of photograph, allow me to say a little about John’s approach to photography, drawing on his own words.
Having previously perceived his landscape photography as being about discovery, about recognising the significance of something that existed before he directed his attention to it, John’s tulip journey marked a transition to still-life photography and to what John calls ‘thinking photography’. Familiar spaces tend to become invisible, so photographing them is a process of rediscovery and reinvention. By accident of season, a bowl of tulips presented itself. As he continued to photograph, the tulips became a dominant motif which continued intensely for nine years until the 1994 publication of The Stilled Gaze, a monograph of tulip photographs.
There is much to commend John’s distrust of the deceptive ease of photography – the magic box, the brief moment of exposure, the lack of any necessary connection with what is to be photographed beyond the hope that it might make a good picture. I am sure that many of us have fretted about this when we are planning a day’s shooting, when we are out on location and when we are back in our workrooms.
In his landscape work, John Blakemore’s process of picture-making is supported by a tripod of three Rs: Relationship (between photographer and subject); Recognition (the moment of exposure); and Realisation (creation of the print). Something that many of us have lost in the digital era is the painful discipline of capturing what we saw in our mind’s eye just as we pressed the shutter and converting this into a vibrant, tactile print that conveys that vision to those around us. To curtail the process at an on-screen digital image is to shorten one of the key legs of the tripod.
In his landscape work, John Blakemore’s process of picture-making is supported by a tripod of three Rs: Relationship (between photographer and subject); Recognition (the moment of exposure); and Realisation (creation of the print).
It may be helpful to explore the tripod legs in a little more detail.
First, relationship. This is crucial – it recognises the necessity of a prolonged and intense scrutiny of place and of the resultant images. The process of developing a relationship with the subject is an essential part of picture-making. Any subject allows a diversity of responses and picture-making strategies that will express and communicate different concerns.
Relationship is both perceptual and conceptual, just as in the English language, ‘I see’ may mean both literally seeing something and also understanding it. As photographers, we must therefore develop an understanding both of our subject and of the photographic means that we use to realise it. John Blakemore’s landscape work grew out of intimacy with place, using familiarity with small-scale elements to allude to larger forces that shape the total landscape.
Next, recognition. As photographers, we are surrounded by potential subjects. What to photograph? And when to photograph? At the moment of exposure, this dilemma is temporarily suspended. The moment becomes a ‘yes’, an affirmation and recognition of the significance of an aspect of reality that will appear in the photograph.
Finally, realisation. By contrast with relationship and recognition, the process of realisation must be retrospective. For John Blakemore, realisation takes place in the darkroom, resulting in the production of silver prints. For many of us, that process now takes place on a screen and through a printer; the technology may be different, but the challenges remain the same.
So why does this particular image, with all its depth and complexity, mean so much to me? The answer lies at the nexus between John Blakemore’s mastery of landscape and of still-life photography.
As landscape photographers, we are all familiar with preparing to visit a location, having a clear notion of the elements that we wish to include in an image. Landscape being landscape, when we are out in the field, careful preparation can quickly become a process of chasing the light, seeking versions of Cartier-Bresson’s ‘decisive moment’. We may have a clear picture of what we are hoping to capture in the moment of exposure, but no matter how carefully we have prepared we are fundamentally at the mercy of the elements. That lack of control can be exhilarating, stimulating, frustrating or downright disappointing.
By contrast, in studio work the photographer has complete control over all the elements within the image, the way they are presented, how they interact and how they are lit. Each element must pass the ‘so what?’ test. If it doesn’t contribute to the photographer’s vision, then the element must be moved or removed. Compositional disciplines learned in the studio readily translate to better landscape photographs.
Then there’s lighting. Uncontrollable by the photographer working outdoors, in a studio setting – which may require no more than soft daylight coming through a window – the photographer can learn valuable lessons about shape and texture, tonal value and range, shadows and highlights. Lessons learned indoors translate well into skills required for successful outdoor work in conditions where optimum lighting may be fleeting.
For those concerned that all of this sounds very technique-driven, have no fear. Comprehending the three Rs – embracing ‘thinking photography’ to use John’s words – allows all of us to work with greater confidence to define our vision, to capture the image and to present it in a way which satisfies photographer and viewer alike.
John Blakemore Exhibition
John Blakemore: Seduced by Light brings together black and white landscapes and unique artist books to explore movement and light. The exhibition is accompanied by a new film about the photographer commissioned by the Centre for British Photography. Find the full 30 minute film on Vimeo.
The exhibition runs up to 24th September at the Centre for British Photography.
I remember when I first saw Mike Curry’s book, Fleeting Reflections. I was captivated by the utterly alien images presented. The front cover, in particular, reminded me of a Joy Division T-shirt I used to own. Mike wrote about the start of his project for us in 2017 which you can read here.
A little reading revealed that this photographic discovery was made among the reflections of buildings in the subtly rippling waters of Canary Wharf. The transformation of light and the instant capture of movement, combined with the reflective and bold coloured nature of many of the buildings, has created a pool of opportunity that Mike has mined at length.
I’m reminded of the Helsinki bus station theory of persistence. A summary goes that if you’re at the ‘bus station of originality’ and you get on a bus, you’ll pass lots of bus stops that suggest you’re getting somewhere but that aren’t your desired destination. Each time, you end up getting off the bus due to failure and go back to the bus station looking for a new bus. The alternative approach is to get on the bus and stay on the bus with the belief that you’ll eventually get to your desired destination. This is often summarised in popular culture as “Stay on the effing bus!”
I remember when I first saw Mike Curry’s book, Fleeting Reflections. I was captivated by the utterly alien images presented. The front cover, in particular, reminded me of a Joy Division T-shirt I used to own.
Mike Curry has stayed on the bus - he’s camping on the bus. He’s probably been around the route and back to the bus station multiple times by now!
The Kozu book sold out pretty quickly, so Mike has created a second volume that includes some of the best photographs from volume one but expands into a more rounded publication which takes you on a photographic journey through the project.
As Mike worked on these photographs, he also adopted some of the in-camera multiple exposure and blending techniques, which allowed him to create some extraordinary layered creations.
The book is nicely printed and explores quite a broad range of style of photographs, from singular graphic captures to complex, layered textures. Mike's eye for a bold design ensures that browsing the book doesn't become too repetitive.
If you want to read more about the way that Mike discovered and captured these photographs, this Phoblographer article is well worth a read.
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.
The photos were taken as part of my travels through South India, Tamil Nadu, from the end of March 2023 to early April 2023.
Ascension, from the title refers to my journey from the lowlands in Coimbatore to 2000 meters above sea level in Kodaikanal. The landscape images captured are a mix of color and black & white, a contrast to ups and downs, opposites and the paradoxes that humans face in reality and in relation to the natural environment around us.
These photos come from a nearby mountain that has become my home away from home over the past few years. Here, I can find solitude any day of the week, which is a requirement for my image making and mental well being. Not many people visit because it's short on big overlooks that are popular with the masses, but this is exactly why I've enjoyed exploring its many nooks and crannies. Its limited size means exploring isn't terribly daunting, and I've found it to be an infinite resource for scenes that spark creativity.
These four images portray segments of the wooded areas along one short stretch of the Connecticut River just north of Essex. The denseness of the forest initially appears tangled, chaotic, full of growth as well as decay. Peering more closely, though, patterns and design become more apparent. And what seems inert is actually changing steadily, if imperceptibly at any one moment. The forest has many moods, some of which are its own, and some of which we imagine.
I enjoy making photographs along the coastline as the subjects are varied, thereby providing a wide array of opportunities for different styles of photography. I particularly enjoy making photographs that blur boundaries between the water and sky to create a world of near fantasy, thereby deriving the title for this portfolio. I unified the photographs in this collection with a pastel color palette that envelops the coastline at the magic hour on either side of the day.
“Pink Sweep“, “Pacific Fantasia” and “Pastel Dreams” were made along California’s Pacific coastline. “Eternity” was made at Freycinet National Park in Tasmania, Australia.
In this article, Alex Boyd reflects on the series ‘The Point of the Deliverance’, a ten-year project which documented the western seaboards of Scotland and Ireland using wet-plate collodion. Here he discusses the origins of the project, how he managed to sustain it, and the journey to release it as a book.
I’ve come to realise in the two decades that I’ve worked as a photographer that I’m not someone who works quickly. Slowly engaging with a subject, repeatedly revisiting the same locations, getting to know their longer histories, and making a handful of images (and then not looking at them for years at a time) seems to be my general method. This approach is not uncommon for landscape photographers and explains why so many projects are never finished if it is indeed ever possible to truly finish a project. There is always so much more to do.
Perhaps my longest personal project is The Point of the Deliverance, a journey around the west coasts of Scotland and Ireland with a large format camera, dark tent and all the chemicals and equipment needed to make tintypes and ambrotypes. It had its origins in 2010 when I visited Sally Mann’s ‘The Family and the Land’ at the Photographers Gallery in London. The usage of antique processes was a revelation – I had recently returned from a visit to the west of Ireland and found that my images lacked some of the drama and presence I had experienced at the locations. Undoubtedly this was due to my skills as a photographer; however, no amount of darkroom manipulation or creative usage of filters in the field was giving me the aesthetic I was searching for. As I gazed in wonder at Mann’s work, I wondered if I might be able to learn how to make images this way or if, like daguerreotypes, they would be the preserve of a small group of wealthy photographers.
Perhaps my longest personal project is The Point of the Deliverance, a journey around the west coasts of Scotland and Ireland with a large format camera, dark tent and all the chemicals and equipment needed to make tintypes and ambrotypes.
The Road to Heasta, view to Blaven
Learning by failing – early experiments and motivations (2010-11)
As luck would have it, I was invited to exhibit with Thomas Joshua Cooper and others at a gallery in Glasgow, which included the work of a wet-plate photographer based in Scotland. Following a number of workshops learning how to produce flawless plates in a studio environment, I was able to acquire a camera and chemistry and get out into the land. This is where the true learning process began, as the effects of the Northern climate on my ability to consistently produce images were tested, with countless failures along the way.
These failures provided a focus. Making glass plates is not only time intensive but expensive. I worked in winter weather, with cold winds often blowing my dark box over. Chemicals were spilt, and glass plates were smashed, sometimes in error, other times out of frustration.
Shell to Sea protest cottage, County Mayo, Ireland
For those unfamiliar with working with wet-plate collodion – it’s a process that was first invented in the early 1850s. It requires collodion (gun cotton dissolved in ether), a syrupy substance which is poured onto a piece of tin or glass. This is then dipped into a bath of silver, where silver halides bind to the collodion, forming a photo sensitive film. In a darkened place, it’s loaded into a slide holder, exposed, and then developed and fixed in a dark tent, dark box, or darkroom.
For those unfamiliar with working with wet-plate collodion – it’s a process that was first invented in the early 1850s. It requires collodion (gun cotton dissolved in ether), a syrupy substance which is poured onto a piece of tin or glass. This is then dipped into a bath of silver, where silver halides bind to the collodion, forming a photo sensitive film.
It’s relatively straightforward once you get used to it. There are things which can go wrong, but experience allows you to quickly work them out. The difficulty arises in moving around all the gear around to make images in this way.
I’ve been waiting patiently to interview Brent Clark, having just been pipped to the post by Matt Payne’s Portrait in October 2022. Interestingly we were both drawn to Brett’s photography before he was announced as ‘Photographer of the Year’ in last year’s Natural Landscape Photography Awards.
I can certainly recognise and find resonance in Brent’s transition to a more personal style of photography, one which simply celebrates the quiet places and small scenes that often come to speak to us more loudly than the style of images that perhaps drew us to pick up a camera in the first place. So let’s start with the awards and then move from the extrinsic to the intrinsic. As you’re waiting for the who, what, why, when and where of the 2023 NLPA Awards, I think you’ll find it an engaging and affirming discussion.
Firstly, congratulations on your ‘Photographer of the Year’ accolade in the 2022 Natural Landscape Photography Awards. While you had two images in the 2021 NLPA book, I’m guessing that you weren’t expecting this kind of upgrade?
Thank you! I was incredibly happy and proud to have a couple of photographs in the 2021 NLPA book, so to be awarded “Photographer of the Year” in 2022 was particularly amazing and surprising. My general mindset in life and photography is that I am a student - I look up to people in order to learn and improve myself. I'm not really a competitive person who believes that my skills and output are deserving of any specific accolades. When I heard the news, I experienced a whirlwind of feelings (e.g. elation, joy, surprise, and confusion) and thoughts – “wait, some judges picked me over all this other talent?” “what brought me here, and where do I go from here?”, “what do other people think of me and my work?” While joy was the primary feeling at first, it lessened over time, and I am now left with those intriguing and somewhat disorienting questions when I reflect on it. I’d be curious if anyone else feels similarly because I would have never predicted feeling anything but pure joy.
I will start by saying that I am, unfortunately, only human, so I reserve the right to be imperfect, inconsistent, and irrational. Let me explain! When I am at my best, I am happy with my work regardless of what anyone thinks of it, but it seems to be human nature for us to be influenced by others. We are very social animals, after all.
Regardless, I’m very grateful and honoured about it!
It’s been a good second time around to read your own words about the images, and from these and the writing on your website, I sense that while the award is welcome, it may not change your approach to photography? You’ve already worked out that trying to impress other people isn’t a road that you want to follow, and said that “I admire that the natural world has no ego to feed”.
Yes, but I will start by saying that I am, unfortunately, only human, so I reserve the right to be imperfect, inconsistent, and irrational. Let me explain! When I am at my best, I am happy with my work regardless of what anyone thinks of it, but it seems to be human nature for us to be influenced by others. We are very social animals, after all.
While I spend the majority of my time in nature without ever pulling out my camera–or without even having a camera with me at all, for that matter–many of my most meaningful experiences have been while carefully studying a subject or scene through my viewfinder. As the years go by, I find my camera to be more and more of a complement to my experiences, deepening the connection I have with natural subjects. The camera, able to see things in ways that the naked eye is unable to, often causes me to have a more complex and intimate conversation with nature.
In the last ten years that I have dedicated myself to photography full-time, I have formed a stronger relationship with nature than I ever had before. I have been able to recognise so many of her different sides, moods, and expressions. I have seen how light can come in so many different qualities other than just bright or dark, strong or soft. I have learned so much more about how geological and living things are formed, how they decay and erode, and how fragile or resilient they actually are. On the front lines, experiencing it firsthand, I have become so much more aware of the destruction we have inflicted upon the natural world, the impending threats it faces, and how little wilderness is still left. I am not so certain these things would have happened had I not been practising photography all this time.
That being said, even while practising photography in nature, I am not implying that I spend all of my time looking at the world through my camera. In fact, I would argue that the absolute most important aspect of photography is observation, which begins not in the viewfinder but within the mind. I first need to experience things for myself–something must call my attention, a moment must move me in some way–before I even attempt to compose and record it. It is so important to first walk around, probably with the camera still put away, so that you can be as open as possible to your surroundings. The camera only comes out towards the end of my experience with a specific subject or scene once I have already sensed something meaningful and have mostly visualised how I could possibly photograph it.
A Barrier
Even though I have found the digital camera capable of drawing me further into an experience, as a sophisticated and technical machine, it can just as well have the opposite effect and become a distraction instead. The more we have to focus on operating the camera, how we are photographing a scene, and what equipment we are using to record it, the less connected we will feel to the subject we are photographing. Paying more attention to the tools you are using than what you are creating with them will dilute whatever experience you could potentially have. Consequently, focusing more on how you are saying something rather than what you are actually saying and–even more importantly–why you are saying anything in the first place.
One of the most personally rewarding aspects of moving to California eight years ago has been my discovery of, and growing fascination (some would say obsession) with, the incredible desert landscape of Joshua Tree National Park.
I have always been passionate about the outdoors, hiking, and exploring the hills and mountains of the UK and Europe.
I was born in the UK and spent 25+ years working in aerospace engineering (15 years while living in France and Germany). I'm now a recovering engineer and divide my time between marketing and photography.
I started taking photos at the age of 14 with my trusty Soviet-era Zenit 10 SLR camera, teaching myself the fundamentals of photography via countless rolls of poorly exposed black and white 35mm film. In my late teens, I progressed to slide film and loved Kodachrome for its rich saturated colours.
In 1996, we moved to Toulouse (France), staying for five years before moving to Munich (Germany) for 18 months, then back to the UK for four years, before living in Hamburg (Germany) for eight years.
As I’m on the wrong side of 50, when I started my engineering career, I spent about 10 years drafting engineering drawings on film using pencil or ink. These 2D drawings represented 3D objects, and that gave me good spatial awareness, a sense of perspective, the use of leading lines, patterns, etc.
As my career progressed (and consumed more and more hours), and during the early years of having a family, I had minimal opportunities for 'creative photography.' My photography was mainly family snapshots to document my daughters growing up and our family holidays together.
My photographic hiatus ended when we moved to Hamburg. I became good friends with another photographer, who gave me the encouragement I needed to make more time for my photography. Hamburg is a visually interesting city, and I took many photo walks around the city, taking urban and abstract images. I was hooked on photography again!
As I’m on the wrong side of 50, when I started my engineering career, I spent about 10 years drafting engineering drawings on film using pencil or ink. These 2D drawings represented 3D objects, and that gave me good spatial awareness, a sense of perspective, the use of leading lines, patterns, etc.
Many of those things carry over into my photography - especially in terms of how I interpret a scene in terms of lines, shapes, and textures.
I’m also very organised and methodical (to the point of obsession) and, being technically minded, enjoy the technical specifics of using camera equipment.
From 2010 to 2014, several events shaped my photographic journey and where we now live.
In 2010, we had our first trip to Joshua Tree National Park. My wife and I were staying in Palm Springs, and on a whim, we signed up for a 4WD trip to Joshua Tree. It was only a half-day, but I remember being fascinated by the desert landscape and vowed that someday I'd go back.
A turning point for my photography was attending my first (and to this date - only) photo workshop in 2011 - a landscape and seascape photography workshop in Dorset (UK). This workshop was a game changer for me for three reasons:
I used a tripod for the first time
It was drummed into me always to trust the histogram
I started using filters
Later in 2011, I transitioned from engineering to publishing and then marketing (that’s a story in itself). Once in my new marketing role, I took, on average, 30 long-haul trips per year (~400,000 miles annually) to the US, the Middle East, Australia, and Asia. During each work trip, I tried to fit in a half-day or day to explore and take photos.
After my frequent visits to the US West Coast for work - company visits, exhibitions, conferences, etc., I decided to take a job in the US, and we moved to SoCal (Lake Forest, OC) in August 2014.
Visiting Joshua Tree (appropriately) in 2014 reignited my passion for time spent out in nature and highlighted that I needed to improve my work/life balance significantly. It also triggered my transition from urban and abstract photography to landscape photography.
I started visiting Joshua Tree more frequently as I fell in love with the place - the desert - the landscape - the climate - the trees, and flora. I started spending more and more time in Joshua Tree - and now typically spend two weekends per month there.
I started visiting Joshua Tree more frequently as I fell in love with the place - the desert - the landscape - the climate - the trees, and flora. I started spending more and more time in Joshua Tree - and now typically spend two weekends per month there.
I have always been passionate about the outdoors, hiking, and exploring the hills and mountains of the UK and Europe. So when I moved to the US, my approach was no different. When I first started visiting Joshua Tree, I did a lot of hiking and made it a point to always walk on different trails, to get the lay of the land and build my knowledge of the park.
This approach has got me to some great locations that the majority of visitors will never see, as many don’t stray far from the road. For me, it unlocked the potential for Joshua Tree images.
Joshua Tree is an International Dark Sky Park - measuring 2 on the Bortle Scale - so is an excellent location for dark sky photography, such as star trails and photographing the milky way. I had never taken a dark sky photo before visiting Joshua Tree.
Joshua Tree is one of those places that doesn’t have an abundance of ‘classic photography locations’ - so it doesn’t see the typical over-saturation of me-too images of the same places. The fact that you have to work harder to find good images is a big part of the attraction for me.
I started Jon Norris Photography in 2018 as I wanted to share my love and passion for Joshua Tree while helping others learn and improve their landscape photography. I run one-to-one and small group workshops and provide online mentoring.
In 2021 I became a business member/sponsor of the Joshua Tree National Park Association - JTNPA (the official non-profit partner of Joshua Tree National Park). JTNPA supports natural and cultural resource preservation and educational activities. In January 2022, I became a volunteer for the JTNPA desert institute and help lead educational field classes on photography, wildlife, and geology. The volunteers attend each of the classes to support the instructor and ensure the welfare of the class attendees while out in the Joshua Tree desert.
I’m delighted to say that from Spring 2023, I’m also going to be an instructor for the Desert Institute, teaching two weekend photography workshops - a Fundamentals of Landscape Photography course and then an Advanced Landscape Photography course.
Joshua Tree National Park has profoundly impacted both my photography and me personally. It's my happy place, and I love getting off the grid and spending time exploring and experiencing this special place.
Exhibition details
I'm delighted to be showing my first exhibition, 'Seven Years in the Desert,' at the 29 Palms Art Gallery from Aug 31 to Sep 30, 2023. I hope that you'll join me for the artist reception that's being held on Sat, Sep 2, from 4-6 pm. Gallery hours are Fri-Sun, 11 am - 3 pm. You'll find the gallery at 74055 Cottonwood Drive (at National Park Drive), Twentynine Palms, CA 92277.
I grew up in Flagstaff, Arizona, amongst the unique landscapes of that region. I was, as a result, in tune with the local environmental ethos. A poignant local episode was the filling of Glen Canyon by Lake Powell. This happened about the time I was born, and yet it echoed for decades so that I could get caught up in it in my youth. Glen Canyon Dam launched an environmental movement of its own and reshaped the Sierra Club forever.
While I grew up, my family boated and camped at Lake Powell, and this was my mother’s favourite place to be. It is a special and magical place, even when filled with water. Many happy days were spent hiking the slick rock canyons and sleeping under the stone amphitheatres. One, however, could not help wondering what was buried and truncated beneath those waters as you slept beneath an incomparable spray of pinpricks in the velvet darkness.
Finn Hopson lives in the south of England, very near to the South Downs a range of rolling landscape that ranges from Winchester to Eastbourne. The land has been farmed for many generations, definitely as far back as the early Roman occupation and almost certainly going back to times just after the ice age. He’s been visiting the area since he was a child and has got to know the land intimately.
If I’m guessing correctly, Fieldmarks is a project that started even before Finn knew about it. You can’t help but collect images of places you love and visit often and this intimacy comes through in his work. Later, I imagine Finn returning to revisit ideas and places, adding to the range of images.
So what is Fieldwork about? Before I looked at the book, I thought it might be a little one-dimensional, but upon opening it I realised I had misjudged. As I browsed through the book, I was surprised at the quality and variety of images. Moreso, I was impressed at the flow of the images through the book. From early pictures which, as you might expect, portray the typical field pictures as shown on the cover, to later pictures that explore the variety of seasons, harvesting, mist, animal life, etc.
Finn Hopson's compositional skills are spot on time and time again as well. These images, redolent of Eric Ravilious's paintings of the south downs, exhibit a strong graphic style while avoiding the types of extreme minimalism that has become common in photography.
Throughout the book are scattered South Downs slang or out of use expressions for the land, weather or farming. These break up the sequence of the photographs, creating a variation in pace of rhythm. I particularly liked the word "Grattern" for a stubbly field.
A version of the book was originally released by Kozu but Finn has reprinted it in hardback and the print and paper quality is excellent.
You can buy the book from Finn's website, brightonphotography.com for £39. Finn also has offers of prints with the book as well.
I'm always happy to be pleasantly surprised by a book and Finn's has just done that and will sit proudly in my landscape library. Highly recommended!
We have a couple of interviews coming up with people who did well in last year’s Natural Landscape Photography Awards. As always, we’ve selected them for the quality of their work, not for any awards that they’ve won, but it is good to see the resonance here.
The first feature is with Misaki Nagao from Japan, who was Runner Up in the Trees, Forests and Woodlands category in 2022. As well as touching on his success, Misaki talks about the impetus that photography has brought, evolutions in taste for both what we consume on social media and the work that we make and the importance of friendship.
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 study and do?
I was born in Ishikawa, Japan; I am now 27 years old. When I was a child, I was a normal kid who loved to play outside or play games in a cool room.
When I was little, my parents used to take me camping. By the time I reached junior high school, the frequency of these trips had decreased, but it is still one of the fun memories I remember. Perhaps because of this influence, I still like to be in touch with nature and often go camping and climbing as an adult.
It is not reality that photographs make immediately accessible, but images.~Susan Sontag
Transfixed by our technologies, we short-circuit the sensorial reciprocity between our breathing bodies and the bodily terrain. Human awareness folds in on itself, and the senses – once the crucial site of our engagement with the wild and animate earth – become mere adjuncts of an isolated and abstract mind bent on overcoming an organic reality that now seems disturbingly aloof and arbitrary~David Abram
There is a theory that the separation of man from nature was driven by the invention of the alphabet and phonetic writing1. Early forms of writing were pictorial and retained some symbolism of nature, but the Greek alphabet removed nearly all such references (even if we might still be able to perceive the origins of the Greek α (and our own letter a) in the Sumerian pictogram of a cattle head with horns, later turned on its side). As a result, nature became more remote, less directly experienced, and the animist beliefs that are common to many pre-literate societies (to this day) started to gradually fade away for the majority2. Indeed, from there, it was only a short evolutionary step before hundreds of climate scientists were taking long haul flights to discuss the climate crisis; the presidency of COP28 was being given to the head of a major oil company3; 0.6% of global energy resource was being used to support imaginary cryptocurrencies4; and the deteriorating landscape could be photographed at 100 Mpx and up to 400 frames per second5, only to be mostly shown on low resolution screens.
Landscape Alienation, Hauterive, Switzerland, February 2023
Animist beliefs often include the idea that nature is watching human behaviour and is thus to be sustained and protected. That separation, however, eventually led to nature becoming something to exploit: for agriculture, for minerals, and as a means of cheap disposal of wastes in rivers, seas and the atmosphere (as is still, appallingly and unforgivably, the case for the privatised water utilities in the UK who are giving more in dividends to shareholders than they plan to invest to improve the situation6). Developing technologies, from the printing press to the internet, have only made this separation greater. The air, in particular, once an important source of information about the environment around us, has become almost invisible, despite the fact that it is now a source of fine particulates, viruses, and fungal spores that can affect our health and aging (though a bit of particulate pollution, of course, will often help produce dramatic colours in sunset images7).
In the world of modernity the air has indeed become the most taken-for-granted of phenomena. Although we imbibe it continually we commonly fail to notice that there is anything there. We refer to the unseen depth between things as empty space. The invisibility of the atmosphere, far from leading us to attend to it more closely, now enables us to neglect it entirely.~David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous
Our experience of nature has consequently become less immediate and much more influenced by technology in what we read, the images we see in reproduction, and the cameras we use. Susan Sontag (1933-2004), in her book On Photography, which first appeared in 1977, explored this idea in some depth. She suggested that the separation from nature provided by the camera was a way of assuaging any anxiety we feel about being in unusual locations (especially as tourists) for two reasons. The first is that when we are taking photographs, we are normally not at work, but photography acts as a form of work to assuage our puritanically-influenced consciences (for those from certain traditions, at least). The second is that photographs are a way of taming the unusual by capturing a moment in time and space. That time and space then become part of our collection of memories as represented by images8. Indeed, she later suggested that such images were replacing memory as a rather poor substitute for actual experience. The camera is an easy option to prove that we were there; one that stores away that experience in a way that, in principle, we can come back to at any time (though with the increasing number of images we do store away, finding them again might be a challenge, and losing them to disk failures etc a real possibility).
Of course, having read Guy Tal and other articles in On Landscape, most of us accept that photographs do not represent reality (they perhaps become real objects only as prints or books when they serve as an approximate, one step removed, representation of real experiences).
A way of certifying experience, taking photographs is also a way of refusing it – by converting experience into an image, a souvenir. Travel becomes a strategy for accumulating photographs.
~Susan Sontag, On Photography
Of course, having read Guy Tal and other articles in On Landscape, most of us accept that photographs do not represent reality (they perhaps become real objects only as prints or books when they serve as an approximate, one step removed, representation of real experiences). But philosophical debates about the effects of technology on experience go back to before photography had had a real impact - at least to Søren Kierkegaard in the 1840s. The technology then was the telegraph, bringing news of far-flung places faster than ever before, changing the nature of how people at that time experienced “news” (compare with now when news and fake news arrives almost continuously, even while we sleep).
But once photography took hold, the impact of images of remote places and people was perhaps even greater. People we had not met and places that had not been visited could be visualised for the first time (the impact on the creation of the first national parks in the US, for example, is well-documented9). It was in the 20th Century that this mediation of reality on experience by technology was considered in more depth, particularly by the philosophers known as the phenomenologists. Phenomenology is the study of the structure of individual experience. That experience can include our immediate sensations, but the experience is often wider than just sensations when they interact with the conscious mind. Clearly, our cameras mediate that experience, including the ways that Sontag identified. The question is perhaps a little more complex than that, however (but we are talking philosophy here – so it is alwaysmore complex than that!).
In this context phenomena are things that we consciously recognise (objects, feelings, emotions, ideas, landscapes). Phenomenology is the study of how and why we consciously recognise those things. There may be other things that (literally or effectively) we respond to only subconsciously, so one of the key concepts of phenomenology is that of intentionality, of conscious recognition.
This is a subject that has interested philosophers since the Greeks, but the modern study of phenomenology started with Edmond Husserl (1859 - 1938), who first used the term in his book Logical Investigations (1900-1901). He defined it as the science of the essence of consciousness approached from the perspective of the individual. The theme was then taken up by others, including Martin Heidegger (1889 – 1976) and Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980), and at least 7 variants of phenomenology were recognised in the Encyclopaedia of Phenomenology published in 199710. The philosopher of most interest to the phenomenology of landscapes is perhaps Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1908-1961) who published a book on The Phenomenology of Perception in 1945 (originally in French)11. More than the other phenomenologists, Merleau-Ponty engaged with cognitive scientists and psychologists of his time, creating an early foundation for some modern theories of mind. He also stressed the importance of subjective perception in consciousness and the individual experience of a reality. It is important, in his view, to consider perception as felt from within the individual, not as an external intellectual construct.
Insofar as, when I reflect on the essence of subjectivity, I find it bound up with that of the body and that of the world, this is because my existence as subjectivity [= consciousness] is merely one with my existence as a body and with the existence of the world, and because the subject that I am, when taken concretely, is inseparable from this body and this world.
~Merleau-Ponty, The Phenomenology of Perception
In the view of Merleau-Ponty, any art is a means of trying to capture the perceptions of an individual12. The interaction of that individual with his or her surroundings is fundamental to that perception, including elements of the history of the culture that individual lives in. Viewed from within13, we are shaped both by our sensual experiences of things and our history, including our use of language, but often independent of any verbal awareness.
In the view of Merleau-Ponty, any art is a means of trying to capture the perceptions of an individual. The interaction of that individual with his or her surroundings is fundamental to that perception, including elements of the history of the culture that individual lives in.
Phenomena: Perceptions and intentionality, Aureid, Switzerland, February 2023
Which brings us back to the alphabet and how technology may have shaped our perceptions of nature away from direct sensorial interactions that our ancestors needed to be learn how to interpret; to something more remote, mostly learned from books and images. Our phenomenology of experiencing the landscape has changed with the technology. Looking at the landscape through a viewfinder is a quite different experience to making inferences from the sounds and odours brought to us on the wind. Of course, some of us still learn to recognise bird song, identify the trees and flowers associated with different soil types, or interpret the coming weather from the cirrus or cumulonimbus clouds in the sky. Some of us are lucky enough to learn such knowledge as children from parents and elders, or later by teachers who know a lot about the science of the environment including knowledge that we cannot directly sense for ourselves (chemical and isotope analyses, genetic sequencing, microbial and fungal populations, remnant magnetism, thermoluminescence and so on). Technology has thus also provided greater depth of knowledge of the landscape, even if there is much that is not yet properly understood or part of a history mostly lost to us in an unrecorded past. Much of that knowledge is captured now by written text and images and available by searching in cloud land.
Phenomena: Perceptions and intentionality, Aureid, Switzerland, February 2023
But we have also lost something. We are sometimes exhorted to put down our cameras and just experience what is happening around us, to repress the urge to take or make an image and “reconnect with nature”. Such a suggestion implies that some phenomenological connection has been lost, that the camera imposes a disconnection from the real experience, a barrier between us and the essence of the wonderfully multifaceted landscape. That is surely true to some extent in all photographers. At one extreme, it is evident in the selfie image, which requires facing away from the landscape. But is also the case whenever we are at a classic location, worrying about whether we will be able to capture a classic image with a collection of past images in our mind rather than the landscape as it is in front of us (and therein lies a road to disappointment for many).
As photographers, separated from nature by the viewfinder, we are often participants in such a one-way process. We may feel some resonance. Some locations and conditions might resonate more than others, and there may be the element of surprise, luck or a chance phenomenon that suddenly enhances that resonance (see the sun halo below from a recent snowshoe walk).
But if phenomena are our conscious, intentional recognition of sensations, both external and internal, we can be proactive in seeking out those sensations that resonate with us while out in the landscape. This idea of seeking resonance has been expressed by the sociologist Hartmut Rosa as a way of reacting to the acceleration of many aspects of modernity14. While he explores the concept of resonance more in relation to other people, society and politics, he also discusses resonance with the landscape and environment. He points out that there is a resonance with nature in the modernist tradition, stemming from the writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, that is irreconcilable with the capitalist utilisation of nature as a resource to be exploited. He cites Angelika Krebs in support of the idea that it is a sphere of resonance with nature that provides a rational for sustainability15, but is concerned that this is currently too one-sided – it is resonance as aesthetic contemplation, a sort of leftover from the concept of the sublime in Edmund Burke.
As photographers, separated from nature by the viewfinder, we are often participants in such a one-way process. We may feel some resonance. Some locations and conditions might resonate more than others, and there may be the element of surprise, luck or a chance phenomenon that suddenly enhances that resonance (see the sun halo below from a recent snowshoe walk). In the same way that we are individual in our response to phenomena, so we are individual in our capacities for resonance with phenomena we encounter (and with the camera systems we use, some being more satisfying than others). But even if we are more likely to contemplate, to slow down, to take time, to find satisfaction, and enjoy a process and scenes that resonate with us, we will often remain observers, one step removed, concentrating on the viewfinder, concerned with our art, when there is so much other feedback from nature to respond to.
Phenomena as chance, Euschelspass, Switzerland, January 2023
There is, however, another side of this aspect of being a photographer that can have benefit in our interactions with the phenomenological landscape. A camera is a separating device but also a means of focusing our attention. It involves intentionality in creating an experience (and hopefully a satisfying consequent image) as well as just being conscious of phenomena. In making a composition it is a way of learning how to see certain aspects of the landscape that might otherwise be overlooked16. We become more aware when we have the intentionality of looking for potential images. Occasionally there may even be the resonance of being “in the zone” or experiencing “flow”. There might still be much that we miss but growing as a photographer is a reflection of that learning process, perhaps also carrying some side benefits in increasing our depth of knowledge about interpreting the natural world. We may not get back anywhere near to the skills of our pre-literate ancestors in being able to infer information from our sensations, but we can surely be proactive about wanting to know more about what we see, hear and feel in the landscape and about wanting to protect it.
Reconnection with the Landscape, Euschelspass, Switzerland, January 2023
Reconnection with the Landscape, River Doe tributary, Ingleton, January 2023
Reconnection with the Landscape, textures and light, Morat, Switzerland, February 2023
Reconnection with the landscape, dynamic light reflections, Hauterive #1, Switzerland, February 2022
Reconnection with the landscape, dynamic light reflections, Hauterive #2, Switzerland, February 2022
Reconnecting with the Landscape, the sound of running water, Hauterive #3, Switzerland, February 2023
References
Partly, of course - see, for example, David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous, 20th Anniversary Edition, Vintage Books, 2017. Another theory, mentioned in passing in the Hartmut Rosa book below, is that it started earlier when humans first started to wear shoes.
In an Afterword added to the 20th Anniversary Edition, David Abram writes: “In the absence of intervening technologies, sensorial perception is inherently animistic ….our sensing bodies cannot help but experience the other bodies that surround – not only other animals and plants but mountains, gushing rivers, buildings, thunderclouds and even the gushing wind – as open and enigmatic powers”
And it has been speculated that the dust from volcanic eruptions has had a significant influence on the paintings of artists, including J M W Turner, and later following the Krakatoa eruption, Edvard Munch’s The Scream (albeit painted later from the memory of the skies in Norway following the eruption). The British artist William Ascroft also left a whole series of pastel sunsets over the Thames at Chelsea following the Krakatoa eruption – see https://hyperallergic.com/173597/clouds-like-blood-how-a-19th-century-volcano-changed-the-color-of-sunsets/
Remember the days of enduring family slide shows, anyone?
And, more recently, at least 4 types of Speculative Realists, highly critical of the Phenomenologists (see Graham Harman, Speculative Realism, Polity Press, 2018)
There appear to be two English translations available, from 1996, translated by Colin Smith and from 2012, translated by Donald A. Landes, both published by Routledge.
He thought that science was the opposite of art, an abstraction that neglects the subjective profundity of any phenomenon that it tries to explain. He suggested that, therefore science cannot provide complete explanations of the world.
An interesting take on the view from within was provided by Thomas Nagel’s 1974 essay “What is it like to be a bat?” published in the Philosophical Review.
Hartmut Rosa, 2019, Resonance – A Sociology of our relationship to the world, Polity Press. Rosa’s argument is that resonance is more important than simple monetary resources in our finding satisfaction and happiness, and that different people will have different capacities for resonance (either with the natural world or with other people and society) that has a fundamental effect on satisfaction and happiness. He writes: “It is rather the result of a relationship to the world defined by the establishment and maintenance of stable axes of resonance that allow subjects to feel themselves sustained or even secured in a responsive accommodating world”.
Recently I was in a conversation with a group of photographers discussing originality in landscape photography. One of the members of the conversation quipped that they believed that everything had already been done and that being original is no longer possible. At first glance, I found this statement to hold a lot of truth. The more photography I look at, the less and less I find that is truly original or interesting. Such is probably the case in all art forms the longer we engage with them; however, I think in landscape and nature photography, it is still possible to produce original work that surprises the viewer in new ways. This has seemingly always been the case with the images produced by the subject of today’s article, David Thompson.
I’ve been following David’s work for many years, and there are several aspects of his work and him as a person that I greatly admire. For starters, he seems to always be forging his own path forward with his images. While he may not be the first person to create images of any given location, he always puts a fresh spin on these places with his approach to making photographs. Second, David masterfully walks the thin tightrope between truthful depiction of natural scenes and instilling a sense of artistic flair. Lastly, David is one of the most generous and helpful photographers I have ever met in my life.
Landscape photographers David Ward and Joe Cornish first met four decades ago. The friendship, and friendly rivalry, which sprung up at that time remains as strong as ever. David and Joe continue to work together, admire and critique each other’s photographs, teach, discuss and write about photography.
This warm and inspirational photographic relationship is the catalyst for our autumn exhibition. Very familiar with each other’s oeuvre both photographers will be selecting work from a combined pool of image choices. David and Joe’s working philosophy regarding this exhibition is to choose photographs which reinforce and confound expectations; images will be chosen in pairs to show correspondences of form, colour, composition and theme. However, despite each photographer having a reputation for a particular style in the landscape photographer genre, David and Joe are keen to exhibit photographs which do not conform to this trend: the exhibition will include landscape vista photographs by David Ward and intimate landscape details by Joe Cornish. The final image selection will include both recently made photographs and a few old favourites.
As a mathematically illiterate non-scientist, I am still intrigued, beguiled, and fascinated by all the manifestations of the world around us and the wider universe beyond. A few weeks ago, Sam (our earth science PhD son) left a book very deliberately out on the kitchen table, which caught my eye. Helgoland is by Carlo Rovelli and aims to help the curious-but-not-necessarily-scientific reader get to grips with quantum mechanics. I am about 2/3rds of the way through and still unable to grasp the apparent mysteries of the sub-atomic world. But one thing I do understand that comes through strongly in Rovelli’s narrative is this: relationship. His overriding philosophical framework for quantum theory is that everything exists in relation to everything else and that isolating elements is…misleading.
I did find that an exciting concept, if only because when it comes to composition in photography, it chimes with my own view of how pictures work. Namely that their internal relationships, of light and colour, texture and tone, form, shape, line… that all these ‘elements’ of composition exist in relationships, and attempting to break them down into conventions, rules, and regulations is simply… misleading.
David Ward, Echoes Of Fox Talbot
Joe Cornish, A'Mhaigdean Ridge
And there is another aspect of relationship that has become fundamental to me over time. That is the relationship with friends, mentors, associates and colleagues that guide our creative endeavours. We always owe something to others, however much a landscape photographer’s work appears made in isolation.
In planning ‘Creative Parallels’, this autumn’s joint exhibition with David Ward, we will illustrate through our choice and juxtaposition of images old and new that the ultimate expression of creative relationship is: collaboration.
For several years I worked on books with Eddie Ephraums, and I recall Eddie telling me then how much he enjoyed and believed in collaboration. This might well be the first time I thought consciously about it, and I realise now that this idea has guided many of my own since. I am also hugely grateful to Eddie for our particular collaboration, based on friendship. We worked constructively and creatively through ideas, navigating differences of opinion and approach, to produce books which I am still proud of twenty years later. Eddie’s design aesthetic, sense of proportion, layout and knowledge of typography, as well as his own brilliant photography, remain an inspiration.
Joe Cornish, Rain Dance, Newton Wood
David Ward, Peel
I’ve also been so fortunate to have worked with many outstanding photographers and painters, especially in the last decade. It seems wrong to name drop my way through a list, but having led workshops with personal heroes of mine like Charles Cramer, Mark Littlejohn and Mark Carwardine (wildlife), it’s also a chance to express my gratitude. I have also co-led with the leading landscape photographers of the next generation, Antony Spencer and Alex Nail, and last year had a joint exhibition with Simon Baxter, whose woodland photography has almost single-handedly elevated this vital theme as inspiration for British photographers.
Of all those I have collaborated with, though, no doubt one stands out, and that is my dear friend David Ward. I have lost count of the number of workshops we have led, and the days we have spent together on the hill or by the sea. It has been a friendship based on banter, shared experiences, philosophical discussion, dubious jokes, good food, the odd glass of red wine, and plenty of silliness.
David Ward, Ice Shadows
Joe Cornish, Unto the Hills
But until now we have never had an exhibition together. While I can’t deny that this is just a little intimidating for me, it is also a wonderful opportunity to share our ongoing conversations about the medium and the world around us. In presentation, the formal concept we have chosen is to share and pair images together. In some cases the connections might be obvious, in others less so. But we are aiming to ask questions more than provide answers.
Joe Cornish, Dewdrop Galaxy
David Ward, Salt Arc
The themes may include (in no particular order):
Compositional anatomy and symmetry/asymmetry;
Storytelling and the expression of ideas;
Geography or Metaphor?;
The unfamiliar familiar;
Gifts of Light;
The transformations of photography;
Lamentation;
Beauty;
Creative associations and references (from other art forms);
Striving for connection.
David has a reputation as an intellectual heavyweight; ‘formidable’ doesn’t really begin to do him justice. I like to say the reason he lets me co-lead workshops is that I am there to make him look good! The extraordinary loyalty he enjoys from his clients, many of whom inevitably have become friends, is all the evidence needed that wherever we are with our photography, David helps us see the world in new and different ways. He achieves this through his teaching and guidance, through his endless ability to provoke ideas, and through his unique images.
Joe Cornish, Contours Of Concern
David Ward, Sand Puzzle
Over twenty years ago, First Light was published (commissioned and designed by the aforementioned Eddie Ephraums). The final chapter is entitled Friends and Heroes and gives me a chance to focus on a number of photographers who influenced me over the years. Several of them are remote figures who I never met (Ansel Adams, David Muench, Peter Dombrovskis). In the case of Paul Wakefield and John Blakemore, I am lucky enough to have met them several times since publication; while the rest are friends who are also heroes. One of these is David.
David Ward, Hope
Joe Cornish, Gribdale Woods Winter
A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since then. We have had many, many experiences and adventures together, workshops, tours, and evenings of discussion, debate, and laughter. And the occasional scotch. We have been lucky enough to work with a dazzling array of brilliant photographers, many of whom have gone on to make outstanding contributions in the photographic community and beyond.
I have seen David’s own work ebb and flow according to the inevitable rhythms of the creative life. Right now, he is on another surge, finding new ways to surprise, baffle and delight the viewer. It is a privilege to be able to share exhibition space with David, in my eyes, one of the world’s most creative and inspiring photographers.
The beginning of the project in Pärlälvens Nature Reserve, June 2023
As I’m writing this, I’ve just got back from a two week adventure into the old forests of northern Sweden which marked the beginning of my new project, Moments in The Wilderness.
On this first adventure, I was out to portray a vast area of old growth forest in Lapland called Pärlälvens Nature Reserve. For those of you who don’t know my work, these kinds of strenuous photographic adventures is something I’ve been doing for two decades. I’ve found them to be the only way to photograph these large wilderness areas, and they have been very rewarding to me personally.
The years I’ve spent in solitude have helped me grow both as a person and as a photographer. On my long adventures, I’ve not only been a visitor, I have been living in nature - with nature.
My life’s work is to portray the Swedish wilderness through my photography, but lately, I’ve felt the urge to work with a more defined project.
My life’s work is to portray the Swedish wilderness through my photography, but lately, I’ve felt the urge to work with a more defined project.
During the last couple of years, I’ve been working with video to document my adventures, and I’ve made a few shorter films that I’ve shared on YouTube. Now I thought to myself, what if I could produce a full-length documentary film that portrays both the wilderness and my work out there as a photographer throughout a whole year? And what if I also could make a limited edition print portfolio with the photographs from the project?
This photograph by Charlotte Gibb has been amongst my very favourite images for quite some time now. It is obviously a photograph of a well-known waterfall in the iconic Yosemite National Park, a place that has been photographed over and over again by so many, including of course, the unforgettable Ansel Adams. The reason why I chose this image as a favourite is because Charlotte has managed to make a photograph of an iconic spot that is most definitely hers. You might think that it is easy to make a good picture in a place as beautiful as this, but the fact is that it is actually much harder to create a photo that encapsulates your own impressions of a scene that so many have photographed already. It takes a photographer with not just an exquisite eye, with a willingness to express oneself in one’s work but also someone who has a deep connection to a place akin to a friendship that deepens over time. It takes a trained eye, a strong belief in one’s own vision and, yes, talent too, to look beyond the obvious and superficial and find another way of looking at things.
I admire Charlotte for her incredible and rare eye for the intimate and delicate side of the landscape. Her work is mesmerising, poetic and almost ethereal. She goes well beyond the clichés whilst being fully aware of them. It requires an unshakable belief in your own vision and the worthiness of it to pursue it with such determination. This picture is a favourite of mine for many reasons because it is so much more than just a cliché of Yosemite National Park. It is composed of several elements that together make it so extraordinary. I often tell clients that photography is about time, the fleeting nature of it, and at the same time, it is about timelessness. The combination of the two makes photography just such an expressive medium. There is this fleeting moment where wisps of mist turn an otherwise flat scene into something more ethereal, whilst of course, also creating a separation between the trees and the background. It creates depth, but it also creates a feeling of serenity which is then amplified by Charlotte’s other compositional choices.
The sea worked its way into Isabel’s blood from an early age, shaping her interests, career and - inevitably - her photography, about which she has said, “Since I became a photographer, everything I thought I knew has been transformed”. Much of her portfolio celebrates her relationship with the coast that she knows so well, and she is selective in choosing its quieter places.
Charlotte interviewed Isabel in 2021 about her book ‘Between Tides’, and she is also one of the subjects in René Algesheimer’s book ‘Voice of the Eyes’.
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 and raised in the Basque Country in the 1960s. My life was split between two worlds. Nine interminable months a year were spent in an industrial town. The streets were not a suitable place for a child, so I spent many hours at home doing handicrafts and, above all, using my imagination. Painting was important to me from a very early age, and although I was not lucky enough to get proper training, I developed a strong sense of colour. We lived in a house by the sea for the rest of the year, from late spring to early autumn. It was paradise. My father had a boat to go fishing. The colours of the sea, its waves, its mood swings and its immensity mesmerized me. Exploring and discovering the wonders of the coast was exciting; I fell in love with the sea.
When I was 18, I went to the Canary Islands to study Marine Sciences. After five wonderful years there, I returned to the Basque Country, where I did my PhD in seaweeds as bioindicators of environmental quality. After that, my professional career as a researcher continued to be linked to the sea.
Into the Woods is a new exhibition by British photographer Ellie Davies which will showcase work from her new series Chalk Streams. These waterways are one of the world’s most unique and rare ecosystems, 85% of which are found in the UK. They support a high biodiversity of wild creatures and have been likened to rainforests and coral reefs in their ecological importance, but they are under huge threat from numerous stressors.
In her most recent Chalk Streams and Seascapes series, light from the surface of the sea is overlaid onto forests and rivers. The light represents an ingress on these important ecosystems by the destructive human impacts of climate change, rising sea levels, pollution, water abstraction, farm runoff - the list goes on. The beguiling sparkles hint at the insidious nature of these pressures, the relentless altering and damaging of wild places and the need to protect them. They are a call for change, and although they reflect a sense of deep concern about the urgencies of the climate crisis, they hold a strong and enduring hope for the future.
This new series will be shown alongside prints from many of her earlier bodies of work created over the past 10 years in UK woodlands, exploring the complex interrelationships between the landscape and the individual. Throughout her practice, small acts of engagement respond to the landscape. Using the forest as her studio, fires or pools of light hint at a human presence, whilst starscapes taken by the Hubble Telescope reflect on a fundamental disconnection from nature.
Into The Woods will run from 28 July until 18 August 2023 at Crane Kalman Gallery, 178 Brompton Road, London, SW1 1HQ.
Like a hunter [a photographer] must place themselves in a location that will allow them to take advantage of a situation that has yet to develop
~Colin Prior
For humanity's entire existence, bar the last century or so, we were restricted to gazing up with wonder at the night sky from ground level. What a view that would have been - no aeroplanes, no satellites, no light pollution. On a clear night, the skies would reveal the planets, the stars, and the Milky Way with such clarity and beauty, the likes of which today you can only see in places far from the light polluting effects of modern civilization. Now, we routinely fly around the globe, leave Earth’s gravity, inhabit space and even safely land objects on other celestial bodies like Mars and the Moon. Recently, the Perseverance Rover on Mars successfully created pure oxygen by splitting the carbon dioxide from Mars’ thin atmosphere into its constituent parts. An experiment that will pave the way for the human habitation of our closest planet.
In just 200,000 years, we have gone from hunting and gathering in migrating tribes and bands that occupied the savannas of a single continent - Africa, to sedentary agricultural and technologically advanced societies that occupy every continent on Earth. The prospect of inhabiting other worlds, like Mars, is very much on our horizon, and some of the most distant objects in the Solar System – such as Pluto and its orbiting body - have been viewed, up close, by probes such as NASA’s New Horizons. Interesting times.
On the grand scale of things, this progress is all very recent. If you compress the Earth’s entire history into a day, we have had the pleasure of wandering this planet for less than two minutes as modern humans. Cities have existed for just 1/10 of a second. Of course, all this progress hangs in the balance.
On the grand scale of things, this progress is all very recent. If you compress the Earth’s entire history into a day, we have had the pleasure of wandering this planet for less than two minutes as modern humans. Cities have existed for just 1/10 of a second. Of course, all this progress hangs in the balance.
We find ourselves in a position where on the one hand, it is literally the safest time to be alive, whilst simultaneously, on the other, being the most dangerous, thanks to our new-found ability to obliterate ourselves at scale. A knife edge, to be sure.
Worlds Apart
Our brains are geared up to deal with a very different world to the one in which we inhabit today. Take food as an example, we can obtain certain foods like sugar and fat very easily in today’s world; just a quick trip to the local shop and some money is all it takes. However, sugars and fats were exactly the kinds of foods that were most difficult to obtain in our ancestral past. The desirability and readiness with which they are available today, compared to how unavailable they were in the past, has the unfortunate side-effect of nudging us toward over-consumption in a world where these foods are easy to obtain. An old brain circuit that certainly helped our ancestors survive in times of scarcity but is no longer beneficial in a world of abundance.
Evolutionary psychologists use the term ‘mismatch theory’ to describe the problem between behavioural patterns that led to higher survival rates in the past, and our modern lives, where those same behaviours no longer serve quite the same benefit. On the contrary, those behaviours can be detrimental, as seen by the global statistics regarding obesity and diabetes. In other words, mismatch theory refers to evolved traits that were once advantageous but are now maladaptive because our environment has changed so much and so quickly over the course of the last 10 millennia or so. This does mean that the speed of human evolution is far too slow at making the necessary changes to keep up with these dramatic environmental shifts, hence the growing 'mismatch'.
Another area where mismatch has a detrimental effect on humanity is in our capacity as information gatherers and interpreters. There has never been as much information in the world as there is today, thanks to global networking in the form of the World Wide Web and the ubiquity of technologies like the mobile phone. We are saturated with information. Of course, we have a preference to feel good rather than bad, and so we seek out information that affirms our ideas about the world, about ourselves, and about our group. Unfortunately, this can often be at the expense of information that might be more accurate but of less interest, less entertainment value, or less outrage. We find emotive stories easier to follow than facts, and we are suckers for advertisements and other types of persuasive messaging. Social media poses a particular problem, especially in politics, where we can easily be targeted with tailor made ‘memes’ designed to foster powerful emotional states like anger or disgust toward certain people and groups. Today’s world is so different to the one from which we all emerged that the word ‘mismatch’ in mismatch theory seems to understate the problem. Perhaps ‘chasm theory’ might be more apt.
Despite these problems, and I could go on (…and on), one of our most successful traits as a species is our brain's remarkable capacity for adaptability and change. We did not evolve to read or write, ride a bicycle, drive a car, or fly a plane. Evolution by natural selection did not select groups of genes in order to make us good at playing computer games, competing in sports or wielding a camera to make photographs and yet, as a species, some of us are very good at doing these things. So good it seems that you could say that it comes ‘naturally’ to us. What is it that allows us to be so adaptable and subsequently so different to all the other species on this planet?
The Art of Tracking
It is obvious that the human mind is an extremely powerful tool given the myriad ways that humanity has changed the Earth’s environment, but is there anything specific that can be identified, something that might reveal how we have come to think and behave so differently? And can this be related to an activity such as landscape photography?
It is obvious that the human mind is an extremely powerful tool given the myriad ways that humanity has changed the Earth’s environment, but is there anything specific that can be identified, something that might reveal how we have come to think and behave so differently? And can this be related to an activity such as landscape photography?
The last few decades have seen much progress in the sciences that might help explain the thought and behavioural differences that demarcate humanity from other animals. Much of this research concentrates on the minutiae of what is going on in the brain, the ‘nuts and bolts, ’ so to speak. However, I think the work in burgeoning fields like Evolutionary Psychology, and more specifically, that of anthropologist Louis Liebenberg to be of particular interest and importance due to the generality and reach of their explanations; ‘generality’ being an aspect I think to be extremely important to the human mind.
Liebenberg looks to the lives and skills of hunter gatherers for answers, specifically their abilities in finding and catching prey and evading predators. He also makes a distinction between two different modes of thought: systemic reasoning and speculative reasoning in aid of these important survival objectives that all our ancestors faced. He says, in his paper, Tracking Science (Liebenberg. L, 1990 The Art of Tracking: The Origin of Science), that ‘’In easy tracking terrain, trackers may follow a trail simply by looking for one sign after the other, but, in difficult terrain this can become so time-consuming that they may never catch up with their quarry’’. He goes on ‘’instead of looking for one sign at a time, the trackers imagine themselves in the position of their quarry in order to anticipate the route their quarry may have taken. They then decide in advance where they can expect to find signs instead of wasting time looking for them. To construct an animal’s activities, specific actions and movements must be seen in the context of the animal’s whole environment at specific times and places’’.
Liebenberg points out that hunter gatherer tribe members make routine use of both systematic and speculative reasoning and that, when combined, are powerful forms of logic that allowed our ancestors to consistently outsmart their prey. Systematic reasoning is straightforward, it involves the identification of signs and knowing that those signs relate to predictable things in the world.
Liebenberg points out that hunter gatherer tribe members make routine use of both systematic and speculative reasoning and that, when combined, are powerful forms of logic that allowed our ancestors to consistently outsmart their prey.
For example, identifying the tracks of specific animals because they share the same characteristics each time; or, that certain stars point in certain directions during the night; or, that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, etc. Systematic reasoning is the identification of consistent signs that we can use with a high level of certainty thanks to their reoccurring and predictable patterns. This is a powerful way of thinking. However, there are ways to make this even more powerful - by adding speculation to the mix and thinking in the abstract. It would be hugely advantageous if we were not only able to consistently identify certain animals by the signs that they leave behind but to actually think like those animals. That is - to use our imaginations and put ourselves in the animal's mind in order to make novel predictions about that animal's future behaviour. Thinking like a predator allows us to pre-empt their behaviour in order to evade them; thinking like a prey animal allows us to predict that animal's behaviour and gain valuable time while in pursuit. Both of these strategies lead to more survival and more food.
By making novel predictions, that is, to speculate about the future, coupled with an intimate knowledge of the animal and its environment, one can form a testable idea (also known as a hypothesis). Tracks, whilst obvious in places, may be missing entirely in other areas, they are only a partial, and over time - a diminishing record of an animal's behaviour. If you know, there are wildebeest around because you have identified some partial tracks (systematic reasoning) and that it is approaching the middle of the day, putting yourself in that animal's mind might suggest to you that it will be seeking shade at this point in time because of the heat from direct sun exposure (speculative reasoning). The hypothesis ‘this animal is nearby, likely in shade’ could be made and explored. In addition, this new hypothetical piece of information can be shared with other tribe members and tested by visiting nearby shaded areas leading to confirmation or refutation of their original hypothesis.
Liebenberg says, ‘’such a reconstruction [about the animal’s behaviour] will contain more information than is evident from the tracks and will therefore be partly factual and partly hypothetical.’’ Obviously, as you track, more information is gathered, Liebenberg states that ‘’hypotheses may have to be revised or substituted for better ones’’. Modern science that is – the creation of a testable hypothesis to predict a novel fact about the world, although much more refined today, is dependent on such modes of thinking.
Thinking systematically might tell us that the Sun rises in the East and sets in the West due to its repeating pattern, but it will not tell us why that pattern occurs. It is a creative science, that is, speculative reasoning via the use of one’s imagination coupled with the capacity for refutation and revision that allows us to predict that it is the Earth’s rotation on its axis that accounts for the Sun's position at the beginning, and, at the end of the day.
Further speculation will eventually tell us that the Sun's energy is the result of a proton-proton chain reaction that converts hydrogen nuclei into helium, a process that releases enough energy across the Solar System to warm our planet. In theory, there is no limit as to how much we can speculate in this way. Humans have never landed on the Sun. We do not need to go there. Our own speculations and refutations over a long period of time got us to a point where we know that the Sun is a place that we should not visit due to its inhospitable properties.
I argue that as landscape photographers, we are co-opting the same basic principles of thought. When we consider the location of the Sun, the moon, and the stars, we are thinking systematically about our environment. When we go through the routine technicalities of using camera equipment, from setting up the tripod, attaching the right lens, applying the hood, adjusting the focus, the camera’s white balance, ISO and a whole host of other settings for other bits of equipment we rely on, we are thinking systematically.
I argue that as landscape photographers, we are co-opting the same basic principles of thought. When we consider the location of the Sun, the moon, and the stars, we are thinking systematically about our environment. When we go through the routine technicalities of using camera equipment, from setting up the tripod, attaching the right lens, applying the hood, adjusting the focus, the camera’s white balance, ISO and a whole host of other settings for other bits of equipment we rely on, we are thinking systematically. When we study the details within the landscape (the patterns, the lighting) and decide on a composition, when we deliberate over what we want and what we do not want in the frame, we are running an experiment. We are trying to answer a question about the arrangement of the things within the image relative to our position and whether this combination of shape and colour could hold some aesthetic value. ‘Does this work?’, ‘Is this pleasing?’ and ‘How can I improve on this?’ are questions that a photographer asks him or herself over and over as we run test after test. We may decide that it does not work and figure out a way that does via trial and error.
We may confer with our companions and refine an idea further or reject the idea altogether, moving through the landscape until something else reveals itself to us. And then we try again. Our imagination also plays a big part. The information we gather as we progress through the landscape can be used to make predictions. For example, an image that does not work now might work tomorrow with a change in the angle of the sun, a change in the weather, or the season. When we think like this, we are speculative reasoners (creative scientists) in the way Liebenberg describes.
Surely the interaction between these two modes of thought – systematic and speculative reasoning, as a landscape photographer, relies upon the same background processes that our hunter gatherer tribal ancestors used to gain advantages over their quarry and survive while in their landscapes?
Re-purposing the mind
Exaptation is a term used by evolutionary biologists to describe a trait that evolved for one purpose but ended up being used for another that is quite different from its original function. The classic example is bird feathers. They are thought to have originated as an adaptation to help regulate temperature, then they were co-opted for displays, and, eventually, adapted for flight which is now their main purpose. Our brains are another example, as described earlier, we did not evolve to ride bicycles, drive cars, or fly planes; to read, write or create works of art, and yet, after some training, we can adapt the modules in our brain to do these things extremely well.
The psychologist and linguist Steven Pinker argues that a possible answer to the problem of where our tendency for the arts might come from does not lie in specific adaptations for art, music, and literature but rather in the evolved mechanisms of the mind for other purposes that ‘’let people take pleasure in shapes and colours and sounds and jokes and stories and myths’’ (Pinker, 1997, p. 523). Our propensity for the enjoyment of art and the pursuance of an art is likely a non-adaptive by product of a multitude of specific mechanisms in the brain that evolved for other purposes. When locating ripe fruit, for example, physical and mental adaptations for colour vision are going to help; furthermore, we are more likely to gather that fruit if doing so produces positive emotions, like pleasure. So, when we enjoy viewing an image that contains berries and ripe fruit, are we stimulating those old mechanisms in the brain? Have ‘’humans learned to artificially activate existing mechanisms by inventing cultural products that mimic the stimuli for which the mechanisms were originally designed’’? (David M. Buss 2019, p. 399).
When we develop our artistic skills we are making use of our intellectual faculties with the purpose to produce something that stimulates us in some way, whether it be an enjoyable image, a pleasing sound or an exquisite meal. Steven Pinker says that we might have found ways of ‘’giving [ourselves] intense artificial doses of the sights and sounds and smells that ordinarily are given off by healthful environments’’. He goes on to say that ‘’We enjoy strawberry cheesecake, but not because we evolved a taste for it [specifically]. We evolved circuits that give us trickles of enjoyment from the sweet taste of ripe fruit, the creamy mouth feel of fats and oils from nuts and meat, and the coolness of fresh water.’’ Steven Pinker adds that ‘’Cheesecake packs a sensual wallop unlike anything in the natural world because it is a brew of mega doses of agreeable stimuli which we concocted for the express purpose of pressing our pleasure buttons’’.
As hunter gatherers, we would go out into the wider environment, traverse the landscape, gather resources, and bring them back home. This behaviour would have been fundamental to our survival. Are we doing anything different as landscape photographers? Even the language of photography, as seen in forums, books, and camera club discussions, highlight this: ‘Got the shot!’, ‘Great capture!’ and ‘bagged it!’ are all common parlance in photographic circles. It might be crude, but the behaviour of a photographer and the language that often accompanies it are all governed by ancient, inescapable and implicit systems that operate in the background of our minds. Of course, we should adopt enlightened values like those encapsulated in the phrase ‘leave only footprints, take only photos and kill nothing but time’ in order to minimise any impact that we might have on the environment, but we cannot escape those implicit background processes, no matter how much we try to dress them up.
There has been an attempt to shift the practice and language of photography away from what is perceived as a lesser activity, like hunting, by photography’s more refined practitioners. I can understand this, the thought of likening an art form to that of something that ‘takes’ from the environment can feel distasteful, primitive even, especially in a world where extractive economies can cause huge damage to our environment.
No, mindful photographers are encouraged to make photographs, not take them.
Are landscape photographers behaving more like our hunter gatherer ancestors than we might care to admit? Are we just adapting past behavioural mechanisms that were necessary for our ancestor's survival to that of modern life, only in novel ways, as in - photography, sports, the creation of works of art and complex foods?.
However, if Liebenberg is right, then the art of tracking quarry - that is, the ancient activity of hunting in small groups - could have been one of the activities that contributed to a seismic shift in our brains toward speculative reasoning; and without speculative reasoning, we would not have scientific thought, and subsequently, no photography, or indeed any art.
So, next time you feel compelled to go out and track the weather, the position of the Sun, the Moon and the stars; taking into consideration the time, the context and the place; try to anticipate the play of light across the landscape; share your ideas with your companions, generate new ideas according to new information, and, patiently wait for your predictions to come to fruition, all for the purposes of making a landscape photograph, spare a thought for where this motivation and behaviour might come from. Are landscape photographers behaving more like our hunter gatherer ancestors than we might care to admit? Are we just adapting past behavioural mechanisms that were necessary for our ancestor's survival to that of modern life, only in novel ways, as in - photography, sports, the creation of works of art and complex foods?
Could the ‘mismatch’ between our past and present lives be causing us to feel a void that we feel compelled to fill, so we seek out similar behaviours, and instead of those behaviours leading to more food and more survival in today's world, they lead to pictures, healthy competition, and frivolous foods that are enjoyable to eat. Meanwhile, at the same time, these behaviours provide us with fulfilment, happiness and meaning in a world of abundance.
And finally, although these same mechanisms may have led us to art and modern science, they also led us to the Anthropocene, a new epoch in Earth’s history defined by the negative effects of human activities on a global scale. I am, however, optimistic about our future because, given our powerful minds and interconnected lives, solutions to our biggest problems are never too far away; all we need is to realise what the next adjacent idea is and explore that horizon of possibility for the answers that we seek.
Nowadays, psychologists know that creative adults are those who managed to reconnect with their childhood interests and delve deeper into those passions after the turbulent times of adolescence. Studying Hokusai, it seems he never lost that connection.
Dante Alighieri, in his Divine Comedy, having lost his way within the depth of a mid-life crisis, meets and departs on an imaginary journey with his mentor, Virgil, a poet who lived 1000 years before him and whom he greatly admired. I have always liked this idea to do some introspective work with the imaginary help of a revered master from the past. I figure that if I’d ever find myself in Dante’s situation, I would probably picture Hokusai as my Virgil and would trust him to put me back on the right path.
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
~Dante Alighieri, the beginning of his Divine Comedy
Hokusai retained the playful attitude and innate ever-blooming curiosity of a child throughout his life. Nowadays, psychologists know that creative adults are those who managed to reconnect with their childhood interests and delve deeper into those passions after the turbulent times of adolescence. Studying Hokusai, it seems he never lost that connection. He always felt a deep fascination with the world and a profound love for his craft, always wanting to understand the world and evolve through it. Curiosity is everything. For this reason, and for all the information about him in this text, in Dante’s situation, I would follow Hokusai.
I have always been attracted, even spellbound, by photography and its capacity to reproduce something lived. At first, it was analogue photography, then came digital photography and altering course to digital meant a challenge for me.
In the meantime, I had some academic related jobs. One with university professors doing research and later, as an elementary Montessori teacher. These were the formal jobs from which I received an income. Nevertheless, my interest in photography never faded away, even though I did not receive any income from my photographic calling.
Besides travelling and years studying abroad, I have always lived in Puerto Rico, one of the Caribbean islands in Central America. The Island was first colonised by Spain; this explains our Spanish language and heritage. Later, in 1898, Puerto Rico was acquired by the United States as a war bounty and still remains a colony of the U.S. We have had to live with recurrent political, socio-cultural and racial discrimination. As a Puerto Rican women and artist working with the photography medium, it has been difficult to get a healthy and fair exposure to my photographs. But I was stubborn enough to continue making “my abstract-style” artwork.
Some years passed, and a better economic family situation allowed me to focus full-time to develop my photography the way I felt correct. Photographing what everybody could see and reproducing the obvious seemed repetitive. It was then I felt a clear commitment to developing a photographic language that would respond more to my intuition and imagination than to what my eyes could see. From this moment on, and with overflowing enthusiasm, I fully dedicated my time and effort to discovering the magic of all that was hidden from my eyes or difficult to see.
Photographing hidden details, like glass or metal reflections and sand patterns in the seashore, almost always resulted in abstract and expressionist photographs, which I saved on my computer, just accepting shallow rewards from observers.
Photographing hidden details, like glass or metal reflections and sand patterns in the seashore, almost always resulted in abstract and expressionist photographs, which I saved on my computer, just accepting shallow rewards from observers. I enthusiastically continued my work, hoping my photos might someday result in some photographic “usefulness”.
And, like an explosion, we were all attacked by a virus. A pandemic enfolded the world and brought us solitude and disease, together with enough time to think and do some retrospection to examine emotional and creative processes.
Under these circumstances, I decided to revisit all my photographs, to focus on them with a critical attitude and to discern them anew. I found some interesting facts. My photos were mostly abstract. The photographic subjects were of short duration, ephemeral, and some were even impossible to see. Most importantly, I found a connecting thread within them which helped me realize that I had found what I had been committed to: my photographs responded heavily to my intuition, imagination and discovery of forms I had not seen nor known before. My camera, channelled by intuition, captured hidden worlds I had imagined and discovered. My photographs were impossible to reproduce because the ephemeral subjects soon disappeared, possibly gone forever. The photographs possessed little bits of my intuition, imagination and a lot of my discovery. I felt fortunate to find my artwork was innovative and creative enough to share with the photographic community.
This was when I decided to self-publish. I felt that if I managed to publish my photographs, I would give them “life” and “wings to fly”. Self-publishing seemed the best way. I started the project by deciding to use a simple format. I organized the photos by themes or intimate experiences and wrote bilingual texts of what I remembered about my feelings and creative processes at the time I made them. Enthusiasm was all over me. It took some writing, translation, editing, photo selecting and proofreading. My project resulted in a bilingual photo book titled “Intimate Experiences - Photography of the Ephemeral”. It contains 108 color photographic images, 97 pages organised in 7 seven themes, and bilingual texts about my thoughts, feelings, and sorrows.
The project was not economically motivated but mainly as an intent to give my artwork some needed exposure. This is why I have sent an independent copy of the photo book to whom I consider extraordinary photographers, artists, art philosophers and Institutions. (Bullock Foundation, Circle Foundation for the Arts, Aperture, On Landscape, Lenswork and also, Bruce Barnbaum, Guy Tal, Juan Carlos Jorge, Keith Beven, and others.)
Self-publishing seemed the best way. I started the project by deciding to use a simple format. I organized the photos by themes or intimate experiences and wrote bilingual texts of what I remembered about my feelings and creative processes at the time I made them. Enthusiasm was all over me.
I want to share some afterthoughts about including texts in the photographs. Text about the artist's feelings will help observers relate to the artwork. Personal texts will facilitate the observer's experience of the information contained in the artwork, thus, enhancing the understanding of the artwork. For years photographic art has been presented in galleries, photo books and museums without any type of expressive resource from the artist except the visual itself and a title. It has been widely accepted that photographic art is a visual art and that visual information is all that is needed to “understand” the photograph; this seems not enough to me.
If we give a quick look and compare photographic art and film art, we soon acknowledge that both are visual arts. Nevertheless, film art uses plenty of resources, besides the visual, like: script writing, acting, vast editing, music, dialogue, text and even language translations, all of which are meant to provide the observer with a profound experience and enjoyment of the complexities of the film; whereas artistic photographs’ expressive resources are painfully limited to the visual and perhaps a title. Why not procure an enjoyment of the complexities of photographic art where artists also share their intense feelings? Film art has been able to mix several arts to end up with a more intimate understanding of the artist’s intention and expression. At its origins, films were silent and markedly limiting. Film art has evolved, bringing about a more profound viewer understanding of the film. Why should photographic art pursuers limit their artwork only to the visual? Why has photographic art limited itself, both in the processing and in the exposure resources? Photographic art needs to expand “its wings” and incorporate some resources. I may suggest artists’ intimate texts can be one of them.
Let me share a vivid example of the benefits of including text in the art photographs. A dear friend called me asking to please “explain” one of my sand photos he saw on the Internet. I understood he was not in need of an “explanation” per se, but rather some personal sharing of my “what and whys” when I made the photo. I invited him for lunch and, once there, limited myself to reading the following text about my feelings about sand and water:
“I love the sand and the water. I learned to love them when I was little when I spent summers on a beautiful uninhabited small island… The sand and the water represented maximum freedom for me. I enjoyed them as I pleased. I would… sleep on the sand stargazing. There I lived days of freedom and wildlife.
Later, responding to the call of the sea, I lived very close to the beach. There I discovered the continuous and changing 'symbiotic' relationship between the sand and the water. I searched for details at different beaches and realised they didn't last long, but I was convinced there was much to be photographed.
Later, responding to the call of the sea, I lived very close to the beach. There I discovered the continuous and changing 'symbiotic' relationship between the sand and the water. I searched for details at different beaches and realised they didn't last long, but I was convinced there was much to be photographed.
I was cautiously searching for the moment when the water would meet the sand. It amazed me to think that a small splash of water, on the crest of a wave, had crossed the entire Atlantic Ocean to finally reach those grains of sand. The water would reach that point, wet the sand and, once again, return to the sea. It felt like a fantasy. I imagined that encounter as "an immense kiss”… the water was kissing the sand. It seemed like an epic poem that only true love could endure.
That is how, to me, all designs and patterns on the sand became metaphoric testimonies of great love. Perhaps this explains why I photographed this moment so passionately and even found their sensuality.
That is how I felt them. That is how I experienced them.
In the face of such exuberance, the patterns and designs left by the water on the sand,… became my favourite ephemeral subjects. For many years I photographed them, and they have always produced in me feelings of love, awe and humility. I hope you can perceive these feelings in my photographs and can rejoice in them.
When I finished reading, all he muttered was “It is unfair to observe art not knowing the inside information… we miss so much!”
Today I am satisfied for having been stubborn, for having followed my “expressive instinct”, for having self-published, for having included texts, and for having dedicated the book to: “my photographs” because…“by publishing them I give them life… and through them I live.”
For me, the camera is a sketch book, an instrument of intuition and spontaneity, the master of the instant which – in visual terms – questions and decides simultaneously. In order to "give a meaning" to the world, one has to feel oneself involved in what he frames through the viewfinder. This attitude requires concentration, a discipline of mind, sensitivity, and a sense of geometry. It is by great economy of means that one arrives at simplicity of expression. One must always take photos with the greatest respect for the subject and for oneself.~Henri Cartier-Bresson
When Charlotte emailed me with a request to write an End Frame article, I was delighted and concerned at the same time. I was delighted to have an opportunity to write for On Landscape, which I have been enjoying for many years. I was concerned because I had to make the difficult choice of picking one photo out of many that I can think of to write about. After some thinking and looking through some of my favourite photo books, I decided to talk about a relatively less known photographer from Korea and the US – Johsel Namkung (1919-2013). He was born in Korea in 1919 and moved to the US in 1947.
The first time I was exposed to his work was through the book, Johsel Namkung, A Retrospective, from Cosgrove Editions (2012). It is a beautifully done large size photo book that I would recommend to anyone interested in landscape photography. I found two particular aspects of Joshel's work that resonated with my own interests. The first is his close up images of the natural world, similar to Eliot Porter’s "intimate landscape”, for which I had a natural fondness.
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.
Due to their magnificent and exotic landscapes, Iceland and the Arctic regions, in general, are the favourite regions for landscape photographers from all over the world. When I visited Iceland in winter a few years ago, I had all the panoramic views of iconic landmarks, frequently seen in publications, in my mind. Of course, some of them I visited and brought back beautiful pictures of them, too.
However, right from the start, I intended to use my stay in this fascinating country to take also or even primarily pictures with a different view. What actually fascinated me most during the tour was a hike on the Breiðamerkurjökull, a part of Europe's largest glacier Vatnajökull, and there the visit to different ice caves. The light shining through the ceiling of these caves makes the ice gleam in all different shades of blue. Together with the reflections from the concave structured walls of the caves, this gave rise to manifold details which finally made up the abstract pictures shown here.
This selection of images is from an autumn workshop in Washington’s Olympic National Park that was led by the inimitable photographer Art Wolfe. I have visited and photographed in several of America’s National Parks, but this was my first visit to Olympic. The theme of this workshop centred around identifying and capturing artistic elements in a scene, such as pattern, line, texture, and movement.
The dense and complex temperate rainforest of Olympic, the rain-saturated colours, and the diffused light provided a fertile canvas for creating intimate landscapes as well as experimenting with both abstract and representational compositions. Encountering such an overwhelming and complex environment, one needs to slow down and observe for a while until the images present themselves, then work through various compositions and exposures. The four images I present here are intended to provide just a small glimpse of the magnitude of photographic opportunities in this wonderful location.
As a Sri Lankan immigrant to the United Kingdom, I have had a broad range of political, social, and cultural experiences. Since 2007, I've only visited Sri Lanka twice. As a result, my memory of certain locations in Sri Lanka, particularly my village, is fading. In this work, I'm striving to recollect this memory and feeling of being there.
As I'm still finding it difficult to adapt to the English way of living and the atmosphere of this place, this endeavour can sometimes result in agonising pain. I regularly wake up very early in the morning for an extra paper round job I’ve taken, which allows me to walk through the village where I live at that special time when the night becomes a dawn. In this contemplative silence and solitude, looking at the quintessential English countryside landscape, I’m often transported, or actively search to evoke memories of my disappearing Sri Lanka; the photographs become dream paintings, simultaneously real and imagined. Although it can be a bitter-sweet process, it calms me down for a moment.
While out photographing British landscapes, I devote a significant amount of time attempting to see things in a less literal way. This is the time when I consider all the different factors and components. I am persuaded that this is an important part of my image-capture process. The tools and techniques used in each project or series vary, but the image's perspective, cinematic, and passion remain consistent. My work is distinguished by a classic and dreamy performance in which the imperfections of the subject, camera, or technique are frequently highlighted as an indispensable part of the image.
Horse Play is a visual metaphor disseminated across four photos, each composed of the subtlety to be found only in the stillness of nature. A state of grace, of existence and being without thought - without concept of any past or future - only the present, the eternal now. It is this infinite and boundless state that excites me as a nature photographer to magnify that stillness for my audience to (also) be witness to the stillness and grace of nature itself.
Alister Benn is Scottish by birth and has lived in the Highlands of Scotland for quite some time. Firstly on the Isle of Skye and latterly in mainland Lochaber. And yet his first book is a deep dive project into the remote Gobi desert in Northern China. The dislocation at first seems surprising, but as we dig a little deeper, it’s this distance that has allowed Alister to discover something new about himself and his photography. Out of Darkness is a story of “the meaning of a life and the story of a life of meaning.” A look at how the abstract can become a catalyst for creativity and change.
The subject of Alister’s project, abstract sand dune photography, isn’t a novel one. Photographers have been fascinated by the fluidity and abstract nature of the desert, where the shapes of the dunes drift and reform as the wind carries the sand across the landscape. Since the early 20th Century, photographers such as Ansel Adams, Imogen Cunningham, Georgia O’Keefe and Edward Weston have visited the US desert landscape and found their own abstract vision of the land. The desert dune environment in the US is now a ‘must visit’ iconic location, and some of the sense of isolation must have been lost over time.
Over the space of a few years and repeated trips, Alister had developed a new approach to photography. His Expressive Photography breaks down to luminosity, contrast, colour, geometry, and atmosphere, and these aspects show quite clearly in his project.
You can’t say the same for the subject of Alister’s desert environment. The Chinese Gobi Desert is about as far removed from the US as you can imagine, both geographically and culturally. Alister lived in China for over a decade, but it was only when he returned on specific photography trips that the environment changed his whole outlook on photography. Prior to this, most of his work was of the heroic Western modality; dramatic landscapes of mountains, canyons and gorges. Over the space of a few years and repeated trips, Alister had developed a new approach to photography. His Expressive Photography breaks down to luminosity, contrast, colour, geometry, and atmosphere, and these aspects show quite clearly in his project.
The core idea of the project is an exploration of the dune environment and its changing tones and colours throughout the day as a metaphor for Alister’s personal enlightenment and development. It’s a simple idea, start with dark images taken during night or twilight and gradually explore the transition to full sunlight. As with anything, though, the devil is in the details. The images included in the book are as good as any dune photographs I’ve seen, and the sequencing and visual journey slowly draws you out of the darkness of night, through the twilight and on to the full illumination of the day.
As I browse, the images flow past me, sometimes surprising, sometimes expected. Often striking like the blast of colour or light or intriguing, a hidden bush in the shade of a dune.
As for the book itself, it’s exquisitely printed in Italy, and the design is simple and minimal, letting the images do their work - a testament to Darren Ciolli-Leach’s experience. As I browse, the images flow past me, sometimes surprising, sometimes expected. Often striking, like the blast of colour or light or intriguing, a hidden bush in the shade of a dune. I was initially of the opinion that there were perhaps too many images in the book but on repeated browsing, I can see how the experience of transition from one image to the next is like the meditative state of observing the dunes as the light changes and new forms are seen. Naturally, there will be highlights, just as we might recognise the visually ‘cool’ scenes, but we’ll also see moments of normal beauty. The world isn’t spectacular day in and day out. There are a few moments in the book that I’m not sure about. Facing images that are just crops of each other or the section where the images are rotated ninety degrees. But I’m being picky, and perhaps I’m not recognising something (possibly a Wabi Sabi Easter Egg!?)
Overall, I can highly recommend Alister’s first book. It is so much more than a typical ‘best of’ album or geographical exploration that many photographers’ books deliver. I would love to see more ‘deep-dive’ photographic projects such as this.
You can buy Alister’s book from his website, and he’s very kindly shared a 10% discount on the standard and deluxe books using the discount codes ‘STANDARD10’ and ‘DELUXE10’.
If you ask 100 photographers why they make photographs, you’ll probably get 100 different answers to the question. Conversely, if you ask 100 photographers whether or not the effort required to make a photograph factors into its artistic qualities or if these variables matter in terms of the final result, most will say no. Understandably, as the creators of our artistic creations, we are quite attached to our images, especially those that require a great deal of effort, either physical, mental, or financial. While I agree that this does not necessarily make the images “better,” I think that it can lead to higher quality connections with experience, place, and subject.
These connections then can lead to us making more personally-meaningful images that result in higher artistic value, made with higher technical precision, which are imbued with more of “us.” The subject of this article, Brian Pollock, is a perfect example of this phenomenon. His work from the Scottish Highlands is superb and drips with a personal flair that can only come from the deep connections made through care, effort, and passion.
All you really need to photograph is curiosity and any camera. That’s not to diminish in any way those who choose to invest in bigger and better, but it’s easy to get hung up on both the equipment and the digital darkroom. The most important component is the person behind the camera.
In this issue, we feature Mary Frances, a collector of treasure, whether it be potential collage materials or miniature and ephemeral landscapes that she finds in the streets that she wanders. We’ve often talked to photographers whose route into photography was time spent in the outdoors, but here her photographs were initially taken for use in her art projects. As we know, once you look through a viewfinder, resistance is useless. I’ll let Mary explain.
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 busy south London. I think that as a child, I was quiet and wide-eyed, watching, listening, wandering, imagining, and very drawn to things that I found beautiful and strange. I learned to read very early, and my favourite stories were about children who found magical things close to home - the key to the hidden garden, a forgotten map in a cellar. I loved those stories, looking down as I walked, picking up buttons and bottle tops, pigeon feathers and silver paper from cigarette packets - small treasures to take home and turn into imaginary stories.
My grandfather introduced me to scrapbooking. He found some beautiful old ledgers put out for rubbish collection near his workplace, and he gave them to me with some old postcards and Christmas cards, a few photos, a pair of blunt-edged scissors, and a pot of homemade glue.
My grandfather introduced me to scrapbooking. He found some beautiful old ledgers put out for rubbish collection near his workplace, and he gave them to me with some old postcards and Christmas cards, a few photos, a pair of blunt-edged scissors, and a pot of homemade glue.
Decorating the pages with found scraps became one of my favourite things. I loved the marbled endpapers of the ledgers and the glimpses of slender copperplate writing between the images I pasted. Sadly, those books are long lost, but I do still use scrapbooks. I find them a great way to mix images and ideas and to see things differently, and, obviously, taking after my grandad, I still look into skips for potential collage materials.
I enjoyed art at school and had a top grade for O level (now GCSE), but when it came to A level, the art teacher told me I wasn’t eligible because I wouldn’t be able to limit it again to life drawing, still life, and theory - there would have to be a painting, and my painting was ‘lousy’. One of my other A level choices disappeared, too, as there was no teacher available to lead it, so I left school and started a long career in care and public services.
A year later, I joined an evening life drawing class, and the man at the next easel told me about a new painting group being set up. I told him I couldn’t paint at all, and his reply was, ‘if you can draw like that, you can paint’. The following week, he brought me a beautiful box of pastels and told me to start drawing with them. I did, and it soon led to painting, and I was quite stunned. It took me a while to forgive the teacher who had dismissed me, but even so, I was relieved to have finished with school, and I do think it was better for me to work with and for other people in very practical ways. I’ve no regrets, and most of the time, I have been able to make space for art.
Before we talk about photography, I’d like to ask you about art more broadly. Your first visits to galleries and museums had quite a profound effect upon you?
I was about 8 or 9 years old when my brother took me on a bus to visit the very new Commonwealth Institute museum, and in their gallery, I found Whistler’s nocturnes. I was mesmerised by them. I don’t know how long I was there, but the attendant eventually tapped my shoulder to tell me that they were closing.
I do have a memory of my grandparents taking me to the National Gallery when I was very young, and I didn’t like it. I have described it before as ‘a dark place of war horses and suffering saints’. I had already been somewhat traumatised when I was very little, frightened by the art and statues in churches - so much blood and torment. But I did enjoy being taken to the V&A Museum, where the painted ceramics, glass, and costume galleries really caught my imagination - I certainly picked up more feathers in the streets after seeing those hats.
I was about 8 or 9 years old when my brother took me on a bus to visit the very new Commonwealth Institute museum, and in their gallery, I found Whistler’s nocturnes. I was mesmerised by them. I don’t know how long I was there, but the attendant eventually tapped my shoulder to tell me that they were closing. When I had the chance to go back, I ran straight to the gallery, but the Whistlers were gone, and the attendant told me about how touring exhibitions moved around the world while I quietly cried.
You still find exhibitions immersive – you’ve referred to it as a kind of falling in love?
Yes, I do remember that comment about falling in love! Sometimes I just want to stay with the work and find it impossible to leave. A few years ago, after the first Covid lockdown, some galleries posted floor plans of how people would move around in the future to avoid infection. They had social distance stickers on the floor and just one space directly in front of each picture. Friends sent me images of the plans, predicting the absolute chaos I would cause as all movement ran to a standstill because I hadn’t finished looking at each picture and wouldn’t move on. In case any readers are wondering, the shows that would lead to the whole place having to be shut down until I was forcibly escorted out would be Cy Twombly, Helen Frankenthaler, Anselm Kiefer, and Sarah Sze.
How did you first encounter photography and begin to make images, and at what point did it become a creative escape or outlet?
I have enjoyed photography books and exhibitions over the years, but I only got a camera myself about 12 years ago. At that time, I had moved back to making collage work and still a wide-eyed wanderer, I thought that I might be able to use some of the colours and textures and oddities that I noticed and enjoyed in my work. So I bought a very small camera that fitted in the palm of my hand, and I started to catch things that interested or surprised me, gathering an ever-increasing supply of images to use in any way - as backdrops for collages, as unusual surfaces to draw on, and as inspirations for writing and poetry. The simplicity and speed of my click-and-go way of working means that taking photos is integrated into my everyday life now.
Given my naive use of the camera, I have never described myself as a photographer. It is still on the factory settings it came with, simply because I liked the results. Soon after starting out, I joined Twitter and loved the range of photos posted there - from professional artists showing their latest work for sale to people sharing the flowers in their garden with a phone camera and all enjoying each other's work. So I began to post my little fragments. I’m delighted that so many people find and enjoy them, and I’m grateful for the extraordinary support and generosity from many brilliant photographers - something I would never have expected.
One of the main challenges of art, for me, has always been how and where to begin - the fierce demand of the blank canvas, the ball of clay, the empty page. I find photography quite different in the simple way that I use it because the starting point is very clear.
Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you or driven you forward in your own development as a photographer?
That’s such an interesting question, Michela. I think that it is mostly the ‘what’ rather than the ‘who’. One of the main challenges of art, for me, has always been how and where to begin - the fierce demand of the blank canvas, the ball of clay, the empty page. I find photography quite different in the simple way that I use it because the starting point is very clear. I’ve spotted something, and so inspiration comes towards me rather than my generating it. Something catches my eye, however small or vague, and the challenge is what to make of it.
I think that it is mostly the ‘what’ rather than the ‘who’. One of the main challenges of art, for me, has always been how and where to begin - the fierce demand of the blank canvas, the ball of clay, the empty page. I find photography quite different in the simple way that I use it because the starting point is very clear.
Even so, the wide range of alternative photo and film styles and methods do inspire me, not because I’ve tried most of them, at least not yet, but because they have shown me how much freedom and experimentation are possible. I remember particularly the thrill of finding Wim Wenders’ casual and speedy Polaroid photos, the make-believe worlds of Tim Walker’s fashion photography, and the accidentally ruined film that appears in Bill Morrison’s ‘Dawson City: Frozen Time’. They sparked my imagination and confirmed my sense that there are always very many ways of looking at anything.
More recently, and closer to home, I am constantly amazed by the work of photographers I have met online. For example, the wonders of Paul Kenny’s extraordinary ‘Sea Works’; Sarah Darke’s camera-free lumen experiments; David Foster’s dreamy and mysterious double exposures; Richard Earney’s ‘Warped Topographies’, like stage sets for future fairy tales; and the close-to-home work of the ‘Inside the Outside’ collective. The variety and beauty, and strangeness of what they are doing does inspire me and have changed my sense of what photography can do.
There are many worlds available to us if we choose to look. Did anything in particular prompt you to take an interest in the tiny fragments in which you find your landscapes?
As soon as I started to look through the eye of a camera, I discovered imaginary landscapes at the edges of walls and buildings. The weathering of the stone and the silent work of lichen, insects, and weather often made them look like paintings. For a long time, I didn’t show or post them anywhere, partly because they were very tiny and partly because I doubted other people would see them as I did. I had noticed photos posted online described as ‘a cloud that looks like a bird’ or ‘a face appearing in a hedge’, and I could never see or understand them, so I thought that my tiny landscapes were just my particular and perhaps peculiar way of looking. Then one evening a few years ago, around Christmas time and after several glasses of mulled wine, I posted a little collection online and was amazed that so many people liked them and replied with their ideas of where these places might be and what they imagined about them.
For me, the ‘landscape’ images do hold a kind of magic - they are there and not there. We can see that they are fragments of walls, fences or bins, and, at the same time, we see another place - a fantasy world or a glimpse of somewhere we feel we know or remember. They are also transient. When I go back to the same places they may have disappeared. Heavy rainfall erases the colours, moss spreads over the patterns, and bricks crumble as people lean their bikes against walls. The tiny landscapes are strange and fragile finds. A dear friend once described them as ‘images of time’. I loved that.
Would you like to choose 2 or 3 favourite photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about why they are special to you or your experience of making them?
It’s small and a bit blurry, but this is one of my favourite photos. It is the side of a tar truck mending the roads, scorched and blistered by its own heat - a reminder that strange magic can be found anywhere.
An old house wall, a peg of some kind, some spilt glue perhaps. It was the simplicity of this imaginary landscape that struck me as I saw it transformed into a moon over water.
This little fragment caught my eye as I was walking past the water fountain outside the town hall. Sometimes, the loveliest images are hiding in the dullest places.
I sense that camera equipment is simply a means to an end, but perhaps you can tell us if you go on to crop your compositions? How long do you spend playing with possibilities and juxtapositions?
You are right - my aim is very simple: to catch as clearly as I can the fragment I’ve noticed without elaboration or alteration. Occasionally someone will stop me when I’m taking pictures and ask what I am looking at in that dark alley or behind the bus stop. I show them the picture on my camera and then walk a few steps with them to point out the stones they came from. There they are in the wall, and there they are in my camera, and they look just the same. So the work when I get home is not to enhance them but to crop them if needed, and often to turn them sideways or upside down because I had seen their potential from the other way up. Occasionally I re-size them to fit a project or to avoid them being cut off when I post them online, and of course, I have a lot of fun mixing fragments together into collages, at which point I begin to see things very differently.
The question of enhancing the images is interesting to me. Every so often, someone will take one of my images from Twitter, apply various filters, and send it back to me. I can understand they have seen something very basic, which could be smoother, brighter, and sharper, but I can’t agree that the apps and filters have made it ‘better’. They have certainly made it different. The polished, cleaned-up versions returned to me are smarter for sure, and occasionally they look quite wonderful, like background scenes from animated movies or video games, but I don’t recognise them. Any hint of the messiness, the dirt, and the broken ruins they were embedded in has disappeared, and they are now lovely photographs of something quite different. I don’t mean to diminish the value of enhancing and perfecting things, but it doesn’t suit my own work or aesthetic. The magic, for me, is seeing both things at once - that this is obviously a photo of an old brick, and yet we can walk right through it into another world.
The question of enhancing the images is interesting to me. Every so often, someone will take one of my images from Twitter, apply various filters, and send it back to me. I can understand they have seen something very basic, which could be smoother, brighter, and sharper, but I can’t agree that the apps and filters have made it ‘better’. They have certainly made it different.
Do you go on to print some of your pictures, and if so, how do you like to present them (e.g. paper, size, collage, etc.)? I mention size as I wonder if part of the appeal is to also make viewers look closely and whether the mystery is diluted if enlarged.
The fragments that catch my eye are often just a few inches, and I can’t always get close to them without falling down ditches or climbing over a fence, so the cropped work can often be very small indeed. I take pictures on the move and without a very steady hand, but most of them do seem to catch the dreamlike quality that drew me to them. Because of their small size and imperfect ‘finish’ I can’t imagine them as art prints, and I think that you are right that it’s not just about the quality of the little photos but also that the charm seems very much diminished when they are larger. My published books, which include art and poetry, are all quite small, and I’ve been delighted by how well they have worked. At home, I do make little postcards, bookmarks, gifts, and homemade zines. I have an Epson eco-tank printer, and I use their matte or semi-gloss photo paper.
You mention people looking closely, and that’s a very precious thing. I am continually surprised and delighted that it happens so often, especially on Twitter, the home of fast scrolling. I am always pleased to see the comments and to understand what people are seeing and remembering as they look at the images. My last print book (‘untravelling’ published by Penteract Press) has 55 images, each accompanied by a four line poem, and every line was mixed from a word bank of comments people had made about those images. Most of them were spontaneous replies online, which were very thoughtful and sometimes very moving. I was also travelling on trains a lot at that time, so if I happened to be next to a chatty person, I would show them a few of the images and ask them what they saw. It was an extraordinary experiment, and I’m very grateful to everyone who engaged with the photos and shared their thoughts and visions.
Books seem to be an important and valuable part of your life – both in terms of what you enjoy reading and how you share your images, and it’s clear that you have an affinity for words?
Yes, very much so. I have always loved reading - my walls are full of books, and I have a particular love of poetry. I often add words to my photos or a quote sometimes, not to direct or explain but rather to loosen up the many ways we might engage with it, and I love the verbal responses that enable me to see the images quite differently myself. I am drawn to photographers who invite words into their work. Ian Hill comes to mind as he weaves mythical themes into his walks through the landscape, and Rob Hudson’s beautiful series ‘All Day It Has Rained’, inspired by the Welsh poet Alun Lewis.
During the Covid restrictions, I very much enjoyed George Szirtes’ daily poems online. He captured the strangeness, fear, challenges, and changes so beautifully, using a 10 line format (three classic haiku plus a 5 syllable last line). He has always been very generous and supportive of my photos and used his format to develop my e-book ‘glasshouse’, published by Metambesen. My experience has been that art and poetry weave beautifully with each other through online communities and small independent presses and I am delighted to be a small part of this.
During the Covid restrictions, I very much enjoyed George Szirtes’ daily poems online. He captured the strangeness, fear, challenges, and changes so beautifully, using a 10 line format (three classic haiku plus a 5 syllable last line).
Your images have been featured in a number of books and also in formats that have been made available free to download. This contrasts with a model that often sees people trying to monetise a passion. How did the books come about, and what do you personally feel is important about simply photographing – and sharing – for enjoyment?
Throughout my life, I have been so very grateful for libraries, for free exhibitions, and for people who have shared their work without payment. These things have given me so much richness and wonder, and I would never have been able to access art without that kind of openness and generosity, particularly when I was growing up, and at other disrupted times in my life. I am continually shocked at the prices for exhibitions in some of our main art galleries.
Throughout my life, I have been so very grateful for libraries, for free exhibitions, and for people who have shared their work without payment. These things have given me so much richness and wonder, and I would never have been able to access art without that kind of openness and generosity, particularly when I was growing up, and at other disrupted times in my life.
£30 per person totally excludes people on ordinary salaries, and even after you have bought a ticket, there will often be other exhibitions in the same building that require another payment. Having enough money to cover basic needs is beyond the reach of too many people, so I am more than happy to make work available when I can, just as I have been grateful for such things myself, and in my experience, it often leads to a spontaneous economy of sharing and exchanging in which we are all enriched.
There is something else as well, which is the glimpses I’ve had of how the market leads the art. I have sometimes joined groups of local artists and have submitted work to shows and been included in exhibitions. Most recently, the works were photo backgrounds with pastel markings or collaged found materials. I was delighted to have had sales and to know that people were interested in seeing more work. The majority of requests, however, were for ‘almost the same’ work or similar work in different colours to match potential buyers’ preferences or decor. There were also times when gallery owners who had attended the shows would offer me space, and again I was delighted, but their request was understandably for more of what had sold before rather than anything new or different. As a result, my preference is to work as much as I can with free projects and small experimental presses. I admire them very much for the risks they take and their invaluable support for new material and alternative ways of working.
What difference has photography made to you and to your view of the world? You’ve written captions for your posts that suggest you are comfortable in places where others are not, and observant of and sensitive to the lives that you encounter, which may also be overlooked?
Photography has made my life much richer in many ways. I am appreciating more than ever the interest to be found in what may seem at first to be dull and empty places. I have a richer understanding of time and season which was also very much enhanced during the difficult and often tragic early years of Covid, when time outside was limited, and I challenged myself to find some small treasure every day and close to home. I think it has encouraged me to approach everything with an expectation of openness and possibility, looking ever more closely and never being bored by apparent sameness.
I have always enjoyed walking and travelling alone, but I think that having the camera has enhanced that kind of freedom - stopping as long as I want and walking off track because my eye has been caught. I am aware that for many people, and perhaps especially women, wandering alone is not easy. I am lucky to have always been something of a loner, but I do think that having a purpose and looking for certain kinds of things to work with helps a solo person move more about more confidently, and yes, I am often quite comfortable in isolated spaces and sensitive to their history and meanings. I mentioned this in a piece I wrote for Clare Archibald’s project ‘Lone Women in Flashes of Wilderness’, about walking in cemeteries:
I understand the fears of others - of shadows and lurking strangers, of hidden and unseen things, of ghosts and the scent of death - but I don’t share them. I feel calm in graveyards and free. Their perspective is centuries rather than fleeting moments, there is no urgency. They connect us with memories, open us to ideas, and surround us with deeper things - death, loss, sorrow, yes, but also time, history, meaning-making, and, more than anything, love. Love is the strongest theme here, and it is unhidden, unforgotten, unlost.
Do you have any particular projects or ambitions for the future or themes that you would like to explore further?
So many! I always have several projects on the go and endless folders of work that may or may not become something. I’m very happy to take my time and feel my way...
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.
I thought immediately of Jane Rushton, a wonderful artist in the Scottish Highlands. A couple of years ago, she posted online a daily photo taken outside her studio at the edge of the sea. People who know that landscape will be able to guess the scale of the daily changes. It was just the most wonderful thing to watch as the light and weather transformed every aspect of the view. I began to log in each morning just to ‘sit’ on her beach for a while to see and feel the wind and waves, and sky reinvents themselves daily.
Thank you, Mary, it’s been great to talk to you.
If you’d like to see more of Mary’s curated fragments, you’ll find her on Twitter as @maryfrancesness.
We have all experienced it. Frustration. The situation is as follows: you have taken the day off. Travelled to a fantastic venue. Got up at dawn. The morning light is seeking its way through the mist. But you see no picture, and you know that the light will soon disappear. You are annoyed that you weren’t in place an hour earlier. The mist is receding, and still no picture. You try some shots, but you already know that the result will be useless. Your frustration is massive. Time and money feel wasted. I heard about a bird photographer who, in the 70s, acquired a new camera and went out on the marshes to spend the night waiting for the lekking of black grouse. At dawn, the black grouse start their call however the camera was dead. In despair, he pushes the camera into the marshes and went home.
The camera is still there. One can wonder what was more important - taking a photo or the experience of listening to the lekking of the black grouse? In nature, there are many lost ideas and expectations. Things we have thought about and hoped for but never achieved. The light was poor, with too little mist, a clear blue sky, poor autumn colours, not enough water, too much wind, rain, people, a forgotten memory chip, discharged battery. Taking all this into account, one wonders if it’s at all possible to take a photo.
However, the question must be asked: if I don’t need an income from my photography, where does the craving come from? Is my photography measured against my own standards or someone else's? Who decides what is good? Perhaps some of the cravings can be related to role models we have. Is it wise to have professional photographers as role models? Who must produce commercially viable photos? Photos that want you to return to the same place as them. Or to fill your bucket list. Ask yourself if your role models create problems or set you free.
“Nothing of interest in this area.” My father wrote these words on a topographic map more than fifty years ago. When I came across the map recently, his words made me laugh out loud because they were written almost directly on top of the place that I now call home. And I moved here precisely because I found the place so interesting!
Negative comments were unusual for my father. He was a glass-half-full person, always seeing a sliver of blue sky when the rest of us were grumbling about the rain. His topographic maps were sprinkled with annotations like “excellent beach,” “picturesque village,” “lovely picnic site on river” and “looks promising for trout.” So his verdict, “Nothing of interest,” was a striking anomaly.
Alas, my father died a decade ago, so I can’t ask him for an explanation. I can only speculate that he drove through this area briefly in dreary weather (not uncommon here), perhaps with squabbling children and a restless Labrador retriever in the back seat (a normal family outing). Even so, his comment is surprising because this is the kind of wild coastal scenery that usually appealed to him – and inspired his photographs – as it continues to inspire me and my photographs today.
A section of the Guysborough County topographic map showing my father’s annotations (c.1970) and the location of my house
Photograph by David Stone, somewhere along the Nova Scotia coast, late 1960s
The precise location isn’t significant. It happens to be the Tor Bay coast of Guysborough County in Nova Scotia, Canada. But it could easily have been somewhere else. The point is that my father saw nothing of interest and made no photographs here, while I have been tramping happily about this landscape with my camera for several years and haven’t found it tedious yet.
It is a well-known and somewhat overused cliché that photography captures a moment in time. This is equally as true in landscape photography as in any of the other photographic genres. The light, tones, colours, and composition are unique to the exact moment when the shutter is released and can never be exactly recreated. But as landscape photographers, do we go to too greater length to remove items from our images which will tell our successors when in time the image was created?
Look through this magazine or many of the others available in either the newsagents or online, and how many of them include a man-made item? It is as if we are trying to pretend that man never put foot on earth. But landscape art wasn’t always so: Look at the artworks of British landscape painters such as Constable and Turner, and most of their works include either a figure or a man-made object, which enables us, without knowing the details of the work, to place it approximately in time.
This brings me to the work of Robin Friend. From his work Bastard Countryside, published in 2019, I have selected the accompanying image Cattle, Turbine, Pylon as my End Frame subject.
It was French poet, novelist, and playwright Victor Hugo who coined the term Bastard Countryside. He wrote of the area surrounding Paris ‘It is that kind of bastard countryside, somewhat ugly but bizarre, made up of two different natures.’ Robin Friend has re-interpreted this as the areas of the British countryside into which humans have made a marked imprint.
Amongst images of shipwrecks on the Cornish coast, quarries filled with scrap cars, and abandoned market gardens, this image resonated with me as being one of the features of modern life that we must have in the countryside, if those of us who are fortunate to live there, or visit, is to have the creature comforts of life. So why not celebrate them in the same way that landscape painters in the past celebrated the new features in the landscape in their time?
Another reason the work resonated with me is that I am an admirer of the work of British photographer Fay Godwin, who documented the landscape ‘warts and all’, particularly in her book Forbidden Land, published in 1990. In some ways, Friend's work updates the work of Godwin.
The inclusion of the wind turbines clearly date stamps the image as post late 20th century, in the same way that the horse and cart in the Hay Wain dates Constables’ painting to the early 19th century.
It is an oft-held opinion that man’s intrusion into the countryside is a bad thing, and in a lot of cases, this is true, but is it always the case? In Cattle, Turbine, Pylon, an electricity substation is surrounded by rolling countryside pockmarked with electricity pylons and wind turbines. Without these things, modern life would not exist, and you would certainly not be reading this article.
The inclusion of the wind turbines clearly date stamps the image as post late 20th century, in the same way that the horse and cart in the Hay Wain dates Constables’ painting to the early 19th century.
So, should we as landscape photographers use man-made objects in our image making more often as a way of ‘time stamping’ images and recording the way in which time has changed the landscape? To be honest, I don’t know if Friend had this in mind when he created this and other images in the series, but it has certainly opened some new avenues to pursue in my attempts to use my camera to capture a moment in time.
Do you have a favourite image that you would like to write an end frame on? We are always keen to get submissions, so please get in touch to discuss your idea.
My first thought after unpacking 'The Island' was: Wow, it's beautiful! And I still think that, whenever I take the book off the shelf. The full size cover image shows a lone figure standing on the flooded causeway of a small island. The picture seems symbolic, which is a first indication of what's to come on the inside.
The image is printed with a silvery sheen on a very tactile cardboard paper. Despite the delicate look, the materials don't feel fragile. Opening the cover reveals an open binding book block with the title and author in a large silver serif font, as well as a handwritten signature on midnight blue paper. The paper choices and design are very classy and elegant, and despite the excellent quality of the printing and bookmaking, it can be purchased for a very fair £27.
The cover flap hides the introductory writing by Robert Darch. You can read this now or leave it for later. I prefer the latter. On the next page you see the silver thread used for the binding as well as a single date: 23.06.2016. The day the majority of Britain opted to leave the EU in the Brexit referendum. This date gives the background theme for this series of images.
What follows is like a visual elegy to the political climate and future situation of Britain as felt by the photographer, and by the young people he portrayed in dark monochrome tones along with somber landscape scenes. Both types of pictures are full of poetry and mood and increase their mutual impact on the viewer.
The places are not recognisable, they could be anywhere in the rural areas of Britain. The faces have no names, they represent a whole generation whose outlook has changed for the worst and who, mostly, did not agree with the result of the referendum in the first place. There's a story between these pages, and it's a story of loss, anxiety, vulnerability, loneliness, and longing, but also strength and hope.
Many of the photographs have metaphoric potential. The last image in the book shows a tree, which might be an oak, an English symbol of strength, but with its limbs chopped off. Others are not quite as obvious, but always evocative, like the fallen bird breeding box and the shovel lying in an unidentified liquid.
As mentioned, I read the text afterwards, because I first like to develop my own thoughts and feelings on a series of images. In this case, it wouldn't have mattered, because Robert's introduction is not an artist statement on the book. Instead, he tells the fragmented story of a young person growing up in a rural town, which complements the photographs wonderfully. A story of 'Smalltown Boys' (and girls), 'Suburban Buddhas' and the 'Beautiful Ones' waiting for their 'Runaway Train', or expressed with the lyrics that Robert picked:
Everybody's moving, moving, moving, moving. Please don't leave me to remain~Fugazi
The book speaks to me strongly. I do not live in Britain myself, but I can relate to the theme easily, because I grew up in a small town in East Germany shortly after the Wall came down. There was a very similar atmosphere of anxiety and uncertainty and always hope… 'Auferstanden aus Ruinen' indeed.
The Island, like a lot of my work, is a construction, it’s England and the Brexit vote but a response distilled through my experience, thoughts and feelings.
Interview
AW: Where and what is The Island?
RD: The Island, like a lot of my work, is a construction, it’s England and the Brexit vote but a response distilled through my experience, thoughts and feelings.
The work was predominately made in the South West of England where I am based and the Midlands where I grew up. Amongst those primary images, I have also used several images I had previously taken that I felt added something to the narrative. For example, the image of the spade and black liquid was taken in an abandoned cement factory in Germany.
AW: Despite the melancholy and anxiety of the series, there are also traces of hope. Has your outlook changed since the beginning of this series?
RD: Not really, in fact, since I completed the series in 2019, I think life has become much more uncertain, with Covid, the cost of living and the war in Ukraine. I am filled with much less hope, but it’s interesting that you find some hope in the work. That’s not to say I’m a negative pessimist, in general, I’m a realist and not really that melancholic!
AW: You released two books before this one, can you say something about them? What were they about? How did you publish them?
RD: I published my series, The Moor, in 2018 with Another Place Press and my series Vale, I self-published under my imprint LIDO in 2020. The Moor is set on Dartmoor and imagines a dystopian future where people are just about existing, and Vale imagines a romanticised summer, with uncanny undertones, which was in part an exploration of a part of my life lost to illness.
AW: Has there been a natural progression or evolvement between these books in the way that one informed the next one, or are they completely separate?
RD: In theory, the books are completely separate, even though some of the themes are shared between the series. Although I do think of the three series as a very loose trilogy, in that the titles, the Moor, Vale and The Island, had some commonality in being about specific geographical places and that all three series predominately contain pictures/portraits of young people. Moving forward, I’m not sure that I will work in a similar way again, for example, my ongoing series Durlescombe features almost exclusively documentary images but framed in a fictional context of an imaginary place.
AW: Your books have a strong cinematographic atmosphere and narrative, how detailed are the stories in your head?
RD: The atmosphere or sense of place is always very clear in my head, in fact, this is where the work exists for a long time as I am taking pictures. It’s usually an interest in a specific place which helps define the work, and then as I start taking pictures, the narrative tends to develop. For example, I didn’t set out to make a fictional dystopian series for The Moor, I had been making landscape pictures and then started photographing people that had a connection to the place, and the idea evolved from there.
The atmosphere or sense of place is always very clear in my head, in fact, this is where the work exists for a long time as I am taking pictures. It’s usually an interest in a specific place which helps define the work, and then as I start taking pictures, the narrative tends to develop.
AW: With the experience of these three books, what are your thoughts on the photo book as a medium?
RD: That’s a big question! Obviously, I love photo books, and I always made work with the book as the ideal mode of presentation for my work. This goes right back to when I was doing my degree in Newport in the early 2000s. However, I think the photo book market and scene has developed vastly since then in terms of people making books, publishers and the audience. It’s the ideal medium for my work as the sequencing and narrative are integral to the understanding of the work, and the book allows me to fully present my vision.
AW: Has your general experience of making books been a good one?
RD: In general, yes, I feel very privileged that people are buying my books, at the time of writing, I only have around 250 copies of The Island left, and it has travelled all over the world. The money I make from the book allows me to spend time working on new projects. It’s important to me that I make some money from my work to justify the time I spend creating it. However, it’s a lot of work, especially if you’re self-publishing, you are also the distributor and responsible for marketing the book, and the list goes on. Thankfully this time, I had Tom Booth-Woodger, who designed the Island and also oversaw the production of the book, which was a great help.
AW: How did photography become important for you?
RD: It allowed me to make sense of my place in the world, that I could see what was around me, share and experience it, but somehow also be separate from it.
AW: What are your sources of inspiration?
RD: My inspiration comes from my life experience, thoughts, feelings and observations, as well as influences from culture, art, painting, cinema, photography, etc.
AW: You studied photography/art at university. Has that helped you find your way as a photographer, and if so, can you describe how?
RD: Yes, I did a BA in 2000 and returned to education to study for a Masters's degree in 2013. Studying gives you structure, feedback and support. And more specifically, when I was studying for my BA, it really introduced me to a lot of photographers, photo books and ways to conceive work. In 2000 it was the early days of the internet, pre-social media and the ease with which we can share information now. So, I learnt everything from the lectures, the library, my teachers and my peers. If you pick the course well, you can make wider connections which I have benefited from in recent years.
AW: Some of your colour landscape photographs (e.g. your Way to Blue series) have a colour palette, composition and mood that remind me of classic landscape painters like Claude Lorrain. Is that deliberate?
RD: Not really, I am not actively trying to replicate painting, although often people reference classic English painters in relation to my work. I think it has a lot to do with how they faithfully captured the landscape and the natural colour palette. I suppose we are framing the landscape in a similar way, making sense of all the elements within the frame. I would imagine paying attention to the light has something to do with the mood. For way to Blue, I photographed at Dawn or just before dusk.
AW: A noticeably recurring motive in several of your series are trees and woods. What do they mean to you?
RD: I love being in the woodland, amongst the trees, it’s where I feel most relaxed. It’s where I want to spend my time.
AW: How important is gear for you, and does it influence your way of working?
RD: Not so important, although it does dictate how you work. I use a Nikon D850 - shooting on the 5 by 4 crop mode. My black-and-white work is just set to Monochrome in the camera. I treat the camera much like I did my old Mamiya 7. Only using fixed prime lenses. The benefit of digital is the number of images I take is not limited. This is both a blessing and a curse. However, I would say the fact I learnt on film has greatly benefited my understanding of light and what I want to get from an image.
AW: What are you working on at the moment, and what are your plans for the future?
RD: I am hoping to properly finish my series Durlescombe, which I have been pottering away at for 7 years now. I realise I need to get an overview of what I have done so far and work out what is missing.
I would recommend you ignore the ‘success’ of your photos entirely and post whatever you feel like. Having confidence in your art does not suggest that you expect everyone to love everything you share. True confidence is knowing full well that not everyone will like your work but still sharing it anyways. Confidence isn’t just being undeterred by criticism, it’s also being unaffected by praise. If the audience is influencing your opinion of your art–negatively or positively–then I would suggest you work on deepening the relationship you have with your art.
The above quote is an excerpt from an article I previously published titled “The Means, Not the End”, which focuses on some of the most significant ways that social media, smartphones, and the internet have reshaped photography. This seemed to be the idea that resonated with readers the most, as it was the most shared quote from the article. However, I felt it was something important enough to write about in greater detail, as I think the idea of artistic confidence is widely misconstrued.
With the high volume of people that most of us can reach today via social media and the internet, confidence is more important than ever.
Since anyone from anywhere in the world can come along and comment on our work, we are subject to more criticism, negativity, and outright insults. This is something we should all take for granted when choosing to share images online. Once you put it out there, it’s subject to all kinds of responses.
Since anyone from anywhere in the world can come along and comment on our work, we are subject to more criticism, negativity, and outright insults. This is something we should all take for granted when choosing to share images online. Once you put it out there, it’s subject to all kinds of responses.
Undeterred by Criticism
Many artists from all different mediums have described publishing work as painful. In Truman Capote’s words, “like you took a child out in the backyard and shot it.” As if we are throwing our precious babies to the wolves or giving pearls to swine, sharing something sacred with people that might not show it the kind of reverence, we feel it deserves. However, I suspect this defeatist attitude comes from placing too much importance on how our work is received instead of being fully satisfied with how we feel about it ourselves.
We are all aware that negative comments if taken too seriously, can be detrimental to any craft, especially something as personal as our artwork. I know several talented photographers, writers, and musicians that unfortunately decided to stop sharing and even creating altogether because of the kinds of insults, accusations, and criticism they were receiving from strangers online. If given the power, they can drain your motivation and even change the way you personally feel about your work. What was once a strong passion can suddenly feel like a meaningless pursuit.
In November 2021, Andrea Celli wrote about his long-standing relationship with the Casentinesi Forests National Park in the heart of Italy and how during the Covid19 pandemic, he came to spend more time there to the benefit of both his project and his photographic practice.
He is happiest when he feels in harmony with nature - in the water, in the snow or inside a forest - and over time his photography has unsurprisingly moved towards a more intimate style of image making, often concentrated in the central Apennines away from the crowded photographic circuits and iconic places of Italy.
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 study and do as a career?
I grew up first in a small town in the hills of Florence and then moved to the city after finishing my university studies. The city gave me the opportunity to live and breathe art and beauty in every corner but never forgetting the more naturalistic part outside the urban context.
My studies and degree in architecture helped give my eye a certain order, often geometric. A search for a certain sense of aesthetic which I also frequently find in my fieldwork and in my photos.
‘Back in the day', using film was a necessity, rather than a choice, if you wanted to create photographs. My first camera, obtained when I was around eight years old, was a simple 35mm point and shoot, finished in a ‘spider-man’ livery. Along with the vast majority of camera owners in the 1980s and ’90s, my photography was simple snaps of holidays, family occasions and some teenage misadventures.
I dabbled with SLR cameras, a ‘Centon’ and an East German ‘Praktica’ that I remember being reliably unreliable. My knowledge improved a little, and I had the basics down, but it’s fair to say I didn’t know how to use them to their full potential.
Moving from Manchester to Bangor (just outside Snowdonia) in the mid-90s was a key time for me. An interest in the natural environment quickly developed hand in hand with a desire to capture better images of this new world around me. My photography improved further, but the craftmanship needed to use film really well still illuded me.
At the time digital cameras started to take off, the cost of a DSLR was beyond me, but I still abandoned my film cameras and began shooting almost exclusively with a digital point and shoot with a whopping 2 megapixels. During that period, my photography actually regressed as I reverted back to grabbing snaps and recording shots.
After moving to the lake district, I bought my first DSLR around 2006, and this proved to be a real jump off point for me. I consciously tried to get better at my photography and was helped immeasurably by the instant feedback on the rear of the camera confirming whether the image was a success or failure. Like others, I was mesmerised by the results I could get, the sharpness, detail, consistent colour etc.
Then around six years ago, I started to grow discontent. I’d mastered my equipment to the point where I’d begun to feel it was all a little too clinical and, dare I say, too easy to get results. This, combined with a photography community seemingly locked into a never-ending search for the latest ‘new thing’ in cameras and lenses, left me feeling cold. I’d lost my photography mojo, and I needed something to get it back.
Then around six years ago, I started to grow discontent. I’d mastered my equipment to the point where I’d begun to feel it was all a little too clinical and, dare I say, too easy to get results.
Film photography was having something of a revival at this time, and the idea of going back and trying to develop a level of proficiency and craftmanship that had eluded me twenty years before appealed. I jumped back in head first, starting with a medium format TLR, then a Box Brownie, then a 35mm SLR, then onto ‘Toy’ Cameras, then Polaroids, then Pinholes, Panoramic Cameras……and on.
Whereas modern digital cameras broadly produce the same generic image look (you’d be hard-pressed to tell what image came out of what digital camera), I found using a variety of film camera formats produced an eclectic mix of fundamentally different looking images. The variety thrown up by this journey of discovery was something I began to revel in.
The film camera that became my most trusty companion was the ‘HOLGA’. In essence, these are pieces of low-tech plastic hewn into the most basic medium format film camera, the antithesis of today’s advanced and expensive offerings. A brand-new model can be bought for a very modest outlay of just £35-40. You could spend one hundred and fifty times as much on a digital medium format camera, but first, I’d ask, are you going to get one hundred and fifty times the fun, disillusionment, exploration, joy, frustration or delight from it? I believe the answer, unequivocally, to all of those questions is no.
Technically, Holgas are incredibly simple. A fixed 60mm focal length, Zone focusing where you adjust focus ring symbols to match your estimated subject distance. Two apertures, f8 & f11, these are approximations as loose manufacturing tolerances mean every camera is ‘unique’. Finally, there are two shutter speeds, 1/100s approximately (ageing shutter springs will impact actual speed) & Bulb mode, which requires you to keep your finger pressed down on the shutter lever. Such a basic specification might horrify some but I’ve come to view it as a liberation rather than a limitation. It’s something that affords boundless opportunity to experiment with a gloriously crappy piece of plastic.
Technically, Holgas are incredibly simple. A fixed 60mm focal length, Zone focusing where you adjust focus ring symbols to match your estimated subject distance. Two apertures, f8 & f11, these are approximations as loose manufacturing tolerances mean every camera is ‘unique’.
Aside from Polaroid and Instax film cameras, the fundamental difference between digital and film photography is the point at which you get to see the image you’ve created. I’ve come to more appreciate something I read a while back:
The idea of waiting for something makes it more exciting.~Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again)
Having a material span of time between taking an image and being able to review it is something I’ve found strangely pleasing about film photography. The anticipation of having to wait and see whether you’ve created a masterpiece or a disaster can be delightful.
Whilst modern digital cameras are jam packed with a wealth of functions and incredible features, those things can act as a barrier to image creation. Having a multitude of control buttons, switches, wheels and menu options is not conducive to utilising your mental capacity on the most important photography fundamentals; seeing and composing.
Fifteen years ago, technical perfection and faithful reproduction of a scene set out before me were photography goals. Today, images eliciting an emotional response combined with a visual aesthetic I find pleasing are my goals.
The simplicity of film cameras such as HOLGA’s helps me achieve that. In the absence of an ultra-sharp lens and the latest sensor to resolve detail, they require a greater clarity of thought and the pinpointing of strong graphic forms to make the most of their idiosyncrasies.
The simplicity of film cameras such as HOLGA’s helps me achieve that. In the absence of an ultra-sharp lens and the latest sensor to resolve detail, they require a greater clarity of thought and the pinpointing of strong graphic forms to make the most of their idiosyncrasies.
Undoubtedly, it can be a more arduous journey to arrive at results you’re happy with and I’ve made countless mistakes along the way. But, the personal satisfaction and sense of reward that I get from producing an image through the medium of film is exponentially greater than that of digital.
In the past few years since returning to film, I feel I’ve learnt more about photography than I had in the fifteen years prior. That said, I’m still on an apprenticeship with film cameras and have reconciled myself to the prospect of never truly mastering them. It’s a vocation and a learning journey without an end destination but I’m ok with that, my photography mojo is back!
The island of Surtsey first broke through the Atlantic swell as a result of volcanic eruptions in 1963. The island lies just off Iceland's southwest coast on the mid Atlantic Rift, where two great oceanic plates are ripping apart from each other and forming new land. This barren rock, the newest of landmasses on our planet, was a source of schoolboy wonder for me, and yet looking at the satellite image on Google Maps as I write, you can see the distinctive green of life already starting to form on the volcano’s southern flanks. Significant new life on a bare rock in the middle of the ocean within 50 years. Nature is simply extraordinary in its ability to regenerate when given even the slightest opportunity.
In a similar way, our own times have changed at an incredible rate over the last 100 years, heralding immense opportunity. But I still find it hard to imagine just how quickly new incredible become the norm and expected. In a world where it is almost impossible to imagine life without flying, for example, I was recently reminded that the very first passenger flight took to the skies just 104 years ago in 1919, with the first mass produced car, the Curved Dash Oldsmobile, rolling of the production line two years earlier.
As an early proponent, I vividly remember just how the arrival of digital polarised and split the community. But for me, it was just so exciting, both in the field and with respect to post production opportunities.
The National Grid, bringing electricity to everyone’s homes, did not arrive until the 1930s, whilst the NHS was set up in 1948. With respect to photography, I bought my first digital camera, the iconic 10MP Canon 1ds, less than 20 years ago, in 2004. Ridiculed by some at the time, this new technology was soon to change our world.
As an early proponent, I vividly remember just how the arrival of digital polarised and split the community. But for me, it was just so exciting, both in the field and with respect to post production opportunities. Within a year, we were exploring what is now called ICM and other techniques rarely explored with film (though the legendary Freeman Paterson would rightly disagree). The new technology rapidly bought huge opportunities for cost effective creative exploration, opening opportunities to run tuition workshops as digital reformed the photographic world. With cheap air travel this quickly morphed into venue based photographic workshops to ever more romantic locations as clients craved new and exciting places to experience. A favourite venue, not only for us, became what remains one of my most beloved countries, Iceland, and even today the hairs tingle just at the thought. Seas, storms, snow and ice. And culture. And always my childhood romance with Surtsey just off her shores.
Almost 40 years ago, I moved to Wisconsin and found myself living near the Northern Unit of the Kettle Moraine State Forest.
It lies in an area of glacial deposits left behind from when the lobes of two ice age glaciers met, shaping its irregular terrain.
I was slow in embracing what was only five kilometres from my home, but eventually, I began exploring and have now accumulated many hours of wandering.
The Northern Unit of the Kettle Moraine State Forest is a pocket of green surrounded by agricultural land. With 12,150 hectares and a number of trails, the forest provides numerous opportunities to explore. It lies in an area of glacial deposits left behind from when the lobes of two ice age glaciers met, shaping its irregular terrain. It is home to drumlins, kettles, eskers, and some of the best examples of moulin kames in North America which provide an interesting but not spectacular terrain. While it has one of the oldest forests in southern Wisconsin, it is not a pristine wilderness. Nearly half of it was formerly agricultural land, with more having been logged. Parts were reforested with conifer plantations not typical of the area that was dominated by hardwoods pre-European settlement. It continues to be subjected to logging. The arrival of numerous exotic, invasive species has also left its mark, with non-native plant species now being widespread. The emerald ash borer from Asia has killed all of the once abundant ash trees.
Its unnatural state is what remains of nature in this part of Wisconsin. As a long-term observer of this area, it is easy to notice the changes. At the same time, it is easy to overlook the resilience of the land and its flora. It may be changing, but it still is green with unique terrain, and it was beginning to have a deepening hold on me. I do not want to see this forest as just another example of environmental loss. I still find in this land the ability to be lost in “nature” and also to be lost in oneself.
The things I was noticing about my surroundings inspired me to return to photography. For the last ten years, I have been photographing the area. I started trying to capture the kettle moraine with one photographic slice of the landscape at a time with the hope that the slices would add up to a document of the forest as a whole. My repeat visits to the same areas had me thinking about the work as a series rather than single images. With time, I realised my photographs were not documents. I was selecting views that presented a very personal view of this place. Through the photographs, I was creating my own personalised map of my walks both in space and through time.
Its unnatural state is what remains of nature in this part of Wisconsin. As a long-term observer of this area, it is easy to notice the changes. At the same time, it is easy to overlook the resilience of the land and its flora.
Even with having spent so much time in this area, it is still possible to see something intriguing around each corner. Knowing that each day it is possible to perceive the same world differently keeps the challenge and reward ongoing for both exploring and for photography. This land is not one of the large vistas. The subjects for photography are subtler and lead to a more reflective approach. The land, flora, and light gives one an ever changing surroundings that one needs to stay enthralled.
Photographer, Jonathan Chritchley, put me on the track of Lyle Gomes. This picture is on the cover photograph of the book “Imagining Eden: Connecting Landscapes”1. The book contains photographs made over a sixteen-year period from locations in America and Europe. These imaginative places were created as an attempt at recovering a connection with nature lost (Eden).
The special aspect ratio (~2¾ :1) of this picture might be the property of the picture that first catches the eye. After enquiring with Mr. Gomes, he told me this aspect ratio is the way he saw things. I changed the sentence to past tense as his latest work has different aspect ratios. Another portfolio, “Living with the Horizon” displayed the same characteristic. The influence of different aspect ratios on the message a picture gives only became fully clear to me after noting the uncommon aspect ratio of this picture. “Forrest Bench” radiates calmness, a certain serenity if you like. A quality that appeals to me, as getting away from day-to-day hectic and reaching a state of tranquillity is one of the reasons, I take pictures.
As I had seen a comparable theme before, I wondered why this theme is so important in arts. Does it have a particular message it is supposed to convey? If so, what is that message and why does it appeal to me? It triggered my curiosity towards themes in visual language. To find answers to those questions, I looked for examples in photography, painting and film and found out the bench appears in many artists’ works as a theme. Thinking about, it, not immediately having an answer, I remembered it to be present in literary arts as well. The above, the triggering of questions, also gives a partial answer to the question of why this picture is important to me.
Creating the first Natural Landscape book was a bit of an epic task. All of the decisions about overall design, font choices, typography etc all had to be made in advance of even starting to populate the book with images. As we then proceeded to add content, lots of ‘snags’ came up around how to get the best flow of content, how to cope with variable length text associated with images etc. I wrote a reasonably long article about creating the first book here, so have a look at this if you want to read more about the origins of the design and structure.
Because we had issues in getting the first book ready in time, this year we decided to print it in the UK and arrange our own shipments across to the US. This did mean that the standard paper size is slightly different but it also meant that we could use a small Heidelberg press which would have the benefit of making the printing more accurate (paper stretches and so if you use larger paper, you get more stretch and hence more registration issues across the full sheet). The downside of this is that we lose of a couple of cm in vertical height of the book.
We asked for feedback on the first book once it was printed and received lots of helpful comments. We were pleased that nobody had a problem with reading even the smallest of the fonts in the book so in our new book we decided we could tighten things up a little bit on the essays and main content (10pt typical font size, 13pt line height). This compensated for the loss in vertical height in many places.
The majority of the book from last year was well received and so we kept the main structure although we decided on three longer essays instead of the four essays in the original book. Was also moved the large photos next to each judges page and replaced them with a compilation of the judges favourites and comments so you can read them all in one location.
What we were very keen to do this year was to add some extra information about each of the included photographs. Ideally we wanted to include a long caption/short essay on each of the photographs, some information on how it was taken and a profile of each photographers. To include this in the book would almost double the size of it and so we thought we’d create a PDF that would include all of this information which you can open alongside the book either on a laptop or tablet. Although this added a significant amount of extra effort, I think the value it adds to the book is really worth it. I’d love to know your feedback?
Here’s the layout for a typical inclusion which shows the relevant page in the printed book followed by the layouts for the supporting pages in the Extended PDF. I've also created a small PDF with four images included to show the layout of the main book and PDF pages associated with them which you can download here.
The decision on which photograph to include for the front cover was fairly easy (once we’d restricted it by aspect ratio). Mieke Boynton’s aerial abstract was just so evocative!
Printing the book in the UK meant we were able to spend time on press and we were happy to see that the images coming off the press were very close indeed to the inkjet proofs (Thanks to Johnson's of Nantwich who let me stay with them on press for the whole three days of printing!). We had to play around with a few of the images because of the limits of the CMYK press, but overall I think we’ve got a good handle on how the printing works and it was very reassuring to see the pages coming off just as you would expect. My only caveat for anybody working on press is that images do shift in colour slightly when they’re drying down. I noticed more separation between magentas and blues in the wet prints as they came off press which often exaggerated digital noise/compression in these areas.
Once the final sheets came off press, all we had to do was to wait until they were bound and to mail them out. If anybody is interested in an article about the vagaries of posting out books (and other materials) worldwide - we definitely have enough experience to write something now!! If you're creating a book, don't underestimate this task and try to plan in advance!!
I’m exceptionally proud of the two books we’ve produced so far and if anybody is interested in buying a copy, you can use a coupon code of ONLAND15 for a 15% discount on these, and also on entering the competition if you’re interested. Click here for the purchase page. Also, if you enter the competition this year, you can buy a 50% off coupon for $20/£16 which can be redeemed against Volume One and Volume Two books and also against Volume Three once it is available in January 2024 (potentially saving over $100/£80).
Due to many requests, the books are also now available as PDFs for $20/£16.
I personally always wanted a high-quality compilation book representing the zeitgeist of landscape photography and I think we’ve come pretty close to achieving this. I honestly think that the Natural Landscape book is one of, if not the key features of the Natural Landscape Photography Awards.
If you have a copy of either book, I’d love to know what you think about them.
I recently had a conversation with a fellow photographer about the influences on our images and how it seems like some of these influences are conscious, but surprisingly, many more are unconscious. Clearly, the paths we consciously choose to take throughout our lives have a significant impact on the direction of our photography and what motivates us to create artwork. What’s perhaps more interesting, though, is how our unconscious selves and our history as human beings play a huge role in shaping what interests us as photographers. These things may include our upbringing, our friendships, our failed or successful relationships, where we’ve travelled, where we’ve lived, and what we find interesting in the world. After all, it was Minor White who coined the phrase, “All photographs are self-portraits.” As such, I would like to take the opportunity to apply this idea to the subject of today’s article, a photographer I’ve grown to admire here in my hometown of Durango, Colorado – Shanda Akin.
We’ve interviewed a couple of people before who photograph at night (Alex Bamford and Jasper Goodall), and this was my prompt to approach Justin, but there is illumination here too. It can be a privilege to open an avenue of enquiry into a photographer’s practice, and Justin tells me it’s the first time he’s put it into words. He has had a distinguished career as a portrait and lifestyle photographer, and there are insights into that, but it’s the way that he writes about his personal photography that is most absorbing. So make a cuppa and settle down; Justin has put a lot into this, and I think you will find plenty to take away.
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 Gainsborough, Lincolnshire. My family had been part of the town’s history in that they had set up industries that had seen the town thrive in the 19th and 20th Centuries. We were big fish in a small pond, silver spooners. At 8 I was dispatched to a boys' Catholic boarding school. Single-sex boarding schools are weird institutions - on the surface everything seems normal and proper and well-regulated - and the private life of the school, which was very Lord of the Flies? Mayhem. It was cold, it was harsh, and at times quite terrifying for a little one and it was home for 8 months of the year. Its saving grace was that it was surrounded by magnificent nature everywhere you looked, situated on the moors in the Vale of Pickering, in North Yorkshire. Waking up to snow on the dormitory floors that blew in through the obligatorily open windows “toughened me up”. Fortunately, I was able bodied, so I survived; I could hurl cricket balls, run like hell on the rugger pitch and across fields and fight my way out of any argument. The head described me as an inky little boy. I was a bit odd too, while the other boys bounced around to T Rex’s Metal Guru, I craved only Beethoven sonatas.
I have often wondered about the miracles of a seed - how can such a tiny speck grow into the most incredible flora, from a small daisy all the way up to a giant tree?
Hello, my name is Clare Newton. I am a photographic artist from East London. I create long-term projects in which I can totally immerse myself in the subject, and meet incredible specialists, scientists, and people connected to the subject I want to research. I enjoy spending time with them, learning about what they do, and then photographing and recording their scenarios, from which I can make a visual story from.
This project about seeds came from my quizzical enjoyment of nature. Each year I spend time camping on my own in my ‘hermitage’. A small 18th century Granary stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing but 13 amps of power and freshwater... that’s it! The experience totally immerses me in nature - making me become aware of my senses again; - smell, touch, light, shadows, patterns and fragility.
Living in the city, everything becomes dumbed down - the smell is so awful I have to stop using my senses. It is tragic, but it affects the way I think creatively too. I long to go on holiday, but the lack of employment prevents me, so I have to keep functioning and pushing my talents and abilities to perform at their absolute best. Then I do my utmost to make something happen so the work can be put to good use and benefit a great many people.
I am not from a horticultural background, but I love being in nature and discovering new subjects to learn about things that aren’t connected to my everyday life, then finding ways to share what I have learnt with the public. Many years ago, I was a volunteer for a special needs school. I found they had very few opportunities to get out and experience non-curriculum subjects. Since then, I have made it my ambition to reach out to people from all walks of life and bring something they may not know about.
A few years back, while camping at my annual artist’s hermitage in South England, I became fascinated by the thistle, its beautiful canopy that burst open and released a flight of seeds.
What’s so special about seeds?
A few years back, while camping at my annual artist’s hermitage in South England, I became fascinated by the thistle, its beautiful canopy that burst open and released a flight of seeds. How this prickly plant, so despised, still manages to survive the onslaught of a gardener's poison, a farmer’s weed control and other forms of destruction (what is so sad to find out is that this plant, above all others, is essential to the survival of bees and critical pollinators).
Inspired by this thought, I started collecting some thistle seeds and watched how they would capture the tiniest amount of airflow to lift them up and away to their next destination. This led me to become aware of how similar the dandelion is. Paying closer attention, I found that many flowers appeared to look the same but actually had a range of differences which I could photograph. I questioned myself, not knowing that both plants were, in fact, from the same greater family of Asteraceaes. What surprised me the most was when I discovered a decorative artichoke planted in a cathedral’s garden was closely related to the thistle. It never occurred to me that it was, in fact, the edible plant we see in greengrocers that is a giant thistle. It has the same overlapping fish scale patterns, a bright tuft of purple petals on top, and, when ripe, will release a flurry of furry seeds, each catching a breath of air to spread this happy family of plants.
I think there are so many aspects we take for granted and don’t pay much attention to and thus lose our natural ability to see or question the little things in life that sit right under our noses or in photographer’s speaking... lenses.
Once back to civilisation, I started researching these two plants and came across an interesting piece of research by Edinburgh University. They, too, were interested in the flight of seeds and for their next project, they looked at pappus producing plants and testing their flight ability in order to find the most efficient flyers of all the pappus-based seeds and that being the dandelion.
Most pappus-based seeds have a round fluffy canopy with the seed tightly attached to the hair. The dandelion is sparing with its pappus as it only has a flat canopy with a long pendulum tail with the seed attached to that instead. It is remarkable, this provides stability in a variety of different wind strengths. The pendulum enables the canopy to stay at the top with the weight adjusting for direction and upward drawing effect. According to the initial research by a team based at Edinburgh University, Professor Viola found the dandelion's seed could fly four times more efficiently than a human-made parachute.
Just like science, photography, too, has to undergo a certain amount of experimentation. There is something magical with the light on pappus based seeds, but trying to capture something the eye sees and comprehends is a different matter.
Just like science, photography, too, has to undergo a certain amount of experimentation. There is something magical with the light on pappus based seeds, but trying to capture something the eye sees and comprehends is a different matter. I mix the techniques of camerawork up to suit a situation sometimes, I crossover techniques I use in the studio, out in the field. The best light source in the world is bright sunshine. I really don’t get why so many photographers seem to curse it for its stark light and harsh shadows. I just move around a subject to avoid it! What to me is so logical is that DSLR’s are programmed to work at their best using direct sunlight - all the colours and sharpness happen when the camera has everything it needs to make an intense rendering. The sun is beautiful to work with, but my!
One does have to pay attention to time - as, unlike a studio set up, where light is fixed, the sun lengthens and changes its K (kelvin colour temperature) rating - plus the added drawback is the inconsistent cloud cover, darting all over the place. The trick is not to see these factors as problems but work harmoniously with them in order to find the magic in making the image. It is all there - it is just a matter of tuning into the relationship between your camera and the environment.
From Biblical beginnings
I became fascinated with the story of how a 2,000-year-old date was discovered and miraculously germinated. I wanted to see if it was possible to find a fossilised seed without traipsing across an unknown desert or paying exorbitant amounts for something I didn’t really want to keep for long. To my amazement, I found I could purchase one for under a tenner. Okay, it might not be very big - but I was sure it would serve my purpose for this project.
What arrived in the post was a perfectly formed Horsetail Seed Pod (Equicalastrobus), from Morocco which dates to around 56 million years old. This idea took me on a new journey. I questioned: Is it possible for this seed to have any living descendants?
Apparently, yes! Although not at such a giant scale as the fossil - Horsetail (Equisetum arvense), often called mare's tail, does exist. But it comes with a great big warning sign when purchasing it for a garden. “garden public enemy number one. It looks like it belongs in Jurassic Park and if left unchecked, it will spread like wildfire. It produces spores, spreads from the roots, and even small pieces of root will grow into plants”, says Allotment Gardener. At this point, I backed down from my enterprising and inquisitive photographer’s hunger to take home to photograph. This became an interesting concept for me, as it is living proof of a plant’s success in adaptation to changing environments and, astonishingly, over millenniums.
On a previous visit to Manchester, I remembered there was a beautiful and comprehensive museum of nature. I called them up and asked if they could help me find out more about my fossil seed. I had a fascinating tour of the museum’s collection. Seeing first hand an old Herbarium which contains nearly a million species of plant and fungus from around the world and mainly collected by Victorian enthusiasts.
I have never before had an opportunity to see such a private collection not open to the public. With each room, I made a mental note of items I would like to photograph. In the furthest room lay a small box with narrow drawers. Inside were presented row upon row of microscope slides.
My Fossil seed is a Horsetail Seed Pod Fossil (Equicalastrobus) from Morocco, dated approx 56 million years old. I searched the index boxes and located a similar set containing variations of the Horsetail; Horsetail plant (Equisetum Arvense) or in English: Horse Tail, Horse Willow.
Each with a carefully preserved seed or slice of a seed. Each slide is decorated with gold embossed letters and patterns with a central window - an enamel ring framing the cover slip pressing its specimen to the flat glass base. At the end of each slide is a tiny label with copper plate writing, detailing the specimen’s Latin title.
My Fossil seed is a Horsetail Seed Pod Fossil (Equicalastrobus) from Morocco, dated approx 56 million years old. I searched the index boxes and located a similar set containing variations of the Horsetail; Horsetail plant (Equisetum Arvense) or in English: Horse Tail, Horse Willow. Further on my journey, I found that Britain has a rare living version of my fossil which is found in South Wales.
You can see what happens when research and ferreting around, so to speak, leads from one aspect to another. It just requires an open mind, full of questions, then to take those questions and make some interesting visual answers, in order to build on a story that can be shared.
I love how the camera and a passion take me on so many unexpected journeys, I just hate it when it all has to come to an end and I then need to get a little bit commercial so I can keep doing what I’m good at.
Seeds of Change Exhibition
Seed of Change covers six alternative areas of research connected to seeds. Each tells a story through a narrative of pictures and words. From small beginnings, the aim was for the display to grow and include some film footage and recorded interviews with many of the scientists.
The artist-photographer Clare Newton brings these stories to life with the art of photography in a new exhibition held at:
Gilbert White's House & Gardens Opening Date: 06 Jun 23 until 28 Aug 23
The Wakes, High Street, Selborne, Hants GU34 3JH
Open daily, Tuesday to Sunday, 10:30am to 4:30pm
RHS Wisley - Talk on 11th July 2pm, Hilltop Live series of free talks, demonstrations and interactive sessions at RHS Garden Wisley, GU23 6QB.
This project is just coming live, the artist would like to make contact with venues who would love to exhibit the project.
Contrary to a great deal of popular landscape photography, where the landscape is often portrayed as a pristine and wild land, contemporary landscape photography takes an alternate view and rarely portrays the landscape in this way. The subjects of contemporary landscape photography tend to err on the effects of our custodian role in the landscape, often showing how we, the landscape suffers because of this.
Simon Norfolk's work has represented the effects of war, genocide and climate change and the curators of the 'Landscape Trauma' exhibition have used his approach as a keystone to collect together a range of different artists, from John Blakemore, Faye Godwin and John Davies to Paul Hart, Mitra Tabrizian and Paul Seawright. The collection covers a lot of ground thematically and is a fantastic opportunity to see a range of alternative approaches to landscape representation.
Tell us a bit about the project 'Landscape Trauma’ and its underlying premise. The concept seems to encompass all landscapes apart from true wilderness photography.
We wanted to explore the ways that we impact the land, the idea that very few landscapes are untouched by a human presence. As we worked on the show, we started to focus on the landscape as the site of historical events, so the title suggests both the trauma undergone by the landscape but also the sites of traumatic events in human history.
How did you choose the photographers involved?
Our mission is to celebrate diversity both in the range of photographic practice and also in the photographers that we present. Landscape often seems like a particularly male phenomenon, and the countryside, historically, can be seen as a site of privilege tied to aristocratic land ownership, so we were keen to address this legacy by platforming a range of contemporary voices.
“... coinciding with the 25th anniversary of Simon Norfolk’s seminal book, For Most of It I Have No Words (1998).” Was Simon’s work a focal point for the exhibition? Did you consider bringing more of Simon’s work into the exhibition?
Simon’s book is a really important one for me. I’m especially interested in his landscapes in which there appears to be no trace of history at all. If we didn’t read the captions, we wouldn’t know why he had selected the location. So his book was a conceptual starting point for the show rather than its focus in the gallery space.
When you were curating the project, did you have a particular story or narrative that you wanted the viewer to take away?
We divided the show into two aspects, one dealing with history and the other with our contemporary relationship with the land. So, for example, we include a major work by Victor Burgin that addresses the Holocaust but also a very recent work by Mitra Tabrizian that wittily responds to the Covid-19 pandemic.
How did the project evolve? Did you have to refine the vision of what you wanted to achieve?
We made the major decision to hang all three floors on themes around the landscape and the environment and decided to stage six simultaneous shows that would reflect the importance we attach to these issues. We are excited, for example, to also be presenting Mandy Barker’s remarkable installation, Plastic Soup. They are visually spectacular works that look at marine plastics and their effect on nature.
Paul Hill, Mobile Objects Series (Forage Harvester), 1981
The Centre for British Photography opened earlier this year, can you tell us how the launch and previous exhibitions have been received and let us know about future exhibitions?
The response from visitors and the press has been amazing. I can’t believe how busy we have been. We’ve had over 100 pre-booked group visits, and over 1000 people entered our open call. We’ve certainly demonstrated that there is a huge, enthusiastic audience for a Centre that focuses on British-based photographers. We’re now working on our autumn programme, which will focus on community projects.
Exhibition Details
The Centre for British Photography will focus on innovative photographic approaches to landscape and the environment in its SIX new exhibitions and displays opening this June. From a lightbox composite work of Helen Sear to an immersive exhibition of photographs by Mandy Barker, the Centre will encourage visitors to reconsider the world around them and our impact on the landscape.
Artificial islands are sprouting from many seas at a speed and on a scale never seen before. I spent two years exploring these extraordinary landscapes (The Age of Islands, published in the USA as Elsewhere). I wanted to capture their oddity and vision as well as the dusty, half-finished reality. Whether it is the dozens of islands massing off the Chinese mainland or the growing fleet that provide iconic offshore skylines in the Gulf States, they are monuments to both creativity and hubris.
New islands are flat, usually busy with construction, and they are often hard to get to. They throw up many challenges. All I know for sure were the clichés I wanted to avoid. Most new build islands have a lot of publicity, nearly always involving futuristic computer simulations and swooping drone footage. A bird’s eye view can capture their jewel like quality. But these distant images lack intimacy and have the torpid blandness that clings to all promotional bling. Maps can provide a more creative way to achieve a panoptic perspective. There are good reasons why maps enliven the pages of so many adventure stories. Labels like ‘cave’, ‘treasure’ and ‘secret base’ are impossible to resist and point to the fun and drama of off-kilter landscapes. I created home-spun, hand drawn maps of the islands I visited, like this one of Ocean Reef, the super exclusive islands that offer security and tranquillity to their rich residents a mere 30 seconds drive from Panama City.
I created home-spun, hand drawn maps of the islands I visited, like this one of Ocean Reef, the super exclusive islands that offer security and tranquillity to their rich residents a mere 30 seconds drive from Panama City.
The Age of Islands uses mixed methods - maps, interviews, narratives, as well as photographs - to give the feel of these unique sites. Since many of my Chinese examples are found in the waters below coastal mountains, I spent hours trudging upwards with the hope of seeing islands in their widest possible setting. The best views of the huge and still-growing island that accommodates Hong Kong International Airport are from the glass-bottomed cable cars that trundle tourists up a local peak.
I had been undecided about where I should take my photography in the autumn of 2022. I contemplated a workshop revisiting the amazing Italian Dolomites or, alternatively, a road trip through Montana and North Dakota exploring the ghost towns and abandoned farms there. After much deliberation, in the end, I chose the road trip as it promised to be different from anything I had done before.
In the immediate run-up to the trip, the omens were not especially good. I had been ill with some form of viral illness (definitely not Covid!) in the ten days prior to the trip. I had felt so ill at one point that I seriously contemplated cancelling the whole thing.
The Journey
I started my journey exhausted. I strained my back at the airport and spent the entirety of my two outbound flights sitting bolt upright, terrified of triggering a severe episode of spasm that would spell utter disaster for the trip. I began to wonder if I’d made a terrible decision. I began to envision dull, overcast weather; endless featureless plains stretching into the far distance; and cold winds. I resolved to dig deep to rescue something from this total fiasco.
I landed in Billings at about 10pm local time - 23 hours after I’d started my journey. I was met at the motel with a friendly receptionist who had worked out who I was before I could say my name. Moments later, I was presented with a cold can of beer by my friends - JOY!!
Meet Up
A good night’s sleep transformed my outlook. I met some of the group I was due to travel with at breakfast the next morning. Four of us spent a few hours exploring downtown Billings, walking around near the train tracks that bisect the town, and investigating the local industrial sites, railway yards etc. That evening the whole group met up for introductions and headed out for supper. Whilst we were eating, it started to snow…..
Weather #1
When I had checked weather websites before the trip, I read that a temperature of +5degC was typical for that time of year. I was passed a warning that it might be as cold as -5degC just before I left the UK. In the end, it got as cold as -25degC during my visit, so I was immensely glad I had packed plenty of layers.
That cold snap (earlier than usual) brought a dramatic change to the landscape. We awoke to find a few inches of snow on the ground. It stayed well below zero for the next 10 days, so almost none of it melted during our tour. Definite serendipity!
Geography and History
The High Plains stretch from Colorado and Nebraska all the way up through Eastern Montana and the Dakotas into Canada. The area had very little, mainly indigenous population, before the 1880s. A combination of new laws and the desire of the railroads to form east-west routes here led to land grants being made to encourage immigration from the 1880s. Much of the land was practically given away, but the route of the railways and, therefore, the land granted was not always good land. Much of it was suitable for low intensity ranching of cattle and no more.
The railways were keen to establish communities to support and service the rail network, so encouraged the setting up of small communities at fairly regular distance intervals along the planned routes. Immigrants from impoverished European countries, as well as east coast city dwellers, were tempted to re-settle in these newly opened-up lands. The politicians and railway companies were well aware that much of the land was not that suitable for farming.
This huge open, almost treeless region can be prone to extremes of weather. The rainfall in parts of the plains is very low, the winds can be intense. There are huge ranges of temperature between the intensely cold winters and the parched hot summers. Summers can bring intense storms that ruin crops.
Ploughing the land destroyed the indigenous deep-rooted buffalo prairie grass that had been holding the soil together. The exposed broken-down soil was vulnerable to the intermittent intense winds that simply blew away the topsoil. As the damaging farming practices persisted, the land began to fail. Low rainfall years compounded the dust-bowl problem.
More and more farms went bankrupt, and families had to give up and move away, often at very short notice. No one wanted to buy up failed farms, so the population began to decline. The remaining farms slowly moved towards mechanisation, which needed far fewer workers. This steep population decline was as fast as 25% in a single decade, with the period from the 1930s to the 1970s being the worst.
Additionally, new interstate roads bypassed the little towns that were built along the railway and highways. Smaller railway branch lines closed down. The less efficient elements of farming infrastructure, such as the smaller grain elevators, lost out to bigger, more modern ones. This killed off commercial activity, too and accelerated the decline.
Trip and Landscape
We set out from Billings in our rental 4x4 SUVs, and for the next nine days, we drove snow-covered roads for about 1,700 miles in a great clockwise loop; up North and West through Montana, then East, skirting close to the Canadian border and into northern North Dakota, before looping back South and then West to Billings in Montana for our flights home.
Instead of the featureless plains I had feared, what I got was an endless Narnia-like winter wonderland of snow-covered, frozen plains, small stands of cottonwood trees encrusted in perfect hoar-frost, winding little creeks and rivers, sunlight glowing through woodland and more. The snow and frost clung to everything - even the finest blades of grass, every fence post and length of wire.
The landscape was, in times and places, close to monochrome with only subtle coloured tones. On the brighter days, the lines of wheat stubble in the huge prairie fields glowed gold in the sunlight in flowing stripes and waves dotted with occasional little lines of distant grain silos.
Visibility varied from many miles to just a few hundred yards. It snowed at times - light blowing fine snowflakes. It maintained the stunningly beautiful snowy coating on the fine branches and twigs of trees and on the wild grasses.
The landscape was generally fairly flat with slow undulations. The roads were mainly straight, as is typical in the USA. Between the small communities on the highways, the landscape was largely empty. We would pass derelict barns and other farm buildings. Some settlements had almost no signs of current inhabitation. Their most prominent features were the tall shapes of out-of-use grain elevators set next to the old railway tracks that used to service them.
On the bigger roads, we would see amazingly long trains slowly moving along the tracks that often ran close to the highways.
Abandoned farm buildings would often have a number of rusting, abandoned tractors, harvesters, pickup trucks, lorries and cars nearby. These vehicles were sometimes lined up. Some were intact, others missing sections of bodywork. I was not infrequent to see bullet holes in the windows of old vehicles - from locals doing a little target practice.
Many domestic buildings were in a very bad state of repair. Large numbers were gone entirely or just a pile of wood. Settlers to the region placed great importance on education and religion. They took pride in their community and public buildings. Schoolhouses, as well as churches, were typically better built that their houses. For this reason, these buildings were often the last structures left standing after decades of onslaught from the intense heat of summers, the weight of snow in winter and the high winds scouring the plains throughout the year. Twice we arrived at the known location of an old church only to find a pile of wood.
Settlers planted cottonwood trees as barriers to protect their properties from the high winds. With snow on the ground, the little groups or lines of cottonwood trees were often the only indication people had once lived there.
Access and locals
The majority of the scenes we photographed were taken from public land. Property privacy and trespass are taken very seriously in the USA. We were careful never to climb fences and never walk on land that wasn’t freely open or showing ‘no trespass’ signs.
Local people would stop and ask us what we were doing, but this was always in a friendly inquisitive way rather than challenging us. We had long, fascinating conversations with many of them and learned a lot about their local communities and the changes and challenges they had experienced in recent times.
We had arrived right at the peak of hunting season. Many locals would have their hunting rifles right beside them in their trucks. Groups of people wore camouflage jackets and trousers but sported bright orange safety hunting caps.
My experience
It was a humbling experience witnessing the scenes of abandoned farms and houses. Each derelict, weathered building formed a silent testament to someone’s personal tragedy. A lot of houses were unlocked, with doors open. The interiors still had furniture, old-style fridges and washing machines. I found wardrobes full of clothes. Kitchen cupboards were full of crockery, utensils, cans of food etc. There were books and newspapers, children's toys, board games, and tools. Ceilings had come down in most properties, exposing old lath. Birds had made nests in many rooms.
Everywhere there was silence. I couldn’t help thinking of the echoing noise of children playing when I came across a pair of girl's roller skates. People had worked, eaten, slept, and dreamt here. They have lived and loved here, but it had all ended in failure, broken dreams, and bankruptcy. Humbling, perhaps, isn’t a strong enough word for the feeling of melancholy, abandonment, desolation and loss. The derelict, empty schoolhouses were a particularly strong reminder of just how many families were part of these lost communities.
As a Scotsman, my mind turns to the highland clearances and the abandoned settlements of the West Coast and the Hebrides. There is a persisting sadness in the broken remains of the crofts and enclosures in Wester Ross and Sutherland.
The silence was only broken by the sound of the wind, blowing in arctic air and by the occasional whistle of a train in the far distance.
Weather #2
The cold was bitter at times. Wind chill added to the feeling. My eyes stung. A strong memory is of my nose burning in the icy, dry air. It even started to bleed a little bit. When the cold gets to your feet, it takes hold. Getting your feet warm again to make the intense pain better takes remarkably long. I was glad to have my brilliant windproof Keela jacket and salopettes, fleece lined trousers and double gloves.
The cold weather was consistent and persistent. Some days had mainly blue skies - the hoar frost sparkled in the direct light. Other days were so overcast that the white of the sky merged seamlessly with the snowy ground. There was always a sense of the wide open spaces, even when the visibility was poor - the landscape was like a blank canvas.
Making images
I started off like a good landscape photographer does - carefully setting up each shot, using my tripod, using mirror-lockup etc. It was too cold for all of that. The temperature was so low that the lens collar on my zoom became loose, and all the tripod leg and head joints either got stuck or became loose. After a day of so, I gave up and shot hand-held! This meant that I tended to take more shots (both for insurance because of the camera shake and because the process of composition was freed-up so much).
From seemingly inauspicious beginnings, I ended up having one of the most brilliant experiences of my lifetime. As road trips go, this will be very hard to beat!
Choosing a single image for an end frame article has been an interesting process. I have been going back through a lifetime of images in my mind and in photobooks, thinking about pictures that have stayed with me over many years.
In the early days when I was first studying photography, my exploration of what has and could be done with the medium really caught fire. Looking back, I realize those early obsessions had a profound and formative influence on my own image making, although I wasn’t necessarily aware of it at the time.
This exhibition, co-curated by Martin Barnes, drew together a number of established and emerging photographers, all working at dusk. The artists included Philip-Lorca diCorcia, Gregory Crewdson, Robert Adams and Bill Henson, as well as emerging talents Chrystel Lebas and Liang Yue. There was also a specially commissioned film installation by Ori Gersht.
The immersive staging of the exhibition lead the viewer into a dreamlike world. The walls were hung with sheer white fabric, which diffused the soft mauve and pink lighting, bathing everything in the atmosphere and stillness of twilight. This set the stage for a visual and psychological exploration of the effects of twilight. The large scale photographs suspended in front of these diaphanous wall coverings seemed to glow in the ethereal light that can only be found at dusk when the world shimmers for just a few minutes with the last traces of the setting sun; rich reds and oranges fade into purples and inky blues.
The image I have chosen for End Frame is from Chrystel Lebas’ snowy landscapes series Between Dog and Wolf, named Untitled 10, although my thoughts really refer to her series as a whole. The bleak wide-format landscape image shows a snow covered forest in the flat cold light of a winter afternoon. The title Between Dog and Wolf refers to the French expression entre chien et loup, which is used to describe the time of day when it is too dark to distinguish between a dog and a wolf. The blues of dusk cast a deep cold across the images so that it seems to seep into your bones. This is a landscape devoid of people, silent, hushed and completely still in the moment between day and night when shadows soften, the palette slowly desaturates, and the imagination takes flight.
The images are striking in their lightness of hand, allowing the viewer to project themselves into the scene, feeling the chill and the isolation as narratives form in the mind. All observers of photography bring their own experience to the viewing process, and these images leave space for multiple interpretations, but the titling gently nudges our imaginings.
The title Between Dog and Wolf refers to the French expression entre chien et loup, which is used to describe the time of day when it is too dark to distinguish between a dog and a wolf.
This is a moment of transformation - it is as if humans may never have existed, and time stands still.
Whenever I view these images, the feelings return to me just the same. Moments of quiet and isolation can be rare in our busy lives, but these images bring a clarity and calm that I usually find only out in nature - they are transportive, and I feel I am about to begin a long solitary walk into the silent magic hour.
At the heart of the series is Lebas' skill as a photographer and her ability to capture the subtle nuances of light and shade, texture and tone, that give each image its unique character and emotional resonance. The result is a body of work that is both visually stunning and emotionally affecting, a meditation on the transience of time and the power of the natural world to alter our perceptions of reality.
Ellie has just released her newest series, Chalk Streams. The series highlights the threats facing ecologically rare and precious chalk Streams, 85% of which are found in the south of the UK. These rare and delicate ecosystems are under threat from numerous stressors, including climate change, pollution from sewage overspill and farmland runoff, water abstraction, and the practice of stocking rivers with trout for sport fishing.
In this series, light reflected from the surface of the nearby sea is overlaid onto river landscapes, creating a sparkling ingress. This beguiling glimmer snakes its way upstream, but the peaceful waters and arcadian setting bely a darker narrative. The transposed light symbolises the coming consequences of climate change, water abstraction, pollution and rising sea levels as they insidiously impose themselves on these pristine landscapes. The series highlights the grave perils facing these important ecosystems and the critical need to protect them from the pressures humanity is placing upon them.'
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.
The John Day National Monument, Painted Hills Unit is near Mitchell, Oregon, USA. One glance at the landscape conjures millennia of extreme geologic changes. Experts tell us a once tropical climate was followed by a volcanic period during the Eocene and Oligocene epoch.
Hot, wet and cool, dry weather extremes produced layers of volcanic red ash, mudstone, siltstone, shale and lignite. Chemical elements in the soil including aluminum, iron, magnesium, titanium, and others mixed and oxidized. The colorful mounds we see today is the result of this slow 50 million year geologic transition.
Ironically it was during an outing to the Painted Hills that I began a photographic transition. Unfulfilled with capturing objective, representational images, I began to explore other approaches. Influenced and inspired by the work and prose of creative role models like Guy Tal, Bruce Barnbaum, and the cadre of other expressive photographers, I reexamined my personal motivation and ambition.
The photographs in this folio represent transition first steps. They represent a new mindset, a new creative intent. The transition has begun. I don’t expect the transition to be quick or easy. I am only hoping it won’t take a millennium!
Top Left: The Trabucco is an ancient fishing machine typical of the Italian coasts used for collecting fish through nets.
Top Right: The windmills of the Saline di Trapani were used for the extraction of sea salt in large tanks filled with seawater.
Bottom Right: The Porto Canale di Cervia is located in the Adriatic Riviera Romagnola, is considered one of the most beautiful cities of the Riviera and is known as the city of fishermen.
Bottom left: The Pepoli Castle of the medieval city of Erice in the province of Trapani (Sicily) is also known as Torretta (small tower) Pepoli a not very ancient structure dating back to 1.850 belonging to Count Agostino Pepoli, hence the name Torretta Pepoli.
When exploring the urban landscape, one can sometimes stumble upon a treasure trove of possibilities. It was a happy accident when the apartment I rented for a brief stay in London with another photographer friend just happened to be a stone’s throw from the famous Highgate Cemetery.
Notable for its illustrious ‘inhabitants’, this sprawling but crowded cemetery was once considered London’s creepiest cemetery. However, it is also a lush and somewhat untamed nature reserve. Crawling with vines and brambles, the ancient tombs, expressive statuary, and tilting lichen covered headstones seem to reach through nature’s tangled web in search of the light of day. It simply begged exploration.
Electing to give myself a very special assignment before I left home, I bravely committed to taking one camera on this trip to London, and one fixed 25mm lens (equivalent to 50mm full frame] leaving all other equipment in Toronto. Additionally, I chose the strict criteria of setting my camera to square format and monochrome and not changing it. Little did I know how profoundly important this self-assignment would become.
Forced to photograph with strict, self-imposed limitations, I was nudged into finding perspectives I never would have considered. As I slowed myself down, I let my curiosity control my creativity. It became far more physical to move around the vegetation and statuary in search of a composition and to position myself exactly where I needed to be. It took time and grounded thought to carefully compose, absorb the bizarre ambience, decipher the faint and weathered epitaphs, and feel the mood of the moment. With this new approach, I unexpectedly connected quite intimately with my subjects and developed a deep, surprisingly powerful relationship with them. I still reflect back on the collection of images from this project as denoting a critical turning point for me in ‘seeing’.
I am a staunch believer in projects. This particular one took my photographic experiences to new personal heights and depths, which carried itself throughout the entire trip. First, I was able to travel overseas with a simple and single carry on bag which allowed me to relax emotionally and physically into the travel. But more important, by not packing more than one lens and one body plus committing to a monochrome setting from the very start, I honed my practice down to the bare essentials and successfully crossed the hurdle of needing every piece of equipment in my bag. I was totally freed from decision-making stress and the burden of cumbersome equipment. This allowed me to work my craft with what I had, physically and metaphorically, with no regrets.
I don't always photograph this way but the valuable lessons it taught me cannot be learned in any workshop or seminar. I challenge everyone who is hopelessly hooked on their gear, to simply ‘let it go’. And, if you take the challenge, I would love to hear about it.
Much of the boundary between the Pacific Northwest states of Washington and Oregon is defined by the Columbia River on the final leg of its epic 1,200 mile journey from the Canadian Rockies to the Pacific Ocean. It cleaves a deep gorge for 80 miles east-west through the Cascade Mountain Range, aided in the past by cataclysmic Ice Age floods that left impressive basalt cliffs towering thousands of feet above the river. It makes for an inspiring road trip to drive one of the highways that run along either side of the river: They traverse a diverse range of ecosystems, from a near-desert environment of grasslands on the rain-shadowed east side of the Cascades, to temperate rainforest on the west side. Incised back from the main gorge are numerous side canyons, and these host the hundreds of waterfalls that the gorge is renowned for. Spring and summer months see tourists flock to the region to view the more spectacular falls that are fueled by snow melt from the Cascadian peaks.
If anything in nature could be described as Gothic in architecture, these canyons would qualify - often deep and narrow, terminating in soaring cascading torrents forming an altar backdrop. The sound of the larger falls thundering into the basalt and echoing off the canyon walls would drown out any human choir. This is all very photogenic for sure, but for a solitary and more subdued experience without the crowds, consider visiting during the depths of the winter months. The skies are likely to be overcast and if it’s not raining, chances are it’s snowing. This of course makes for more challenging photography, but also the potential for more rewarding results. Altogether a darker, shadowy and more mysterious experience. Little of the verdant green of summer remains, except for the velvety mosses coating the branches of leafless trees and wetted rocks.
The long-fallen leaves now coat the ground in a mosaic of matted and forlorn browns. Their decomposition perfumes the air with a solemn mustiness. If the architecture of the canyons and falls evokes Gothic, then the winter aesthetic could be described as Goth - mist-shrouded and melancholic, stark basaltic blacks and greys dominate, making a black and white photographic approach seem quite appropriate (and perhaps nodding to the subculture found in the near-by city of Portland!).
Much has been written about the benefits of landscape and nature photography on our health and well being (read articles on mental health and depression). A growing number of well known professional photographers have consistently offered that view and have actively promoted their commercial offer and workshop content on the premise that time spent alone in nature with our camera has positive effects on our morale, levels of anxiety, and at an extreme as an antidote to depression.
I took up 'serious' photography about ten years ago and am grateful for and embrace the relief that it has given me through some dark times and periods of personal turmoil.
In general, I agree with that view, however, I would suggest that it is too simplistic a position to take and that there is a wider context that needs to be considered.
Looking back on my life so far, I have regrettably reached the conclusion that I have suffered from anxiety and depression for most of my life and certainly all my adult life. I took up 'serious' photography about ten years ago and am grateful for and embrace the relief that it has given me through some dark times and periods of personal turmoil. I have had moments of sheer exhilaration in the mountains, periods of peace and tranquillity in the woodland, and times of unconscious immersion in the intimacy of a coastal environment.
Those times have undoubtedly helped me put aside the challenges that everyday life brings.... however, and this is the point of this article, those moments in time are only temporary. They represent a brief release from the issues that trouble us and which can take hostage of our thoughts. When you return from your excursion in nature, your troubles have not magically disappeared, they remain and, in my case, are sometimes magnified because of the precious time I have spent in nature and the subsequent contrast with the turmoil of everyday life.
Actual time spent out in the field can also present problems to people with mental health issues. I am sure we have all experienced days when we trudge around devoid of inspiration, struggling to find our creative mojo. For those who are troubled and unsettled, those occasions can magnify our sense of unease and increase the feeling of isolation from the world. It becomes easy to question your ability to find something inspirational and ultimately can spiral into a mindset where you question the reason for being a photographer in the first place. Such thoughts can take over and ultimately detract from all the proven benefits of being out with the camera.
For those who are troubled and unsettled, those occasions can magnify our sense of unease and increase the feeling of isolation from the world. It becomes easy to question your ability to find something inspirational and ultimately can spiral into a mindset where you question the reason for being a photographer in the first place.
For many of us, most of our photography practice is done on our own, whether that be time in the field or time spent processing and printing our images. I don't know whether that is always a good thing. From my perspective, solitude and isolation are two very different concepts. Although not a clear cut view, solitude can be a choice, whereas isolation is often, but not necessarily always, a feeling brought on by loneliness. In my more positive times, I choose solitude because I want to experience nature on my own, accompanied only by my thoughts and senses. However, in less positive times, that solitude can feel more like isolation, which in turn can negatively impact my health and wellbeing. I know that landscape and nature photography is an essential element of my life.
I love the connection with nature, the time spent in the elements, and the sheer joy of creating and printing an image. The benefits to me are immeasurable and far outweigh any downside. However, it does present its challenges, as I am sure it does to others, and as such, the question remains as to how I can carry on my work without suffering the impact of that feeling of isolation and despair brought on through time spent on this solitary pursuit.
The important thing is: you must have something to say about the world.~Paul Strand
I have always had difficulty titling my photographs. It seems an easy task, yet I find it to be anything but. I was reminded of this recently as I added images to my website during a long overdue update. Most of the titles ended up being literal (e.g., Sugar Maple in Autumn), some metaphorical (e.g., Solitude), and a few cringe-worthy. I have long wondered why the difficulty. It seems contradictory that many titles are literal when I preach about photography's expressive potential and the idea that photos can be more than illustrations of literal things and serve as a metaphor for emotions. To name the photograph after the subject matter when that is not what the picture is about feels wrong. And yet, I am uncertain what many of them are “about.” Shouldn’t the title be self-evident if it’s my creation?
Social media has opened our eyes to a wealth of photographic destinations. All you need to do is rock up in front of one of those Instagram-able landscapes, and your photography will immediately get better, right? Jim Richardson’s book ‘Chased by the Light’ made a big impact on me, but “If you want to be a better photographer, stand in front of more interesting stuff.” Sorry Jim, I much prefer Elliott Erwitt’s “To me, photography is an art of observation. It’s about finding something interesting in an ordinary place."… I’ve found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them.”
I’m a big advocate of photographing your local, so I was delighted to learn that Sigfrido had made a conscious decision not to travel but to concentrate on his home ground of California while improving his photographic technique. Fair enough, it’s a state that is big enough to have plenty of ‘wow’ opportunities, but I really like websites that are personal and relevant and not a resume of workshop destinations. And in Sigfrido’s case, its work that has scored highly in the National Landscape Photography Awards 2022.
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’m a Salvadorian American born and raised in Los Angeles, California. I’m a husband to a beautiful and supportive wife and a father to an adorable son with a heart-melting smile. I’ve always been interested in nature, the outdoors, and the pursuit of adventure. I remember being fascinated by the stories my father would tell me (and still tells me to this day) about his adventures as an ornithologist in El Salvador. He has innumerable stories about exploring the cloud forests of El Salvador while studying birds and sometimes bats for the natural history museum. At an early age, my interest in nature further developed by going on camping trips with my family to our local mountains. My parent’s influence, plus my constant viewing of BBC and National Geographic nature documentaries, nurtured an admiration and love for nature.
When I started university, I knew I wanted to pursue a career in science, but I wasn’t sure what area of science to concentrate in. I was fortunate enough to participate in a marine biology semester provided by the California State University system on Catalina Island. During the semester, we spent 3 months living on the island, spending countless hours in the water studying the organisms we found. Through this experience, I realised marine biology checked off many of my interests; it filled my days with adventures through scuba diving, fieldwork, and travel, but most importantly, it fed my curiosity about nature.
I then pursued my master’s in marine biology, working for Dr. Peter Edmunds, a well-renowned physiological ecologist studying coral reefs. During my masters, I had the opportunity to travel to remote tropical islands like Moorea in French Polynesia and St. John in the US Virgin Islands to study the coral reefs. I was particularly interested in the role microhabitats and competition have on coral reef community structure. Now I currently work for the Vantuna Research Group at Occidental College, studying the rocky reefs and kelp forests of Southern California.
I've always loved black, and I realized that, from the beginning, man went into completely dark caves to paint. They painted with black too. They could have painted with white because there were white stones all over the ground, but no, they chose to paint with black - in the dark.~Pierre Soulages
Real black is rather rare in the landscape. The black clouds on the horizon, the black depths of a lake, or the blackness of the night sky are rarely, in fact, black. Photographers require light to record on film or a digital sensor, and black is the absence of light. Black surfaces are those that absorb most of the light falling on them and emit little back. Few surfaces in nature absorb so much light as to be considered a pure black. Even in the night sky and the absorbing void that is space beyond, the scattering of light by particles in the atmosphere often leaves a trace of colour when viewed from the ground (hence the recent marketing of night sky filters to remove the scattered light from urban sources in a certain range of wavelengths). Certainly, there are dark shadows that might need to be carefully exposed to reveal some detail, but they are not often pure black.
So the use of pure black in an image is to employ a form of artistic license and indeed has a long history in art, going back to the prehistoric use of black in creating cave and rock paintings (see the quotation above). Black was then one of the readily available pigments, as it was later in the manufacture of inks, where it became particularly refined (using a mixture of pine soot and animal glue) in the production of Chinese calligraphy and landscape painting called Shanshui (mountain water) art. Later in the 14th Century Chinese monks introduced the style to Japan where inks made of oil lamp soot and glues were used in the Sumi-e style of refined monochrome landscapes, one of the features of which was that they should be produced with minimal but exquisite brush strokes.
The use of black in painting was taken to the extreme towards the end of the 19th Century by the French painter Paul Bilhaud (1854-1933) with an all black rectangle with the (not very woke) title Combat de nègres dans la nuit of 18821. This was taken further by Alphonse Allais in his Primo-avrilesque album of “monochroîde” works of 18962. Both Bilhaud and Allais were members of the Incohèrents, a group that existed for a relatively short period during the 1880s but which influenced a number of later 20th Century movements in art including dadaism, surrealism and minimalism in ways that have only recently been revealed3.
Paul Billhaud, Combat de nègres dans la nuit (1882)4
There have been other traditions of the use of (near) black in the Western art tradition. These include the chiaroscuro style 5(from the Italian chiaro, light, and oscuro, dark) used in the Renaissance by artists such as Raphael, Caravaggio, Rembrandt and his pupil Gerrit Dou. The style was mostly used for portraits and still life paintings. In most of these paintings, any landscape is generally obscured in the background, but at the end of the 18th Century, the English painter Joseph Wright of Derby adopted the style for both portraits and landscapes.
I would like to introduce my project dedicated to the great English painter of the Romantic era, J. M. W. Turner. The organisation of the project on Turner, which took almost two years, was, personally, a great challenge for me. Nevertheless, I have been involved in similar projects for quite a while and have practical experience with them. Since 2015 I have been systematically working on projects – first focused on writers (Karel Hynek Mácha, Hans Christian Andersen, Antione de Saint Exupéry) and now on prominent painters (César Manrique, Joseph Mallord William Turner, Joan Miró). I always choose art protagonists who distinctly differ from each other.
In the last five years, a group of people interested in these events has formed around my projects and the ICM & ME photographic techniques in general. It is my endeavour to involve not only photographers but also people interested in other art forms – paintings, graphics, ceramics, poetry, etc. Seven photographers and one painter from the Czech Republic participated in the project on J. M. W. Turner - Miroslava Bedřichová, Jitka Bejdáková, Hana Janíčková, Vladimír Kysela, Lea Luxemburgová, Miroslava Trusková, Břetislav Ulrich a Stanislav Zela.
During the course of the project, we made two visits to the Turner Collection in TATE Britain, spent a week in the Lake District and subsequently also five days in Venice – that is, in two locations representative of the exteriors captured in JMW Turner’s work, including London, where he lived. We literally took thousands of photographs and tried to interpret them in our own individual narratives depending on our individual understanding of this great painter’s work. In this way, more than a hundred artworks were created, 70 of which are presented in our joint e-book and 25 are displayed at our joint exhibition in Prague.
JMW Turner put great effort into approaching complexity in his landscapes; that is, he would often reflect on contemporary development in England and Europe. Turner lived through a time of key social and political changes – the whole Napoleonic era starting with Napoleon entering the political scene and his infamous end in St Helena; he lived through the wars with France and Spain, during his time, the Declaration of Independence was pronounced in America, steam powered railway passenger transportation started, and the first steamship crossed the Atlantic. And Turner was able to respond to all these in his work – through the choice of subjects, colours, symbolism. Besides that, he was the genius who significantly developed and shifted the use of watercolours, including continuous testing of new materials – both paints and paper.
During the course of the project, we made two visits to the Turner Collection in TATE Britain, spent a week in the Lake District and subsequently also five days in Venice – that is, in two locations representative of the exteriors captured in JMW Turner’s work, including London, where he lived.
Lake District – May 2022
The weather was not too good, on the other hand, anyone can take a photo of a beautiful sunset. We travelled through all the main areas of the Lake District, combined lake and seaside landscapes, technical details as well as historical nooks. The Lake District is representative of the typical countryside with lakes that Turner would so frequently paint. We photographed in various places, for instance, near Buttermere, Honister Pass, Whitehaven, Keswick /Derwent Water, Barrow-in Furness, Elter Water, or the Castlerigg stone circle…
Venice – September 2022
In Venice, you realise why Turner was able to incorporate so much space, air transparency and generally lively colours into his works. On our visit to Venice, we focused on the places where Turner actively painted, that is, the islands of the Lagoon, the sunrise and evening views of San Marco across the Lagoon, and on taking photographs of the canals at sunrise. Obviously, we did not avoid the central parts of Venice either, up to the Biennale Gardens where this year’s Biennale Arte was culminating.
The Exhibition “Through the Imaginative Landscape of J. M. W. Turner”
The selection of artworks for the joint exhibition in Prague was carried out in the following manner: First, each member of the group chose ten works that they wanted to present in our joint e-book. Subsequently, the gallery curator, Mrs Vlasta Čiháková Noshiro, chose those works which she wanted to present in the gallery. The Gallery of Art Critics is a prestigious gallery which specialises in paintings and so the opportunity to display our photographs there is absolutely unique for us!
The official exhibition opening took place on December 15th in Prague. The exhibition will be shown until January 15th, 2023. Nevertheless, already during the course of the exhibition, we were contacted by other potential exhibition organisers, so it is most likely that the exhibition will be shown in other cities as well. Now, we would like to introduce one work by each of the authors with their own commentary.
Miroslava Bedřichová
I have seen and visited only a small part of the region that Turner would so frequently visit and paint. I composed the final collection from photographs that were taken by chance, so to say, in moments when I forgot about the project – surprised by the calmness that the Turnerian, vast and raw places could bring about in me. The presented photograph is called Bezčasí 3 (Timelessness 3) and was taken in the Lake District, namely in Drigg; just like the majority of pictures in this collection. It can be seen here: https://eu.zonerama.com/Bedrischka/Album/9101214
Jitka Bejdáková
Turner’s canvases can be recognised at first sight. The unmistakable colour range with the dominance of golden ochres, yellows and turquoise blues, his brushwork - rather liberal, from free to wildly unrestrained, movement, excitement, light effects and fog… I focused on Venice. It might occur to us that any human endeavour will eventually be devoured by nature and returned to its original state as though it had never existed. Yet, it is worth fighting, creating freely with a swing, and courage, move forward, growing, ripen, just like Turner did, and it does not matter that it might not last forever. If it speaks to contemporaries and enriches them, it suffices, and even if it didn’t, the reward is in the author’s contemplation and expression of his conclusions.
Hana Janíčková
I admire J.M.W. Turner for his brilliant work with colours and light. My photograph “Jarní” (Spring) was inspired by his light watercolours that captured the English countryside. I tried to capture the atmosphere of the lake district flooded by early morning light in springtime.
Vladimír Kysela
In this particular project, my choice was to follow the line reflecting industrial development because Turner often dealt with the subject of the Industrial Revolution, and I found it interesting to push this theme almost ad absurdum. In principle, I wanted to look at the English/Venetian landscape and introduce industrial connotations in it from this day, though. The picture We Stand in Desolate Splendor is the main one in my project and represents for me Turner’s role in the development of society as the “Witness of Desire and Messiah of Light”. It is a collage of takes from London where Turner lived. My whole project can be seen at: https://vladimirkysela.com/en/contemplations-en/jmw-turner-en/
Miroslava Trusková
The fascinating eye of the storm that does not let you look away. You can only observe how the sky takes in the sea, and the water takes in the sky. And then, the golden touch of sun appears, an illusion of land, of a solid point on the surface. Once again, the mass rolls over, and the fleeting spectacle is gone. Perhaps that image is just the iris without a pupil. You blink, and the dancing light will enter you once and forever.
In his paintings, Turner captured both the wild countryside and urban landscapes, events from the early days of the Industrial Revolution, but also unrest in the world… Our generation finds itself in the middle of turbulent development – We observe changes in weather, mild winters, more frequent tornadoes, violent storms, and floods. On the other hand, there are droughts, rivers drying out, melting glaciers, rainforests are being cut and burnt down… Where is our horizon of events? With my picture, I venerate nature that we are so often indifferent to, but which is beyond us, outside of us, it can destroy us, and we will bow to it in awe. https://www.truskova.eu/en/fine-art-photography/project-j-m-w-turner/
Břetislav Ulrich
I discovered JMW Turner for myself many years ago, and I still admire his paintings and watercolours. Yet it has never occurred to me to reflect his works in my photography. Eventually, it happened, though, when, by coincidence, I joined this project.
When taking and editing photographs, I did not follow a clear set plan but worked intuitively – I let the landscapes inspire and guide me, being influenced only by my prior knowledge of Turner’s work. “Derwent Water”: I’d say this photograph not only captures the beauty of nature but also insinuates the dark forces in it.
Stanislav Zela
Many years ago, there were those who were worried that photography might replace painting. It did not happen. In many ways, it can supplement and support it. Many famous painters worked from photographs, and today, photographers challenge themselves to make works that resemble paintings on canvas. To give up accurate realism and sharpness and to offer a creative interpretation in the world of pixels, zeros and ones. Neither paper nor the shiny screen can replace a coarse canvas in its three-dimensionality and smell of turpentine. Can this be done? Will anyone take an interest in it?
Other Links
e-book “Through the Imaginative Landscape of J.M.W. Turner”
It is in Czech, nevertheless, there are more than 100 photographs – final works by the individual team members as well as pictures documenting the journeys within the project
We hope that our project has been of interest to you. We would especially like to thank Graham Cook, who willingly spent his time with us on one of our visits to TATE Britain, which we highly appreciate!
ps: Actually, my Turner has been internationally awarded, below is the table of silver selection from the New York Photography Awards 2022.
Dancing in moonlight, Dreams leave my head for my heart,
To grow and come true~ Wim Vooijs
This enchanting photo makes my heart sing. It brings to mind a myriad of other art forms like poetry, painting and music through the universal language of emotional inspiration (for example through tranquility). Some iconic pieces this photo evokes include Beethoven (“Moonlight Sonata”), Debussy (“Clair de Lune”), Sting (“Moonlight”) and Monet (‘Sunrise”)
Photographers travel the world from North to South and from sky to sea in search of a unique subject, but the moon and its reflection is a familiar, universal subject, which almost everyone can see on any given night.
I find it inspiring that Wim did not have to travel the earth to make this image, but instead, walked a few steps from his home and took on an ever-present subject to create this new, almost otherworldly photo. This is taking reality and changing it into art. In Wim’s own words, “You can take pictures of what everyone sees, but it's more fun to show others what you see and feel. In doing so, remain open to the surprise of what the world wants to tell you. Laat het gebeuren!”
In the age of the Internet and digital photography, where a sea of beautiful photos are available to view at the push of a button, originality is a rare sought after quality. “Dancing in the moonlight” oozes with imagination and magic.
Theo’s book Iceland Pure sits alongside my copy of the Haaberg’s Iceland in All its Splendour (see Orsolya Haarberg Featured Photographer interview) and Hans Strand’s Iceland: Above and Below as my reference sources for images of Iceland’s sublime beauty. But Iceland has obviously changed over the years since these were originally published. The success story of a bankrupt nation transforming into a wonderfully successful economy includes a remarkable increase in tourism (which generated 10% of GDP and provides nearly 20% of Iceland’s jobs). Any increase in footfall always comes with some negative consequences. Although the land hasn’t suffered dramatically, the experience of visiting the places that were once isolated and wild has certainly changed.
Theo’s new book partly reflects this, (as discussed in his article in this issue), along with his personal relationship with the island. We see the balance of images shifting as well, with fewer wide views of iconic locations and more vignettes and details, a change in approach that reflects how Theo’s photography has been changing over the intervening years as well.
Along with this has been an eye for a project or an idea that lives beyond a single image. We don’t see overt project work in this book, it is still nearly all individual photographs apart from a small section on tourists, but we do some echoing of visual ideas reflected throughout the book. An off kilter sensitivity that finds as much interest in a distribution of coloured hay bales as a graphic flow of lava; a double page spread barcode of sand and water textures, a child's swing and snow bound car alongside beautiful details of waterfalls, stunted birches, bilberry and bearberry.
A final chapter in the book shows some images of the latest 2021 volcanic eruption, which has provided Theo with some stunning and highly original visual takes on this sublime phenomenon. The image of the trails of headlights as the visitors left the lava flows after dark is a particularly creative one.
You’ll also see some wonderful photographs of the canyons of Iceland, perhaps outtakes of his European Canyons project. A final chapter in the book shows some images of the latest 2021 volcanic eruption, which has provided Theo with some stunning and highly original visual takes on this sublime phenomenon. The image of the trails of headlights as the visitors left the lava flows after dark is a particularly creative one. This chapter doesn’t visually mesh with the rest of the book, but it truly deserves its place, showing one extreme of Iceland’s varied landscape.
The book itself is very well produced, a hardback cover illustrated with graphic textures of that 2021 volcanic eruption, graphic flows of lava and glowing basalt textures. 170 pages of content on a nice thick 170gsm paper. A special mention should be made of Sandra Bartocha, who not only designed the book but helped with the sequencing and choice of images.
Theo’s book just goes to show that we shouldn’t dismiss a location just because we’ve seen so many photographs of it. A thoughtful eye and a passion for the landscape will always find new ways of seeing, and this book is a testament to that.
I would recommend that you buy the book directly from Theo’s website because, as we’ve found out that publishing the Natural Landscape Awards book, the margins for commercial distribution are so low that one book bought directly probably returns the equivalent of three books bought via large retailers.
In a recent conversation with a photographer on my podcast, I found myself defending the merits of my stubborn nature as it relates to approaches to business and social media. Often, I think society paints those who are stubborn in a negative light, and even the dictionary makes it seem like a bad personality trait by referring to stubbornness as “unreasonable persistence.” Personally, I’ve come to greatly admire fellow landscape photographers who I see as stubborn, and Jim Becia is a prime example of one such photographer.
Jim’s been making photographs on film for over 40 years and has easily elevated himself as one of the finest nature photographers of our time – owed to his stubborn commitment to not only the medium of 8x10 large format film but also to his consistent approach to photographing the same places year-after-year.
Jim’s been making photographs on film for over 40 years and has easily elevated himself as one of the finest nature photographers of our time – owed to his stubborn commitment to not only the medium of 8x10 large format film but also to his consistent approach to photographing the same places year-after-year.
Like so many nature photographers I’ve spoken with, Jim never saw himself as a creative person early on in life, and he gravitated to playing sports as a youngster in his blue-collar town in northeast Connecticut. He eventually matriculated to college in Iowa, where he was an American footballer. Jim never really put much thought into photography until one day, during his freshman year, a fellow dorm resident showed him some Kodachrome slides, which deeply resonated with him. That very summer, he decided to save up to buy his first camera, a Minolta SRT101 and spent the next three years of college working for the college newspaper and yearbook as a photographer. The rest, as they say, is history! Jim’s career took many twists and turns after college, with four years spent as a ski bum in Snowmass, Colorado (I can’t say I blame you there, Jim), and various odd jobs at both Yellowstone and Zion National Parks, where his love for the natural landscape was kindled. He decided to move to Wisconsin to pursue more serious work by opening a frame and gallery shop with his wife-to-be. While he wasn’t selling his own photography, he was learning what it takes to sell photography and make a modest living off it. After 14 years of being in business, he decided to close his shop and pursue the sales of his own work via art fairs.
‘Landscape Narratives’ is a series of visual conversations taking place between colour, shape and texture. All three of these elements can be found in landscapes from the broad flatlands or rolling gentle hills to mountainous regions and anywhere in between. It is a journey of discovery which seizes the eye and especially the imagination of the photographer, the painter and the visitor to the exhibition. Ruth Grindrod and Caroline Evans both live in Norfolk and are passionate about the landscape both near and further afield.
Ruth’s photographs are deliberately diverse in style as she tries to capture the essence of the landscape or area in which she is working. Her passion is coastal locations and seascapes, where she uses neutral density filters as part of her style.
Ruth comments, ‘When printing your work, the attention to composition, colour, tones and textures and particular nuances becomes imperative. And that’s before you even press print! Many landscape photographers now are choosing not to print due to costs and the overwhelming domination of social media, but it is a skill which creates great enjoyment and which I feel serious photographers should acquire.’
Breakthrough Light, Ruth Grindrod
Howick Boulders, Ruth Grindrod
Caroline works with mixed media, often adopting an abstract approach to her work. Much of her work is on a larger scale. Caroline and Ruth have collaborated previously and agree that in doing so, each benefit from the other’s perspective and from seeing how different mediums can be used to showcase aspects of the landscape, emphasising colour or tone, shape or texture.
Autumn Mountain, Caroline Evans
Reeds, Caroline Evans
Their choice to exhibit in the current economic climate was understandably not an easy one, but both agree that exhibiting physical images- photographs or paintings refines their individual creativity, develops collaborative creativity and encourages them to hone their skills.
They were also privileged to be offered The Crypt Gallery space on the grounds of Norwich Cathedral, which is a prestigious and atmospheric setting which creates a unique ambience.
The focus on landscape evident throughout the exhibition reveals the artists’ passion for, as well as their concern for, the environment in the face of environmental change. They believe that it has never been so important to celebrate the uniqueness of the world’s landscape and to appreciate this so people are empowered to respect, protect and also enjoy being out in it. They hope that this will be one outcome of their exhibition.
Ruth and Caroline welcome everyone to their exhibition to look, to enjoy, to talk and maybe to buy.
LANDSCAPE NARRATIVES Exhibition
Joint Exhibition by Ruth Grindrod and Caroline Evans
Runs from 30/5/23 until 10/6/23. 10 am-5pm.
Closed Sunday for a Private view on 3rd June 1-4 pm. All welcome.
It’s all too easy for photographers to effectively romanticise any landscape, even if it isn’t a conscious decision, and at times it can feel like it’s open season in Scotland’s Outer Hebrides – all those shell sand beaches and azure waters that lend themselves to reproduction and interpretation. Although Michael photographs in both colour and black and white, it’s the latter that drew me to his work and from which we have selected images for this feature. Digging a little deeper, it becomes apparent that these aren’t empty landscapes – we can never really separate ‘land’ from ‘people’. We talk about growing roots, repetition as a creative tool, unexpected opportunities and creative collaborations, storytelling and drawing people in.
In view of Michael’s experience of birding and wildlife photography, it also seemed a good opportunity to ask him to say a little about avian flu and how we can all tread a little more lightly on our travels.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what that led you to do?
I was born in Ayrshire but have moved around the UK with spells in London, Norfolk, Lancashire and Essex, amongst others.
From an early age, I was interested in and fascinated by birds, and this was my main preoccupation when growing up. As this pursuit developed, I began to focus more on what is referred to as ‘Patch Birding’: continued and repeated visits to the same place over days, weeks, seasons and years, filling notebooks with details and incidental information
I currently live with my wife Sarah on the Island of South Uist in the Outer Hebrides. Before moving to Uist, I worked in sectors as diverse as Medical Equipment Distribution, Port Operations and Interior Design. In 2019 Sarah and I founded the Outer Hebrides Coffee Roasters ‘SkyDancer’ at the Harbour in Lochboisdale. The roastery / café also acts as a gallery space for my photography and an outlet for prints.
From an early age, I was interested in and fascinated by birds, and this was my main preoccupation when growing up. As this pursuit developed, I began to focus more on what is referred to as ‘Patch Birding’: continued and repeated visits to the same place over days, weeks, seasons and years, filling notebooks with details and incidental information. This repetition brings a deeper understanding of the place that you visit, the seasonal changes, the yearly changes, the habitat, and the wildlife populations; the repetition is a means of discovery. Visiting a place once or twice only gives a snapshot of what it looks like, a superficial view. Continued visits allow you to notice and explore subtle changes and nuances in a place. This idea of ‘patch’ has stayed with me, and as I changed jobs and locations, I would always look to carve out a new patch within walking distance of where I was based, whether this was a beach or the depths of West London.
The ideas around the notion of a patch/place feed my photography to this day. As much as I seek the new, for me, there are clear creative benefits to continuing to visit the same place again and again and again. Repetition is a constant creative tool for me.
Explaining why a landscape photographer feels drawn to Iceland feels a bit redundant these days. Rather, you have something to explain if you haven't been there at least a few times. Yet in 2012, when my first book Iceland pure appeared, I still felt called to put the feeling into words what attracted me so much to this rugged island in the Atlantic Ocean:
"It is not hard to explain why Iceland is an attractive destination for a nature photographer. It has the biggest ice cap in Europe; the most beautiful and powerful waterfalls; the largest number of active volcanoes. It has puffins and harlequin ducks, wild, rocky coasts and black lava beaches, deserted plateaus and bizarre geothermal phenomena. And to top it all large areas are all but uninhabited, with tourists few and far between compared to elsewhere in Europe.
And yet this impressive roll call is only part of the reason for my continuing passion for Iceland. More important is that when I am there I feel closer to nature than I do anywhere else. It is as if I experience nature more intensely here. Iceland gets under my skin, moves me, and overwhelms me. Time and time again.”
Winter scene, southeast Iceland
Winter in Landmannalaugar
I think I still cannot put it into words much better than this. I can only add to it that my love for Iceland still lasts, almost 17 years after my first visit in 2006. I think it is safe to say that Iceland changed my life, both professionally and personally.
There’s something distinctly eerie about being up in the mountains all alone in the middle of the night. The flashlight catches the wee beady eyes of the natives (mostly deer and sheep), and you need to remind yourself that those illuminated eyes mean you no harm. They’re probably wondering what the hell this madman is doing wandering around the Wicklow mountains in the dead of night with a tonne of cameras, tripods, video lights and lighting stands. I have to let the silence take over, turn on the lights and start making pictures. Let the light in, get the camera rolling, and the calm always follows.
For the past 10 years, I have been making intermittent trips into Glendalough, Co Wicklow, at night time. Glendalough is so familiar to me. My first-ever photographic project, Wild Garden, heavily featured the park, and it's somewhere I’ve run countless workshops. Reinventing the familiar is what motivated me to explore this series of images, reconnection and introspection, thus, Glendalough seemed like the perfect backdrop to take on this challenge. To push the limits of my own comfort, the limits of lighting, and the limits of what I had previously explored. The outcome is a collection of 12 images and a time-lapse piece featuring the amazing sounds of Moderat.
I have a splilt personality photographically. One is very giving, he looks after others, puts their needs first, gives them all his energy, and shares all his creativity with them so they can make better pictures. That’s the workshop leader. The person that brings people all over the world to take pictures in the most beautiful places imaginable. I’m very grateful this is what I do. I love it.
Then there’s the other guy. The guy that just wants to make pictures solo. The photographer that takes pictures only of things that inspire him. He photographs what feels meaningful personally. He strives to be in tune with his instinct, works on his own timetable, and pursues what he wants single-mindedly. Photography is not a team game, it’s a personal journey.
At some point in my career, the giving person took over my photography, and my work felt a little lost on a personal level. I wanted to feel inspired by what I was doing, but I found sharing my craft with others made me feel formulaic about my personal work. I had lost sight of the second guy and was taking most of my pictures for other people.
Something changed, however, when I saw a picture by Marcel Van Oosten around 2013. He had used an unnatural light source in the mist in one of his Namibia images. It made me think about how we perceive the landscape. We associate nature with a specific set of visual parameters. The light is generated by the sun or the moon. But nature to me was always more than parameters. It's a feeling, and the homogenisation of the visual presentation that I was experiencing in workshops was affecting how I felt about the landscape. I wanted to break that cycle and make sure that the guy that strove for personal inspiration stayed in the fray. I wanted to work ‘In a Different Light’.
The light is generated by the sun or the moon. But nature to me was always more than parameters. It's a feeling, and the homogenisation of the visual presentation that I was experiencing in workshops was affecting how I felt about the landscape. I wanted to break that cycle and make sure that the guy that strove for personal inspiration stayed in the fray.
For most folk, the notion of being all alone in the mountains at night isn’t that appealing. I took some kind souls to help me carry the gear and also to allay the nervous energy of being out there all alone during the earlier part of this process. Over time, however, I realised that I had to be alone. The walks became more laboured, carrying the gear and the slight edge of being there alone more intense. More importantly, however, I was able to find peace and concentration to create.
Whenever I visited Glendalough, I always made sure to have Moderat blaring out at full kilter on the drive down. The soundtrack and Moderat’s unique sound really inspired the visual. Eventually, I came to love being there alone. It's genuinely inspiring to be surrounded by nature and not another human in sight. The process of making the pictures was labour-intensive. I used two cameras and one video light. To begin, I would always set up a wide-angle shot of the scene I was looking at and set that camera off to record a timelapse. I was interested to see how the atmosphere was affected in the wider angle shot as I repositioned the light to shoot tighter scenes with the second camera. The movement of the light was a way to make the imagery more dynamic and more out worldly while creating movement within the time-lapse piece to reflect the soundtrack. It allowed me to shape the landscape in ways I couldn’t possibly achieve in the daytime with natural lighting. The landscape became a space that didn’t have so many parameters.
I was creating my own light, but the weather still played a big role. I wanted calm, mist, and also clear skies. Typically a shoot would involve me keeping an eye on the possible conditions before deciding to go. I would often arrive in the middle of the night and photograph all the way to dawn. Activity in the park and on the roads would just be kicking into gear when I was on my way home. There’s something satisfying knowing you are off to bed when everyone else is getting ready for work. The lights from the shoot would reverberate in my brain as I dropped off.
Since I started shooting ‘In Different Light’, I have completed two separate personal projects.
The personal journey of finding my own voice and vision has been encapsulated by more than one thought, idea or experience. The catalyst can be found in these images, however. In a Different Light' lives in a space where no definitive reference points exist. In the dark, on your own, in the dead of night, trying to transform the darkness into light.
The personal journey of finding my own voice and vision has been encapsulated by more than one thought, idea or experience. The catalyst can be found in these images, however. In a Different Light' lives in a space where no definitive reference points exist. In the dark, on your own, in the dead of night, trying to transform the darkness into light. Trying to become sensitised again, to my imagery, to the landscape. To alter the formula. Eventually feeling completely at ease with solitude, with darkness, and simply switching on the light.
None of Nature’s landscapes are ugly so long as they are wild.~ John Muir
Scroll. Scroll. Pause. Scroll. Pause. Scroll. Pause. I’m cruising through every image in the last eighteen issues of “On Landscape” eMags, with some pauses lasting much longer than others. It took several iterations before I narrowed it down to two images, plus a flip of the coin before I finally settled on the winner: the landscape image by featured photographer Michael Bollino on page 6 of issue 257. [In case you are interested, the runner-up was a closeup image, also by Michael, on page 10 of the same issue.]
I’m always fascinated by the role “extroversion” and “introversion” play in the process of transferring a landscape onto a crisp sheet of fine art paper or state-of-the-art LCD display.
On one hand, I, as well as most other landscape photographers, spend an inordinate amount of time fussing over an image’s composition. Starting out with camera placement, often with millimetre precision. And finishing with generous amounts of post-processing embellishments that best showcase the scene exactly the way we want to envision it. Clearly, an extroverted effort where the combined sensibilities of our logical minds, plus an abundance of landscape compositional rules, get projected onto the scene we hope to capture with our hard-earned photographic skill sets.
On the other hand, I know of many landscape photographers, including myself, who often use landscape photography as an excuse to spend copious amounts of time in nature. An extension of the therapeutic Japanese concept of shinrin-yoku, loosely translated as “forest bathing”. An introspective effort where we use the natural world to swiftly peel away layers of opaque multi-tasking stress, clearing the way for our rejuvenated senses to efficiently reenergize our tired aching hearts. And during those magical moments, we photographers cannot resist taking out our cameras, hoping to capture hallelujah images that do justice to the larger-than-life exhilarations sweeping through our very being.
Rhythm Of The Unseen is a celebration of photographic expressionism and is the third exhibition by participants of the inaugural Abstract Rhythm and Blue Notes programme (see the article about the UK exhibition last October). This was an intensive year-long program exploring the intersection of photography, art, abstraction and creativity taught by British photographers Valda Bailey and Doug Chinnery.
Following exhibitions in 2022 at the Sohn Gallery Lenox Massachusetts, and The Horsebridge Gallery in Whitstable, UK, Rhythm Of The Unseen takes place at The Soho Gallery New York May 2nd -8th, 2023.
The exhibition will be showcasing the work of 11 international artists hailing from the US, Canada, Great Britain, Latvia and The Netherlands.
The title of the show, Rhythm of the Unseen, reflects the approach and vision of the exhibiting artists.
Like the abstract expressionist painters before them, their work is diverse and approaches photography in ways reflecting their individual and unique perspectives. They eschew the camera’s ability to capture reality and instead use techniques that challenge that reality. The results vary from visual distortion to impressionistic interpretations and pure abstraction.
They use a variety of in-camera techniques, such as multiple exposure and intentional camera movement (ICM), along with post-processing methods, as a way of abstracting shapes, eliminating detail and revealing the unseen in their images. They wield their cameras like a paintbrush, value spontaneity and improvisation and work in a way that, while controllable to a certain degree, retains a strong element of unpredictability and serendipity. The resulting works often turn the accepted notion of what a photograph is on its head.
The art will be presented on a variety of media, including aluminium, glass and silk, in addition to fine art archival paper prints.
There will be an Opening Reception on May 4th from 6:00 - 8:00 PM and an Artists’ Talk on May 6th from 3:00 - 4:00 PM. In addition, a series of talks and workshops by the artists are scheduled throughout the exhibition, including a special presentation by Stephanie Johnson of ICM Photography Magazine. All events are free but registration is required.
Based in Sussex, UK, I use the camera as an artistic tool to capture my experience and feelings about the world around me. I believe that we experience the world as a series of fleeting impressions and emotions spiced and flavoured by our own memories and thoughts. I aim to capture not what I am looking at but what I see and feel.
My other passion is for the written word, especially poetry, and I am particularly interested in the interplay between words and images. My projects often involve both poetry and image.
In the same way that the dance of words in a poem can evoke a response, my aim is to capture the dance of colour, form and light.
The offspring of two photographers, my passion for photography was inescapable, having been imprinted on my DNA. I discovered the darkroom when I was about 5, and won my first photography contest when I was in the 6th grade. I don’t remember a time when photography was not an essential part of my life.
Today I approach my work as a visual alchemy, a transformation not of matter but of colour, light, line and gesture. With my camera as a paintbrush, I use a variety of techniques, including intentional camera movement (ICM) and in-camera multiple exposures to create iconic and abstract images that reveal the essence, emotion and soul of the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen. Each represents a unique moment in time, space and, of course, mind.
I am honoured to have my work as part of private/individual and corporate collections across the US and to have had it exhibited at the Sohn Gallery (MA), the Katonah Museum of Art (NY), the Praxis Photo Arts Center (MN) and the ASmith Gallery (TX), among others. My abstract image, “Homage to the Cubists in Paris”, was recognized for Outstanding Achievement/1st Place in the Professional Abstract category at the 14th Annual International Color Awards last year. I also chronicle my global adventures in words and images as a regular contributor to Everett Potter’s Travel Report.
Web: www.deborahloebbohren.com
Linda Hacker
I am a Brooklyn, NY based visual artist inspired by the built environment. It is in urban spaces that I feel most fully myself. My images explore and express the depth, complexity, and intimacy of the living city around me – the multiple ways any one thing can be seen/interpreted.
Using abstraction, I work to evoke a sense of mystery and ambiguity – moving between the material world as it is and what could be – the world of possibility I sense all around me. In creating these images, I am also exploring myself — my thoughts, emotions, and beliefs.
Inspired by my long and close association with the sea, my work ranges from abstract to still life photography. Drawing on experiences and memories from my time in the merchant navy and my childhood memories growing up on the Kent coast.
My photography is an extension of my life’s voyage, creating works that explore human relationships with the sea, conjuring images, stories and reflections. Having spent years at sea, I am well aware of the harsh environment and the sea and the ocean’s hidden strength.
I’m keenly cognisant of the different ways we experience the sea – a seafarer who lives and works on the water has a different outlook and priorities to a landlubber experiencing it from the shoreline.
My connection to the land runs deep. I grew up on a farm in the heartland of the United States, a land of mystery and seemingly unlimited horizons. Life on the farm was tough, and money was scarce, but open fields and quiet places to explore were plentiful. Summer days were spent roaming through pastures and the evenings lying in the grass gazing at the Milky Way. There was freedom as far as the eye could see.
Today, I wander with camera in hand to discover new horizons that reignite my childhood connection to the land. Using the abstraction of intentional camera movement, I attempt to bridge what my eyes see with what my heart feels. In creating these images, I’m transported back to magical and wondrous moments in the countryside. And in those moments, I am back home again.
By taking the time, I will see more and look differently.
Taking time is the common thread in my work. Both in my free work and my work on assignments. Inspired by the beauty as I experience it in the story of a client, in the visual arts, novels, poems and music, I use my camera in search of the essence of what touches me, I see and experience. To discover what it is about for me. The inspirations often take shape and content in the landscape.
I use various camera en print techniques for this. This creates unusual images. Images that tell the story, images that ask to take the time, images that call for reflection. By working in series, I get to the essence and I be able to visualize and articulate the story in its full scope.
In a sometimes hectic, restless and hard world, I hope that my art inspires you to stand still, evokes an emotion and invites you to reflect on what is seen.
My passions include music, nature and travel, with photography the common thread that runs through them all. I love capturing the moment at a gig or in the company of precious wildlife, but also savouring the more considered times in the landscape.
But the greatest artistic satisfaction comes from trying to interpret what I see and what I feel, using abstractive techniques (ICM and multiple exposures) to create something new, fleeting, imagined and unique.
Photography leads me to engage with light, form, colour and moment, from which I hope to create an emotional impression, aspiring to art. I may seldom succeed, but often the dance itself is satisfying in itself.
“It’s not what the Music says, it’s what the Music means.”
My imagery reflects the beauty and the connection I feel with the natural world. I like to photograph my surroundings in an abstract and impressionistic style. Creating images is often a self discovery process for me. I often use in camera multiple exposure technique and in camera motion to achieve these results. The freedom and creativity offered by abstract photography is both liberating and invigorating. My hope is that the same emotions carry and invigorate the viewer.
Barb Kreutter is a Canadian artist who began her career as a textile designer but has since discovered the abstract expressionist world of photography, creating images that enable her to explore her lifelong love of colour, texture and form.
The nature found in Alberta, where Barb lives, serves as her inspiration. She has been intrigued by how the environment surrounding her makes her feel rather than just how it looks. As a result, she incorporates the patterns and textures from her everyday life to create images that reflect her feelings rather than simply documenting what she sees before her.
Her images are inspired by the frozen mountain lakes, reflections in slushy puddles of melting snow, textures in the land and the subtle beauty of the ever changing colours in the sky above her head. Constructed Landscapes is the culmination of Barb’s reimaging of the world around her.
Iveta Lazdina is a Latvian-based photographer. Photography, for me, is an inner conversation. The beauty and diversity of nature are the foundation for dualities; light colors and darkness, smooth lines versus sharp. These contrasts reflect the inner harmony of creation. Therefore, instead of escaping from imperfection, I will accept and incorporate them as an integral part of the duality.
Through multi-exposure and ICM (Intentional camera movement), I am looking to embed these varied layers of internal and external contrasts reflected in colors and shapes as a symbol of the creative processes. To catch the moment, which gives you a fragment of what might be an answer or at times provides an instant of truth, is nature’s greatest gift.
I am a London based abstract expressionist photographer. My background was in fashion, interior design and textiles, all of which still influence my love of colour and form. All of my previous careers involved extensive travel, and that wanderlust permeates my work, along with an enormous interest and inquisitiveness for the human condition.
Within my photographs, there exists a converging of two scales; the physical world (things in themselves as they are) and the interior world ( that which lies hidden in all things). A synchronism of the eternal and the everyday. My interior world is expressed externally through my lens, the layering of images that find me, that reveal themselves as I work. My subconscious finding oxygen.
All of my work is in some way informed by an emotional response to the here and now or the past, not quite laid to rest.
Can you tell me a little about your education, childhood passions, early exposure to photography etc?
I grew up in the highlands of Scotland. Both of my parents were brought up in Lochaber and I enjoyed a free and adventurous childhood. I still walk up burns like I did when I was a child and still mountain bike, though not to the extremes I did as a teenager and in my twenties. I have explored vast tracts of land where I grew up on An Aird and my habit for exploring continues to this day. I have a deeply-ingrained tie to my home in the highlands and I am passionate about its landscape, people and culture. My Grandpa MacDonald was a shepherd in Glen Nevis at the foot of Ben Nevis. He kept his sheep on the high pasture of Stob Bàn, a sizeable and rugged mountain which is 998 metres tall. He was raised in Torridon and like him, I am drawn to the wilderness. It is in my blood, it is my home.
Rose The Boat, Cuidhitinis, Harris
I got into photography through my Father. He had a Canon FTb and we used to take photos at sporting events like Le Tour de France and the Scottish Six Day Trials. In my twenties, I played bass in an ethno-funk band called Croft No. 5 and through my involvement in the music scene I ended up designing album covers and taking photos for other musicians. I have done this for over twenty years now. I am also an artist and my photography feeds directly into my painting process.
Tell me about why you love landscape photography? A little background on what your first passions were, what you studied and what job you ended up doing
I love landscape photography because I love the landscape. Being outside and attentive is important to my everyday function, it’s like some sort of cognisant lubrication.
First passions… Black Sabbath, Mountain Biking, Bass, Heavy Drums, Art, Girls.
I studied Graphic Design at Glasgow College of Building and Printing… HND
I studied History of Art, Scottish History and Gàidhlig at Glasgow University… But dropped out after a disagreement about what Van Gogh was feeling when he painted ‘The Potato Eaters’ ...
Played Bass for 7 years in Croft No. 5
Quarter Life Crisis!!! Back to the Highlands. Tree Planter, Farm Loon, Live SoundCrew,
Bike Messenger, Glasgow. 5 years.
House Father to Brae and Struan… Part Time Web Design, Album Covers, Photography, Videography…
Self Employed Artist.
2017- started painting again after a hiatus of 15 years.
Dimurborgir
How easy – or difficult – do you find it to fit your photography around work and other commitments? When you travel for work, are you able to devote any time to either photography or researching new places?
I lead a very alternative life, my economic dependency is fulfilled entirely by my creative endeavors. I do not respond well to systems of control. Being in a touring band in my early twenties I grew accustomed to a very creative and free life-style. Traveling the world and banging out our original brand of high-energy ethno-funk certainly made the world of conventional work look a little daunting / boring / pointless. After the wheels fell off the band, I worked as a bike messenger for 5 years in Glasgow, which in itself introduced me to a band of hardy and talented people. There was a sort of magical subculture around Messengers at that time and a lot of my fellow Messengers are now also full time artists. From Contortionists, to boutique frame builders and pro-level international musicians the courier scene in Glasgow has produced some amazing careers, I feel blessed to have been involved in it and the punk attitude it instilled in me. My nickname (call sign) amongst the messengers was ‘Teen Wolf’ and I still howl at my friends in the street when I see them.
My parents, Ardis and Philip Hyde, as a team, made a full-time living in nature photography for 60-years before many others did. They also not only helped to make national parks and other wilderness, they quietly and for the most part privately, helped pioneer the Post War wave of the Back to the Land Movement. Before sustainably became a trend, they lived a low carbon, low impact, self-sufficient lifestyle.
They lived in the wilderness, which not only surrounded their home and gardens in the Northern Sierra, but also became the typical destination for professional projects, many in national or state parks. They also made a point of traveling over back roads through the wildest places possible on the way to photography locations. They often parked for the night far from any towns, perhaps in a gravel quarry, on a side road or in a primitive campground.
Philip, Ardis and David Self-Portrait, Waterpocket Fold, Capitol Reef National Park
Though Mom grew up in Sacramento and Dad in San Francisco, both of them had roots in camping, farming and wilderness. Mom often spent weekends on her grandfather’s ranch. Also, her father took the family camping in the Sierra many times a year. Dad hiked in the hills of San Francisco, Marin County and beyond. He first backpacked in Yosemite National Park with the Boy Scouts when he was 16. He also backpacked the Yosemite backcountry with his father and brother. Part of what brought Mom and Dad together was a desire to be in the outdoors as much as possible.
Starting early in Dad’s career, going against the advice of both of his mentors Ansel Adams and David Brower, he and Mom decided to live in the wilderness, not just work there.
Starting early in Dad’s career, going against the advice of both of his mentors Ansel Adams and David Brower, he and Mom decided to live in the wilderness, not just work there. They took up residence in the mountains far away from the photography marketplace. They acquired 18 acres with National Forest bordering two sides of the property. Dad built what was originally only a 1200 square foot home with a garage, but he added a second bedroom and a larger studio later. The house sits about three hundred yards above Indian Creek on a shelf formed by an ancient rockslide from the precipitous rock faces of the peak across the creek called Grizzly Ridge, which rises 3,000 feet nearly straight up and is capped with snow most of the year.
Piers, San Francisco Waterfront (see the end of the article for captions for all photos)
Dad designed, drew the plans and built the house by hand. It took him two years because he did most of the work himself with some help from Mom in the evenings. A few other friends helped pour the foundation and hoist the large beams for the roof. Everything about the home, the large fireplace made from stones from the property, the flat roof, the solar hot water panels, the clerestory windows, the raised bed vegetable garden, the fruit trees and the whimsical stone lined pond and flower garden were all ideas adopted from other pioneers of conservation and low-impact living.
Mom not only taught kindergarten full-time in Greenville, California, she also became known for her knowledge of organic gardening, food storage and preparation. She became an expert on gardening to attract butterflies, bees and other beneficial creatures in the Mountain West. She planted Butterfly Bushes, Virginia Creeper, and Japanese Maples. She was an expert plant pirate and regularly gave other gardeners cuttings. She grew 4-5 varieties of Dogwood and many other colorful shrubs and dwarf trees. She also became highly skilled at canning, freezing, preserving, making her own soap, bread, cheese, butter, tofu and many other household goods. She grew strawberries, raspberries, and rhubarb. When I was about seven, she and I planted a vegetable garden.
Riffle Through Woods at Rough Rock, Northern Sierra, California, 1983
For better harvest yields, Dad let in more sunlight by cutting trees at the edge of the forest for firewood, leaving me to dig out the stumps. From a young age I remember hauling straw, sand, topsoil, manure, gravel, sawdust, wood chips and peat moss for the garden, as well as the winter’s wood supply in many loads in our dark green dented 1952 Chevrolet step-side pickup my parents bought from photographer Brett Weston in 1955.
“When I left the city for good in 1950 to live in the mountains,” Dad said. “I knew that I was leaving behind the opportunity to make lots of money. I think that when I first chose photography, I was choosing the pleasures of creativity over the consolation of wealth. I define success for myself in terms of my lifestyle. Success is freedom and opportunity to do what I want to do...”
“When I left the city for good in 1950 to live in the mountains,” Dad said. “I knew that I was leaving behind the opportunity to make lots of money. I think that when I first chose photography, I was choosing the pleasures of creativity over the consolation of wealth. I define success for myself in terms of my lifestyle. Success is freedom and opportunity to do what I want to do. But some people seem to think that once you’re successful, you can just coast from then on. That’s certainly not true for me; I have to keep working hard, which is a good thing, or I might sit back on the oars and float downstream.”
He not only put in a lot of physical labor at home helping mom carve a home out of the wilderness, but photographed far from home for long months each year and sent out masses of press and show prints when he was home. He was working to get his nature photographs used by organizations and publishers before the market for nature photography had been established. However, by continuously sending out prints, negatives and transparencies, and because nobody could argue with their quality and power for illustrating nature, publishing credits and exhibitions gradually came. Also, his mentor David Brower began to expose his work and use it in the popular and widely known Sierra Club Calendars, the Sierra Club Bulletin, brochures, and other publications for many conservation organizations such as National Audubon and the Wilderness Society, as well as many more local groups all over the Western States. Sunset magazine and other expensive slick magazines started using more photographs solely of nature during the transition to color as image reproduction technologies improved. Sunset, Life and other publishing houses also produced books showing and selling the American West to new families after World War II, who were also newly automobile-mobile and looking for places to visit, explore, camp and stay in the burgeoning variety of motel franchises. Hyde’s photographs, by the end of his full-time career, had been the primary illustrations in a few dozen large picture volumes and appeared in over 80 other books.
Meanwhile, Ansel Adams, Edward Weston and his sons Brett and Cole, Minor White, Imogen Cunningham, Dorothea Lange and other fine print makers became increasingly popular in the black and white collecting art world. They invited Hyde and his other classmates and a few others who had talent in the darkroom, to exhibit with them in significant shows all over the nation and the world. White curated a solo show of Hyde’s work at the George Eastman House Museum, which led to a Hyde solo show at the Smithsonian in 1956.
From the time of their marriage in June 1947 until Dad began to lose his eyesight in 1999, he spent an average of 99 days a year in the field. Mom accompanied him the most during the months of June through August when she had time off from teaching kindergarten. Dad traveled mainly between April and October in the Western United States; camping, backpacking, driving, riding horses, mules, trains, planes and boats to access wilderness for almost one third of every year of his more than 60 years of full-time photography.
The spring and summer of 1955 are good examples of how much the Hydes traveled in Dad’s early career. Even with this level of road travel, Ardis and Philip still averaged far fewer driving miles than the average American couple. Throughout a 60-year full-time photography career, the Hydes averaged together less than 10,000 miles per year. American couples average over 27,000 miles per year.
Drakes Beach from Hilltop, Pt. Reyes National Seashore, California, 1962
In 1955, after buying the 1952 Chevy Pickup from Bret Weston in March, Mom and Dad put a camper shell on it, christened it Covered Wagon and took off in it from April through September. They spent the last 12 days in April over 300 miles from home in the Coast Redwoods. Next Dad turned around and journeyed alone over 600 miles south for the first half of May to photograph Hetch Hetchy Valley in Yosemite. Continuously for the next three months Mom and Dad backpacked, camped, river rafted and drove thousands of miles through Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Washington and Oregon. This included three river trips: 13 days on the Colorado River through little known Glen Canyon, 26 days on the Yampa River in Utah and Wyoming inside Dinosaur National Monument, and five days on the Canyon of Lodore on the Green River, also in Dinosaur. By August 16, after three weeks in Wyoming in Yellowstone National Park and Grand Tetons National Park on a Sierra Club Pack Trip, Mom got a ride home with participants, but Dad continued on to Glacier National Park way up in Montana for 10 days and Olympic National Park in Washington for two more weeks. Dad did not see home until September 10.
Cathedral in the Desert, Glen Canyon, Utah, 1964
Such a schedule makes it challenging to build much of a life at home. However, after I was born in 1965 Mom began to stay home from many of Dad’s photography trips and she planted a garden. Her gardening endeavors increased in size and scope until when I was about 10 years old, she had expanded the tenable area from one side of the house to three sides and her vegetable garden grew to approximately 15 by 20 meters.
Part of what moderated Mom and Dad’s push to achieve was a belief that life is meant for living and not just for work. My parents read Eastern philosophers such as Lao Tzu, who taught that happiness lies in being rather than doing. They read Lin Yutang, who in his large volume called The Importance of Living enlightens the reader with such chapter titles as, Human Life as a Poem, Playful Curiosity, Tea and Friendship, Enjoyment of Nature, and On Going About and Seeing Things. Many other texts of philosophy, art, culture and large picture books lined the walls of bookshelves in our mountain home.
Part of what moderated Mom and Dad’s push to achieve was a belief that life is meant for living and not just for work.
Near Water’s Edge, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona, 1964
Another book I remember seeing around the house, Living the Good Life: How to Live Sanely and Simply in a Troubled World by Helen and Scott Nearing, contained instructions on how to live an enjoyable, self-sufficient lifestyle. About two months before my mother passed on in 2002, I interviewed her about gardening for beneficial insects and wildlife for a magazines article. We also discussed a garden I planted at my own home near Pecos, New Mexico. At one point Mom excused herself from the dining table where we were talking, walked into her bedroom and came back with her own personal copy of Living the Good Life. With moistening eyes, she handed it to me and said, “This was our bible, besides, of course The Bible.”
Indeed, Living the Good Life had been the bible for the entire Back to the Land Movement that began in the 1930s and peaked in the 1950s. The Nearings left New York City and farmed on rural land first in Vermont, then Maine. After their book came out, they developed a national following of people who moved out of the cities to get away from Post War crowding, industrialism, pollution and competition. Also, for the first time in history, the human psyche confronted the possibility of mass annihilation with the invention of the atomic bomb.
Like the Nearings, the Hydes endured exposure to a wide range of rural and wild conditions and predicaments. Mom and Dad were survivors and minimalists who conserved resources, energy and money. Dad either repaired or jury-rigged water lines, oil pumps, motors, batteries, light switches and everything else in the house and vehicles.
Like the Nearings, the Hydes endured exposure to a wide range of rural and wild conditions and predicaments. Mom and Dad were survivors and minimalists who conserved resources, energy and money. Dad either repaired or jury-rigged water lines, oil pumps, motors, batteries, light switches and everything else in the house and vehicles.
He fixed flat tires and mended broken equipment with patience, ingenuity and often little resources. Mom planned the food and supplies for their travels and did the preparation and packing. She supported Dad emotionally, physically and spiritually, even when she did not go along on his travels. When she did go along she kept the daily trip logs, read the guidebooks and learned the plants, animals and birds in each area they visited.
In 1962, the same year Rachel Carson released Silent Spring, the Sierra Club first introduced color to landscape photography with the release of In Wildness Is the Preservation of the World with color photographs by Eliot Porter and quotes from Henry David Thoreau and Island In Time: The Point Reyes Peninsula by Harold Gilliam with photographs by Philip Hyde. While In Wildness was a well-planned art book, Island In Time was a rush project for which David Brower chose Dad as photographer because Brower knew Dad could quickly get enough artistically interesting, yet documentary feeling images to put together a book that not only helped raise the funds necessary to buy the land to establish Point Reyes National Seashore before the developers could subdivide it, not to mention it shared the Point Reyes story with Congress and President John F. Kennedy, who finalized the Bill making it part of the national park system.
Iceberg, Snow Patches, Ellery Lake, Yosemite National Park, 1980
We immerse ourselves in monstrous feature films that drive our imaginations to places we could only imagine are found in fairy tails. Mountain ranges that are bleak, baron and leave a chill running down the spine, deserts where life seems unimaginable to exist, but the odd creature clings to life. Endless oceans either so calm motion is not even visible, or the other extreme of 100ft waves and driving rain with wind.
But what about the quaint, peaceful rolling green hills that are cultivated to perfection, where orchards can be found with lush trees bearing fruit. The view of soft mist from the mornings cool air and the meandering river gently pacing itself while fish rise to take the early morning insects. And cattle grazing creating the mowed lawns, whilst the hedges create the patchwork quilt landscape viewed from the hills. This can mean only one place, Tolkien's Shire in Lord Of The Rings. A place where the film starts it journey by showcasing the simple lives of the Hobbits. Was this a place created in his imagination, or is there more to the Shire than really meets the eye?
It is almost impossible to choose just one image to write about since I constantly find inspiration in many great photographs almost on a daily basis. After some contemplation, I decided to choose American photographer Peter Coskun’s image Bloom. It is one of those images that I immediately gravitated towards and keep coming back to. It is also one of those images that made me slow down and dig a bit deeper, trying to figure out why it leaves me a long-lasting impression.
Like many landscape photographers, when I started learning photography, I was initially primarily drawn to photograph the grand landscape and chase the ultra-wide-angle dramatic visual effects. In later years, I realised that this is not the only way to photograph landscapes, and I slowly expanded my interest and focus from grand vistas to smaller scenes. Smaller scenes or nature abstracts, although sometimes harder to isolate and extract, present a lot more or even endless possibilities for creativity and help develop a personal vision. I also think they can often tell more unique stories compared with grand landscapes.
Mastering both grand landscapes and intimate small scenes is no easy feat. Each requires a different mindset. I say this because I myself am going through the learning curve. Peter Coskun’s portfolio demonstrates his proficiency in both. Based in Arizona, U.S., Peter has an impressive body of work that is specialised in his beloved southwest deserts, canyons, and mountains. His grand landscape work is jaw-droppingly beautiful, and his nature abstracts are equally captivating.
By early 2022 we had both recovered from the success of our previous book, “New Beginnings”, and the £1,500 which went to the Young Minds charity. We wanted to build on our experiences, but, this time, have three rather than six photographers. We liked the idea that black and white images might produce a more coherent final book and attract a different range of photographers. Our most radical idea was that we wanted some words included in the book that was more than those normally provided by photographers themselves – we wanted a “proper” writer to be involved who would weave a story throughout the book and, in doing this reach a wider audience. This was all a bit of a step into the unknown. We did know; however, that blending together images from three photographers, all working separately, and then adding the words from an author responding to those photographs was going to be a challenge. Also, like before, we wanted to use this to raise money for a charity.
In looking for a theme, a charitable cause and a figurehead who would champion the project, we soon came to the conclusion that we should approach master printer Jack Lowe for help. Jack describes himself as a documentarist using photography, audio, film and words to shine a light on the greatness of others. Since 2015 Jack has been working on a major photographic mission — The Lifeboat Station Project. After asking to look at our earlier books, we were delighted when Jack accepted our invitation to come on board and has been with us ever since.
Finding an author was totally outside of our comfort zone, but luckily, we struck gold when we approached Merseyside author Jeff Young, whose book “Ghost Town - A Liverpool Shadowplay” (Little Toller, 2020) had so impressed Paul. Again, we sent a sample of our work, and almost overnight, he signed up.
We advertised the launch of the project on our website and through social media, after which a large number of excellent photographers expressed an interest in taking part. Through their websites, social media and other sources, we looked at their work, had a telephone call and agreed on the three who we thought gave us the best chance of achieving the sort of book we were after. Lynn, Ali and Fiona all seemed genuinely pleased when we got back in touch with them, and we have all worked together since then.
The photographers were given two months (September and October) to each submit around 20 black and white images that, in their view, best followed the brief. We gave them no guidance other than the odd vote of confidence in their ability to produce quality work. The images came in on time, and then we were faced with the challenge of coming up with a shortlist of 35 or so, which were sequenced in a decent manner and ideally had no one photographer over-represented.
Jeff’s key role started when we sent him a hard copy of our first draft sequence of images just after Christmas 2022. We were absolutely blown away when we received Jeff’s words. His enthusiasm has been an inspiration for us, and we could not have been happier with how his words were such a significant addition to the book.
Lynn Fraser
Once the euphoria of being selected to take part in the project had subsided, reality set in - I was at a loss as to how to proceed, given the remit was so wide. After some considerable thought about the type of subject matter I like to photograph, I decided to incorporate man-made objects in my images, and this opened up a variety of locations and subject matter within easy travelling distance from home. The images were not pre-planned as I mostly visited locations that I had not previously been to. Setting my camera’s picture style to monochrome helped me to see and compose the images once on location, and I came back from each excursion with a set of images that I felt fulfilled the brief. Selecting which images to submit from the body of work I had accumulated became the hardest part of the project.
Mermaid of the North (Pp 23
The “Mermaid of the North”, as she is called, sits just a few metres from the shore on a large rock. For a sculpture, she has an intense gaze, and I wanted to capture this along with the sense of serenity I felt as I sat on the beach watching the small waves roll around her.
Lighthouse with marram grass (Pp 33)
Stories of drowning sailors are whispered here and you can hear the feral grief of the witness. ~Jeff Young
I find lighthouses fascinating structures, both from an aesthetic and an engineering perspective. Always situated in obviously difficult, or even seemingly impossible, locations, lighthouses rise up as a steadfast testament to the determination and skill of those who built them, the lonely and harsh environment for those who manned them, and the signal of potential danger for those navigating our coastal waters. All these thoughts went through my mind as I made this image.
Ali Lewis
Living in Shropshire, I am slightly landlocked! However, a week after I discovered I had been selected for the project, I was due to take a family vacation in Devon. I've always loved this area, and a friend of mine recommended a lesser well-known beach near where we were staying. The beach proved to be a wonderful location full of fossils, shapes, textures, rocks, seaweed and many more things to explore. During this time, it was also one of the hottest weeks of the year which provided excellent light and shadows.
Although I found my time in Devon successful, I wanted to make the very most of the time I had to complete the project. I choose to spend two days in Harlech in Wales, and these days were blessed with stunning skies, fascinating beaches, peace and calm. I'm grateful for the wonderful experiences and moments this project has given me.
I spent many, many hours with my photos and feel a very tight bond with them. I narrowed them down from several hundred to twenty. I'd like to think the photos chosen for the book represent my love of the smaller, simple parts of nature, which I am naturally drawn to.
Grass drawing in the sand (Pp 25)
Despite the magnificent view of Harlech Beach in front of me, I ran excitedly down to the shore to explore it in more detail. I was drawn to a section of dunes with pink flowers, and as I lay down on the sand, my eye was drawn to a patch of long grass. I realised the grass was being gently blown by the wind and making patterns in the sand. It felt like I was in a little bubble, and the rest of the world disappeared around me.
Lines in the Rock (Pp 37)
The lines in the stones resemble the lines in my body, lines like scars and wounds. ~Jeff Young
The beach in Devon was covered in rocks of all different sizes, many were smooth and slightly freckled, giving me the impression of skin or bodies with their smooth edges. After exploring for a little while, I found a rock with large white lines streaking down it. This automatically gave me the impression of veins and a lifeline within nature, representing how it is all connected.
Fiona McCowan
Mid-August. I have been selected for the Littoral project. Delight is quickly followed by mild panic. The brief - twenty new black and white images taken at the coast and ready by the end of October. I live in rural Gloucestershire, miles from the sea. I’m away from mid October. Can I meet the deadline? Will my images be OK? Frantically rearranging the diary to accommodate trips to the coast. An understanding and supportive husband, John. A friend, Carole, arranges a trip to Whitby. Cornish location suggestions from Richard. Trips to North Devon, Cornwall, North Yorkshire and Fife. Images edited, images selected, then discarded; repeat! Last minute day trip to Porthcawl. A final choice was made. Sense of relief.
Pier - Flowers (Pp 13)
Dead Flowers. I won't forget to put roses on your grave. At the end of the pier, a young woman sitting motionless on a bench, crying silently. Her anguish too private to photograph. A faded wreath tied to the railings.
The Sea (Front Cover) "It is alright to feel lost and to not understand how we got here, to navigate without maps" Jeff Young
And the rain fell down. Early morning walk along the South West coastal path abandoned. Torrential rain and strong gusty winds. Now safely on the beach. Watching with awe. Thinking about the Japanese aesthetic of yūgen: a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe … and the sad beauty of human suffering.
Beauty is all around us, but sometimes what differentiates our ability to notice is that beauty is a matter of perspective, shaped by everything that makes us who we are as individuals. Our childhood experiences, education, hobbies, adventures in nature, the people we meet, the books we read, and the trials we go through as human beings all factor into shaping us and making us unique. This uniqueness is our number one gift as photographers. It isn’t the gear we choose to purchase, the locations we decide to travel to, or the editing techniques we learn (although these are all important to one degree or another, of course). By focusing on what makes us who we are, we open the door for personal expression and allow the world to see how we see.
The subject of this article, Vanda Ralevska, is an example of how perspective can shape how we see the world and what we appreciate and notice about it as photographers. She grew up in the former country of Czechoslovakia in a coal mining area – shaped by that world and those times. Throughout childhood, she found herself surrounded by coal mines, blast furnaces, and chimneys. Her father gifted her a camera at a young age, which opened a whole new way of discovering the world around her. This unique upbringing in Czechoslovakia helped forge who she is today and what makes her gravitate towards the subjects she does.
A large focus of Vanda’s approach to photography and how she chooses subjects revolves around finding things of interest “close to her doorstep.”
Sometimes I find that Matt Payne and I have independently been circling the same photographers (Matt featured Jeff in a Portrait of a Photographer in December 21). Since leaving the city and making a home in the High Country in the northeast of the state of Victoria, Australia, Jeff has dusted off his DSLR and found a new purpose in photographing the area. As many of us find, photography has been a means to see and experience much more, as well as a creative outlet. Some of Jeff’s most striking images are of the contorted forms of snow gum.
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 currently live in a small remote town in the Victorian High Country (Australia) with my wife and three children. Originally both from Melbourne, we relocated to the high country in 2017, seeking a much simpler life for us and our kids away from the noise and chaos of city life.
Growing up, I had a love of drawing, mostly copying pictures and trying to replicate photos as best I could. I enjoyed all sorts of drawing, from portraiture to landscapes, basically, anything that I was attracted to, I would want to try and draw.
My interest in drawing carried on into school, where I relished art classes which then lead to me pursuing art and design subjects in secondary school. My love of the art and design field grew immensely in secondary school, and I began thinking about pursuing it as a career choice.
I went on to study graphic design however found it very difficult to secure a job after completing my studies. The industry was extremely competitive at the time, and I required further study to have any chance of securing a job. Consequently, the level of candidate selection for university was very high, and unfortunately, I missed out on securing an enrolment.
My first encounter with Hasui’s work was like meeting a kindred mind as well as a mentor. It was a warm evening, and I had just visited the Museum Pompidou in Paris with my girlfriend and a visiting friend. Despite living within the limits of the Paris Region (called Ile-de-France), it is rare for us to spend time in Paris, but the occasion to see an old friend and visiting an exhibition was more than enough to convince us both. Towards the end of the afternoon, our friend left for the airport, and we kept strolling around Beaubourg Quartier until nightfall. A small bookstore had practically invaded one of the long paved pedestrian roads with his many book stalls. Parisian book stalls are renowned to have rare art books in quantity. As we both love books, especially art ones, without saying a word, we were already in compulsive browsing mode, and our sole preoccupation was if we had enough time before it closed.
After a short while, I happened to see a book with a marvellous illustration of a Japanese scene, just lying there on top of a pile of books. What struck me the most at first was the masterfully balanced composition and the exquisite colour choices, which conveyed an intense mood. I instantly felt the desire to see more from this book and to learn about its creator, whom at that point I didn’t even know the name of, but I recognised that what I saw was the result of decades of practice, passion and dedication to the craft.
As I opened the book and browsed through it, I was a bit let down by the almost complete lack of text as I would have hoped for information about the artist and his work, but I was pleased to see an extensive gallery showing his superb work. The richness of each artwork and the consistency in quality convinced me to buy the book titled in French “Le Japon Eternel” (“Eternal Japan”) by French publisher “Editions Langlaude”. Despite there being many other art books, this is the only one I bought. I knew it would have kept me busy for a while despite its lack of written explanations. To remedy that, I had to find out more about the artist’s life elsewhere.
After a long time contemplating the work shown in the book, I started to research the artist. His name was Kawase Hasui, and lived between 1883 and 1957. So called “poet of the emotions of travel”, he was the heir to the landscape painters of the Ukiyo-e pictorial school (approximately 1650-1890) and one of the main representatives of a long tradition of painters of Japanese woodblock prints in the first half of the 20th century. With his prints series "Twenty views of Tokyo" or "Choice of landscapes of Tokaido" he enters into the tradition of painters of famous sites of Japan, following the path already traced by Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849) and by Utagawa Hiroshige (1797-1858). Hasui was the most successful and prolific artist of the Shin-Hanga movement (1906-1950) and specialised in landscape views.
After a short while, I happen to see a book with a marvellous illustration of a Japanese scene, just lying there on top of a pile of books. What struck me the most at first was the masterfully balanced composition and the exquisite colour choices, which conveyed an intense mood.
How were Japanese prints made?
The Japanese print uses the technique of xylography, a woodcut relief printing technique. Each print was entirely made by hand, no printings press was used. It comes from a very old process that came from China and arrived in Japan around the 8th century, used for writing books and copying sutras (Buddhist canons), then abandoned by lay patrons for painting or illustration. It was, therefore, only around the 17th century that images were made for non-religious purposes.
There are places we have visited when we were younger that leave a lasting impression on our souls. Whether that is a yearning to go back to those places, to move and live immersed in their beauty or just a love of being out in the the vast landscapes.
For Norman, he spent holidays as a child around County Kerry, and it wasn't until he started photography that he realised the impact those memories had on him. Norman has devoted the past thirty years to making images around the area. His love and passion has not diminished, in fact, his connection to the sense of place has deepened and evolved. I caught up with Norman earlier in 2023 to hear about his new book Kingdom and to hear more about his connection to this rugged and dramatic landscape.
We spoke to you last in 2019 was, when you had launched your book 'Beara' bring us up to date with your work since then.
It's been a hectic four years since BEARA came out, including the two weird years of Covid! However, that book led to many things, such as talks, presentations, and a lot of newly commissioned work. It also helped visitors to the gallery, and despite the pandemic, the last two years were our busiest ever. I began working on the new book KINGDOM almost immediately after BEARA was released. The success of that book and how it was received gave me the confidence to continue to work with a more personal approach to the landscape and continue to make the type of images I’m really enjoying.
Division
It was an obsession but one that drew me out into the landscape enough for me to eventually feel there was little else to learn but everything to see. As a result, I began to feel a deep connection to this place, which comes with familiarity, experiences and an understanding of all aspects, from history to geology.
Hawthorn
Paul Wakefield has written the foreword for the book. How did that come about? Is Paul someone who’s inspired you over the years?
I first met Paul at the Meeting of Minds conference in Rheged in 2014. We had been in touch before as my book came runner-up to his book The Landscape in the International Photography Awards, and I sent him a congratulatory email. As he is such a gent, he clocked my name tag in a coffee queue, introduced himself, and we had a few good chats over the weekend. As the central theme of my work is 'connection,' I thought of people who had a connection to Kerry in some way for the foreword. I asked Paul, as he has worked in Kerry before and has photographed some of my favourite remote locations that others still rarely visit. So he had a connection to Kerry, and of course, his work is inspirational, not just to me but to many landscape photographers out there. Working with him on it was a pleasure, and he writes as eloquently as he photographs!
Art is the ability to generate sensations and go straight to the depths, touching the right chord. There is no logic or rationality in finding oneself akin to a particular song, a painting or a photograph that becomes special for us.
I am a nature landscape photographer and for me photography has always been a magic eye through which seeing reality in a different way. And, inevitably, the way I look into the lens over the years has followed my intimate and personal development, mirroring my moods and my inner growth.
For months, after the pandemic, I have not been able to photograph as I would like. I was closed in everyday loops, overcome by intense and sometimes claustrophobic fears. It was a though period, which marked us, leaving the concern of living normal relationships with the people and made us lose our self-confidence.
I know there could have been moments of standstill like these during life and I also know that we must get the most of them and begin again.
And I did realise there is not the perfect shot, there is the perfect light. The light within us.
I was asked to write an end frame on one of my favourite photographs for On Landscape; and, almost without thinking, I chose Sandra Bartocha's "Light Show”. It represents for me the simple beauty, the one that bursts into life always and despite everything.
First Shakespeare sonnets seem meaningless; first Bach fugues, a bore; first differential equations, sheer torture. But training changes the nature of our spiritual experiences. In due course, contact with an obscurely beautiful poem, an elaborate piece of counterpoint or of mathematical reasoning, causes us to feel direct intuitions of beauty and significance.~Aldous Huxley
Alois Riegl was a key figure in establishing art history as an academic discipline.
In this sense, beholders are not just passive receivers of meaning, they are also an artist’s partners, collaborators, and co-creators in the experience of art. Building on Riegl’s work, Ernst Gombrich, in his book, Art and Illusion, coined the term “the beholder’s share,” referring to what viewers bring to the experience of deriving meaning from art.
He was also among the first to recognise that meaning in art comes not only from the creating artist but also from how an artwork is interpreted by beholders—viewers, readers, listeners—who bring their own knowledge, sensibilities, culture, beliefs, and perceptions to their encounters with art. In this sense, beholders are not just passive receivers of meaning, they are also an artist’s partners, collaborators, and co-creators in the experience of art. Building on Riegl’s work, Ernst Gombrich, in his book, Art and Illusion, coined the term “the beholder’s share,” referring to what viewers bring to the experience of deriving meaning from art.
Minor White, in one of his last interviews, described what, in practice, is the beholder’s share in photography. Asked whether meaningful reading of a photograph requires more than just “a degree of self-awareness,” White responded: “The more knowledge (including technical, psychological, historical, and personal) that a viewer brings to a photograph, the richer will be his experience.”
The idea that viewers may interpret (or misinterpret) mimetic art differently from what an artist had intended is certainly not new. For example, Plato [see my article, “Transcendent Forms and Noble Lies”] worried that people may be tempted to believe mimetic images and confuse them for true reality, and Immanuel Kant suggested that those who wish to appreciate fully the artistic beauty of mimetic art must approach the artwork with “disinterestedness” [see my article, “Disinterested Interest”] (that is, without caring whether the items depicted in the artwork correlate with objects in the real world). Certainly, meaning in art and the role of the beholder’s share in deriving this meaning becomes even more complex in the case of abstract and other nonrepresentational art.
So often, when we go out, we look afar. It took the restriction of the first Covid lockdown in 2020 and circling the same loop of the lane that I’d walked for more than a decade for me to really start noticing the life and lines within the area between the macadam and the drystone wall. Consequently, I was intrigued when I came across Ian’s series ‘Beside Me’, which majors on the vegetation that is next to us. That’s not to say he doesn’t look beyond or above.
Ian describes his photography as “a personal exploration into landscape, stemming from a desire to reignite his own creativity in mid-life while trying to find a new way of capturing landscape, with a focus on how we as humans often inadvertently affect the aesthetic of our surroundings through commerce and other activity.”
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what led you to study and do for work?
I live in Wallingford, Oxfordshire, a small market town set within the open countryside beyond The Chilterns as you leave London to the west. It is here in around 2016 that I first started to think about and practice my landscape photography. I was raised in Sussex and spent most of my youth either cycling with friends through the local forests or dodging the headcases at school (pupils and teachers alike). The town of Horsham was, and probably still is, one the UK’s most ardent Conservative strongholds, with little time for the arts, let alone finance for it.
I was around 15 years old when I went with my mum to see a Bill Brandt exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, which for me was a big deal. I remember being totally blown away by it. Until that point, photographs had only been things I’d seen in books or newspapers or in the family album. Suddenly they were printed in large frames in a grand gallery.
My mum and dad were very rare creatures, both being left thinking liberals and interested in culture; my mum was a gifted amateur artist. Thatcher was in her pomp, and my mother objected to her and everything she and the Tories stood for, so I grew up in a house which was very different to that of most of my peers at school.
I was around 15 years old when I went with my mum to see a Bill Brandt exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, which for me was a big deal. I remember being totally blown away by it. Until that point, photographs had only been things I’d seen in books or newspapers or in the family album. Suddenly they were printed in large frames in a grand gallery. My Grandparents gifted me my first camera, an Olympus Trip, and my parents allowed me to turn my bedroom into a darkroom with black walls, black-out panels for the windows, an enlarger and all the kit for developing film and making black and white prints. It probably wasn’t the healthiest of environments to sleep in, with trays of chemicals on the shelf next to my bed. I learned the basics with the help of one of my secondary school teachers who ran a photography club; I developed and printed my own work and won a few local competitions.
After surviving the daily battles of comprehensive school and emerging with a pretty basic set of qualifications, things soon changed for the better. I went on to study A Levels at the local sixth form college, and it was here at Collyers where I first started to feel comfortable about enjoying and exploring the arts surrounded as I was by a brilliant mix of like-minded peers, many of whom are still friends now, and some inspirational teachers.
Imagine that one day, while out hiking alone, you come upon a peculiar device filled with little buttons and dials of different colours. Each one is labelled with something like “clouds, light angle, rain, light intensity, fog, etc.” After some experimentation, you realise that by pushing the buttons in different combinations, you are instantly able to command the weather, change the angle and warmth of the light, and even momentarily pause the movement of the sun. You now have full control over any scene you photograph and are able to create the “perfect” moment exactly as you envision it in your mind.
You bring this device along as you visit all different kinds of destinations. After settling on a composition, like some sort of wizard, you summon the snow and golden light or intense lightning and a double rainbow.
You bring this device along as you visit all different kinds of destinations. After settling on a composition, like some sort of wizard, you summon the snow and golden light or intense lightning and a double rainbow. Chasing the light is no longer of your concern because you can bring it right to you. Shadows fall wherever you wish, and the ideal light illuminates all the right areas. You are able to experience the most epic and unique conditions you can imagine, even in places where they could never occur naturally. Your portfolio begins to fill with images beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, larger-than-life scenes as no one has ever seen before.
Your incredible photographs quickly gain you recognition as an artist. People are blown away by your work, and it spreads all around the world. Many of your peers accuse your photographs of being “fake,” but you quickly shut them down by easily providing proof that you have indeed captured everything in camera. Your photographs win competitions and receive many awards. It’s not long before you’re considered one of the best photographers in the world.
Kelp? Aye, right enough. Why kelp? I’ve no idea. I hate doing the zen thing. Talking about mindfulness and the like. I’m a rough-arse Scotsman. Thick-skinned and all that sort of thing. I’ll say it to your face, not behind your back. So why do I get so much enjoyment out of seaweed? Is it a sign that I secretly yearn to be thought of as a creative?
For people to look at my work and say in a genteel Edinburgh accent, “Isn’t that Mark Littlejohn wonderfully artistic”. Again, I have no idea. I have no idea about a lot of things as it happens. Truth be told I’ve never had a project before. And certainly not one that’s had me thinking that maybe I am a bit of an artist. Perhaps there is a wee bit more to all this talk of zen and mindfulness than I have previously admitted to myself. All I know is that I was wandering with the dog down at Far Away beach one morning. The tide was out. In fact it wasn’t just out. It looked like it was going on its holidays somewhere far off and distant. And as the dog and I wandered, I saw the kelp.
A multitude of shapes, all layered in the most elegant way by the outgoing tide. A sensuous swoop and sway to its curvaceous folds. It was everywhere. Sprouting from the sand like Camel Thorn trees in a Namibian Desert. Layered over dark boulders, each strand intertwined with the next. It was these strands that fascinated me. I’ve always said that if you see something that makes you smile or swear, then you should photograph it. So I did.
Why do I get so much enjoyment out of seaweed? Is it a sign that I secretly yearn to be thought of as a creative?
Even on my dog walks, I have a camera. A jack of all trades sort of thing. In a little waist bag, swung over my shoulder like a bandolero. A bit like one of the baddies in The Good, The and The Ugly. When I looked at the photographs later, I realised I was showing too much of what had fascinated me.
I questioned my motives for writing this article and thought long and hard before putting pen to paper. Was I doing it for sympathy or engaging in self-pity? If either of these were the motives, it was time to rip the page from my notepad. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that I wanted to try to explain how the biggest change in my life that I feared would put an end to photography but has, instead, lead me in a different direction and help me to improve. I think I also wanted to articulate how photography has been a respite that’s enabled me to escape from the challenges that since 2014 have been my world.
Approaching Fog, Sunrise , Barmston East Yorkshire
Let me explain. In late November 2014, my wife, Tracey, had been unwell for a few days and was admitted to hospital with what we thought was a bug. In fact, it was cancer. She had emergency, life changing surgery later that day, followed by chemotherapy in 2015. 8 years and 3 major operations, radiotherapy and 3 rounds of chemotherapy later, with more chemo to come in 2023, the physical effects are there for all to see.
Finding the time to make images and meet my caring responsibilities and work commitments has been difficult. After a period when photography was almost forgotten, I realised that I needed to pursue my passion for my own well-being. It was time for a plan.
She endures treatment with a remarkable stoicism and courage that is truly inspiring. Gone are the days when I could go away on photography trips or have time to travel to make images, caring for my wife takes precedence. It’s a form of lockdown that pre-existed Covid-19 and will continue, and the longer it continues, the better.
Landscape photography has been my passion for many years. Finding the time to make images and meet my caring responsibilities and work commitments has been difficult. After a period when photography was almost forgotten, I realised that I needed to pursue my passion for my own well-being. It was time for a plan. How could I fit photography into my life in the way I had before? I couldn’t. A plan wasn’t going to be enough; it needed to evolve into a whole new way of thinking. I had to find a way to stop feeling resentful of diminished opportunity and jealous of other photographers who were posting superb images on social media from wonderful locations in the UK and around the world.
I had to devise a whole new strategy. Travel was out of the question, and I knew I would have to fit photography around Tracey’s chemotherapy. Treatment was (and will be again) 2 weeks on treatment, with 2 weeks off. It takes around 7 to 10 days for her to recuperate before treatment begins again. I also knew from past experience that Tracey’s severe side effects would me to be on hand. Also, during the latter half of each previous round of chemotherapy, she has needed blood transfusions, adding to her care needs throughout the day.
Outfall, Mablethorpe
Clearing Rain, Chapel St Leonards, Lincolnshire
The reality was I could only reliably plan for 1 Sunday morning per month for landscape photography and would need to be home for Tracey to get up. Shoot planning became a prerequisite. I couldn’t simply go out and see what I could see to make images; I didn’t have the time for this. Being born and raised by the coast, it’s unsurprising that I have an affinity with the sea and living near to the Lincolnshire coast made decision making about potential subjects quite easy.
Detailed shoot planning such as sunrise times and directions, tide and travel times (including how long it would take to walk for the car to the location), subject vantage points and accessibility were needed if I was to make the most of fleeting opportunities.
Locations are dictated by the time of year; during winter months, travel time was limited simply because the sun rises later, and I had to limit myself to be no more than 20 to 30 mins drive from home, which is just long enough to reach nearby locations. Summer months provide greater opportunity because I have more travel time available when sunrise is around 4:30 am. In effect this gives me around 2 hours travel radius, which brings East Yorkshire coast locations into play, including Flamborough Head, Withernsea, Hornsea, Bridlington and other smaller locations. Sadly, Spurn Point, one of my favourite places in the world, remains tantalizingly just out of reach because since its geography was changed in 2013 by the tidal surge access on foot and it now takes too long to walk from the car. Returning to locations has also allowed me to capture them in different conditions to create a selection of photographs of the same subject.
Being born and raised by the coast, it’s unsurprising that I have an affinity with the sea and living near to the Lincolnshire coast made decision making about potential subjects quite easy.
Broken Fence, Mablethorpe Lincolnshire
If I’m being honest with myself and those reading this, preparation and planning are vital tools in my photographic process, but working to overcome resentment of diminished opportunity and time and the jealousy of others was the game changer. I now look to distil time and embrace opportunity and celebrate the work of others. It’s not been an easy process, but it has helped me to resume my creative endeavours that now serve to bolster my wellbeing
The shortlisting of 8-10 images to submit with this article has been a difficult but affirming experience. I’m really pleased with so many of the images I’ve made and can see progression in my work, which I know comes from the additional application because each opportunity is precious and more keenly experienced.
I know what the future holds for my wife, and negativity around photography should not be part of that, but the positivity of engaging with my creativity should be, not only for my own wellbeing but to help me to care for her to the best of my ability.
Sunrise, Drinking Dinosaur, Flamborough Head
Trusthorpe Outfall
Summer Morning, Hornsea
Summer Morning, Hornsea
Outfall, Mablethorpe
Outfall, Mablethorpe #2
No 5, Cleethorpes
Clearing Rain, Chapel St Leonards, Lincolnshire
Broken Fence, Mablethorpe Lincolnshire
Approaching Fog, Sunrise , Barmston East Yorkshire
My Endframe is “Sand patterns, Laig Bay” by Hugh Milsom. It is a beautiful image and its meaning to me comes from where it fits in my photography story.
As an amateur enthusiast photographer, my photography has evolved in bursts. The injections of pace were given by different things, some by equipment, some by devoting time to it, some by workshops. Wildlife photography was my favourite genre, and I enjoy capturing scenes that are very short lived, with a set-up and skills that need to be intuitive and achievable without taking my eye off the subject. Knowing the camera and a good understanding of the algorithms underlying settings/buttons is essential to capture a moment with emphasis on what you want to express.
I know now that I was amongst many who experienced a dissatisfaction with my photography after the transfer to digital. Fortuitously at that time, I was introduced to a camera club which proved a superb source for information and much better tailored help than my previous reliance on photography magazines.
Camera club photography competition is an interesting ‘beast’. There are several must-haves (like a subject?) and several must-not-haves (like burnt out areas). Learning the criteria and the skill sets to achieve them improved my photography immensely and I warmly recommend going through this process/apprenticeship.
However, my image making, whilst qualitatively hugely improved, became centred on how it might perform in competition. I had lost the art, or at least I was putting it second to the skills and the feelings.
