The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives.~ Albert Einstein
In his book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche described three “metamorphoses of the spirit”—stages of personal development that people may (if they choose) pursue if they wish to live their lives to the fullest, which, according to Nietzsche, means living according to one’s own values with the greatest degree of freedom. Nietzsche described the three stages as analogous to adopting the attitudes of a camel, a lion, or a child.
In his book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche described three “metamorphoses of the spirit”—stages of personal development that people may (if they choose) pursue if they wish to live their lives to the fullest, which, according to Nietzsche, means living according to one’s own values with the greatest degree of freedom.
The pursuit of freedom to live according to one’s own values, Nietzsche conceded, is not easy. It may involve taking great risks and the will to accept their consequences, whether good or bad (an attitude he referred to in his autobiographical book, Ecce Homo, as “amor fati”—love your fate). In his book, The Gay Science, Nietzsche wrote emphatically: “For believe me!—the secret for harvesting from existence the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment is: to live dangerously!”
The Camel
According to Nietzsche, most people go about life with the attitude of a camel. A camel, by this analogy, is one who accepts its burden willingly and obediently, without complaint. Camels are strong and docile, willing to work hard and tackle difficult tasks when needed. A camel, wrote Nietzsche, “kneels down . . . wanting to be well loaded,” and, once loaded, has the fortitude and perseverance to “speed into the desert.” A camel accepts the burdens of life dutifully and unquestioningly. It does not lament its fate nor try to rebel or to fight for greater freedoms than are afforded it by its masters and peers. A camel wishes to be of service, to love and to help others. The camel is Nietzsche’s analogy for people who accept as given the burdens, responsibilities, and values imposed by their society and are willing to fulfil their predestined roles honourably and helpfully: people who are generous and would rather not “rock the boat,” who perform whatever labours are expected of them—even if difficult—to the best of their abilities.
Being asked to choose your favourite images of the year is a great opportunity to return to your picture files, remember some great times and experiences, and discover forgotten gems that might have been passed by in an earlier edit. So many thanks, Tim and Charlotte. However, as I discovered, if you were to choose your real favourites of the year, they wouldn’t necessarily be landscapes.
Sam’s PhD graduation portrait, standing with his proud Mum…or my mother, still bright and sharp, orchestrating her entire family on the occasion of her 90th birthday…or more poignantly Jenny’s family gathered together to scatter the ashes of her Mum on the moorland hills above the landscape where she lived most of her life. These exceptional family album moments pull so hard on our emotions that creative forays in the landscape, however memorable, may not necessarily be our personal favourites.
In photography’s now nearly 200 years of existence, human stories and the unfolding of history have spearheaded the medium’s artistic and cultural contribution to society. And before the coming of photography, Joshua Reynolds (the Royal Academy’s first president) declared that History painting was the highest ranking art, and that genres such as landscape were less worthy.
As most human beings naturally are. Landscape photography plays a subordinate role to other genres, often dismissed as being in the “Irrelevant” category.
In a contemporary parallel, photography as a whole remains an art form obsessed with humanity. As most human beings naturally are. Landscape photography plays a subordinate role to other genres, often dismissed as being in the “Irrelevant” category.
And yet landscape photographers (Simon Norfolk, Garth Lenz, Edward Burtynsky and Andreas Gursky spring to mind) have created some the most significant images of our time as we edge closer to an environmental abyss. The story of our aggressive and materialist obsessions is written in the landscapes that we have exploited, bombed, poisoned and stripped naked. These photographers show that landscape photography is not just some “nice-to-have” but a living art of protest and concern that questions our assumptions and forces us to consider the impact of our ways of life.
Focussing on those who use it as a weapon of resistance against apathy and inaction is a reminder of the landscape’s potential. It also has the ability to inspire and bring change in other ways, offering the irresistible beauty of nature as a force to encourage us to reconnect with the wild world. For most in the Onlandscape community, our photography is life-affirming, therapeutic, and an escape from the dreary routines that may dominate our daily lives.
I have the good fortune to review the portfolios of other photographers on a regular basis, and invariably they are more cohesive and thematically consistent than my own. When I showed work with Simon Baxter (see Woodland Sanctuary Exhibition article) earlier this year, I couldn’t help feeling an element of imposter syndrome. For while I love trees and photographing woodland, it’s only one theme I enjoy. Simon has really dedicated his photographic life to woodlands. Or David Ward, whose work I have the pleasure of printing regularly, concentrates almost completely on the intimate studies of decay, dereliction and close-up landscapes that have established his global reputation. By comparison, my own work may appear to be having an identity crisis. I can only admit to being a General Practitioner, landscape-wise.
But does this matter, or is it wrong? Perhaps so, but it is a fair reflection of who I am. I still relish each landscape and travel opportunity and love the variety of challenges each brings. There is a philosophical justification for this General Practice as well: I genuinely believe in the interconnectedness of things in the world and that everything – great and small – matters. All subjects and themes are worthy of attention, and to return to Joshua Reynolds, I respectfully disagree with him. There should be no hierarchy of (thematic) value in the arts. A rock detail, a lichen, a tree, a moor, a mountain…or indeed how they all relate to one another visually…these quiet studies of nature also count.
If the news agenda is our guide, then the world judges that a street protest in Tehran, or a political dispute in London, or a missile attack in Odessa, or strike rallies in Edinburgh matter more. They are the immediate theatre of our lives. But if we don’t pay close attention to our relationship with nature, then what future can we honestly expect? Whether we focus on catastrophe or the healing powers of beauty, artists must reflect on these concerns too.
So, for better or worse, here is my selection, all of which have some meaning for me, as I hope the captions will explain. It should have been twelve, but I never was great at maths, and there is always something appealing about a “Baker’s Dozen”.
Send us your favourite image from 2022
Send us your favourite image from 2022, and put together a gallery of all the submissions we receive in issue 271.
Image 2048px alongside, either via Dropbox or wetransfer. (sending via email tends to compress the image)
Caption - 2-3 sentences.
Full name
The closing date is 5th January 2023.
Thanks, and we look forward to seeing all your images!
Bamburgh dune slack poppies
When younger, I’d probably have rejected these poppies as “past it”. Something changes as we get older and start to feel the effects of ageing and our bodies decay. These experiences echoed in the natural world seem more appealing somehow. Or perhaps the wiggly poppy stems were simply irresistible?
Granite emergence
While my commitment to the general principle of the eyewitness tradition remains strong, I still want to experiment and play with photographic techniques and ideas. Water flowing around rock emphasises sculptural qualities and energy.
While my commitment to the general principle of the eyewitness tradition remains strong, I still want to experiment and play with photographic techniques and ideas. Water flowing around rock emphasises sculptural qualities and energy. The ambiguity of these shapes creates a certain tension and a possibly sinister interpretation.
Last leaves of autumn
This beautiful beech is in the Birks of Aberfeldy, a lovely location for photography. As each November day went by and fewer and fewer leaves were left, so the place became more and more striking; this composition summarises that excitement.
Lean and Slender
This is a study of line, texture and colour, and also of gesture, as the leaning sapling could be seen as broken or, alternatively, reaching out.
I’d expect to always find ancient trees the bigger source of inspiration, yet young trees also have their appeal. This is a study of line, texture and colour, and also of gesture, as the leaning sapling could be seen as broken or, alternatively, reaching out. Very soft light and drizzle made ideal conditions.
Lichen and eddy
This picture was taken in the edge zone beside a flooding river, whose rushing white water I found far too overwhelming to tackle. A rock-colonising lichen sat above an area of slack-ish water that was rotating gently. It was a good example of avoiding the obvious, as well as an opportunity to experiment with shutter speed, allowing the water to describe different patterns during each exposure.
Lines of Age
Is this a pure abstraction or a very literal depiction of a slightly devilish character?
Sedimentary rocks can occasionally produce amazing patterns and designs when exposed in the intertidal zone. Is this a pure abstraction or a very literal depiction of a slightly devilish character?
Lone pine dawn
I’ve been lucky enough to go out with friends John and Rosamund on a number of morning photo excursions near their home, and this was from the most recent. We climbed uphill, out of the valley fog, to find ourselves above what seemed like a rolling sea. I am fond of this picture, but John’s wonderful time lapse (on Instagram) does its restless movement far more justice.
Passing clouds
Summer is pretty tough photographically with its overwhelming greens, but this dramatic rain-stormy weather provides enough contrast for a good counterpoint (to the green).
The Cleveland Hills is a local landmark for me, an essential theme of my local practice. Summer is pretty tough photographically with its overwhelming greens, but this dramatic rain-stormy weather provides enough contrast for a good counterpoint (to the green).
St Johns-in-the-Vale
It feels like sometimes we wait years for decent valley fog, and then, all of a sudden, there comes day after day of it. This late autumn and early winter have produced just such weather patterns. When it happens, it is totally compelling. I focussed on this scene rather than those photogenic mountains, Skiddaw and Blencathra, which lay in diametrically the opposite direction.
Winter coming
Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal have been a special location for me this year, with a major exhibition there throughout the spring, summer, autumn and now winter seasons.
Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal have been a special location for me this year, with a major exhibition there throughout the spring, summer, autumn and now winter seasons. The more I visit this landscape, the more it surprises and delights. This sweet chestnut is not some long hike away but just above the car park by the lake.
Woodland greeting
Scotland’s woods always seem that little bit more colourful and characterful than those further south, and the extremely damp, unpolluted northern air may have something to do with it. The shaggy turquoise lichens appear like a coat of fur, perhaps to protect the trees from the coming winter.
Hawnby Moor hoar frost
Freezing fog may not sound that appealing to regular folk, but no other condition is more likely to create hoar frost, weather phenomena highlighted for any landscape photographer.
Freezing fog may not sound that appealing to regular folk, but no other condition is more likely to create hoar frost, weather phenomena highlighted for any landscape photographer. Although I had not intended to include anything so recent, this photo was, as I write, shot today!
Rievaulx Moor hoar frost
As hoar frost is so rare and often short-lived it’s a subject that can encourage an “I must shoot everything” panic mode. However, solutions that reveal form in a new or interesting way remains as fundamental to good composition as it always is.
The moment I open my tent door I am greeted by icy air. The leftover water in my jetboil from last night’s dinner has frozen solid and my boots are stiff as stone. I slide down into my warm cocoon, delaying my exit for as long as possible, with the hood of my sleeping bag cinched tight around my neck, not letting any of my precious heat escape. Eventually, my parched throat needs water. Without unzipping my bag, I wrestle my arms free and reach for my bottle right next to me, but it’s frozen solid. I’ll have to go filter some fresh water from the stream.
The sun has already risen but the land remains asleep. There is a quietness that feels as though I could reach out and touch it, perhaps also frozen solid during the long dark night. Now that I am up and out of my tent, I reach down to the bottom of my sleeping bag and pull out my warm water filter and camera batteries, putting them in my backpack along with the rest of my camera gear. I will go down to the nearby stream and see what marvels nature has created today.
The wide stream that was flowing the night before has come to a halt–winter’s imposing stillness–and continues to harden and solidify. I can see diagonal lines and triangular fractal patterns forming on its surface, multiplying and becoming more pronounced by the second. Drinking water is no longer of my immediate concern, I am spellbound as I watch nature create this remarkable scenery right before my eyes.
I pull out my camera and hop around from boulder to boulder, studying the different patterns and designs in the river of ice. I move swiftly, knowing that they will not last for long, but I don’t rush. The sun will eventually rise above the treeline behind me and return the stream to its liquid state. As I begin making photos, I can now hear the bugling of elk echoing through the mountain valley. Making their final attempts to attract a mate before the range is fully blanketed in snow. Technically it’s still fall, but up here at 11,000ft winter tends to make an early arrival.
Coincidentally, Matt Payne and I both had Richard Martin on our lists earlier this year. I deferred to Matt, who included Richard in his ‘Portrait of a Photographer’ series. Now we’re back to complete our Featured Photographer interview with Richard, who is both prolific and expressive in the personal work that he produces, and a passionate teacher of photography.
Richard is an advocate of ‘play’ and of keeping an open mind; process is important, and equipment is simply a means to an end. Often photographing close to home, Richard’s images frequently feature flow, whether in the form of water or plant life.
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 Kingston, Ontario, Canada, located on the eastern end of Lake Ontario at the beginning of the St. Lawrence River. Kingston is situated midway between Toronto, Ontario, and Montreal, Quebec, close to the Thousand Islands region to the east, where I spent much of my youth.
From a very young age, I had a strong interest in the visual arts, particularly drawing. I also spent considerable time exploring the natural world during my earlier years.
In the late seventies, at the beginning of my career as an Architectural Technologist, I became seriously interested in photography, discovering the camera could act as a tool for expressing genuinely personal feelings. The very first year, I purchased a complete darkroom setup and worked with both colour slides (transparency) and black and white film. I was hooked.
The Scottish landscape contains some of the most breathtaking and dramatic scenery in the world. In the past, it was surprisingly not visited a great deal by the British, and then Covid arrived and Scotland was well and truly on the map. A blessing for some and a curse for others. The term Landscape is an interesting one which, as landscape photographers, we use all the time. We all assume we know what the landscape is and often perceive it as wild and dramatic, particularly in Scotland. However, I would argue that the word landscape is a broad term, and as landscape photographers, we should ensure we perceive all landscapes in this way.
So what is a landscape? The European Landscape Convention defines it as an area, as perceived by people, whose character is the result of the action and interaction of natural and/or human factors. This Convention provides a definition of landscape that includes the physical elements of the environment surrounding us, be they natural (such as lochs, rivers, woodlands, mountains and hills) or cultural (such as buildings and the pattern of land use). But it is our experience and perception of the land and sea that turns these physical elements into the landscape.
Landscapes are all around us, from the wonders of Ben Loyal mountain in Sutherland to the more mundane. The “national treasure” which is the landscape of Scotland, is one to be celebrated and preserved but it will change and be developed as times move on.I have enjoyed the landscape of Scotland for decades and witnessed the changes, but I have also wanted to experience the landscape not just in terms of lochs and mountains on the west coast but also the more gentle splendour of the under rated and under visited east coast. It is worth noting, I feel, that not everyone can access the glory of mountain peaks due to age, fitness, fear or a combination! To experience and celebrate other landscapes is something we should develop and cherish. Moray, Nairnshire, and Berwickshire are places I return to again and again, even though no mountains are in sight.
Travelling from the east to the west allows the photographer to witness the geographical variety of the landscape together with the differences in culture and communities.
Each area provides opportunities for a broad view of landscape photography both in terms of the larger vista and the more intimate.
Travelling from the east to the west allows the photographer to witness the geographical variety of the landscape together with the differences in culture and communities.
The future of landscape photography, in my view, depends upon a broad view being cultivated and worked on by those of us that believe all landscapes are worthy of experiencing and recording in a personal way. You may well have seen the recent controversial win of a photo competition by a photo produced by artificial intelligence, so will be aware that soon landscape photos will be able to be produced without some people ever having visited the landscape. It is by no coincidence that many of the AI scenes feature hugely dramatic landscapes with mountains, river and lochs in “Warner brothers”-like light. So, I encourage everyone to expand their view of what is a significant landscape, to visit the east and experience its mellow richness as well as to enjoy those striking and theatrical landscapes of the west.
The East Coast of Scotland
Taken on the East coast at Cullen in Moray. The geological formations are intriguing and offer many opportunities to look for patterns and shapes which can form the basis of a composition. This photo was taken late in the day in March with a soft cloudy sky that contrasted perfectly with rocks and cliffs.
Cove bay, also known as Clashach Cove, is again in Moray near Hopeman. The geology of the area dates back millions of years.
Cove bay, also known as Clashach Cove, is again in Moray near Hopeman. The geology of the area dates back millions of years. This photo concentrates on the shape and curves of the sandstone rocks, which become visible at low and mid tides. I chose to process in black and white as it distils the eye and focuses your gaze on patterns, form, textures and tones. A neutral density filter slowed down the movement of the waves, which juxtaposes well with the rock formations.
Another black and white image from Cullen, this time the beach. A cloudy, drizzly day provided the perfect backdrop for a longer exposure on this beach dotted with interesting rock formations of varying sizes and shapes. The softness of the sky was an added bonus when creating this mellow, less is more shot.
The twigs were lit, which added to the clarity of this frame and provided some interesting shadows on the left. Shot near Portknockie again in Moray.
Intimate shots are always quite complex to compose, I find, and this shot lent itself to being square. The twigs were lit, which added to the clarity of this frame and provided some interesting shadows on the left. Shot near Portknockie again in Moray. The hidden green plant behind the twigs provided some extra depth I felt.
A late August dusk on West beach Nairn in Nairnshire. Heavy rain was approaching from the Black Isle, and the sky was a palette of grey- blue with a hint of magenta. The beach sweeps around to the left, providing a perfect opportunity to emphasise its shape and form but also highlight the big sky that sits over this beach. A neutral density filter was used to slow down both the sky and the sea, creating a painterly feel to this shot.
St Abbs Berwickshire, an August haar at Sunset. The fog and mist sweeping in across and between the cliffs, coupled with a pastel sunset, created a truly magnificent scene.
St Abbs Berwickshire, an August haar at Sunset. The fog and mist sweeping in across and between the cliffs, coupled with a pastel sunset, created a truly magnificent scene.
Finally, the far Northwest of Scotland, where lochs and mountains are plentiful. The Kyle of Durness at mid-tide with fast moving light across this huge Kyle. A single house looks on in awe.
Choosing the photographer was easy, but choosing the shot was far more difficult. It could have been almost anything Valda Bailey has created, as I love it all. But I’ve settled on this one, which is a bit more representational than some of her other work and, in that respect, perhaps fits a little better into this slot. Valda may not seem to be an obvious choice here, as she isn’t known as a landscape photographer, but a great deal of her work is inspired by the landscape.
Her background as a painter shows strongly in her images, and her creative process is almost the polar opposite of a more traditional photographic approach – where the latter is often meticulously planned and relies heavily on being in the right place at the right time, Valda works with whatever is in front of her and is led by intuition and instinct. To quote from her website: ‘my workflow is an instinctive, stream of consciousness ramble through shape and colour, light and shade, rhythm and flow, and unbridled imagination, where each decision I make is predicated on the result of the last one. It’s a totally immersive process where the possibilities are seemingly limitless.’
In this image, we have a small tree with what might be a waterfall in the background and spray or rain all around. As Valda works with double exposure and layers, it’s most likely that this is a composite of several shots that come together to form an impression – this is not a landscape you can visit, but a landscape of the imagination that exists on a different level.
This image satisfies in so many ways. First, it’s beautifully balanced. The white column of what might be a waterfall is counter-balanced by the upright form of the dark tree, but the distortion and assymmetry of the little tree adds interest. The white spray at the top left counterposes the movement of the right-hand branches of the tree and again adds balance. The textures are also wonderfully satisfying, from the white ‘scratches’ of the spray to the intricate textures of the rocks and scree in the foreground.
The image is square and the waterfall (if that’s what it is) and tree together sit at its centre, although individually they are off-centre. This could have led to a rather static image, but instead it works to stabilise the wildly whirling spray, wind, and rain that surround the tree.
The Natural Landscape Photography Awards are all wrapped up and I’m sitting here compiling the book to go with the 2022 results. I thought it would be interesting to recap on the process and show some of the winners and also some of my own personal favourites from our competition finalists.
Going into the competition this year, we weren’t certain of its success. We had done so well in the first year but we knew that there were many people who had entered to support the business but who might not become regular entrants. Fortunately, the idea of the competition seems to have gained some solid traction, and although were slightly under last year's submissions, it was only by a small fraction. We had nearly 11,000 photographs submitted from 1,200 photographers representing 55 countries. Due to our success in the first year, we were able to attract sponsors and prize money totalling nearly $40,000.
The Judging
Getting the entries is one thing, but honing these down to a smaller and smaller group until eventually choosing a single winner is another. I’ll give you a spoiler - ultimately, we couldn’t! More on that later though.
For the first round, we went through the images to filter out those that we knew wouldn’t be in the running for the winner of the competition. These were images that had fundamental flaws with composition, technique, etc. One the second run, we had a good idea of the quality of the top 10 or 20 percent of entries and so it became easily to eliminate those that were in the bottom 20-30 percent.
We managed this process by each of the organisers scoring every image and combining those scores together. Images that did consistently well across judges went through to the main judging and images that were a particular favourite of each judge automatically went through as well.
After reviewing the ‘borderline’ images manually to make sure we didn’t miss anything that may have interested the main judges, we compiled a set of images and sent them out to our eight judges.
The Judges
On our panel were a few judges from last year but the majority were new. Our panel was Sarah Marino, Alex Noriega, Sandra Bartocha, Paul Zizka, Orsolya Haarberg, David Thompson, David Clapp and Theo Bosboom. You can find out more about these judges on the NLPA website here.
These eight judges then had the task of reviewing all of these images and giving them a score. We used Lightroom for all of our judging, this allowed judges to go back and review scores and adjust things quickly. They can also zoom in and create panels of images to contrast and compare. Exporting the scores from Lightroom allowed us to compile them into small subset, from which we had a live meeting with all of the judges to pick their personal favourite images for each category. These sessions allowed the judges to get used to image choices and so be familiar with all of the images for the final, live judging round.
And this is where the final decisions get made and everybody’s subjective opinions on what should be the best images collides in an effort to come out with a single objective outcome.
You would think that there would be some general agreement in what makes the best photographs, especially when you get a range of people with a great deal of experience and visual vocabulary. However, art is ultimately subjective and the disagreements and discussions at this final stage of voting were extensive.
Fortunately, for most of the categories we were able to choose a first, second and third place. However, for the photograph of the year, we had a strong split between the four judges that no amount of discussion could break. As the images made a really strong pairing, we decided to try split the award between the two entries. You can see these two below from Jim Lamont and Philipp Jakesch.
Jim Lamont, Canada
The photograph shows the shadow cast by some peaks on the surface of the Lowell Glacier, in Kluane National Park, Yukon Territory, Canada. It was taken on a July morning in 2022 from a Cessna 172 as part of a decades-long project on glaciers. With climate change the Lowell Glacier, like most glaciers in the world, is crumbling into ruin, its surface gradually disappearing beneath dirt and rubble as the ice melts. The image is intended to suggest the wave of destruction that will overwhelm us unless we stop dumping carbon into the atmosphere.
Philipp Jakesch, US
When I decided to visit the volcanic site on the Reykjanes Peninsula, I was uncertain how it would be and how dangerous it was. Luckily we had good conditions and good filters to protect our lungs. The Image called "Ardor" is one of my favourite images from the volcanic series because of the small fragment of this huge area. The blue hour threw ambient blue light on the background layers, with the orange lava standing out even more. The 1,100°C hot liquid earth is frozen in time. Even though my distance to the erupting volcano was about 500 Meters, I could feel the radiating heat with every outbreak.
MAIN CATEGORIES
We changed our categories this year in order to try to differentiate between the intimate landscapes and grand scenics more clearly, and we also introduced an “Abstracts & Details” category, for those less representational and textural images.
Grand Scenic - Kevin Monahan
Our grand scenic winner wasn't an epic wide angle shot but it definitely worked under the "Grand" heading. The breaking mist on Chimney Rock in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness is sublime but it was the combination of this with the forested foreground that caught the judges interest. The layering effect of the long lens was used effectively to create something a little different and just the right moment of mist was chosen to enhance the final composition.
Kevin Monahan said “For many years I used to get so caught up in capturing the scene I originally had envisioned that I would miss all these other opportunities around me. Once I learned to let go of that, photography became so much more enjoyable and fulfilling.
For this backpacking trip in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, one of the photographs I was hoping for was of these mountains reflecting in a calm alpine lake. After hiking 11 miles and climbing close to 5000 feet, I reached the top and realized the chances of capturing that were slim. We were engulfed in fog, couldn’t see anything around us, and there was too much wind.
Throughout the evening and entire night these mountains were hidden and no pictures were taken however during sunrise the clouds finally began to part, revealing these impressive peaks. I decided not to walk down to the lake but instead focus on these two mountains that really commanded the scene and my attention. The conditions were magical but quickly fleeting. Despite this being nothing I originally anticipated, I couldn’t have been happier photographing this scene out in the backcountry.”
Intimate Landscape - Spencer Cox
Our intimate landscape winner bucked the trend for photographs looking like watercolour paintings by looking more like a Romantic Era Oil Paining of a tree line and stormy sky. The elevetated view of the iron stained, turbulent river recalls Constable's expressive brush strokes and with an aged varnish effect to boot. It's the way the trees present themselves as viewed from the side, rather than above, which seals the illusion, for me anyway.
Spencer Cox said “When I first saw this scene, the warm, earthy tones of the riverbed reminded me of 19th-century landscape paintings. Even the fierce rapids of the Yellowstone River felt like gentle brushstrokes when viewed from afar.
I knew that I could play with scale and perspective when I composed this photo, as the trees appeared to stand against a cloudy sky rather than a swirling river. It can be a difficult photograph to parse without a second look.
This photo breaks many of the supposed ‘rules’ of landscape photography. It uses midday sunshine rather than Golden Hour light. The main subjects—the spindly trees along the riverbank—are at the bottom of the frame near the corner. And, to take the photo, I pointed straight downward from the edge of a canyon, not forward at a classic scene.
These unusual factors, though, are what give the photo its personality. I’ve always loved searching for offbeat, intimate views of nature like this wherever I go. It can be the best way to tell the story of a landscape.”
Abstracts & Details - Mieke Boynton
One of the standout images from the competition in my opinion, and of quite a lot of international press it seems (it featured pride of place in Der Spiegel print edition!), Mieke's aerial is more representational than abstract in presentation but it's the pareidolic effect which draws attention the most. The shape of the sandy beach and black steam bed broken by fresh sand, the promintory of a nose and black sand mouth builds the convincing shape of a serene female face.
Mieke Boynton said “This photo, "Ocean Deity", means so much to me. It was a gift. And she has a deeper meaning... if you look closely, her eyes have been "sewn shut" by tyre tracks. More than 6,000 marine turtles live in Gutharraguda/Shark Bay, including the globally endangered green turtle (Chelonia mydas) and loggerhead turtle (Caretta caretta). When people drive along the beach in 4WDs, they put the lives of turtles at risk, as this is where they nest.”
Some Personal Favourites
I’ve spent the last couple of weeks getting the bulk of our second book designed and I’d like to share a some of my favourite images from it. Apart from Brian Pollock’s photograph, which came first in the Frozen Worlds category and Eduardo Blanco Mendizaba, who came second in the Nightscape category, none of the other images placed. Hopefully you can see why the book is so important to us as there are so many other great images that wouldn’t get any exposure without it. It may take a lot of work but I think people enjoy it.
Our next book is being printed on the 15th of January and we’ll be taking discounted pre-orders in the new year (join our mailing list to keep updated). We’re using a printers near my parents home and I’ll be able to work on press during it’s printing. Joe Cornish, Alex Nail and others I know have used the printers so I’m very confident we’ll have a product ready to ship around mid-February. If you would like to see more images from the competition, take a look at the galleries at the Natural Landscape Awards website.
Lawrence Pallant
In a stunning example of complex composition, Lawrence has recognised the potential of a scene and found the perfect position that allows all of it’s elements to play a part in a coherent, if complex, whole. The key two trees in the centre, lean over the central smaller tree as if in a dance. The two smaller trees on the left bow in their presence. All of this would still appear off balance if it weren’t for the reaching arms of the maple on the far left. Even the right side is ‘closed’ nicely by the spiralling trunk of the last tree. And we haven’t even mentioned that glorious colour of sandstone, desert varnish and dogwood. A textbook example of resolving complexity
Eduardo Blanco Mendizaba
We presume that in order to enter the competition Eduardo must have survived his encounter with his volcano but the apparent proximity still leaves me in some doubt. The volcanic bombs spray like a fountain in front of the camera and the background littered like a aerial scene of a Dresden memory. It's the few stripped trees that give some sense of the epic scale of what we can see though. A truly sublime scene.
Andy MacDougal
Building an engaging wide panorama is not simple. To create something that moves beyond a literal snapshot requires that the photograph has multiple engaging components and then stitches them into a whole. Andy’s use of the visually intruiging circular melt holes in the snow covered ice is a great major theme linking the left and right sides. The sweep of the foreground closes the left corner. The promintory with a small bog myrtle bush and break in the ice crerates a focus mid point. The hollow of the glaciated valley behind the moorland finishes your journey across the picture.
Josh Glaister
Looking up through a wintery tree allows each branch to appear outlined in snow. The illusion separates and emphasises each stroke of a branch, creating a filigreed abstraction. The composition makes great use of this effect, the main branch boldly arching over the left and top and the smaller branches filling the spaces below.
Pete Hyde
Most of this photograph is playing a supporting role, a canvas onto which the frost limned hole through which a rich brown fern frond peeks. The fine needles of the hoar frost reach to close the gap, set off against the dark of the hole. The background isn't plain though, there's enough texture and pattern to keep our interest; an edge of ice sweeps left from the elliptical hole and larger frost needles grow above.
James Rodewald
The meaning of “Photography” is “Writing with Light” and what a brilliant example of that we have here. The reflection of what I think is the moon dances in the darkness, dragging a pyramidal light trail across the sensor. The top half of the image just about reveals the canvas to be the side of a flowing river. Amazing what you can do with a four year old phone camera (Galaxy S9)!
Louis Ouimet
It's often been said that you can consider a forest scene as an environmental portrait, imbuing the trees with an animus and interpreting their relationships as part of their expressive nature. Here we see a collection of aspen clustered together like penguins in the cool light of a snow storm. In reality, the aspen cluster because they are all a single organism, trunks sprouting from rhizomatic roots to help protect the whole against poor environmental conditions. Whichever story you read into a picture, it still needs to stand on it's aesthetics and this moodily lit, winter photograph does just that.
Jason Pettit
As the top, bleached layer of wood on this tree dries and shrinks, it cracks to reveal the richly coloured, fresh wood beneath. It's the sweeps and curves of the grain of the wood and the geometric cracking that create the visual intrigue though, an angular mandala.
Richard Fox
A simple scene of low, late winter sunlight striking across a misty tree clad hillside stands out because of the range of visual interest at play. The scene layers itself from open foreground to mist hidden far distance with rolling banks of trees hidding a disappearing as we move back in the frame. Each area holds something unique to linger on, from a small plantation to a partly seen farmhouse.
Mauro Tronto
This isolated patch of birch trees appears to have lost its leaves all at once, almost too many for that small group. Mauro has desaturated blues of the mist and background to enhance the autumnal colours but it’s the contrast of the intense yellow and black soil and rock that plays the main role.
Brian Pollock
If we wanted to be picky, there are a few ‘flaws’ in this composition; the band of hillside covers the mountains in the background; the foreground snow is ‘messy’; the main tree sits a bit too far to the right. This just proves that the whole is often more than its parts. This image just works, and works exceptionally well. The judges were entranced by the light on the main scots pine, intrigued by the glimpse of mountains beyond and drawn in by the natural balance of the composition.
Julien Parrot
A vast behemoth creeps out of the forest like an extra from Stranger Things. Julien's photograph makes a rare representation of the rainforest, as can be noitced from the palm trees at the bottom right. The success of the image comes from that theatrical lighting illuminating the old growth tree in the center of the image. The front limb looks to be stepping forward, about to push the triple limbed sapling aside.
David Kingham
With a flat, grey sky, many photographers might relax for the day - putting the urgency aside for a possible evening light show. But there's no such thing as bad light, even for the grand scenic genre. It does mean that your photo has to work even harder compositionally and that is what David's has done here. The bracketing right had aspens on a curved grassy bank; the sweep of conifer blending into more aspen on the left and behind the closest aspen sits the start of a bank of mountain range, rendered in subtle tans and pinks
Veronica Arcelus
The intensely rich, golden light on the trees in the background and bleached white of the trunks in the foreground suggest some dramatic post processing steps but the raw shows that this is just a case of a bit of added contrast to set off the beautifully composed, remarkable subject set off by that majestic lighting. The layering of the background as it transitions from groups of trees to illuminated tree tops and finally to the hillside of fully illuminated golden trees draws the eye through the background.
Lukas Moesch
Icicles can be fascinating subjects to photograph but they mostly confirm to a small range of shapes. Lukas' ice forms, folding and draping like cloth, intrigue us about their formation. The layer of hoar frost encasing them add to the textural richness. A mysterious and monochromatic still life image that keeps our interest.
Dorin Bofan
The variety of atmospheric optical phenomena make for a wide range of visually stunning apparations but they rarely make successful photographs. Dorin’s example certainly does though and it achieves this by being building a great photograph around the phenomenon first. The almost black tree clad cliffside acts as a strong vertical mirror to the intense subsun lower pillar, caused by the freezing fog. The dark wooded valley around the pillar makes a perfect frame.
The aspects of things that are most important for us are hidden because of their simplicity and familiarity, (one is unable to notice something because it is always before ones eyes). ~ Ludwig Wittgenstein
I have heard some people describe their approach to making pictures with a camera as though they are trying to solve a puzzle. I like this idea, we each choose our own puzzles to solve, which can change from day to day, moment to moment, and we each have our own novel approaches to the ways in which we solve them. Some are within our grasp and can be solved now. Others might not be, but perhaps will be at some point in the future, with time and with practice. Some puzzles are not available to us at all as we are simply unaware of them - we can't perceive them. I find this process very similar to that of a photographer in the field, looking for potential images.
One of the biggest problems a photographer faces is the need to counteract a strong tendency toward absent-mindedly glancing at things rather than attentively looking at things.
One of the biggest problems a photographer faces is the need to counteract a strong tendency toward absent-mindedly glancing at things rather than attentively looking at things.
We are excellent at stereotyping common objects in the world around us: people, cars, houses, fields, trees, and rocks. Once you have seen 100 cars, it becomes very easy to put all cars in the ‘four-wheeled, fast moving metal object’ category of some recess in our mind rather than painstakingly analyse each one each time. It makes sense to do this. The amount of processing power that would be needed to cope with the huge amount of data you would receive, moment-to-moment, would flood the senses beyond our brain's capacity to cope with. Far better in terms of time, energy, and general efficiency to make almost everything familiar in an abstract form, a quick reference system that is easier on the brain.
On the flip side, this does mean that with familiarity, attentiveness to detail diminishes. As an example: until recently, I viewed my hometown area as nothing more than a means to an end, a place where I lived, worked, and travelled from rather than to. Photographically speaking, the place I live, the routes I take every day, and the areas I frequent could not be less appealing as subjects for photography. The phrase ‘familiarity breeds contempt’ certainly applied to me and the areas closest to my home. I longed to go much further afield with my camera.
In the run-up to my first photography exhibit in 2018, titled ‘Different Mind, Different Place’, I made a concerted effort to write about and demonstrate through my pictures that my local area is a worthwhile subject for photography. I wanted to challenge how I - and others - perceived the area because I believed it was being unfairly maligned.
In the run-up to my first photography exhibit in 2018, titled ‘Different Mind, Different Place’, I made a concerted effort to write about and demonstrate through my pictures that my local area is a worthwhile subject for photography. I wanted to challenge how I - and others - perceived the area because I believed it was being unfairly maligned.
I had to train myself to look at things that I was familiar with differently, to look beyond my own conditioning. It took time and effort to achieve this turnaround in my mindset, but eventually, over the course of about three years, I did start to view it differently.
I would argue that the most difficult part of the puzzle a photographer must overcome when choosing to make an image is not so much the difficulty of the subject matter, as it is laid out in front of you, but our own perceptions, our conditioned, rose-tinted views. We are conflicted, on the one hand, we long to experience new experiences and enjoy taking some risks, while at the same time, we also like to err on the side of caution, predictability and routine. looking and seeing beyond those routines that we have created over a lifetime is the hardest part of the puzzle to overcome.
To see a field as nothing more than an area with grass and a boundary is what comes naturally after looking at many fields. It takes time, effort and experience to appreciate a field as something more detailed: a tapestry of changing colour filled with individual wildflowers, often with ancient hedgerows that can be visited by a multitude of insects, mammals and bird life. Or, dismissively wave away a rock as just another rock, when actually it is a surface with very specific chemistry that hosts communities of living organisms all across it, including lichen and moss. A town – just a collection of buildings, right? Or a place that is filled with shapes, repeating patterns, reflective surfaces, food, human culture, and of course – people.
To take notice of the things we walk past every day and to make the effort to photograph them is to overcome - if only for a moment - our natural tendency to stereotype, ignore and dismiss. Viewers of photography often use statements like: ‘I wish I noticed that!’ or ‘I just walked straight past that!’. To receive a comment like this about one's own images, as a photographer, is most pleasing because that is exactly what we want to be doing when we are out with our cameras: noticing those things that we normally miss.
As described above, for me, hard work and perseverance over the course of about three years paid off. I do see Newport as a viable subject for photography. And by counteracting my tendency to be so dismissive about the familiar, it is my hope that I continue to notice those things that familiarity urges me to ignore. I struggled to know whether this horizon should be the first cognitive horizon to explore since I spent most of my time, especially early on as a photographer, travelling everywhere else apart from my local area to make pictures. Despite its physical proximity, it did - ironically - feel like a distant land.
Nature and landscape photography can provide an outlet for personal expression, discovery, and can foster a deeper appreciation for the world around us. Additionally, it often provides us with a much-needed outlet from the frustrations and tribulations that our daily and hectic lives seem to foist upon us on a regular basis. For nature photographer Jason Pettit, his pursuit of photography does all of the above and more. Jason was born and raised in Prince Edward County, Ontario, Canada, where he still resides with his wife and two teenage children. Jason works for the City of Belleville, a nearby smaller city, in their Planning Department. He reviews how new developments will fit into the City's existing systems by evaluating impacts on water, sewer and the environment. Jason’s work is full of bureaucracy and red tape, and photography helps him balance the frustrations of working within that bureaucracy. For Jason, nature photography is also about discovering metaphors that are mirrors into himself and for the viewer to also discover through his images. This idea of discovering meaning beyond literal representation in our photographs is not new and was first conceived of by photographer Alfred Stieglitz in the 1920s through the concept of “Equivalence.” The discipline of Equivalence in practice has become the backbone and core of photography as a medium for personal expression.
Recently, as a member of the jury of the Natural Landscape Photography Awards, I had the opportunity to judge a large number of landscape photographs and also a large number of projects. Although we sometimes had firm disagreements within the jury, we were in full agreement on one thing: the number of really good projects was quite limited. That observation dovetailed perfectly with my own findings as a workshop leader and photo coach. For years, I have been running a workshop called My Project, in which five photographers work on a self-selected photo project for a year under my guidance. Time and again, it turns out that photographers find this very difficult, even experienced photographers who are capable of making great photos. The individual photo coaching I give to photographers shows the same picture. Apparently, realising a good project requires more than just photographic qualities.
In this article, I will try to give some tips and guidelines for working on projects. This need not necessarily be a project for a photo competition like the NLPA, but it can also be a project that culminates in a series of images for a magazine publication or an exhibition. You could also think of working on your own photo book as a (comprehensive) photo project, but this again has its own dynamics and peculiarities and is thus perhaps more suitable for a separate article.
Before I go any further, I think it is good to briefly describe what exactly I mean by a photo project. A photo project is a process in which the photographer works towards a goal within a certain period of time, realising a photo series within a certain theme. This theme can be very different even within landscape photography. It can involve a geographical area (e.g. Death Valley or Iceland), a specific habitat or type of landscape (e.g. the coast or mountain landscapes) or zoom in on parts of the landscape (e.g. trees, waterfalls or rocks).
A photo story also falls under photo projects, but a photo project does not always result in a photo story. You can also have a photo project with no real storyline or a story that is too limited to count as 'storytelling'.
It can also focus on a human emotion or state of mind (e.g. calmness) or a photographic technique or way of shooting (e.g. landscapes with long shutter speeds or drone shots). This enumeration is not exhaustive, and of course, combinations are very well possible (e.g. drone shots of Icelandic riverbeds or chaos in the forests of the Veluwe, Netherlands). As a result, the possibilities for choosing a theme are almost endless.
Thereby, it often works best to define the theme as well as possible and not make it too broad. So not the theme 'nature' or the theme 'landscapes', which is too broad and therefore too meaningless.
A project series is not the same as a portfolio. The latter, too, is a collection of images usually made by one photographer and, therefore, will also show a certain unity if all goes well, but the images are usually made in very different places and at different times and often have no thematic connection to each other. It is usually a collection of the photographer's best images, a showcase of his or her abilities.
A photo story also falls under photo projects, but a photo project does not always result in a photo story. You can also have a photo project with no real storyline or a story that is too limited to count as 'storytelling'. This is probably true of most projects within landscape photography. By the way, there is no very clear demarcation; there are grey areas.
If you compare the grid view of my project submission for the NLPA last year about European canyons with a fictional second edit of these images with all kinds of different image ratios, you can see the benefits of limiting yourself to one image format. The first set of images looks more balanced and pleasing.
Why Projects?
Why should you work on projects as a photographer? Doesn't it create too much of a straitjacket that restricts creative freedom? This is not the case for me, and for many other photographers too, at some point, it feels like a logical step in their development to start working more focused and project-based.
Doesn't it create too much of a straitjacket that restricts creative freedom? This is not the case for me, and for many other photographers too, at some point, it feels like a logical step in their development to start working more focused and project-based.
I myself find it very enjoyable and enriching to work on a project basis and do not experience it as a creative restriction at all. On the contrary. The different requirements involved in delivering a project have made me look at things differently, and I feel my photographic horizon has broadened. In addition, it gives me peace and focus. Before I still often wanted to do everything at once on a beautiful morning in the field (landscape, wildlife and macro), but now I can focus and limit myself better and that generally produces more compelling images. Finally, I find the additional aspects of project-based work - i.e. the things besides the actual photographing - fun and challenging. Think of coming up with and working out themes, doing research on subjects and areas, writing accompanying texts, selecting the series from the available images and presenting the final result. You can put a lot of yourself into this and thus make it very personal.
Working in projects is also important if you want to increase or establish your name as a photographer or if you want to start working as a (semi-?) professional photographer. Good photo series on a specific theme or area are more interesting for magazines, presentations and exhibitions. And whereas you can generally only apply once to a particular magazine with a portfolio, this limitation does not apply to photo series from projects.
Work in progress, a selection of suitable images from my European canyons project
The Start
You can start a project in many ways. Some photographers think of everything in advance at the drawing board and know exactly what images are needed and where and when they are going to shoot them. Some even create mood boards for the intended mood and colours of the photo series. Other photographers, like me, take a somewhat less planned approach, especially at the start of a project.
Sometimes you decide that there might be a project in there somewhere after you have taken some good photos that fit within a theme. I once wanted to take a wide-angle macro photo of limpets in their habitat, so for a while, I was very focused on these creatures every time I was photographing on the Atlantic coast. Once I was able to take the photo I had in mind, I was now so fascinated by the subject that I decided to turn it into a project. It usually starts with this kind of fascination with a place or subject. And you often need this fascination to bring a project to a successful conclusion because it often requires focus and perseverance after all. When looking for a suitable theme, the first question could therefore be: what do I like to photograph most?
If you then have one or more possible themes, it might be useful to check whether there are already good photo series on the same theme. This is not so important if you are doing a project purely for your own photo enjoyment without much further ambition, but it is if you want to stand out with the project and perhaps publish the series or submit it to a photo competition. For instance, I myself once had the plan to do a photo series on the ‘Dutch mountains’, depicting artificial mountains made of rubbish, sand and gravel etc., but it turned out that such a series had already been made several times before. Of course, you can always see if you can really add something with a different angle, but if that is unlikely, you would be better off choosing a different theme.
You can start a project in many ways. Some photographers think of everything in advance at the drawing board and know exactly what images are needed and where and when they are going to shoot them. Some even create mood boards for the intended mood and colours of the photo series. Other photographers, like me, take a somewhat less planned approach, especially at the start of a project.
I really liked this dramatic seascape of the Spanish coast, but my editor Sandra Bartocha and me agreed that it didn’t fit into the more subtle and intimate language of my Shaped by the sea project
Once you have chosen a good theme, try to describe and delineate it as well as you can. This can help you to be as focused as possible, and sometimes it can put you back on track later if you have stalled for a while with the project. A good description is also needed once the project has been completed so that it can be properly presented and possibly published.
Besides choosing a theme, it is good to ask yourself in advance what kind of project it will be. For a Storytelling project, you simply need different images than for an artistic project with purely abstract images. Also, ask yourself what the intended audience is, as this can also influence the photography and, later, the selection and presentation of your series.
It can also be useful to make a (rough) schedule for your project, especially in case certain images are seasonal (think images with snow or ice). Finally, it is advisable to take stock of whether you need a permit or cooperation from other parties for certain parts of the project. Sometimes it takes a long time to obtain that permit or cooperation, and it is a shame if your project is delayed or comes to a standstill as a result.
The execution: photographing, evaluating and making adjustments if necessary
When photographing for the project, it is important to look ahead to the desired final result. Ideally, the final series should contain a good mix of unity in style and theme on the one hand and sufficient variation in the images on the other.
This abstract image taken in a Norwegian canyon makes a welcome change among the somewhat wider and more literal other images in this project
The unity in style can be achieved, for instance, by choosing in advance a fixed image format (e.g. 3:2, 1:1 or 16:9) and between colour and black-and-white. It can also help to shoot at the same times of the day or consistently in certain light. After all, you don't want your final series to end up shooting all over the place in terms of style and presentation. By the way, later in the project, when editing and selecting, you can also ensure as much unity as possible. How you proceed is a bit personal and also depends on the type and size of the project. If the goal is a tight series of eight to 10 images, unity in style is more important than when you need to deliver 50 photos for an extensive reportage in a magazine.
The unity in style can be achieved, for instance, by choosing in advance a fixed image format (e.g. 3:2, 1:1 or 16:9) and between colour and black-and-white. It can also help to shoot at the same times of the day or consistently in certain light.
On the other hand, variety is very important. If, after 3 to 4 images, people think they have seen the whole series, they will drop out. So you will have to keep your audience interested, whether it is a magazine editor, a jury of a photo competition or a group of people attending one of your lectures.
Fortunately, there are all sorts of ways to achieve the desired variety. As a photographer, you can use your full technical and creative toolbox and vary with angle of view, composition, depth of field, focal length, light and dark, static and dynamic images and so on. In addition, think about content variation. Try to capture different aspects and features of your chosen area or subject. If you want to tell a story, make sure you capture the essential elements in your story. Try shooting in different weather conditions and going out in the evening or at night.
What always helps me personally is to regularly evaluate the images made so far. Make folders with usable images and maybe even the start of a series, and look at the images individually and as thumbnails, for example, in the grid in Lightroom. Also, ask for specific feedback already at an early stage because now you can still make adjustments and possibly create additional images. Check if your intentions come across and ask if there are any essential things missing in the series. In addition, receiving feedback can be motivating and inspiring.
Although this image of a limpet is a welcome informative image in a broader series for a magazine, it wouldn’t work in a project submission with the theme Limpets in the landscape. It is too different from the other images and the quality is not good enough.
The final phase
In the final phase of a project, it is good to take stock of which essential images may still be missing so that you can try to make them and add them to the collection. You can distinguish between essential and 'nice to have'. Personally, I find that I often take a much more targeted approach in this phase of a project than in the beginning and that I usually set off with a wish list. For example, my project on European canyons is currently missing good footage of a raging river rushing through a canyon with great violence after the snow melts or after heavy rainfall. I find this so essential for my project that I will try to plan a dedicated trip to take such pictures.
It is often difficult to determine when a project is complete. The problem with many photography projects is that, in theory, you can keep working on them endlessly. There will always be photos that are still missing or that could be better for your liking. At some point, you have to put a stop to it anyway and move on to something else.
It is often difficult to determine when a project is complete. The problem with many photography projects is that, in theory, you can keep working on them endlessly. There will always be photos that are still missing or that could be better for your liking
Quitting too soon, however, is not good either. When judging projects at the NLPA, we regularly felt that a project had not yet fully matured and could have been better if the photographer had worked on it a bit longer. If you feel that new images you make for a project often repeat what you already have, it could be a sign that your project is done.
Once all the images have been made comes the final and perhaps trickiest phase for many photographers: making the final selection. I have heard that photographers at the US edition of National Geographic are asked to submit all the images (all the raw files) taken on a project, even if there are 300,000 of them! This is based on the idea that photographers are bad at selecting and editing their own work.
In any case, it pays to ask other people for help. These may be one or more experts, but sometimes I actually submit series or images to my children, who are not hindered by photographic knowledge and experience. Their primary reactions also provide valuable insights for me. The most important thing you can learn from other people's opinions is how your work is viewed without the emotional involvement and memories of the moment that you yourself carry with you. Many photographers tend to rate higher photographs they have had to work hard for. But for the public, it is usually not apparent whether you have taken a particular photo from a car park or after a 12-hour mountain trek, wading through three rivers and covering 2,000 altimeters with a 30-kg backpack on your back. One simply looks at whether the photo appeals or not.
When selecting, don't just look for the most spectacular and impressive images, but try to achieve a balanced mix in which some more subdued images also have a place. Just as a football team with only Messis usually does not work, a photo series also benefits from water carriers and quiet forces that make the whole stronger. However, there should be a lower limit to the quality of photos: images that have significant flaws in technique or composition do not belong in a series either.
For a magazine, it is usually slightly easier to make a selection than for a photo competition, simply because you can use more images. The photo editor of a magazine then chooses some images from a wider selection. When I offer a series to an editor of a magazine, I usually send a series of 20 to 30 images. Sometimes additions or a wider selection are requested later (depending on the size of the publication).
Some images of my most published project so far, the journey of the autumn leaves. The originality of the theme was an important factor in the success of this series.
10 tips
Finally, here is a list of specific tips for photographers considering submitting a project to the NLPA or other photo competitions next year:
Consider a project close to home. This year's NLPA edition reaffirmed that choosing an exotic destination far away does not necessarily make a series better. A project a little closer to home offers the advantage of being able to work on it often and easily, while also benefiting from knowing the area well. Of course, it is also better for our planet if photographers do not travel as far for their projects.
Before you start, check that your theme is not too hackneyed, the more original the better. And if you do choose a familiar place or theme, try to put your own spin on it and make it personal.
Do not submit a project until it is really ready. So be patient!
Also assess the selection as a whole, i.e. with all photos at a glance, for example in the grid in Lightroom or with separate small prints that you put together. This allows you to see at a glance the coherence and variety of the series.
Try to choose images in 1 image format (e.g. 3:2, 1:1 , 16:9) or at least limit the number of image formats to 2 or at most 3. This makes the series more coherent and more pleasant to look at. If you have to crop images, do it with locked aspect ratio so that the proportions remain the same.
Enlist help in making the final selection, preferably from several people. When doing so, ask for targeted feedback, so not just whether one likes a series or not.
Less is more. Several wonderful projects submitted this year did not make it in the end because there were a few weaker images in the selection. Many photographers opt for the maximum number. Sometimes, however, it makes more sense to keep the number of images limited. Better to have seven images that are all good, than 10 images of which seven are good and three are mediocre. In any case, try to avoid duplicates in your series, two or more images that actually show more or less the same thing.
Kill your darlings. It is sometimes very hard to leave out a top photo you are wedded to, but if it is better for the whole, you just have to do it. If necessary, just submit the photo in question as a single image in another category.
Pay enough attention to your project description. For many photographers, this is a job that is quickly done at the very last minute, after the images have already been uploaded. However, the text can be an important addition and can partly determine how your images are viewed. Especially with a more narrative series, this is very important. Often images and projects gain more meaning when you find out more about the backgrounds of the subject and also the motivations of the photographer.
Pay attention to your edits! In a project, all photos in the series must comply with the rules of the NLPA. This means that all photos must therefore be carefully checked before you submit them.
Finally, don’t forget to have fun while working on your projects!
“Good photographers can make strong images regardless of the camera used”
“The camera is just the tool - it’s the creativity and skill of the photographer that matters”
We see evidence of the truth of these axioms online every day with creative phone images and amazing conditions captured by small handheld cameras. But this does not mean the camera is not important, however. I would argue that there is often a symbiotic relationship that develops between a strong photographer and a particular camera. Fully understanding the strengths and limitations of a camera system and using that knowledge to inform all aspects of the creative process can lead to some of the photographer's strongest work. Besides there is a comfort that comes from handling a familiar camera that is critical to good image making. The camera becomes an extension of the body, fully aligned to the creative process rather than getting in the way.
The latter was certainly the case with me. For 13 years I made most of my landscape images with a Linhof Technikarden (TK) 5x4 camera onto transparency film. It was not an easy tool to use. Heavy, complex and a nightmare to focus in low light it required manual spot metering and an aptitude for mental arithmetic to make well exposed images, compensating for factors like the colour and tone of the spot sampled and light falloff from the use of filters, bellows extension and reciprocity failure.
The setup time and complexity made reacting to conditions and light out of the question. It forced me to slow down and think proactively about the image, anticipating the conditions and the light (TK)
The abstracted nature of the setup (images on a view camera appear inverted on the ground glass) made one sensitive to imbalance in a composition (TK)
Yet I consistently made my strongest images with this camera. Why was that? I think there are a mixture of psychological and technical reasons. Familiarity is one factor already mentioned. But just as important was that the setup time and complexity made reacting to conditions and light out of the question. It forced me to slow down and think proactively about the image, anticipating the conditions and the light. And the abstracted nature of the setup (images on a view camera appear inverted on the ground glass) made one sensitive to imbalance in a composition.
The technical reasons can be described in one word - movements. The ability to adjust the plane of focus and control the image shape (looming the foreground or background, removing converging lines etc) in camera eventually became an integral part of my creative process. This is achieved by tilting the lens or film plane in various directions and allows the photographer to achieve visual effects that are difficult if not impossible to achieve with a standard camera.
The experience of using the TK in a photography session was meditative. The 'Yin' to the 'Yang' of everyday life. And I loved using it. I have always viewed photographing in the landscape as an opportunity to be creative and have made images that range from the representational to the abstract using whatever subject matter is to hand. The TK was integral to that creativity. Although I experimented with other camera systems and learned plenty by using them, I always came back to the TK.
The experience of using the TK in a photography session was meditative. The 'Yin' to the 'Yang' of everyday life. (TK)
I have always viewed photographing in the landscape as an opportunity to be creative and have made images that range from the representational to the abstract using whatever subject matter is to hand. The TK was integral to that creativity (TK)
Leaving Film
When in 2017 I decided to finally abandon film and hang up my TK bellows for good, I naturally hunted for a similar digital based solution. And hunted. And hunted. I think I must have reached double figures trying to find the answer. Bolting a Sony onto the back of my TK worked for longer lenses but nothing wider than 90mm. A Pentax 645Z was nothing but frustration, unable to control focus with macro work. A Nikon 85pc lens and 35mm canon TS lens on a Sony gave me some limited tilt / shift options but a terrible experience. The same can be said for a Sony, Mirex and Contax lenses - it was so imprecise. I looked hard at a Linhof Techno but it felt like it was designed in a bygone age and would push me into using digital backs.
Eventually an interim solution appeared in late 2017 with the combination of the Fuji GFX 50S and the Cambo Actus G. Finally here was a technical camera system for mirrorless cameras with basic movements - front tilt and swing, rear shift and rear rise and fall. Initially I worked it with Hasselblad and Pentax medium format lenses but eventually switched to a combination of large format lenses (Nikon W range) in copal 0 Cambo plates and the Cambo Actus range of dedicated lenses.
Once again I had a tool that could do my bidding photographically. But it was hard to feel the love for the system. The rail length was often too short for close up work with my favourite 120mm Nikon LF macro lens. The movements were not as precise as I would like and at best a fiddle. The knobs and locks were confusing and placed inconsistently. Technically, the system lacked rear tilt. Zeroed movements felt quite random especially swing - I have lost count of how many images have accidentally applied a little swing and ended up with an image that was soft at the edges. I added the base tilts that came out in 2019 but although they helped some aspects, they added more imprecision. It all worked and was functional, but it was not an emotional replacement for a TK. And the sensor in the GFX 50s was nice but decidedly last generation. Cambo did keep making incremental improvements to the system, for example adding fine adjustment knobs which looked interesting but due to Covid I never got around to adding these to my setup.
During lockdown I worked handheld with a Sony A7RIV and 24-105mm zoom while out exercising and became addicted to the dynamic range, image stabilisation and quality of its sensor. I started using this kit in the Yorkshire Wolds once lockdown was lifted but while I enjoyed the 'Yang' of handheld work, it did not give me the 'Yin' session experience I was looking for.
The GFX 100S
Enter the GFX 100S last year and in May 2022 a brand new technical camera from Cambo - the Cambo Actus MV. The Fuji GFX 100s gave me image stabilisation and a similar sensor to the Sony A7RIV but in a larger form factor and a ratio closer to my favoured 5x4 image shape. And the 100S's EVF was a revelation. For someone with failing close focus eyesight, it makes focusing a view camera even in low light not only possible but pleasurable. The sharpness of the image made can be checked in camera using image preview mode. All a dream to one brought up on ground glass, a darkcloth and sheets of Velvia.
Setting Up "The Cracks"
“Cracks” (Actus MV)
MV stands for Maximum Versatility. And Cambo seems to have thrown the kitchen sink at designing this technical camera. Abandoning backwards support for film, it was designed from the ground up for digital mirrorless cameras and digital backs. It has a full range of movements. Front tilt and rear tilt, front swing, front and rear shift, rise and fall. The only movement it doesn’t have is rear swing - not a big loss to be honest. It has bayonets to support Fuji, Nikon, Hasselblad, Canon and Sony mirrorless cameras as well as Phase One digital backs. Each bayonet has a rotating mechanism that allows the camera to be orientated upright or horizontal. Lens support is extensive and includes adapters for a range of medium format glass (Hasselblad, Pentax 645, Mamiya etc.) as well as copal 0/1 plates and a line-up of dedicated Actus lenses.
I got my hands on an MV as soon as I became aware of it thanks to Paula at Linhof Studio. Once it was in my hands it became clear the design owes more than a little to the inspiration behind the TK. Here is a portable (well more on that later) studio camera designed for field use. Like the TK it has a telescopic rail - extending from 140mm folded to 300mm at full extension. More rail length than I could ever need. Unconstrained macro and longer lens work was back on the agenda. The rail is Arca compatible, so it works very well with my Arca Cube.
Setting Up The Force Of Colliding Worlds
“The Force of Colliding Worlds” (Actus MV)
Moreover, the movements are precise. The key movements are fully geared, butter smooth and a delight to use. The rear focus knob has a micro adjuster for fine focusing. The zeroed movements have click based detents and are clearly labelled. For the first time, at least on my copy, the zeroed swing appears to be pretty neutral. Even on my TK I had to remember to add a degree of swing to 'neutralise' the camera setup.
Details abound. For example there is a lock screw at each end of the base of the rail which stops the camera sliding down an Arca head and off to disaster. I removed the front screw to make it easy to remove the MV. All the locks are on one side and the focusing/movement knobs on the other. Great (if you are right handed). The positioning of the controls is logical and consistent. Packed away, the fall movements can be fully engaged to minimise the overall size and the standards come off the rail at the touch of a button in Arca view camera style.
The Actus system does have one technical limitation in that it cannot focus native large format lenses wider than 60mm. There is a sensible physical reason for this as there is a high risk of the lens rear element accidently smashing into the sensor (a potentially disastrous accident) and with 30-50mm distance between the lens and sensor such a setup would have very limited movements. The 35mm Pentax 645 lens is a very good wide angle option with a GFX having plenty of lens registration room and lens coverage to enable good movements. I now use the 35mm Actus lens which is based on the Contax 645 35mm Zeiss Distagon lens, arguably one of the better pieces of wide angle glass available to put in front of a camera.
If the MV has an achilles heel, it is the weight and size. Although half the weight of their previous studio camera it is 2.5x the weight of the baby Actus. Nothing compared to a 5x4 or 10x8 view camera and 5-6 film holders, it is still noticeable after a few years of not carrying such equipment. It forced me to bring my largest f stop bag back out of retirement. Quite a shock to the system.
Setting Up "Shrouded By The Sea"
“Shrouded by the Sea” (Actus MV)
Would the extra weight be worth it? I had a few days off work during the UK Jubilee week and took the opportunity to test out the MV extensively in the field.
The Actus MV
During Jubilee week I made it over to the Yorkshire coast several times to give the Actus MV a thorough run out - visiting Stoupe near Robin Hoods Bay and Spurn Point.
So how was it? In the field, it felt like finally coming home. A week of handling the camera and everything felt natural and very like having my TK back again but with all the advantages of digital over film. I nailed the focus and movements on all my early images helped by the greater precision and form factor over the baby Cambo Actus. No longer did the camera feel like it was getting in the way.
I surprised myself and found the weight quite manageable. The larger f stop bags have better frames and consequently are easier on the back and shoulders. I loved having the big bag back when making an image - laying all my tools out on a tray was always part of the large format experience - and the bag felt like it had 'Karma' again in a way I had not experienced for a while with smaller, cramped bags.
Inside My Bag
I have learned a few things from my Sony handheld work and now keep a tiny Fuji 35-70 zoom in the bag which I can attach natively to the GFX when I want to switch into 'Yang' mode (or switch from channelling Dylan to channelling Zebedee to use a different analogy!) This allows me to make images handheld supported by image stabilisation when I want / need to react to conditions. To my credit I only did this once throughout the week. Most of the time I worked on a tripod in full 'Yin' mode.
Photography is a lot about headspace and in the field creatively I felt inspired, emotionally I felt relaxed. I made several images during the week that I think may stand the test of time - the ultimate judge - and overall, as an experience I felt transported back to days past out with the TK at favourite places like Mulgrave.
For anyone with experience of large format film photography looking for a digital technical camera solution or for a keen digital landscape photographer looking to expand their horizons the Cambo Actus MV alongside the Arca Universalis system is a serious and credible contender. It is certainly not cheap but it is way more cost effective than a digital back based system and arguably much more flexible. I for one have found what I have been looking for.
As some of you know, I’ve spent the last ten years photographing water, finding delight often in just a few inches of depth, so when I came across Stephen’s photographs made in shallow tidal water, I was intrigued. Stephen’s website is rich in colourful images of exotic worlds, and while in the past he has had a taste for adventure and a fascination with far lands, it is the nearby that now engages him. It’s interesting when conducting these interviews to see how much comes back to each of us from our childhoods; in Stephen’s case, not only an affinity with water but a fascination with micro worlds and relative scale, which has once again come to occupy him. As he explains on the ‘Ten Below’ project website “In nothing deeper than a few centimetres of water all sense of perspective becomes distorted and reality altered through form, reflection and light… There are alien worlds, desert plains, mountains and forests, all within a crevice, puddle or rock platform hidden in the tidal zone.” Let’s find out more.
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? How formative was your childhood, growing up by the water?
My childhood was always about activity and creativity. I grew up in a beautiful part of southeast Sydney called Malabar. On its coast is one of the prettiest beaches you'll find in a suburb, Little Bay. As the name suggests, it has a small secluded beach sheltered from the open sea by rock pools and tidal shelves. The golf courses and Crown bushland surrounding the bay made the area magical for a child with a vivid imagination and lots of energy. It was my first experience of really exploring nature. Miniature worlds fascinated me. Looking down, I imagined how vast a small patch of earth or a shallow pool would be to insects and crustaceans. Knowing a few strides would be the equivalent of a drive across a city for the micro world, let alone the distance between the beach and home, always blew my young mind, and it still does.
When did you become interested in photography, and what part has it played in your life so far?
I was a lazy painter in my teens, a capable artist, but I was impatient. It always took too long to create something satisfying. When I discovered capturing an image was better than any painting or drawing I could produce, I was convinced photography was the creative path to take. In my early twenties, I dabbled in shooting bands at live venues and rehearsal studios for a while, but it wasn't until my first extensive travels around the Middle East that I fell for the craft and how freely I could express myself. It was a new world to unravel. For fifteen years, capturing those adventures was my passion and drive. I felt I had stories and perspectives to share about a very misunderstood region.
Every journey ebbs and flows, and it has taken quite a few years to accept that there will be times when I feel inspired and times when I won't. I don't pressure myself if there isn't motivation. Photography has become a grounding, meditative experience that allows me to feel present and alive. In one way or another, creativity is how I live, expressed through my art, soul, body, and mind experiences. My weekday job enables my creative lifestyle, and I'm content with the balance. I'm spending more time out of Sydney than previously, finding little gems to project, so my weekends are generally dedicated to ‘Ten Below’. There is a short documentary in the works too, which is exciting.
Every journey ebbs and flows, and it has taken quite a few years to accept that there will be times when I feel inspired and times when I won't. I don't pressure myself if there isn't motivation
Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you or driven you forward in your own development as a photographer?
Nature has been my biggest inspiration. Everything comes from nature, and everything goes back to nature. It’s one big beautiful cycle. I also find inspiration in the achievements and successes of underdogs, people excelling through adversity and surpassing all expectations. For example, I was walking along Main Beach, Byron Bay, many years ago when I saw a strange shape moving slowly toward me. The closer I got I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. A man in a wheelchair was pushing himself along the compact sand. I was speechless. When we met, I noticed he was saturated in sweat yet grinning. Bewildered, I asked if he needed help. “Nah, mate. I do this every day.” he said. I inquired why, and he responded that it made him feel alive because it was difficult. That blew my mind and was both immensely humbling and inspiring.
Generally, I find the actions of individuals uplifting, such as a song, a deed, a painting, a photo or altruistic behaviour. However, the individuals I hold in the highest regard are more on the philosophical side of history. Marcus Aurelius' Meditations has been a constant go-to when I travel. The Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh's dharma talks inspire mindfulness, compassion and peaceful living. John Pilger's courage in exposing corrupt governments and corporations sparked my social justice warrior. The Tao Ti Ching for its divine simplicity and insight to living in harmony with nature, and Jiddu Krishnamurti for his enlightened teachings: “In oneself lies the whole world, and if you know how to look and learn, the door is there, and the key is in your hand. Nobody on earth can give you either the key or the door to open except yourself.” All have profoundly influenced my journey of self-awareness and, in turn, my creative expression.
You’ve had some adventurous travels and at times, a fascination for other lands. You must have absorbed many things. Has anything in particular stayed with you or encouraged you to look in such close detail at your own country?
I had many visions of deserts, oases, bazaars and ancient civilisations in my youth. These conscious dreams eventually morphed into an obsession with the Middle East. I was curious to know where these visions had their roots, considering my heritage was in no way linked to the region. By the time I made my way through Turkey on the initial journey, that experience had amplified my desire to explore the area further and in challenging, unconventional ways. Four extensive trips over fifteen years had me either hiking, paddling, cycling, bribing, lugging or hitching through Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, The West Bank, Israel, Jerusalem and Egypt.
The Middle East isn't exactly known as the friendliest region on earth, although from my journeys, I discovered the hospitality of Muslims is a thing to behold. It wasn't uncommon for people to argue amongst themselves about who would host the strangers
The Middle East isn't exactly known as the friendliest region on earth, although from my journeys, I discovered the hospitality of Muslims is a thing to behold. It wasn't uncommon for people to argue amongst themselves about who would host the strangers. Once resolved, the welcoming and generosity were something I'd never experienced, especially from people considered less than friendly to Western cultures. This perception of hostility proved to be nonsense, in my experience.
I've always considered myself lucky to call Australia home, and I believe travel reaffirmed that. Exploring the world should be about adventures; the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. I've had guns and knives pointed at me, I've been detained by Hezbollah in the Bekaa Valley and conned by shysters everywhere, but nothing as nefarious as being held for a small ransom in Istanbul. That was terrifying. If Istanbul was my favourite city, it quickly became the city I wanted to escape immediately and never look back at.
The most positive travel experiences came from Syria. I fell in love with that country and its people. Hospitality is in their DNA. Everywhere I went, Syrians were friendly and welcoming. Merchants didn't try the hard sell; instead, they would invite me into their shops to share stories over tea, which was consistent throughout all of Syria. Travel taught me, above all else, that we must avoid defining populations of countries by their leadership and politics. Those interactions I encountered throughout my travels dispelled every false impression about the Middle East the media had me believe. Instead of war, terrorism, and hatred of the infidel, I was received and guided through the lands of the crescent moon by people of integrity, humour and hospitality - all with a welcome I'd never experienced in Sydney or any other European country. The beauty of travel is that nothing is what it seems until you see it for yourself; even then, it's only an opinion, not a fact.
What first prompted you to put a camera below the waterline? Was it a transformational moment for you?
Back in 2013, someone, I considered a brother died a slow and painful death. Caring for him in his final months and being by his side as he drew his last breath put me in stasis. I felt no emotion, just emptiness. Every day I'd sit on the beach, watching wave after wave roll onto the shore. Weeks went by then, and out of nowhere came the urge to purchase a point-and-shoot waterproof camera. I didn't know why; I just thought it was something to do. I did fancy the idea of pulling off some fantastic shots of the undersides of waves that were popular then. Suffice it to say my attempts fell far short of inspiring, leaving me very underwhelmed. What did I expect for $120 and no experience in those conditions?
As a consolation, I wandered around the rocks to see what I might find when something caught my eye in a shallow pool. I placed the camera in the water and shot a few frames. Looking at the result sent me back to my childhood.
As a consolation, I wandered around the rocks to see what I might find when something caught my eye in a shallow pool. I placed the camera in the water and shot a few frames. Looking at the result sent me back to my childhood. The more I shot, the more I saw stills from dreams long gone and alien landscapes rooted in my imagination. It was the turbo-charged creative booster shot I needed. And from that point, the ‘Ten Below’ project was born. Incidentally, ‘Ten Below’ refers to the images captured within ten centimetres of the water's surface.
What’s the shallowest and the deepest you’ve worked at? Are you using a camera with waterproof qualities, or when the depth permits, do you work with bigger cameras and waterproof housings?
It all depends on what effect I'm after. If I'm playing with reflection, I'll shoot in depths around 5cm. To 30cm plus, my focus will be on the movement and flow of water. The deepest I go is to my waist when looking for certain aspects of breaking waves over rocks. I still use waterproof Fuji and Olympus point-and-shoots as well as Go Pro. I've managed to print to A1 and A0, despite the small sensors. Any camera capable of shooting in a few centimetres of the shallows will work. For perspective purposes, depths are usually not more than a small glass of water, and the areas are generally around shoe-box size, so there's not much room to move. DSLRs and housings are out of the question, so keeping it simple is the idea. Without focusing on technical aspects, I'm left with time to remain connected to my surroundings. If there's too much adjusting, it can be distracting and disengaging from the presence I'm seeking.
How do you deal with visualisation - composition and focus – and do you change much in post-processing?
Visualisation and composition are a work in progress. Shooting blind presents a few challenges. I've learnt to anticipate what an image will offer when shooting at various angles and utilising degrees of light. Experimenting this way has involved adaptation to the conditions and environment. The time of day, tide, weather, waves, and pollution are elements to consider when shooting and affect how the outcome will look. I usually take time to walk around, just observing. When something catches my eye, I’ll focus on how water responds to the space; is it flowing, churning or still? Sometimes I'll sit and watch waves and set frequency, which is crucial for safety and prepping for a shot.
Shooting blind presents a few challenges. I've learnt to anticipate what an image will offer when shooting at various angles and utilising degrees of light. Experimenting this way has involved adaptation to the conditions and environment.
The only post-production adjustments I make are levels, contrast, vibrance and file size. I don't have photography software apart from what Mac provides, and I like it that way. Another fascinating aspect of composition is the shape of water; how it flows around rock, shell and cunjevoi, reflecting and forming vortices. The shapes resulting from moving water are exotically unique, like mercury passing over rapids. What I look for in all my images are miniature worlds. How can I take the lip of rock and turn it into a mountain ridge? Or algae patch into rolling fields? I call it perception deception.
Are you happy anywhere along the water’s edge, or are there places you are especially drawn to? What are some of the practicalities – time of day, tide, year – and how do you stay safe in what can be a hazardous place to work?
The ocean is a sanctuary of peace and contemplation where I can remain within my thoughts and be present in the moment. A meditative cadence is watching sets of waves roll in with a solid off-shore breeze shaping them into perfect form. I've witnessed some fantastic sights along Sydney's coast: whales breaching, sharks feeding and dolphins porpoising. When frustration sets in, I know I need to ground barefoot on rocks and get salty. That is my calming balm. The Northern Beaches in Sydney, especially Turimetta, Avalon and Palm Beach, are my primary locations for connecting and creating. All headlands have different rock formations, colours and ledges. If the conditions aren't ideal, I'll always task myself with finding something to shoot before I leave. I still revisit the same places I've been visiting for nearly ten years. Shadow is something I like to use; either my own shadow, a rock or a cliff works well. I'm mindful of tides as they will always determine where I visit on any given day. Spring and Winter generally bring fresh, clear waters and fewer people, leaving me the only contented soul to be found along the headlands.
Safety has a priority. I'm very conscientious of my environment and how suddenly things can change. Waves, algae and oysters are the most significant hazards. Dark algae on rocks are dangerously slippery when even slightly wet. Oysters are like razors and can slice the feet without noticing. Wearing shoes is vital in accessing difficult areas and maintaining traction. It doesn't take much to be knocked over by even the most unassuming wave, so I focus on bracing with solid footholds. I've been caught off-guard and tossed onto rocks a couple of times, which is a painful learning curve because flesh and bone constantly lose against waves and rock.
Would you like to choose 2 or 3 photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about why they are special to you, or your experience of making them?
The Valley
This image was taken at Little Bay and was shot in less than ten centimetres of water. The shape of the rocks and green algae give it a sense of mountains and fields, and the reflective colour of the water is enough to pass as the sky. Beyond the immediate formations, there are distant mountains layered in faded tones. It has a great depth of field and is very deceptive. Every time I look at this image, I see mountain ascents, long hikes and adventure.
The Bow
I cannot escape the vision of the bow of a boat steaming through green oceans and turbulent weather. The movement of the vortex gives it a sense of foreboding, as does the shadow. This was a “Wow!” moment after I’d taken the shot. I find it haunting and a little dark. It doesn’t seem to resonate with many people, but it is one of my favourites. Depth is approximately five centimetres.
Impressionist
This image was taken in very shallow water, approximately 2/3 centimetres. The lens barely made the underside of the flow. It’s the movement and tones that give it an Impressionist painting feel. I’ve always fancied painting in the Monet style so when I captured this I was thrilled.
Where has your project taken you, as a photographer and geographically? What changes has it brought about in your approach, vision, or ambition?
In sourcing images for ‘Ten Below’, I've visited (that is, photographed) every headland accessible by the beach in Sydney, North Wollongong, the Royal National Park, Noosa in Queensland, Bawley and Depot on the NSW south coast, and Mahé Island in Seychelles. The more points, reefs and beaches I discover, the more creative opportunities I find and the closer my bond is with nature. It's the gift that keeps on giving.
In sourcing images for ‘Ten Below’, I've visited (that is, photographed) every headland accessible by the beach in Sydney, North Wollongong, the Royal National Park, Noosa in Queensland, Bawley and Depot on the NSW south coast, and Mahé Island in Seychelles.
The approach to ‘Ten Below’ will always be a raw, organic experience. If I am to convey what nature presents, it is essential to feel the elements: the water, rock, wind, heat and cold. What the viewer does with that impression I encourage to be an experience of their own rather than try to understand what I've captured.
It has been about finding a connection, feeling the subject deeply, bonding and understanding nature further. I consider ‘Ten Below’ a unique style of photography, one I continually enjoy developing with simple tools. I often get asked what cameras I use, and people always respond with surprise. I think a good or unique photo tends to be associated with an expensive kit. That's why I'm usually not in favour of answering that question. I want the viewer to immerse themselves in the creativity. I'd be happy if people explored their imagination rather than focus on the equipment used to create it. A good photo anyone can take these days with anything.
Changes in my vision are incorporating more video. The movement of water is very mesmerising, like a sedative. I think it would be an excellent tool for calming and relaxation. As for ambition, I'd love to inspire people to explore the connection between all things in nature, appreciate our ecosystems and biosphere, and how best to interact and preserve what is fundamental to our existence.
Your writing touches on what we are doing to our planet. Are conservation and raising awareness big motivators for you?
I often ask myself, how can I give back to nature? It serves as a reminder because I sometimes get lazy with my choices, which don't reflect my intentions. I understand that nature provides everything I need to survive and thrive. Have I been a gracious guest to the host? Not always, and I feel compelled to do what I can to thank the provider for my sustenance, health, well-being, creative inspiration and recreational playgrounds.
Do I want to inspire others to do the same? Yes, although I believe it's essential for everyone to develop their unique relationship with nature. Explore how you interact, what you receive, and how you neglect nature.
I want to find peace in knowing that my actions are worthy and practical, fulfilling a duty of care to the environments I live. Do I want to inspire others to do the same? Yes, although I believe it's essential for everyone to develop their unique relationship with nature. Explore how you interact, what you receive, and how you neglect nature. It needs to be honest and comprehensive. The smallest gestures, such as picking up litter whilst at the beach or going for a walk, are the steps that matter rather than posting memes or just talking about it. Nature doesn't hear words; it feels actions.
What changes have you yourself observed in the time that you’ve been making the images?
Concerning climate, the changes have been noticeable. The days feel hotter, and the ocean has become warmer. I swim year-round and feel the winter water temperatures don't have the same bite they previously had. I'm attired in shorts only, so being exposed on the coast all year is a good barometer. Two decades ago, I'd spend most of the day in the sun, which was tolerable, provided I was suitably hydrated and had access to a hat and sunscreen. The last few years have become unbearable in summer. My times along the coast are from sunrise to approximately 11am. Anything beyond that is unbearable in summer.
How do you share the images online or in print? Your website is devoted to the project; you’ve made videos and put it together as a self-published book. What do you want people to take away from seeing ‘Ten Below’?
I have a website dedicated to ‘Ten Below’ with prints available to purchase. I'm currently including travel photos and stories to create a more rounded bio. My art has sold at markets, at exhibitions, in retail and on commission. I'm exploring options beyond Sydney, intending to set up shop somewhere on the south or north coast of NSW, giving the project a fresh perspective on new locations. Through ‘Ten Below’ I'd like people to explore their imagination and rekindle their inner child while raising awareness about our connection with nature. Effectively, to realise we are not separate from everything around us. That would be grand.
Do you have other plans or ambitions for the project? Do you see it having a conclusion, or have other things you want to work on?
‘Ten Below’ is for the long haul. There are so many variables I can work with that I can't imagine running out of subject matter or inspiration any time soon. Videos, documentaries, books and even magazines are all on the table. The idea of introducing ‘Ten Below’ as a style of photography is exciting, knowing others are discovering worlds and opening portals to their imagination. I think it would be a fantastic way of introducing children to environmental issues, ecosystems and the balance of nature. By giving them a basic camera and letting their imagination go wild in the shallows it may be the birth of many David Attenborough’s.
If you had to take a break from all things photographic for a week, what would you end up doing? What other hobbies or interests do you have?
I often take time away from photography and fill it with meditation, callisthenics, pilates, kayaking and trail running. I have a beautiful Staffy/Jack Russell, Izzy, who's never far away, and I've started oil painting again. As I mentioned previously, I’m looking to set up outside of Sydney so I’ve been exploring my options up and down the NSW coast. Lots of little weekend adventures and discoveries keep the creative juices flowing and fuel the ‘Ten Below’ project.
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.
There is an Australian photographer and zookeeper named Georgie Puschner. I love her abstract landscapes. She’s travelled to some amazing locations and captured them beautifully. Her Instagram page, geegeegypsy, is a delight to flick through and it would be great to read more about her.
Thanks Stephen.
Reading this reminds me that photography not only opens our eyes, but feeds our souls and in return we each have a duty to respect and honour our place in this world. Circumstances don’t always make this easy, but we should strive to be gracious guests to nature, and to those we encounter wherever we travel.
Stephen’s website for ‘Ten Below’ can be found at https://www.tenbelowphoto.com, and he regularly posts new work on Instagram. It’s also worth looking at some of his YouTube videos for an immersive and somewhat meditative experience.
The reason why I decided to write "A Story Behind a Picture“ was my own surprise at one of my latest images from the Forest Quarter, an Austrian region that I am familiar with for more than forty years.
Forest Quarter is the northwestern part of the Austrian state of Lower Austria, bordering Bohemia in the Czech Republic to the north. Geologically it is part of the Bohemian Massif that stretches over most of the Czech Republic, eastern Germany, southern Poland and northern Austria. It consists of crystalline rocks which are older than the Permian (more than 300 million years old). Its bedrock of gneiss and granite is weathered to brown soil. The landscapes of this massif are mostly dominated by rolling hills. During my school days, I had the opportunity to spend time there for one or two weeks in the summer for several years. The extensively unspoilt nature in this place has drawn me back to this landscape after decades, now together with my wife.
We often go on a long hike along the valley of Kamp river, a northern tributary of the Danube. Particularly in its upper course, there are remote areas where we like to relax and recharge. They work as “places of power“ for us. On a day in mid-April this year, we were still waiting for the colours of spring in the valley. After a rather cold period in late winter and early spring, there appeared only some tiny buds. Within the otherwise bare forest along the river bank, some trunks and branches overgrown with bright green moss were standing out.
After hiking for several hours, we took a rest at a river bend. We tried to take in all the sensations. Closing my eyes, I could experience the sound of the water approaching from the left and flowing further to the right. The smell of the humid and fresh air added to this impression. Opening my eyes again, I found a new way to look at a group of trees at the opposite river bank. Its trunks and branches made for a most interesting structure for me, which was still enhanced by the bright green of the moss, contrasted by the rather dark background at dusk.
Trees are known to be connected by a complex underground system of their roots together with an extended interwoven mycelium, thereby allowing an exchange of nutrients as well as a sort of communication similar to a nervous system. And this kind of connectedness came into my mind when I had a look at the scene in front of us. The pattern with all the intertwined branches and twigs seemed to be full of action and dynamics.
Now there was the question of framing it aptly. In the first step, I decided on a 4:3 horizontal format, including only a small group of trees that represented the essence of this place in a convincing way for me. There are diverse diagonals formed by the trunks and branches, with the most prominent of them pointing to the lower right corner. I usually do not prefer to let diagonals lead the viewer exactly into one corner.
Trees are known to be connected by a complex underground system of their roots together with an extended interwoven mycelium, thereby allowing an exchange of nutrients as well as a sort of communication similar to a nervous system.
Therefore in my first attempts, I choose a composition with this branch cutting the right edge just a bit above the lower corner. But that way was unsatisfying and meaningless for me.
I finally let the prominent diagonal lead exactly to the corner, which made for interesting and compelling dynamics to my eye, maybe due to the more unstable composition. The kind of dynamic balance now just made the difference, in my opinion.
That was a new aspect of this place for me, which I used to experience as tranquil and peaceful, but now full of action and tension. A mindful approach after slowing down and taking in all the sensations has opened a new way of looking at a familiar place.
I recently chanced on an image by Lars van den Brink, a photographer unknown to me. I was arrested in a most disquieting way. Besides finding the image incredibly beautiful and ethereal, I wondered, was it a photograph or a painting? If the former, was it constructed or heavily post-processed?
It is clearly moody and, to me, rather emotionally laden. The composition is exceptional and very traditional, almost allied to the “rule of thirds” (if one ascribes to that). But besides that, the mountains peer eerily and majestically through the clouds, and the small figures give an exceptional perspective on the sheer scale of the mountains, valley and building. Is the road from the building to the mountain naturally lit? And why did this image engage me so emotionally the way it did? Do the tiny figures make me feel insignificant? Does the moody, warm feel of the image evoke melancholy, awe, or other emotions?
Landscape photography has been my passion from an early age, following exposure to the photography of Ansel Adams. Adams’ images made a lasting impression on me, but subsequently, many other landscape photographers have contributed to my development as a landscape photographer.
As a young man trying to understand my discomfort with life, the influence of the works of Carl Jung was immeasurable and, specifically, prompted me to appreciate the power of the unconscious, particularly mine in an effort to understand why my landscapes are instinctively constructed the way they are. Why are they composed so differently, and why do they elicit particular emotions - and why can I not elucidate the reasons therefore?
Subsequently, the writings and philosophy of Guy Tal also had an incalculable impact on my development and appreciation as a photographer, in particular, his opinion that the final image should be an expression of the artist's vision rather than an accurate reflection of the camera.
That images, sounds and smells can invoke strong emotions is without a doubt. That the specific underlying association for the emotions may be confusing and ultimately non-determinable, does not negate the capacity of images to evoke in us multiple emotions.
It is, therefore, no surprise that although I am appreciative of a wide range of landscape images, those that affect me emotionally are particularly profound.
Everyone knows what attention is. It is the taking possession by the mind, in clear and vivid form, of one out of what seem several simultaneously possible objects or trains of thought. Focalisation, concentration, of consciousness are of its essence. It implies withdrawal from some things in order to deal effectively with others, and is a condition which has a real opposite in the confused, dazed, scatterbrained state which . . . is called distraction.~ William James
All of us, I’m sure, would be upset if someone stole our belongings, invaded our private spaces, or siphoned away our hard-earned savings. Even the most generous among us, who give willingly to those in need (or just to make someone happy), who welcome visitors into our homes, who share our knowledge and art freely, insist on doing so by choice, not by leaving our doors open, allowing anyone to help themselves to our property and resources. Oddly, we consistently fail to exert such control and to protect ourselves from rampant theft when it comes to one of our most valuable possessions: our attention.
According to psychologist Darya L. Zabelina, citing a study by Michael Posner, “the main function of attention amounts to the selection of relevant information, and rejection of irrelevant information.” Paying attention is, therefore a process of distillation and simplification. The term “paying attention” is appropriate since attention is a finite and valuable resource. Our brains are limited in their capacity to generate attention—to select relevant highlights from the torrent of information generated by our minds and senses. The more attention we “spend” on one thing, the less of it we have left for other things. By the same analogy, paying is a conscious, willful act. When our resources are taken from us without our explicit consent, terms like stealing, hijacking, or sapping, may be more apt.
The Zugspitze - Prince of the Bavarian summit world. At just under 3,000 m, it is not one of the highest peaks in the Alps. But its rugged, steeply sloping rock faces promise a multitude of impressive views. Even though the summit plateau has been fully developed for tourism, a visit to the summit invites you to linger and marvel.
With its 2,962 meters, it towers over the south of Bavaria. It is not only the highest peak of the Wetterstein Mountains in which it rises, but also the highest peak in Germany. It is hardly surprising that the tourism association advertises here with the slogan "The Top of Germany".
The massive peak was named after the pagans. The tribes settled in the valley once believed that the gods of the wind lived high up on the summit, as the snow flags 'pulled' over the summit ridges.
The massive peak was named after the pagans. The tribes settled in the valley once believed that the gods of the wind lived high up on the summit, as the snow flags 'pulled' over the summit ridges. More likely is the derivation of the name from the 'paths' of the avalanches that thunder down into the valley from the steep northern walls in the winter months until spring.
Whereas the documented first ascent in August 1820 took place in silence and seclusion, today's summit is more like a Tower of Babel. Since the 1960s, the formerly three-part summit has been increasingly adapted to the demands of 'modern' mountain tourism. Mountain railways unload their gondolas on the western and middle summit. Here, visitors can indulge in the romance of the Alps in safe terrain with chest high railings. The eastern summit is home to the summit cross, which is visible from afar. It originated on the western summit and was donated by the priest Christoph Ott in 1851. At today's summit cross, the world of mountaineers and adventure-hungry mountain tourists who venture over to the eastern summit peak merge.
On the way down from Munich into the Bavarian Oberland, the peaks of the Ester Mountains (left, to the east), the Wetterstein Mountains (centre to the south) and the Ammergau Alps (right, to the west) can be seen from afar in good visibility. The massive rocks of the Wetterstein Mountains are visible from a distance, rising more steeply than the neighbouring mountain ranges just mentioned. The most striking is the Alpspitze (2,628 m) with its triangular peak. From here, the Jubiläumsgrat (Jubilee Ridge) leads westwards directly towards the Zugspitze. In front of the Zugspitze rise the peaks of the Waxensteiner, a small mountain group with the Großer and Kleiner Waxenstein, Zwölferkopf and Mandl. These are separated from the Zugspitze by the deep-cut Höllental valley with the remains of the Höllentalferner, one of three former glaciers that originally spread along the Zugspitze.
The summit region is reached in just a few minutes thanks to the Bavarian and Tyrolean cable cars. Once you reach the top of the visitor terrace, you are greeted by a 360° panoramic view. In good weather, the view stretches over 250 kilometres and covers more than 400 peaks. Among them are the Watzmann (2,713 m) in the Berchtesgaden Alps in the east, the Marmolata (3,343 m) in the Italian Dolomites in the south and the Feldberg (1,493 m) in the Black Forest in the west - it is the highest peak in the low mountain range in Germany.
Despite the grandiose view, the question of where alpine nature is to be found sprouts up in my mind. Detached from the tourist hustle and bustle and away from the well-known hot spots, I find it! My gaze leads me past the summit cross to the Jubiläumsgrat. Far back on the horizon, the peaks of the Karwendel can be seen. On some autumn days, the fog-shrouded Isar valley can be seen from the pass to the summit cross. It is nestled between the mountain flanks of the Isar Mountains (left, north) and the Karwendel (right, south). In the background, row after row of peaks rise out of the morning mist.
Despite the grandiose view, the question of where alpine nature is to be found sprouts up in my mind. Detached from the tourist hustle and bustle and away from the well-known hot spots, I find it! My gaze leads me past the summit cross to the Jubiläumsgrat.
Much closer, the Jubiläumsgrat (Jubilee Ridge) catches my eye. The jagged ridge between Zugspitze and Alpspitze offers an impressive play of light and shadow in the orange morning sun. While it is popular as an alpine climb in the summer and autumn months until the first snow falls, in the icy winter months it is reserved for only a few enthusiasts with the appropriate equipment and experience. During this time, the dancing snow flags can be observed above the rocks decorated with snowdrifts.
During the cold winter nights, low-pressure systems rich in precipitation turn the summit peak and its cross into a bizarre icy backdrop. The freezing temperatures at the back of the weather may seem to freeze the tips of fingers and noses, but they also purify the air. So dawn envelops this rugged mountain world in a warm play of colour. On cloudy nights, the temperatures do not sink so low as to promise an intense play of colour, but they do mystically veil the view of the lower-lying Höllental. The alpine foehn, or more precisely the southern foehn, brings a completely different kind of play of light and colour. The wintry foehn is accompanied by thaws and stormy lows, not infrequently of hurricane force. High above the peaks, the foehn drives threateningly heavy cloud formations across the sky. While the temperatures in the valley are still in the double digits below zero, the thermometer on the Zugspitze rises to 0°C. Cable car operations are often suspended in such weather conditions for safety reasons.
The wintry foehn is accompanied by thaws and stormy lows, not infrequently of hurricane force. High above the peaks, the foehn drives threateningly heavy cloud formations across the sky. While the temperatures in the valley are still in the double digits below zero, the thermometer on the Zugspitze rises to 0 °C
Back to a warmer season: Autumn with its 'Indian summer' promises a magnificent view in the morning and evening hours. At this time of year, I am just as enthusiastic about the view in the evening twilight to the north, over the Eibsee and Loisachtal into the Alpine foothills as I am about the view to the west in the neighbouring Lechtal and Allgäu Alps. Now it is also worth taking a look at the opposite side of the sunset. Here the Zugspitze peak itself casts a large shadow on the autumn evening sky. Turning your gaze back to the sunset, it offers an impressive perspective even after a late summer thunderstorm. Even if the brilliant evening glow fails to appear and instead the rain clouds dissipate over the peaks further west.
You will certainly have guessed by now that the development of the summit mentioned at the beginning also took hold of the landscape lying at the foot of the Zugspitze massif. But impressive places are also hidden here. Sometimes quiet and peaceful, like on the shores of the Eibsee at dawn or dusk. The islands that line up along the small bays sparkle like jewels in the crystal-clear water. No wonder the lake is considered one of the most beautiful lakes in the Bavarian Alps.
With a deafening roar and accompanied by a cold breeze, a path carved into the rock leads through the approximately 700 m long Partnachklamm (gorge). The small river has its source on the plateau of the Zugspitzplatt, almost 2,000 m higher up, which it drains. Over the past millennia, it has carved out a gorge up to 70 m deep through the rocky ridge before flowing into the Loisach.
To the northeast of the municipality of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, the forested flanks of the Ester Mountains rise above the Loisach Valley. From the Wank (1,780 m), a long ridge, the massive summit of the Zugspitze massif shines in the late summer evening sun. In general, the Wank offers a beautiful view of the Wetterstein Mountains opposite. Similarly, the view from the small village of Wamberg is opposite; here, the steep, craggy rock faces tower to the south (left), while on the right the Loisachtal valley squeezes through between three mountains to reach the Murnau Moor shortly afterwards. This is one of the largest preserved near-natural moorland areas in Central Europe.
To the northeast of the municipality of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, the forested flanks of the Ester Mountains rise above the Loisach Valley. From the Wank (1,780 m), a long ridge, the massive summit of the Zugspitze massif shines in the late summer evening sun.
It is difficult for me to find an end here. Scattered in all directions are numerous small scenic fillets that are no less interesting. The Zugspitze massif with the other peaks of the Wetterstein range are 'merely' the highest peaks here. Many beauties hide in the valley or are hidden at medium altitude on the numerous mountain flanks...
Die Zugspitze – Fürst der bayerischen Gipfelwelt. Mit knapp unter 3.000 m zählt sie nicht zu den höchsten Gipfeln der Alpen. Doch ihre schroffen, steil abfallenden Felswände versprechen eine Vielzahl beeindruckender Aussichten. Auch wenn das Gipfelplateau touristisch voll erschlossen wurde, lädt ein Gipfelbesuch zum Verweilen und Staunen ein…
Die Zugspitze – sie überragt mit ihren 2.962 m den bayerischen Süden. Sie ist nicht nur der höchste Gipfel des Wettersteingebirges, in welchem sie emporragt, sondern auch der höchste Gipfel Deutschlands. Kaum verwunderlich, dass der Tourismusverband hier mit dem Slogan „Top of Germany“ wirbt.
Ihren Namen fand das wuchtige Gipfelmassiv bereits in heidnischer Zeit. Einst glaubten die im Tal angesiedelten Stämme das hoch oben auf dem Gipfel die Götter des Windes lebten, ‚zogen‘ doch die Schneefahnen über die Gipfelgrate. Wahrscheinlicher ist die Namensableitung, aus den ‚Zugbahnen‘ der Lawinen, die in den Wintermonaten bis ins Frühjahr von den steilen Nordwänden ins Tal donnern.
Bot sich den verbrieften Erstbesteigern im August 1820 ein Ort der Stille und Abgeschiedenheit, gleicht der heutige Gipfel eher einem Turmbau zu Babel. Seit den 1960iger Jahren wurde der ehemals dreiteilige Gipfel mehr und mehr den Anforderungen des ‚modernen‘ Bergtourismus angepasst. Auf dem westlichen und mittleren Gipfel entladen Bergbahnen ihre Gondeln. Hier können sich Besucher im sicheren Terrain mit hüft- bis bauchhohen Geländern der Alpenromantik hingeben. Der östliche Gipfel beherbergt das weithin sichtbare Gipfelkreuz. Dieses hatte seinen Ursprung auf dem Westgipfel und ist der Stiftung des Pfarrers Christoph Ott im Jahre 1851 zu verdanken. Am heutigen Gipfelkreuz verschmilzt die Welt der Bergsteiger und erlebnishungrigen Bergtouristen, die den Weg hinüber zum östlichen Gipfelstock wagen.
Auf dem Weg von München hinunter ins Bayerische Oberland, sind die Gipfel des Estergebirges (links, im Osten) dem Wettersteingebirge (mittig nach Süden) sowie der Ammergauer Alpen (rechts, im Westen) bei guter Sicht von weitem zu erkennen. Die massiven Felsen des Wettersteingebirges ragen schon aus der Ferne sichtbar, steiler empor als die gerade genannten, angrenzenden Gebirgsstöcke. Am markantesten reckt sich die Alpspitze (2.628 m) mit ihrem dreieckigen Gipfelstock dem Himmel entgegen. Von ihr führt der Jubiläumsgrat, nach Westen direkt auf die Zugspitze zu. Der Zugspitze vorgelagert ragen die Gipfel der Waxensteiner, einer kleinen Berggruppe mit dem Großen und Kleinen Waxenstein, Zwölferkopf und Mandl empor. Getrennt werden diese von der Zugspitze durch das tiefeingeschnittene Höllental mit den Resten des Höllentalfernes, einer von ehemals drei Gletschern, die sich ursprünglich an der Zugspitze verteilten.
Die Gipfelregion ist dank der bayerischen wie tirolerischen Bergbahnen nach wenigen Minuten erreicht. Oben auf der Besucherterrasse angekommen, wird man empfangen von einer 360° Panorama-Rundumsicht. Bei guter Witterung reicht der Blick über 250 Kilometer weit und erfasst über 400 Gipfel. Darunter der Watzmann (2.713 m) in den Berchtesgadener Alpen im Osten, im Süden in den italienischen Dolomiten die Marmolata (3.343 m) sowie im Westen den Feldberg (1.493 m) im Schwarzwald – er ist der höchste Mittelgebirgsgipfel in Deutschland.
In mir keimt ungeachtet der grandiosen Weitsicht kurzweilig die Frage auf, wo sich denn die alpine Natur wiederfindet. Losgelöst vom touristischen Treiben und abseits der bekannten HotSpots finde ich sie! So führt mein Blick vorbei am Gipfelkreuz auf den Jubiläumsgrat. Weit hinten am Horizont sind die Gipfel des Karwendels zu erkennen. Vom Übergang zum Gipfelkreuz ist an manchen Herbsttagen das nebelverhüllte Isartal zu erkennen. Es liegt eingebettet zwischen den Bergflanken der Isarberge (links, nördlich) und des Karwendels (rechts, südlich). Im Hintergrund ragen Gipfelreihe um Gipfelreihe aus dem Morgennebel.
Deutlich näher gelegen zieht der Jubiläumsgrat meinen Blick auf sich. Der zackige Grat zwischen Zug- und Alpspitze bietet in der orangen Morgensonne ein beeindruckendes Licht- und Schattenspiel. Während er in den Sommer- und Herbstmonaten bis zum ersten Schnee gerne als alpiner Steig begangen wird, ist er in den eisigen Wintermonaten nur einigen wenigen Enthusiasten mit entsprechender Ausrüstung und Erfahrung vorbehalten. In dieser Zeit lassen sich die tanzenden Schneefahnen über den mit Schneewehen verzierten Felsen beobachten.
Während der kalten Winternächte, verzaubern niederschlagsreiche Tiefdruckgebiete den Gipfelstock samt Gipfelkreuz in eine bizarre Eiskulisse. Die klirrenden Temperaturen auf der Wetterrückseite mögen zwar Finger- und Nasenspitze scheinbar erfrieren lassen, doch reinigen sie auch die Luft. So hüllt die Morgendämmerung diese schroffe Bergwelt in ein warmes Farbenspiel. In wolkenverhangenen Nächten sinken die Temperaturen zwar nicht so tief, als dass sie ein intensives Farbspiel versprechen, doch dafür verhüllen sie auf mystische Weise den Blick in das tiefergelegene Höllental. Eine ganz andere Art des Licht- und Farbenspiels bringt der Alpenföhn, genauer gesagt der Südföhn mit sich. Mit dem winterlichen Föhn gehen Tauwetter und Sturmtiefs, nicht selten in Orkanstärke einher. Hoch über den Gipfeln treibt der Föhn bedrohlich schwere Wolkenformationen über den Himmel. Während im Tal anfangs noch zweistellige Minusgrade herrschen, steigt auf der Zugspitze das Thermometer an die 0 °C. Der Seilbahnbetrieb wird bei solchen Wetterlagen häufig aus Sicherheitsgründen eingestellt.
Zurück in eine wärmere Jahreszeit: Der Herbst mit seinem ‚Altweibersommer‘ verspricht in den Morgen- und Abendstunden eine grandiose Aussicht. Mich begeistert in dieser Zeit der Blick in der Abenddämmung nach Norden, über Eibsee und Loisachtal in das Alpenvorland ebenso wie der Blick nach Westen in den angrenzenden Lechtaler und Allgäuer Alpen. Jetzt lohnt sich auch ein Blick auf die entgegengesetzte Seite des Sonnenuntergangs. Hier wirft der Zugspitzgipfel selbst einen großen Schatten auf den herbstlichen Abendhimmel. Den Blick wieder auf den Sonnenuntergang gerichtet, bietet dieser auch nach einem späten Sommergewitter eine beeindruckende Perspektive. Selbst wenn das leuchtende Abendrot ausbliebt und sich stattdessen die Regenschwaden über den weiter westlich liegenden Gipfeln auflösen.
Sie werden es sicherlich schon erahnen, die eingangs erwähnte Erschließung des Gipfels erfasste auch die am Fuß des Zugspitzmassivs liegende Landschaft. Doch verbergen sich auch hier beeindruckende Orte. Mal stille und ruhige wie am Ufer des Eibsees in der Morgen- oder Abenddämmerung. Die Inseln, die sich entlang der kleinen Buchten aneinanderreihen funkeln wie Juwelen im kristallklaren Wasser. Kein Wunder, dass der See zu den schönsten Seen in den bayerischen Alpen zählt.
Mit ohrenbetäubendem Rauschen und von einem kalten Luftzug begleitet, führt ein in den Felsen, gehauener Pfad durch die ungefähr 700 m lange Partnachklamm. Seinen Ursprung, findet der kleine Fluss auf dem knapp 2.000 m höher gelegenem Plateau des Zugspitzplatt, welches sie entwässert. Dabei hat sie in den vergangenen Jahrtausenden eine bis zu 70 m tiefe Schlucht durch den Felsriegel ausgewaschen, bevor sie in der Marktgemeinde in die Loisach mündet.
Nordöstlich der Markgemeinde erheben sich die bewaldeten Flanken des Estergebirges über dem Loisachtal. Vom Wank (1.780 m) einem langgezogenen Bergrücken erstrahlt der wuchtige Gipfelstock des Zugspitzmassivs in der spätsommerlichen Abendsonne. Allgemein bietet der Wank eine schöne Aussicht auf das gegenüberliegende Wettersteingebirge. Ähnlich wie der Blick vom gegenüberliegenden Kirchdorf Wamberg; hier ragen südlich (links) die steilen, schroffen Felsflanken empor, während sich rechter Hand das Loisachtal zwischen drei Gebirgen hindurchzwängt, um kurz darauf das Murnauer Moos zu erreichen. Dieses zählt zu den größten noch erhaltenen naturnahen Moorgebieten Mitteleuropas.
Es fällt mir schwer hier ein Ende zu finden. Es reihen sich verstreut in alle Himmelsrichtung zahlreiche kleine landschaftliche Filetstücken aneinander, die nicht weniger interessant sind. Das Zugspitzmassiv mit den anderen Gipfeln des Wettersteingebirges bildet hier ‚lediglich‘ die höchsten Spitzen. Viele Schönheiten verbergen sich im Tal oder verstecken sich in mittlerer Höhe an den zahlreichen Bergflanken…
This is the first time I’ve researched an interview while listening to the subject’s music… Bill Ferngren is a talented guy, indeed. Undoubtedly his family has played a part in nourishing his creativity, but he seems especially good at applying this to new things and enjoys a challenge. We talk about the overlap between musical and photographic composition and production and touch on the life of Sweden’s forests which have provided him with much of his inspiration thus far.
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?
Sure, I was born in Sweden, in Huddinge, a suburb that is located south of the capital of Stockholm. At the age of six, my parents got the idea that my 4 years older sister and I would be better off growing up in a small town with a safer, calmer and less stressful life than the big city offered. We moved south, 50 miles closer to the continent, to a small village in Oskarström, a place located 2 miles northeast of Halmstad municipality. I finished my compulsory schooling and then studied for three years to become a carpenter. At the age of nineteen, I decided to move back to my roots in Stockholm, and this is still what I like to call home.
My father has always played the guitar, keyboard and harmonica. My grandma and grandpa have been active fiddlers for as long as I can remember (they are no longer with us). So music came to me quite early. At the age of 12, my father gave me my first drums. Even today, music is a great passion. My curiosity drove me to try and learn new instruments. A few years ago, I was given the opportunity and the question if I wanted to make a living from my music. I was back then producing music for a global music tech company and got paid by the number of completed tracks. I then realised that the joy would quickly disappear when I start chasing myself with deadlines, and I understood that sooner or later, I would kill my creativity in making music. So I kept it as a side project, but I still make a small income from it, just scaled my contributions down at the time. A great way for me to get into the music industry!
Over the last ten years, my travels to the polar regions have been, in no particular order:
A photographic inspiration of icebergs and phenomenal wildlife: a picture and story resource like no other;
An opportunity to deepen my understanding of and connection with these unique regions of the world, scientifically, historically and culturally;
A chance to work with some of my closest friends and meet many wonderful people who travel with us.
A way to continue making a living as a photographer.
The pandemic years brought an abrupt halt to these travels. For over two years, I did not set foot in an airport, which, needless to say, was a relief. Meanwhile, I made the decision to turn down all further offers to travel to Antarctica. My memories from three visits there may be fading, but the carbon footprint associated is so great that, in all conscience, it does not feel right to return. Meanwhile, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine makes returning to the Russian Arctic (where I have also been three times) an unthinkable prospect.
Closer to home and still accessible in distance terms are Greenland and Svalbard. Svalbard is the Arctic archipelago north of Norway made mythical by Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy. Two opportunities to go this year were too good to refuse. Although not far apart chronologically, these two journeys proved to be very different experiences…
The Ocean Adventurer is an ice-strengthened ship with accommodation for a hundred-plus passengers and a large crew. We boarded at the end of June, still with the shadow of covid infections following our every move. Covid passports, vaccination boosters, PCR tests just before travel and lateral flow tests for all on arrival.
Understaffed airports, long lines of outgoing passengers and slow luggage collection on arrival and on return all made for a stressful travel experience. Boarding the ship itself was a relief, and once underway, the Arctic sea and landscape filled the horizons
Understaffed airports, long lines of outgoing passengers and slow luggage collection on arrival and on return all made for a stressful travel experience. Boarding the ship itself was a relief, and once underway, the Arctic sea and landscape filled the horizons. Anxieties quickly faded. Still, the covid shadow remained as, in spite of all the precautions, several passengers succumbed to the disease during the voyage.
Landscape photographers will note that the dates of this tour, 29th June - 8th July, are only a week or so away from the midsummer solstice. Since Svalbard lies halfway between the Arctic Circle and the North Pole, that means 24-hour daylight, with the sun describing a gentle oscillating arc around the sky, never very high in the middle of day, but equally not even very near the horizon at midnight. It’s a curious rhythm that takes some getting used to. It also means that landscape photography is totally dependent on the weather, the diurnal cycle offering little variety and no darkness.
Most of our passengers were followers of Mark Carwardine, our brilliant photographic leader, and wildlife was their main focus and interest. For wildlife photography, 24-hour daylight could arguably be considered only an advantage. I have learned much from travelling with wildlife photographers over the years, and Mark in particular. Dedication to understanding the birds and animals and their life cycles is essential. And such photography focuses on the behaviour, expression and choreography of ‘the moment’. The downside is that without animals or birds, there is nothing exciting to photograph! This is particularly critical in the Arctic, where the superstar creatures are so elusive. In Svalbard, these include walrus, various seal species, Arctic foxes, many types of whales, and polar bears.
For some wildlife enthusiasts, polar bears are the photographic highlight of their lives. It puts a lot of pressure on any voyage expedition leader to find these majestic animals. On this early July voyage, we saw just one polar bear. As sightings go, it was a good one.
For some wildlife enthusiasts, polar bears are the photographic highlight of their lives. It puts a lot of pressure on any voyage expedition leader to find these majestic animals. On this early July voyage, we saw just one polar bear. As sightings go, it was a good one. We watched her foraging on a small island and then enter the sea to swim and continue the hunt elsewhere. Polar bears do commonly explore and travel on land, and increasingly are forced to as the sea ice that is their main hunting habitat shrinks. Around the Arctic Ocean bears are becoming increasingly marginalised by habitat loss and, in some areas, trophy hunting. The chances of seeing them will also inevitably decline.
What I failed to mention was that two other ships had found the same bear before us. We were in a bizarre predicament. Our ship’s ten zodiacs (each with ten passengers) were essentially third in line behind a group of twenty or so more zodiacs already observing the same single animal. Although everyone was hoping for a wonderful photograph of a bear in her Arctic home, the reality was that half the time another zodiac lay between us and a clear view of the bear. This was the wildlife equivalent of standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon at sunrise with three hundred other tripod-wielding photographers. Instead of a gigantic landscape to photograph, there was one solitary animal hunting for scraps to survive on until the sea ice returns in several months time.
The voyage had many enjoyable excursions and highlights; but the irony and meaning of that one and only bear encounter has stayed with me.
By late August, many of the travel hassles and covid travel precautions had eased. Our second voyage was aboard the MV Antigua, a small ship equipped with three masts and sails, which were used whenever possible, lowering our collective carbon footprint. This expedition was organised by Daniel Bergman (Iceland), known to many On Landscape readers, and led by the polar bear expert, writer and photographer Morten Jørgensen. Daniel, David (Ward) and I were the lucky guides for a landscape photography passenger group of 17. Fortunately for landscape photographers, there is never an absence of subject matter, especially somewhere like Svalbard. Such a small group made excursions and landings much easier, and they lasted longer.
By late August, many of the travel hassles and covid travel precautions had eased. Our second voyage was aboard the MV Antigua, a small ship equipped with three masts and sails, which were used whenever possible, lowering our collective carbon footprint.
As the expedition started at the end of August and occupied most of the first two weeks of September, the days included an increasing spell of night-time darkness and the relative glamour of sunrise and sunset.
Perhaps ironically, we had just as many wildlife encounters on the later ‘landscape voyage’, and because we took landscape-photography-time over things, we generally made better wildlife photographs too! We saw just one polar bear on this latter tour as well. It is easy to extrapolate from such a small number of encounters that the polar bear is vanishing, but that would be an anecdotal assumption. Some tours have had the good fortune to see quite a few animals while around the Svalbard coast this year.
The September voyage was managed to minimise travel time at sea and maximise our time on land or on Zodiac* excursions. The scale of Svalbard’s landscape is quite familiar, for in size and shape, the mountains and valleys are like Scotland’s, only with glaciers, and at least for now, no trees and not much vegetation. It is an insight into how Scotland might have looked like around 17,000 years ago, before the end of the last Ice Age. Or perhaps right at the end of the Ice Age, during a period of rapid warming, because make no mistake, that is what is happening now. Weather conditions were similar to what we would expect in a cool Scottish summer and gave a wide range of lighting conditions.
Warming at a faster rate than anywhere else on the planet, Svalbard now has quite mild summers, although temperatures can also fluctuate wildly and are prone to do so. We spent a lot of time in light clothing on both voyages. Most of the icebergs we encountered were relatively small, as glaciers and ice shelves here are on a modest scale; and those we did encounter were in rapid thaw. Yet the surviving glaciers and wildlife and the almost untouched landscape are uniquely polar. It remains a place of exceptional beauty and photographic appeal.
Travelling to the Polar Regions
Although this has largely been a travelog so far, a reason to write this article has been to question my own justification to continue travelling, especially to the polar regions. While I am now forgoing the appeal of the deep south, opportunities to see the wonders of the north continue.
Although this has largely been a travelog so far, a reason to write this article has been to question my own justification to continue travelling, especially to the polar regions.
It’s so difficult to resist. It’s still paid work. I truly enjoy the conversation and community we have with fellow travellers on board the ship. I am still excited to see and photograph icebergs. I am increasingly fascinated by the potential of images which show animals sympathetically in a wider landscape. I hope to record the beauty of what there is in the here and now before sea level rise, permafrost decay, and extreme weather events change these fragile coastal zones with their tidewater glaciers and ice shelves forever.
That’s the part of me that identifies as a wandering adventurer who still finds pleasure in the unfamiliar and spectacular landscapes of the world and loves the enriching experience of seeing these wonders first hand.
But there’s another part that doubts the validity of these motives, that questions my actions and mocks my sense of entitlement (to travel). The personal carbon footprint of air and ship travel is undeniable and directly contributes to climate change and also habitat disturbance that marginalises the wild animals that we love to see and whose future is increasingly vulnerable. The truth is, we now sail ships in bays where glaciers once were in the very recent past. Change is well and truly upon us.
As far as I can tell, there is no balance sheet between good intentions and the unintended environmental consequences of travelling to fulfil them. It’s all tempting to see this as a First World Problem. But that doesn’t make it go away. Internally I am conflicted. Having a son who is an Arctic geo-physicist, I am regularly reminded of the effects of fossil fuel emissions.
In the global bigger picture, our personal impact seems microscopic, so it is tempting to believe that it’s not so important. Especially if platforms such as On Landscape can raise awareness and consciousness about these issues. For this reason, I was delighted to see Theo Bosboom’s recent article on these pages. If we do carbon offsets and contribute what we can to bring positive change, does that not justify bearing witness?
In the global bigger picture, our personal impact seems microscopic, so it is tempting to believe that it’s not so important. Especially if platforms such as On Landscape can raise awareness and consciousness about these issues.
However, to deny one’s personal carbon footprint would be an absurd abdication of responsibility for an environmentalist. And so the argument continues to swirl, trapped in the Beaufort gyre of my mind and definitely not melting away.
The past, present and future Arctic
Human exploration in the Arctic is still a relatively recent one, although humans have also lived in the regional margins for thousands of years. As Arctic exploration excited the popular imagination two hundred years ago, it was as a place of impossible, terrifying, other-wordly beauty. It became immortalised by both European and North American painters as perhaps the most sublime of landscapes, in the original sense of the word sublime. It was also a place where fortunes could be made, especially from hunting whales. And the search for a north west passage promised to accelerate trade with the Far East, a potentially vast new source of wealth. Even then it was a place of contested ideas in the western imagination.
Whale hunting took the great whales very close to the brink of extinction. It is a near-miracle that the global moratorium of 1982 happened and has finally started to bear the fruits of success as whale populations are gradually recovering globally (although unevenly and not everywhere).
But, since 1982, four decades have passed in which global emissions have soared as economies have prospered on the relatively cheap exploitation of fossil fuel. This is in spite of the fact that forty years ago, the science of the greenhouse effect was well understood and the risks of climate change well-disseminated. Climate change is amplified in the Arctic, and this has led inexorably to less and less summer sea ice. Additionally, there is an increasingly rapid loss of volume from the gigantic Greenland ice cap, the world’s second largest (after Antarctica).
Climate change is amplified in the Arctic, and this has led inexorably to less and less summer sea ice. Additionally, there is an increasingly rapid loss of volume from the gigantic Greenland ice cap, the world’s second largest (after Antarctica).
Superficially the appearances of the polar region remain, but climate change is making life more and more challenging for human and animal residents alike.
Sea level rise is coming in part because of the Greenland ice melt and also due to land-based ice loss elsewhere in the world. As it rises, so ice shelves and tidewater glaciers face greater pressure and storm energy from the ocean, in addition to rising atmospheric temperatures. In the short and medium term, the momentum of change will mean further decay of these great ice stores and rapid erosion for coastal margins (and not only in the polar regions).
What will a future Arctic look like? It is thought that Greenland’s ice cap would take thousands of years to decay completely if it ever did so. With luck, human ingenuity and economic necessity will have turned the climate change tide by the end of this century. Perhaps future generations will still be able to experience the authentic Arctic world, a wonderland of ice, snow – and sea ice – as we have done. Whether the great animals will still roam here, especially the polar bear, remains to be seen. There is no doubt its disappearance would mark a symbolic failure on our part. The polar bear is an adaptable and resilient creature whose evolution has survived the ebb and flow of Ice Ages. It is not an animal to give up easily.
Final Thoughts
We surely know that it will require extraordinary levels of global cooperation if we are to mitigate and reverse the
For now, I wonder if the pictures we make in the Arctic are useful, with real value as a document of record. Although it is hard to reconcile the value of terrestrial photography scientifically when NASA can regularly blow our minds with space-based survey images and time lapses showing sea ice shrinkage.
climatic and ecological catastrophes facing us. How do we feel hopeful, especially given the current backdrop of global events? It is all too easy to embrace cynicism and despair in the face of incompetent, or coercive, or just plain evil political leadership. But we need hope, and there are good grounds to believe positive change is coming. The young generations will have to find the solutions for their futures where we have largely failed to do so.
For now, I wonder if the pictures we make in the Arctic are useful, with real value as a document of record. Although it is hard to reconcile the value of terrestrial photography scientifically when NASA can regularly blow our minds with space-based survey images and time lapses showing sea ice shrinkage. Is what we do simply a snapshot of a moment in time and place which will always inevitably be subject to change on our dynamic planet?
I suppose my willingness to continue these journeys is a mixture of sincere good intentions and purely selfish enjoyment. But at least while I still visit I can bear witness to the changes and feel part of the conversation. Either way I feel deeply grateful to have had the privilege to visit a region of the world whose wonder and wildness – for now – remain intact.
*Zodiac is the near universally-used brand of RIB (Rigid Inflatable Boat) that are the tenders used for all polar excursions away from the mother ship.
There is nothing as mysterious as a fact clearly described.~Garry Winogrand1
When looking for positive guidance from philosophy, we must rest content
with some vague generalizations about the need to be specific.~Alan Chalmers2
Do you really need a philosophy for your photography? Clearly not! We take photos all the time for all sorts of reasons, sometimes thinking about our technique but almost always without thinking about any philosophical implications. Indeed, philosophy is not very good at providing definite answers to the problems we encounter but can be good at defining the questions we need to think about. So, this might be a question worth thinking about if only because as, consciously or not, we develop a style of things we like to take photos of that might reflect a certain philosophy. Mostly, I suspect that amongst landscape photographers, this will be one of the varieties of realism 3, particularly if the things that we like to take photos of are those that reflect and record our experiences in the landscape. This recording of our experiences might be done for a variety of reasons: to provide income as a professional, in the hope of impressing our peers, or simply to record our personal experiences and life journey without necessarily being shown to others.
Do you really need a philosophy for your photography? Clearly not! We take photos all the time for all sorts of reasons, sometimes thinking about our technique but almost always without thinking about any philosophical implications.
Most of the well-known, more philosophical writers about photography (Susan Sontag, John Berger, etc) did not have too much to say about landscapes. Vilém Flusser, who wrote Thoughts on the Philosophy of Photography (1983), also hardly touches on landscape, even if his concept of differentiating informative from redundant images has only become more relevant in the digital age4. His idea that, as photographers, we are complicit supporters of the post-industrial economic complex is also still relevant, at least to those of us who suffer from that gear acquisition syndrome.
We can, of course, turn to Guy Tal and his recent series of philosophical On Landscape articles and his books More than a Rock and Another Day Not Wasted for more direct commentary on the act of photographing the landscape and living with nature as an artistic endeavour.
The primary reason to practice any art, in my opinion, is the subjective experience of the artist. Whether the resulting work falls into any greater philosophical framework, or whatever information it may contribute, can only be considered as measures of importance or validity in an objective, academic, or practical sense; but to find satisfaction in one's work, to elevate (using Thoreau's words) "the quality of the day," and other subjective aspects that may arise from practicing photography or any other creative work, are more than sufficient justification for doing it.~Guy Tal, 2020 5
A number of previous articles in On Landscape are relevant here, particularly those that discuss the nature of realism in photography 6. For many landscape photographers a certain degree of honesty or realism in the presentation of an image is important (hence the Natural Landscape Photography Awards, NPLA7 ). We can perhaps contrast this with landscape photography as a creative act where there is an active choice not to present an image in a realistic way. Some examples in photography are the use of photomontage (for example, David Hockney’s Joiner collages), extreme post-processing (colour saturation, HDR, time stacking, sky replacement, element removal etc), and the use of intentional camera movement. Such images can still have realistic elements (e.g. each of the images in a time stacked image or a Hockney joiner), but the philosophical aim is evidently not to be realistic but to provide an alternative artistic view of the world, to go beyond the limitations of the two dimensional view of an instantaneous single image. Hockney’s joiners, in particular, have resonance back to the cubist and conceptual artists at the start of the 20th Century (Braque, Picasso, Delaunay, Gris, Duchamp and others) who strived to move from a mimetic to an expressive art8. As David Hockney commented in 1982 before exhibiting his early joiner collages (a couple of the more landscape examples are included here):
Photography is all right if you don’t mind looking at the world
from the point of view of a paralyzed cyclops – for a split second.~David Hockney, 19829
David Hockney, Pearblossom Hwy., 11-18th April 1986 No. 1
David Hockney, Merced River, Yosemite Valley, 1982
Of course, the boundary between these categories of realism and artistic expression is somewhat fluid. Take the simple case of a waterfall recorded using a shutter speed of ¼ second or longer10. The water becomes blurred. All the better to demonstrate the patterns of water flow perhaps, but we do not see water like that. It is not realistic in the sense of our experience; even if after long exposure (so to speak) to such images we understand what is going on and how it relates to the actual experience of water falling. It is already a creative interpretation, albeit surrounded by realistic renditions of the adjacent rocks and vegetation. This is a simple example of how a photograph can be a “noble lie”11.
Of course, the boundary between these categories of realism and artistic expression is somewhat fluid. Take the simple case of a waterfall recorded using a shutter speed of ¼ second or longer. The water becomes blurred.
We could take this example further. Let us say it is autumn and a selection of colourful leaves have fallen onto the rocks adjacent to the waterfall from the surrounding trees. We can then reflect on the opportunity to arrange those leaves in a pleasing pattern, giving prominence to the most colourful in the foreground, perhaps using tilt or focus stacking to get the depth of field required. The colours can be enhanced in camera by slight underexposure. We can, in fact, treat the composition like an artist as a still life – “improving” the arrangement and representation of the elements in the image. Everything in the image is “real” (as recorded in the RAW file); but much has already been manipulated It is perhaps a simple example of a “less-than-noble lie”. More extreme cases (such as sky replacement that is provided in several post-processing programmes now or the generation of landscapes by artificial intelligence algorithms). A painter artist might traditionally have had more flexibility in choosing not to include everything in the scene, but even that is now less of an advantage with AI-aided element deletion. In viewing an image, it is sometimes possible to identify ignoble lies, but the degree of post-processing in the final image is not always obvious and might only be revealed by the meta-data or comparison with an original RAW file (hence the requirement to provide such files with submissions to the NPLA).
So are you a naïve realist?
In philosophy there are many forms of realism12. The concept has been the subject of argument since the time of the Greek philosophers, notably Plato and Aristotle. Many well-known names have contributed to the debate about realism and, in particular, the potential differences between our experiential perception of objects as conditioned by the brain and the actual characteristics of those objects, what Kant referred to as the thing-in-itself (Das Ding an sich13). The fundamental problem of realism is that what we experience may not be the nature of reality. When viewing a rock in the landscape, we can experience that rock through our senses, but we cannot be sure that those sensations reveal the true nature of the rock, nor everyone will see the form and colours of that rock in the same way (and none of us see it in exactly the same way as recorded by a film of digital sensor)14.
Scientifically, of course, we can dig deeper. We can analyse the minerals and chemical composition of that rock and can infer things about its history using analyses of its isotopes, magnetic properties, thermoluminescence and surface lichen growth, but those inferences will still depend on the observational techniques available to us (which themselves depend on some theoretical constructs about the nature of matter that might be superseded in future).
The naïve realist will see a rock and not think anymore about it. It exists (at least in this realisation of the multiverse) and is there to be photographed in the landscape.
Going deeper still, we meet the limitations of understanding associated with the inherently uncertain sub-atomic quantum world. That need not concern us here; we can assume that the quantum probabilities are resolved in a way that reveals the apparently unchanging rock that we see before us (but at the quantum level, there may certainly be more to that rock than we currently understand).
The naïve realist will see a rock and not think anymore about it. It exists (at least in this realisation of the multiverse) and is there to be photographed in the landscape. There is certainly more to that rock as a thing-in-itself (or, alternatively, as an imperfect indication of its Platonic form if you prefer), but that is not really of concern, it can be experienced in the landscape and recorded in an image without worrying about any deeper nature.
The emotional response of a viewer to an image of that rock can certainly be conditioned on how it is represented (as in the examples of enhancing the colours of the leaves on it or blurring the water passing by it), but the means of the landscape photographer to influence that representation are certainly far more limited than other artists. The essence of the photographic image is that it remains realistic in some sense by recording the light that arrives from that rock and its surroundings in the landscape. Referring back to the quotation of Garry Winogrand, the fact of that rock is clearly described at the instant that the photograph is taken.
So where is the mystery? I think there are two philosophical aspects to that, ontological and aesthetic. The first is the deeper levels of understanding that might be associated with the nature of that rock. We have only one “fact” of that rock as we experience it (though if we stick around or return several times, the fact might be changing with light and season and it might even have rolled or moved), but there may be other characteristics that are beyond our perception (or that of our cameras). This is an ontological mystery (or potential possibility) for us as individuals. In recognising such possibilities, we need not be naïve realists in approaching the landscape; we can allow that there might be some deeper levels of understanding about the nature of a rock (or any other element of the landscape), even if they might not impact on the taking of an image as a record of our experience.
The second mystery concerns the aesthetic impact of an image. It is a mystery because the responses to an image can be highly personal and might be quite different for the photographer and the viewer(s). It necessarily contains a subjective element for each individual in terms of both beauty and emotional response15. What might be obvious for the photographer or one viewer might not be appreciated by another. There has been a long philosophical debate about the nature of beauty16 and how its appreciation has evolved in different societies (for example, the difference between classical beauty in the ancient world, the Impressionist reaction against the classical concept of beauty, and the quite different concept of wabi-sabi and the beauty of imperfections in Japan17).
The history of contemporary art (as in many other fields, including philosophy) suggests that individuals need to differentiate themselves in some way, but that not all will attract an audience19. However, a photograph of a rock does have a certain intrinsic interest in that it permits the question as to just why the photographer chose to frame that rock at that moment.
It is the aesthetic properties of an image that allows a rock to be more than a rock in quite a different way18. But while there are indeed very many photos of rocks, identifying those that are more than rocks is rather difficult since they all look like rocks. Of course, the concept of “more than” might only be a construct in the mind of the creative artist that need not be shared by the viewer. In creative photography, anything goes …. but anything might not necessarily evoke an emotional response from the viewer or gain an audience. The history of contemporary art (as in many other fields, including philosophy) suggests that individuals need to differentiate themselves in some way, but that not all will attract an audience19. However, a photograph of a rock does have a certain intrinsic interest in that it permits the question as to just why the photographer chose to frame that rock at that moment. It is, at least, more than any old rock in that sense, given value by the very act of what Barthes in Camera Lucida referred to as photography decreeing the “anything whatever” as notable20.
A more recent work of David Hockney is interesting to consider in this context. It is enormous (3m x 5m) and has also been produced by the manipulation of multiple photographic images, including multiple framed iPad drawings of flowers that can be exhibited separately. The image is clearly intended to be “unrealistic”: the flowers are Hockneyesque in their abstraction and it includes two images of the artist himself on either side of the frame, in the same white cap and shoes but sitting in different chairs and wearing different suits. In an interview he comments “This is not an ordinary photograph [which cannot be] the ultimate depiction of reality: you have to look at these through time, unlike an ordinary photograph, which you see all at once.”21 As with the earlier joiner collages, the intention seems to be to break the barriers of the still image (albeit here rather simplistically, if on a grand scale). Landscape photographers have also creatively tried to express the passage of time, of course, through the means of time stacking over a day or through different seasons. Personally, I do not find such constructed images that convincing. The resulting artificiality seems to result in the whole detracting from the sum of its parts.
David Hockney, 25th June, 2022, Looking at the Flowers (Framed)
The view of a pragmatic realist
I suspect that this response on my part is perhaps because of my predilection and fascination with images of water. One of the particularly interesting aspect of Images of water is that they illustrate the potential for photos to be hyper-realistic in showing things in ways that the eye cannot see (see the pictures that follow). Freezing a water flow in time allows the eye to explore the complexity of a flow in ways that are not possible in “real time”. In the same way, we can explore the details of rocks, of mountains, of skies and of forest thickets by taking time for the eye to range across the image22. We can do the same with the Hockney (especially given its size) but somehow that is philosophically different: an exploration of the intentions of the artist rather than any impression of reality. In the landscape photograph we might wonder about the intentionality of the photographer, in choice of composition and execution, but what we generally explore is the semblance of the real. And we can view it with some heightened hyper-real sensibility, both as the image taker and as an image viewer.
We might define such a position as pragmatic realism23. It is an intention to convey the experience of a landscape while accepting that the impression conveyed can only be an approximation to the real;
I would suggest that there is intrinsic value and satisfaction to be gained in this noble approximation to the real. This is, I think, Tim Parkin’s position in his discussion of honesty in landscape images24 and the position of the NPLA in which what is realistic (the “natural”) is effectively defined by what is considered as unacceptable and rejected (as referred to as the “ignoble lies” earlier).
an approximation that necessarily depends on the limitations of our experience in and personal understanding of the real landscape and the technical choices and limitations of the equipment we use. But while we might enhance an image in some way for aesthetic reasons (the particular choice of film, filter or shutter speed; some post-processing of digital files), for the pragmatic realist there needs to be an element of authenticity in representing the experience at the time of capture. I would suggest that there is intrinsic value and satisfaction to be gained in this noble approximation to the real. This is, I think, Tim Parkin’s position in his discussion of honesty in landscape images24 and the position of the NPLA in which what is realistic (the “natural”) is effectively defined by what is considered as unacceptable and rejected (as referred to as the “ignoble lies” earlier).
I am happy to be a pragmatic realist. I find that there is enough fun, challenge, and reward in recording experiences in the form of noble lies without excessive manipulation. This does not preclude, of course, different philosophies, including more creative approaches to photography, such as the example Hockneys shown above. This might be as simple as a choice of film (Kodak Aerochrome, anyone?), or filter (CPL? Graduated Tobacco? 720 nm Infrared?) or some of the more extreme post-processing methods mentioned earlier. Artistically we can allow that anything goes (and need not be “ignoble” in intent) – but with a quite different philosophy of image making. Not better, or worse, but different. So perhaps you do need a philosophy for your photography (or two) after all…..
Quoted in The Man in the Crowd p.157. Patricia Bosworth in Diane Arbus: A Biography also quotes the photographer Lisette Model (1901-1983) as saying “The most mysterious thing is a fact clearly stated” p.187. There may well be earlier statements of the same aphorism.
Chalmers, A. 1989 Is Bhaskar’s realism realistic? Radical Phil. 49, 18–23. (P23).
There is an interesting discussion of the late 19th Century origins of conceptual art in the recent book by Michel Onfrey, Les Anartistes (Editions Albin Michel, 2022), where he recounts the history of a group of artists in France known as Les Incohérents (Jules Levy, Paul Bilhaud, Alphonse Allais, and others including the pseudonymous, Dada) some 20 years or more before Cubism, the Black square of Maleovich, the urinal of Duchamp.and the Dadaists. Alphonse Allais even published a piece of silent music in 1897 (Marche Funèbre composée pour les funéreilles d;un grand homme sourd – Funeral March composed for the funeral of a great deaf man) some 55 years before the famous piece 4’33” of John Cage.
Ansel Adams did not generally approve of the use of such longer shutter speeds in the representation of water, but suggested speeds of 1/250 sec or shorter so that some of the structure of the flow could be seen. It is not always evident that he followed his own advice.
For example, Metaphysical realism, Immanent realism, Positivism, Idealism, different varieties of Transcendental realism, Structural realism, Pragmatic realism, and Speculative realism. We should expect nothing less, since even philosophers have to make careers and reputations, so they need to differentiate themselves from what has gone before.
Bertrand Russell illustrates this Kantian concept with the thought experiment if everyone was born with blue coloured spectacles. We would all still see a rock, but the thinking philosopher might recognise that we might not perceive the true essence of that rock.
From the quotation of Edward Weston: “This then: to photograph a rock, have it look like a rock, but be more than a rock.”. See also Guy Tal’s book More than a Rock, Rocky Nook, 2nd Edition.
What becomes famous might depend on circumstances, analogous to the Black Swans in the financial world, including hedge fund managers, discussed by Nassim Nicholas Taleb (see also his book Skin in the Game). Certainly I have friends who are very talented artists but who have not had the success that perhaps they deserve.
There are other ways in which photography can be hyper-realist, notably in the macro and microscopic domains, and also in the domain of astrophysics with the Hubble, James Webb and soon to be launched Euclid satellites. The latter will have the largest digital camera ever constructed for a space mission and will be in orbit some 1.5 million km from Earth – see article of 25th September 2022 at https://blog.insolublepancake.org
While I was growing up, one of my close friends was a guy nine years older than me named Claudio. Our friendship started when I was 15 and in high school, while he was 24 and finishing up his university studies. One day Claudio told me that to avoid disappointments, he avoided expectations. I didn’t know what to think about that, I was confused and couldn’t grasp its meaning. I remember that I was, and to a certain extent still am, a dreamer, while he was a realist. Compared to other people, on average, by personality, I was and still am, more willing to take risks in an attempt to do exactly what I want.
Our friendship started when I was 15 and in high school, while he was 24 and finishing up his university studies. One day Claudio told me that to avoid disappointments, he avoided expectations. I didn’t know what to think about that, I was confused and couldn’t grasp its meaning.
More so, I'm also more prone by nature to change the course of my life in order to follow my evolving desires, indifferent if they may lead to uncertain outcomes.
Rather than lying to myself and remaining in my comfortable present position, as soon as it becomes unsatisfying, no matter how hard I had to work to earn it, I rapidly abandon it to chase new aspirations. Conversely, he was more cautious; he did not feel the same rush to create and “become”, and didn’t have any curiosity for big changes. To me, my evolving aspirations never really seemed impossible, and I have always believed that I had to climb my own ladder to get to them. Regarding him, I felt like there was an invisible layer between him and his desires. I believed that this invisible layer made it harder for him to be in touch with his inner self. At times, I had to insist on finding out about his plans after his university studies and eventually found out that he knew the answers but was not sure he would be able to make it a reality, which inhibited his talking. At the time, I saw expectations as synonymous with objectives, therefore, as prerogatives to be efficient and productive. Most importantly, I used to believe that my desire to follow my passions was solely due to my eagerness to be productive and to create, and although that is still partially true, I recently had a big realisation that changed this understanding of myself.
Tulsa, Oklahoma, is probably not the first place that springs to mind when seeking inspiration for landscape photography. Yet nestled in the Osage Hills, just a few miles from the city centre, is the Gilcrease Museum, housing an outstanding collection of art from the American West. The museum sits on 460 brushy and channelled acres that are photogenic in their own right, but in my opinion, the star exhibit is Albert Bierstadt’s oil on canvas, ‘Sierra Nevada Morning’. What’s a painting doing featured in an end frame article? I hear you protest. Well, for me, it is one of the most impactful images that I’ve experienced - either painted or photographed. Forgive my audacity, and bear with me.
Albert Bierstadt was a prolific painter, creating over 500 works across his career. He was born in Solingen, Germany, in 1830. His family emigrated to New Bedford, Massachusetts, when Albert was an infant. As a child and into his youth, he had a penchant for art, and he travelled back to Germany in 1853 to study painting at the Düsseldorf School. He returned to New Bedford in 1857, now a technically proficient painter, and taught drawing and painting for a while before committing to his own painting full-time. He focused initially on scenes from the New England area and upstate New York. He associated with the Hudson River School, with which he further developed his highly romanticised, detailed style that had its nascence during his time painting alpine scenes in Europe. Whilst Albert was developing that now famous style, his brothers, Charles and Edward, were experimenting with the rapidly advancing technology of photography and had established a small business, notably making use of stereo photography. Albert apparently collaborated with them in their efforts and found stereographs to be a useful reference tool for realistic depiction while working on his paintings.
Humans are intensely variable, growing very much like a snowflake falling through a winters sky. We each take a subtly different path, shaping us and creating flaws of imperfection as readily as traits of beauty. Humanity is a celebration of diversity and difference; art and creativity should be the ultimate articulation of this heterogeneousness.
Life, art, love, passion; a curious mix of events, experiences, emotions and perspectives. Any time I spend reflecting on these attributes makes me wonder if I haven’t just been making it up all along, taking the path that seemed best, and then living with the consequences. All I can really say for sure is; if we are happy in this moment, then we’re winning, and the results justify the struggles, hardships and heartbreaks.
Until the end of 2016, I am not entirely sure I knew why I was making photographs. I certainly believed I had some skill and aptitude, but the images I made, for the most part, were articulations of the nature of subjects rather than autobiographical.
By late December 2016, I was really at the end of my rope, somewhat frustrated and miserable with what I considered to be my generic and formulaic photography, living a creative lie and not feeling self-actualised in any way.
By late December 2016, I was really at the end of my rope, somewhat frustrated and miserable with what I considered to be my generic and formulaic photography, living a creative lie and not feeling self-actualised in any way. The weather was particularly foul on the Isle of Skye, and I would dress each morning to battle my way down the glen into the teeth of another storm to get some exercise and to escape the prison of my mind for a little while. Being out in nature always made me feel better. I just didn’t understand why.
By then, I had been suffering from crippling anxiety, panic attacks and depression for 30 years. Living under a constant shadow, and although externally happy and successful, the inside of my head was in torment. In January of 2017, I set off into the far west of China for 3 weeks exploring the emptiest place I had ever been; the Gobi desert. The epiphanies I had there, the time to surrender, reflect and reconnecting with my true self, were totally life-changing. It was as if a light had been uncovered, revealing truth, opportunity, insight and passion. It may sound dramatic and exaggerated, but it is certainly the truth.
In the years that followed, I worked on these relationships between mind and matter and developed the 5 triggers principle that I have taught ever since. The attributes of Luminosity, Contrast, Colour, Atmosphere & Geometry; the raw ingredients of the world, and the reasons why we engage with it; the fuel for our fascination. Should you stop and look for a moment at any scene, or any photograph, you will see those attributes pulling your attention, guiding you and having subtle yet profound impact on your emotions and imagination. This was the epiphany I needed to understand not only the landscape but myself. I clearly recognised the moment when I stopped making photographs to say something about the landscape and began unearthing profound insights about myself.
Between January 2017 and March 2019, I visited the Gobi Desert 7 times; each expedition forming, layer upon layer, a greater depth of understanding of the language of the landscape and finding myself in it. The images I made in that time represented a body of work quite unlike anything I had done before, being a mirror of my own inner landscape, creating an emotional resonance that affected me in quite deliberate ways; an emotional spectrum from melancholy to joy. Expressive Photography was born, and I was taking the first steps out of the darkness.
The images I made in that time represented a body of work quite unlike anything I had done before, being a mirror of my own inner landscape, creating an emotional resonance that affected me in quite deliberate ways; an emotional spectrum from melancholy to joy.
An artist’s life
I have collected art for many decades; first paintings and sculptures, then photography books and fine art prints. I believe in art, its need as a release for our humanity and perspectives, but also to support artists who choose to live their lives for their passions. Making a living as an artist has never been easy, yet we choose to do so, not because it is a choice, it just is, and we must surrender to it, or forever deny it and live a sub-optimal existence, diminished.
I had never considered myself as an artist, for I had not produced any art. Well crafted photographs of places and things didn’t seem to qualify, and the fine art world tends to agree. To them, there is an apparent lack of human values explicit in a landscape, as opposed to street photography, or portraiture. However, as my relationship with the Out of Darkness images evolved, I perceived more human values than the raw subject matter inferred. Of course, it is us who personify the landscape with our human values, and the articulation of heartfelt emotional resonance is real. We feel energised and joyful with bright, airy, sensuous images, and we sense mystery and threat in dark, claustrophobic aesthetics. As we look upon an image or a piece of art, it is us who adds the layers of humanity, and the deeper we are, the less superficial the pieces will appear.
Having said that, I never purposefully set out to create a body of work. There was no genesis of the project, it just evolved smoothly until a point in time when I wanted to make a more unified statement of my message and intent. The art came along through my intuitive relationship with the place, the aesthetics and the articulation of my emotional spectrum.
The Out of Darkness Project
As the relationship between my varying perspectives and the aesthetics of emotional engagement began to dominate my thinking and productivity, I became increasingly confident that it has value beyond merely making photographs of a landscape. Yes, I still make photographs in landscapes, but the subject of the photograph is not the thing my camera is pointing at. I have legitimate concerns that contemporary landscape photography is too heavily focussed on external validation and the phantasmagorical processing so dominant in social media. I worry that the point of being in the landscape with a camera has been lost, and the stress release is being overridden by stress inducers.
Equally, I am not trying to make distinctions between people who photograph landscapes and those that create emotional aesthetics from landscapes; being in nature with a camera is a good thing regardless of your skill, intent, or output.
I have legitimate concerns that contemporary landscape photography is too heavily focussed on external validation and the phantasmagorical processing so dominant in social media.
Although external validation has become increasingly less important to me, in the summer of 2021, I made the decision to apply for a Fellowship of the Royal Photographic Society, as I believed I had something to say with this body of work and wanted some objective assessment of it to exist outside of my own head. I chose 21 images from the greater project and wrote a statement of intent that I felt summarised the purpose and meaning of the work. The feedback that I got through mentorship by the very patient Susan Brown was that to get the panel accepted by the landscape panel, I would need to change the statement of intent to fit in with their brief, which is for the images to say something about the landscape and not just the emotional attributes. I did this simply because the assessment for the landscape fellowship was in October, whereas visual art was not until the spring of 2022. Patience was never one of my virtues.
Thankfully, watching the assessment on zoom from a rental house on the Isles of Shetland was a pleasurable one, and suitably encouraging things were said about the work, and I was awarded the fellowship.
For the book, however, I very much wanted to return to my core creative value: The images are autobiographical, and more than that, the instruction I get from the images gives me a fresh perspective on my own psych. The 132 images in the book are sequenced to represent the entirety of my emotional spectrum. We all know how to feel; our emotions govern our lives, yet it takes severe training to have a healthy relationship with our emotions and not have them lead us on a chaotic ballet through life, like a drunk driver on an icy road. We bottle up emotions, lock them away, form a veneer of armour to protect ourselves from harm, and in so many ways, create a cage for ourselves to limit our exposure to negativity. Yet, the mere act of that locks us up inside our own heads, possibly the most hostile environment of all.
Along with the photographs, I wrote the extensive text, and I maintain the book is as much about the story as the images. I am honoured that both Joe Cornish and William Neill agreed to write forewords for the book, bringing several decades of experience, perspective and insight to their beautiful texts.
Three editions of the book Out of Darkness are currently available in presale. The Standard Edition, which is the book alone, signed for orders during presale. A Deluxe Edition, which comes with a bespoke slipcase and a choice of signed print. Finally, the Collector’s Edition presented in a handmade case, with a folio of 5 signed prints, a behind the scenes booklet and a 25 minute musical composition I made to accompany the images, which thematically follows the evolution of aesthetics.
Deluxe Edition
Standard Edition
Collector’s Edition
Everyone I spoke to about producing a book used the words “labour of love,” and that is most certainly true. The price of fine art paper have gone through the roof this year, and the original quote I received to print the book has increased by 30%. We have tried in every way imaginable to make the book to the highest possible standard, and have limited our margins to keep the price of it affordable for as many people as we can. We have even included free international shipping to a few countries, like the USA and some of Europe and the UK. This is not a project about making money, its primary purpose is to try and get my story across; a story that has changed the direction of my life, given me an authentic passion for helping others with their own mental health and to use photography as a positive and developmental tool, rather than something to stroke our fragile ego.
Every one of us has unique insights, attributes and skills. Art can be used to express the entirety of the human condition, both the negative and the positive. I believe whole-heartedly that the landscape can give us insights to our own inner landscape, showing us that it is ok to be us, and not to bend and break to fit into a societal expectation of expression or aesthetics. I will leave you with one question:
How can you express the pain you feel in a landscape photograph if society insists that it has to be pretty, balanced and fits their definition of acceptable?
For many nature and landscape photographers, the need to travel to distant exotic locations is paramount to the process of being able to create a diverse body of work that has a lasting impact, surprise, and depth. Surely trips to Iceland, Patagonia, Tibet, the USA National Parks, Greenland, the Faroes, and Indonesia can yield some incredible photographs; however, what if your home is a 167-square mile island and you choose to never leave your island for photography?
Cousteau’s influence on Andre’s work is quite prevalent not only in subject but also in how “exploratory” it feels to the viewer.
Do you think you can muster what it takes to produce a body of work that is compelling, personally expressive, interesting, and creative? The subject of today’s essay, Andre Donawa, based on the island of Barbados – a country with a population of just 287,000, has set out to do just that – create a body of interesting landscape photography solely from his home island.
Andre’s photography origin story is not unlike many of our own – in 2012, he picked up the camera to take some photographs of food for his family restaurant and the magic of pressing the shutter just overtook him like a virus. Armed with a degree in biology, Andre revisited local haunts on his island with a fresh perspective through the camera. His early inspiration as a photographer was Jacques Cousteau, the famous oceanic explorer, filmmaker, and co-inventor of the modern-age SCUBA diving systems. Cousteau’s influence on Andre’s work is quite prevalent not only in subject but also in how “exploratory” it feels to the viewer. When I first came across Andre’s work, I was instantly transported to Barbados and visually invited to feast on the peculiarities of his discoveries on the coast and in the water of his island. To be perfectly frank, I was quite surprised I had not discovered his work sooner. Andre’s work is filled with personal expression and conveys a unique take on a place he has become quite familiar with.
The world is evolving fast, and I am getting lost at times on how we are affecting the landscapes we live in. As a naturalist and conservationist, the politics of the daily job I do bears real weight on my shoulders.
As a naturalist and conservationist, the politics of the daily job I do bears real weight on my shoulders. I'm a falconer, a lecturer and a passionate environmental photographer based in Wales.
I'm a falconer, a lecturer and a passionate environmental photographer based in Wales. Many people visit my tourism business and tell me what a beautiful country I live in, but the real truth is I could live in a far more beautiful place if we managed the landscape far better. My days of capturing wildlife, to say I have the image, are well passed. Bluebell woods during the spring and the chocolate box seascape are now of no interest whatsoever.
For me, it's a stronger spiritual journey than one of just ticking boxes on what I have in my stock, but looking at our environment and understanding how it ticks. But is nature really in control most of the time, or is it we that have the say in things?
During early march, we had a dry period in the Brecon Beacons, and it was also quite warm for the time of year but far too early for the fires that roam through the countryside when the dry grass is sparked. Fire is exactly what we had, and not small isolated ones but ones that spread across the open hills.
This escalated for 2 weeks, and smoke could be seen from distant valleys when driving over the bleak hills. Was this natural, or was this man made? I frowned to myself. A few more days pass, and we arrive in April. I'm currently documenting another project and decide to do a reconnaissance of an area about five miles from where I live so I can see how the natural landscape is creeping into spring. On the way, another large plum of smoke rises in the distance and in the direction I am heading. Once parked, the spaniel and I took a hike over the moors towards the intended location. We were greeted by the smell of smoke and charred grasslands, the floor was smouldering, and a large line of fire was on its way towards us. I could see a fire engine parked on the mountain in case it spreads out of control, and as I meander down the hillside, the forestry is charred with half burnt trees.
I sit there with my flask and try to understand the causes of what is going on. This landscape is one that is highly grazed; is the purpose of this to encourage better growth or is it one of nature's events?
I went home thinking that it will be interesting to see what happens.
This escalate for 2 weeks, and smoke could be seen from distant valleys when driving over the bleak hills. Was this natural, or was this man made? I frowned to myself.
The start of June comes, and I am still looking at the other project I am working on, but while doing this, I regularly pass the damaged landscape. The tussocks are deep greens and the foxgloves are now presenting themselves in glory. The colour palette was just too much to resist, so I decide to spend two weeks studying how the environment was developing. Setting my alarm for 3 30am for sunrise, the early light and windless condition are perfect for this photographic story of a landscape that 2 months prior was just a large ashtray.
I decided that I would also like to understand how two types of Kodak filem would be transformed by the light. My first type was Ektachrome, a film I have been using since, thankfully, ditching my digital outfit. I love the thought and sheer pleasure of seeing a piece of film exposed as best as I could manage. Slide makes you think a lot more about the dark tones of the image but also having to be careful also clipping the highlights. Then the walk back thinking what a beautiful morning and not knowing whether you had succeeded in your mission.
During the two weeks, I would visit in the evenings and one of the biggest joys was the great shows put on by the Cuckoos, their calling echoing between the man made forest blocks.
I had some negatives returned, which I was very happy with, but I wanted a different finish. Like any artist, we want to express ourselves with our colour palette and brush, with the photographer its film choice and light. Kodak Portra was my next choice. I had never used this film before, and what a film it is. Subtle but replicates the beautiful warm colours of the grasses and flowers along with evening skies. It also has an amazing dynamic range that gives you more leeway to overexpose without losing highlights. It is a truly wonderful film in the correct locations.
My choice of format is 4 by 5. Again this format was one never used before, so teaching myself a new discipline was pretty nerve racking at times. Nonetheless, it was the best thing I have ever made a photographic decision to take. Completely manual, everything down to me, no batteries, decision of lens. How to create something a little different by using the choice of tilt or swing. I absolutely love it. And the still conditions of a June morning or sunset complement this format to produce to best abilities.
I had some negatives returned, which I was very happy with, but I wanted a different finish. Like any artist, we want to express ourselves with our colour palette and brush, with the photographer its film choice and light. Portra was my decision. I had never used this film before, and what a film it is.
As I scan the negatives, I am happy with this collection. I shall add more, and it is a shame I did not document what caused this to happen, but I am still thinking to myself, well, is this natural or not? If we had not touched it, it would not be this agricultural desert. The trees are not natural to the environment but did nature start the fire and would the outcome be trees burnt and dead? This outcome may be beneficial so native trees would seed and grow. Why have the foxgloves and cotton grasses grown in great clumps like never before during the time I have worked and lived here? Or was it deliberate in creating better grazing for animals that have made this environment worse over the centuries?
This is the great thing about the art of landscape photography. It is the debate it can stir and the pleasure it can bring to the photographer but also the viewer. Can it help us to understand how nature works in the environment or teach us a lesson on our failures to look after our landscapes?
Living by the sea, you get attuned to the rhythms of the tide and the moon. It's just part of the flow of life. Marianthi has lived very close to the shore for over fifty years. So perhaps it was inevitable that the coastline would become the main source of inspiration for her work.
The transient nature of the littoral landscape is endlessly fascinating, as is such a dynamic environment. These coastal edge lands have been the focus of her new project, 'Sea Signatures'. This project has been an exploration of mixed media processes, which was a natural progression as she was working with cyanotype already.
We last spoke to you in 2014 when we interviewed you as our featured photographer. Tell us more about your work and projects since then.
Re-reading the 2014 interview with Michela, I realise how much my work, my processes and my motivations have changed over the past eight years. At that time, my entire workflow, from image capture through to the production of a final print, was based purely upon digital technologies. After a decade of working in this way, by early 2016, I had started to feel the need to explore a more ‘hands-on’ approach, a desire to embrace more experimentation, to find ways of challenging my somewhat perfectionist nature, and to work in a less tightly-controlled way. Around the same time, I experienced a prolonged period of creative block – partly due to ‘digital overload’ but also the result of catering too much to the demands of commercial and private clients. Essentially, I was creating the same sort of photographs, repeating (often subconsciously) what had become a financially lucrative formula, but one which no longer afforded me much creative joy.
Tidal Pool #10, 2021. Residual seawater from backwashing wave. Cyanotype over pastel. 19 x 19 cm
Setting my digital equipment to one side, I’ve been creating prints using camera-less processes for around six years now. I’ve continued to work outdoors in familiar landscapes and favourite spaces but with renewed inspiration. I’ve also been exploring mixed media. Experimentation and play feels all-important these days.
If I had 1,000 years to live on this rock there’d still be stones left unturned ~ Daniel White
A few weeks ago, I took a trip to Washington, D.C., for the first time in a number of years. In fact, it was only my second time ever visiting the capitol: the first was back in 2018 and was part of a college trip for an art class taken at the time. Due to the focus being on a singular gallery, and that gallery being on the outskirts of the city rather than along the famous Pennsylvania Avenue, there was not much seen of the city itself and all it has to offer. So when I heard about a Robert Adams exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, thanks to Jeffery Saddoris on Deep Natter, I knew the time had to be made for a visit.
It had only been this year that I had heard of Robert Adams - through the reading of his Beauty in Photography - but I was intrigued by his work. He was not focused so much on a single genre of photography as he is an *explorer of light*. While he has done quite a bit of nature photography in the past (many of which are conservation efforts, revealing the ecological impact humanity has had on the world and the devastation we so love to cause), much of his work focuses upon everyday life, through the lens of architecture.
When I visited the eight-room showing of his work, American Silence (based upon the coffee table book of the same name), I was fascinated. Not only was the work beautifully crafted, but it also prompted me with numerous questions regarding my own art and philosophy.
The Abstract Rhythm And Blue Notes Exhibition at the Horsebridge Arts Centre is a celebration of photo expressionism taking place in Whitstable, Kent, from 16-28th November 2022. It represents the creative culmination of an intensive year-long exploration of the intersection of photography, art, abstraction and creativity by an eclectic group of 14 photographers under the tutelage of British photographers Valda Bailey and Doug Chinnery.
From 16-28th November, this international group of artists will be not only showing their work but hosting a series of exciting and informative, creative workshops. For a timetable of talks and workshops available, please visit www.arbnexhibition.co.uk.
The Abstract Rhythm and Blue Notes course was intended to take a very diverse group of international and British photographers who are already free-thinkers and, in many cases, award winning artists on a deep dive into abstraction, ICM, surrealism, layering, compositing and all manner of other genres. I was lucky enough to be one of the students accepted into this group.
The idea behind the course was to stretch us to let us each play with our cameras and our ideas without fear of failure or ridicule. To look deeper, explore and discover the unknown. Explore and discover ourselves as artists. Break the rules and constraints of traditional photography, tap into our emotions and allow the camera to speak for us.
As Minor White famously said, “One should not only photograph things for what they are but for what else they are”. And so began a journey of discovery.
My first experience of ICM was seeing a photograph taken by Morag Paterson of some tulips. I will never forget that image. I was blown away. I started researching ICM, and that inevitably led me to the work of Doug Chinnery and his brilliant videos explaining the foundations of this dark art.
Doug’s mastery of this genre of photography is legendary. His ability to jiggle and swoop his camera producing an image of arresting beauty and soulfulness, is mind blowing. By the time I had discovered Doug’s work, his name was becoming synonymous with in-camera layering legend Valda Bailey.
I first met Valda at Kew Gardens, where I spent the most glorious afternoon with her learning the art of in-camera layering. I felt like someone had opened Pandora’s Box.
In one afternoon, my art took an enormous leap into the unknown. I finally had found the genre of photography where my subconscious had found oxygen.
I always believe that if you admire someone and want to learn how to do what they do, then seek them out. Learn from the masters of their craft, not to emulate but to add those skills to your toolbox and reimagine them into your own vision, your own voice.
This idea was central to the Blue Notes course to study other artists or genres of art and use those initial ideas or concepts as a springboard to ignite our imaginations.
This idea was central to the Blue Notes course to study other artists or genres of art and use those initial ideas or concepts as a springboard to ignite our imaginations.
The timing of the course could not have been better, with lockdowns and Covid dominating the news. Suddenly the world had become the space of the four walls we lived in.
The opportunity to regularly meet online with a group of diverse and highly talented, like-minded photographers/artists was so rewarding and ultimately became the distraction we all needed from everyday reality and lockdowns.
My fellow scholars became firm friends. The warmth and generosity of spirit I encountered were exceptional. The opportunity to have an assignment set and to see the individual interpretation of that project from each photographer at our show and tell meetings was really fascinating, and I felt honoured and privileged to be part of such a supportive and creative group.
This new found freedom of expression enabled me to switch off the right side of my brain, to be intuitive, to relax and use it as a form of meditation.
The scope of the exhibition is well encapsulated by the title. Like in music where blue notes are used for expressive purposes and are sung or played at a different pitch from the standard, the artists exhibiting here are using the photographic version of blue notes to create their images- techniques, approaches and creative vision that is a different “pitch” from traditional representational photography. The mastery and understanding of the role of techniques such as intentional camera movement, or ICM, and in-camera multiple exposures are a key component of the work exhibited here.
The great outdoors is always a balm to the spirit, but at this particular time, I, like so many others, came to value the landscape and Mother Nature with a new respect. Playing with ICM and layering of images in my Canon 5R feels very representative of nature but not in her literal form; abstracted and layered, multi-faceted, an impression, as if a sweet memory.
A moment-caught, a movement like a breeze as it softly touches you and then is gone. The images we were all creating felt more nuanced, more ethereal, with themes of danger and rebirth, fear and hope intertwined. Our personal challenges, dreams, and interpretation of our internal and external space were all revealed through our unique vision.
Homework projects ranged from “Photograph the essence of your space” to “Interpret the chorus of “Bye Bye Miss American Pie”. We studied the power and symbolism of form and colour, the Japanese art of Wabi Sabi, how surrealism can be expressed in photography and many other equally inspiring and challenging topics. The outline of the course was always to widen our horizons, to encourage playfulness and bravery in our vision and, ultimately in our images.
All this hard work is finally culminating in an exhibition of the 14 individual artists' work at the exciting and eclectic Abstract Rhythm And Blue Notes Exhibition from 16-28 November.
Each artist will bring their own unique vision of their landscape through the diverse and creative genres of photo expressionism, ICM and abstraction.
I am honoured and proud to be among them.
The Artists
Valda Bailey: Birds Fly South
Valda Bailey is one of the two founders of Bailey Chinnery, which runs extensive workshops and online courses for creative photographers. She is an award wining artist, and her images are prized by both private collections and galleries.
Birds Fly South is from a series of images about the seaside in winter. Such places have an elusive atmosphere, a timeless, exquisite grace. The soothing rhythm of the waves and fading emptiness fills and nourishes the soul.
Sunlit Hills was taken locally to Jan and forms part of a series of works capturing the seasonal changes of the surrounding countryside.
Jan Beesley ARPS: Sunlit Hills
Jan is based in Sussex. She uses her camera as an artistic tool to express her response to the landscape around her. She aims to capture not just what is in front of her but what she feels and the interplay of colour, form and light. She prints her own work and hand finishes work using creative techniques. Jan is a member of the RPS.
Sunlit Hills was taken locally to Jan and forms part of a series of works capturing the seasonal changes of the surrounding countryside.
Alison Buchanan ARPS: Abandoned
Based in Sussex, Alison finds that she is seeking through her photography to capture more than the physical presence of a place. She concentrates on the feelings and emotions she experiences. This emotional response is evident in her work. Alison is a member of the RPS.
Abandonded is part of a series inspired by the book The Secrets Of The Sea House by Elizabeth Gifford. It was taken on the Island Of Harris, among the sand dunes.
Foggy Morning On The Grand Canal, taken in Venice, was captured using a combination of ICM and multiple exposure, to capture the essence of the scene. The cold, the movement, the dampness of the fog.
Deborah Bohren: Foggy Morning On The Grand Canal
Deborah is an American based photographer living in Connecticut. She is an award winning photographer and her work has been exhibited in several museums and galleries across America. She uses her camera like a paint brush, to reveal the essence and emotion of a place.
Foggy Morning On The Grand Canal, taken in Venice, was captured using a combination of ICM and multiple exposure, to capture the essence of the scene. The cold, the movement, the dampness of the fog.
Doug Chinnery: Farmhouse In Elmet
Doug Chinnery is the other half of the Bailey Chinnery team. He is renowned for his ICM work and his evocative and thought provoking abstracts. Doug’s work hangs in both private collections and has been represented by numerous galleries. This award winning artist is much sought after for his creative work.
Farmhouse in Elmet is part of a series of images called “After Elmet”, inspired by the poems by Ted Hughs. They resonated with Doug because they speak of the landscape close to where he has lived for the last 37 years.
A Realm Beyond was inspired by his visit to Japan and meditating in a Buddhist temple in Kyoto.
Malcolm Cross: A Realm Beyond
Malcolm’s work is colourful and abstract, combining conventional and creative photographic techniques. He is inspired by urban and natural environments, authors, poets and creatives.
A Realm Beyond was inspired by his visit to Japan and meditating in a Buddhist temple in Kyoto.
Laura Goin: Ode To Spring
Laura is an American based photographer who specialises in ICM and impressionistic work of the landscape, particularly of rural and country scenes. Her work is enthused with colour, and her ability to capture the atmosphere of a place with her painterly images is highly regarded.
Ode To Spring, is inspired by the wonderful burst of colour and life that follows the dark days of winter. A true explosion of colour and rebirth was taken in the Tuscan hills.
Yellow pants is a multiple exposure image taken in deep mid-winter and evokes the biting coldness of a New York winter.
Linda Hacker: Yellow Pants
Linda is a New York based visual artist inspired by the built environment. Her abstract and semi abstract images use photography and mixed media to investigate the depth, complexity and intimacy of the living city around her.
Yellow pants is a multiple exposure image taken in deep mid-winter and evokes the biting coldness of a New York winter.
Dan Hartnett: Alone In A Storm
Dan is inspired by his long and close association with the sea. His work ranges from abstract to still life photography. He draws from experiences and memories of his time in the Merchant Navy and growing up on the Kent coast. His work explores our human relationship with the sea, conjuring images, stories and reflections.
Alone In A Storm is part of a series of work exploring a ship's log, the legal document recording the progress of a ships voyage. The Officer of the watch would write up entries into the log, the vessels position, weather and other significant events during their watch.
Beautifully Imperfect is from a collection of work inspired by the Japanese art of Wabi Sabi, the art of impermanence, an intuitive appreciation of ephemeral beauty.
Freda Hocking: Beautifully Imperfect
Freda is a UK based photographer who is inspired by the imperfection of nature and small things. The details of decay and destruction that hold their own beauty. She is an award-winning photographer who has a natural ability to find balance, harmony and light in all her subjects. Her images have an ethereal, lightness to them.
Beautifully Imperfect is from a collection of work inspired by the Japanese art of Wabi Sabi, the art of impermanence, an intuitive appreciation of ephemeral beauty. The image was taken on a recent visit to Lindisfarne, The Holy Island and is of the upturned boats and sails being weatherproofed.
Joycelyn Horsfall: Secret Garden
Joycelyn is a London based photographer specialising in atmospheric and evocative images inspired by flowers, foliage and the natural world. Her style is painterly and impressionistic, combing a strong sense of colour and form with an interest in texture and abstraction.
Secret Garden is part of a series of images taken using soft focus, ICM and multiple exposure to create a fluid organic feel.
Inner Necessity was inspired by the work of Kandinsky, “the necessity that art should always represent the inner soul of things”.
Annemarie Hoogwoud: Inner Necessity
Annemarie is motivated by the landscape, and taking time to immerse herself in the landscape is a common theme in her work. By seeking silence and slowing down, she encapsulates the inner beauty of a place. Through the process of creation, she creates space within herself which enables her to expand her creativity.
Inner Necessity was inspired by the work of Kandinsky, “the necessity that art should always represent the inner soul of things”.
Babara Kreutter: Seabirds
Barbara is a Canadian artist living in Calgary. She began her artistic career as a textile designer, and this understanding of form, texture, and colour is evident in her images. Within her work is an exploration of pattern and texture, harmony of colour and balance of shape. She has exhibited in the UK, USA and Canada.
Seabirds was inspired by the nautical landscape and the balance of cool tones of water and the warm tones of movement.
Small Pleasures is an image taken using ICM and multiple exposures, it evokes the movement and wonder of woodland.
Iveta Lazdina: Small Pleasures
Iveta is a fine art photographer from Latvia. She is inspired by abstract painters and strives to move beyond the reality of a moment or scene but to recreate her personal response to the moment or scene. She works to find balance and harmony between the inner and outer worlds.
Small Pleasures is an image taken using ICM and multiple exposures, it evokes the movement and wonder of woodland.
Howard Rankin: Autumn Of Memory
Howard is an Essex based photographer whose passions include music, nature and travel. His work has an empathetic quality that explores the emotion of response to the environment, family, ageing and mental fragility. He makes images using both abstract and traditional photographic methods, often combining the two. He is a renowned music events photographer in addition to his abstract work.
Autumn Of Memory is part of a series of work exploring the theme of Dementia. The devastating effect it has on families and those suffering the demise of memory.
Dusk is from a series of images taken in Iceland using ICM. It represents the wonder of hope and beauty as one day slips away before the renewal of dawn.
Honey J Walker ARPS: Dusk
Honey’s images are always about the inner world. The converging of two scales; the physical world, things in themselves as they are, and the interior world, lying hidden in all things. A synchronism of the eternal and the everyday. She expresses her internal world through the layering of images that reveal themselves to her as she immerses herself in the subject. “My subconscious finding oxygen”.
Dusk is from a series of images taken in Iceland using ICM. It represents the wonder of hope and beauty as one day slips away before the renewal of dawn.
Like most people who get asked to write an end frame, my first thoughts were, how on earth can I pin this down to a single image when there are so many photographs that have influenced me over the years? The gritty moors above Haworth, photographed by Bill Brandt made me want to take the walk up to Top Withens and capture those same scenes and started me on the track to capturing my own landscapes. Like most landscape photographers, I’ve done my fair share of tramping the hills, moors and coast of the UK and abroad, trying to capture the essence of the landscape in a picture.
In 2017 I started to become disillusioned with my landscape photography, and I realised I needed a new approach. I decided to turn elsewhere for my inspiration, and it wasn’t those gritty landscapes that captured my imagination. My head was turned by photographers with a different approach to seeing and making landscapes, some contemporary and some historical ones.
I’ve chosen the image Lights of New York City 1972 by Ernst Haas.
This image marked a change in my approach not only to landscape but to all aspects of my photography. The fact that it was taken 50 years ago adds to the intrigue and unique nature of it.
Over the last 6 years, my approach to making images has changed mainly due to having a better understanding of the way I see things. This came about through a serious introspective examination about the way I feel about the world around me and how I want to express my personal vision.
I tend to see subjects as shapes, structures, patterns, textures and colours, and I get a lot of my inspiration from many contemporary and abstract landscape photographers, many of which are breaking boundaries, like Ola Kolehmainen, Chris Friel, Andy Gray, Valda Bailey, Doug Chinnery, to name a few. I admire that all these photographers use image making to photograph the world not as we see it but how they want it to be.
I confess I’d overlooked the fact that Tim had reviewed Arild’s book ‘Heime’ in February but I got a decidedly positive reaction when I suggested that we interview him as one of our Featured Photographers. I’m going to cheekily borrow a little from Tim’s review, as it makes as good an intro as I could probably write:
“Arild Heitmann’s portfolio is not short of the sublime images that many photographers aim for (but mostly miss). He has many photographs drawn from trips to the mountains of Italy or Iceland or of the iconic Arctic hotspots of Lofoten or Sejna.
His book ‘Heime’ features the photographs he takes close to his home in Northern Norway and he has previously said that the area that he refers to as the Misty Mountains will likely provide him with a lifetime of inspiration. It’s doubtless a good place to retreat to after the business of tours for someone who admits he doesn’t like crowds.”
As well as talking about home, photography and books, we find out that Arild has a great passion for fishing and values the connections that photography has given him with fellow photographers across the world.
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 basically grew up in the middle of nowhere, in Northern Norway, a tiny place in the woods with maybe 30 families scattered around.
I basically grew up in the middle of nowhere, in Northern Norway, a tiny place in the woods with maybe 30 families scattered around. Luckily we were 4 kids around the same age who would hang out together constantly; this was before any internet or cell phones, so all the fun we had to create ourselves.
Luckily we were 4 kids around the same age who would hang out together constantly;this was before any internet or cell phones, so all the fun we had to create ourselves. The only thing we had available was nature. No playgrounds, no stores, nothing really. So we spent all our time outside in the forest or in the mountains. Playing football in the summer, skiing in the winter, just doing all kinds of fun and looking back, some of the things we did I would never allow my own kids to try. It’s a miracle we didn’t get seriously hurt, it came close a few times.
Photographers don’t usually progress in a linear manner. Rather, it usually occurs in a stepwise manner. Several years ago, I made a breakthrough image that marked a change in my imagery. It was the following image.
This image was not particularly well received on social media or even among friends, but I found it riveting. What was it about? Ostensibly it was an image of a section of a stump of a tree, but that’s not what I saw when I looked at it. I never saw the root as wood but instead saw bone. And once I directed my attention to the flowers, my imagination took off further, and I saw the image as the circle of life with all its phases. I was so fascinated by this image that I hung a print of it in my bedroom.
Ostensibly it was an image of a section of a stump of a tree, but that’s not what I saw when I looked at it. I never saw the root as wood but instead saw bone. And once I directed my attention to the flowers, my imagination took off further, and I saw the image as the circle of life with all its phases.
On one occasion, after an unpleasant dream, it had the appearance of the face of a fox looking menacingly at me. Yet when I did a double take on the print, the fox was gone, replaced by the weathered wood that it actually is. This image was the genesis of a journey of great discoveries, discoveries which I wish to share with you in this article.
Our predilection for the straight photography is perhaps a natural one. Certainly, pre-visualization with a prescribed darkroom ritual is the most widely practiced approach in photography today. The popular expression taking a picture implies this approach. I do not wish to minimize the importance placed on the act of seeing which this approach requires. I do, however feel that the general attitude of unquestioning acceptance . . . which this approach requires, has kept us from important visual discoveries and insights.~ Jerry Uelsmann
Years ago, when leading a photography workshop in California,
Adams has indicated in numerous writings that he did not feel himself beholden to the tenets of straight photography. Ironically, he came to be characterised as a straight photographer (despite his own claims and against historical contradictions) largely due to the biased writings of a few historians...
I pointed out to my group the subjects of some of Ansel Adams’s iconic photographs—Lone Pine Peak, Mount Williamson, Manzanar. “You know that Adams manipulated his prints,” quipped one of the workshop participants in a derisive tone as if revealing a little-known sinister conspiracy. “Who doesn’t know that?” I asked the group jokingly. The participant continued, still in a disdainful voice, “most people think Adams was a straight photographer.” I was glad to learn that no one in my group shared (or would admit to sharing) that mistaken belief. I was also glad for the opportunity to have a “teachable moment.” I gathered the group to discuss the history of straight photography and why we today may want to consider moving beyond it.
I love making my workshop participants uncomfortable.
You might think that I mistakenly believe that I’m working in “hostility” rather than hospitality. But I don’t mean uncomfortable in a rickety bed, no hot water, damp room, cold and unappetising food kind of way. No, I always go out of my way to make sure my clients’ creature comforts are amply catered for. Instead, I strive to take them out of their creative comfort zone to provide photographic challenges at unexpected, often anonymous, locations.
I passionately believe that we only thrive and grow artistically if we’re challenged. It is, therefore, important that I don’t always provide the easy option (here’s the prescribed view, just stop down to f13 and shoot!), as this leaves little room for growth and learning. I have on occasion seen other workshop leaders take this approach but whilst participants may initially be happy with a “good capture”, they are unlikely to make images that satisfy them in the longer term.
My intention to challenge has a profound effect on how I plan and execute photographic tours and workshops.
My intention to challenge has a profound effect on how I plan and execute photographic tours and workshops.
White Chestnut
Let’s imagine for a moment that you’ve booked a trip to Namibia… You’re at home, packing; perhaps it’s your first time in Africa. You’re nervous and excited at the same time. You’re investing time, our most precious resource. This is going to be great! Unless, unless… What if you don’t get to see and photograph certain places and things (because seeing doesn’t count if you don’t capture it in an image!)? You’ve seen images of these sights/sites on social media and websites. They look amazing! You want a little piece of that for yourself. In your head, you’ve built a wish list, and you’re expecting me to fulfil it. To a certain extent, I’m happy to play the role of your personal Santa. But I am more interested in exceeding, not just meeting, your creative expectations.
I wonder if the tendency for preconception is worse for landscape photographers. As avid consumers of imagery, are we more likely to be led astray by the great views? Or does our critical view of photography help us to sort the fantastical from the real? I know that my instinct is always to look beyond the obvious, to search for a different angle, both literally and metaphorically. But there’s a sense of the clock ticking on a trip which can create performance pressure on participants. There’s also the peer pressure of watching other participants make images and struggling to find one yourself. Might this narrow their outlook?
I once had a workshop attendee in Arctic Norway who arrived with forty A4 images, downloaded from the internet, to show me what he wanted to shoot. He (of course, it was a “he”!) saw the landscape as a resource. He was a consumer, choosing products from the online catalogue, buying what he wanted rather than looking for what he needed. He expected everything “in store” to be as advertised on Google image search.
Photographs are divorced from all sensory inputs apart from a narrow visual selection. A photograph of the Lofotens cannot convey the smell of the sea, the seabirds’ cries, and how the winter breeze feels like a knife on your skin. His A4 sheets didn’t account for any of these things.
I took him to a location he particularly wanted to shoot where a river meandered across a grass covered plain toward the sea and distant mountains. Except in February, the meandering river was hidden under a metre and a half of snow. Despite the new opportunities in front of him, he was disappointed.
Many years ago, Joe Cornish and I were running a tour in Yosemite. For the first few days, we had the clear blue weather typical of the Sierras at that time of year. Rather than shooting the big vistas, Joe and I took the group to locations where more intimate landscape images were available. One client got quite upset because we weren’t concentrating on capturing the grandeur of the Valley. He expected that it would always look like Ansel Adams’ “Clearing Winter Storm”.
Ansel Adams, Clearing Winter Storm
Ansel worked in Yosemite for eight decades, living there for a large proportion of that time, and only made one image like that. The participant had become so focussed on his expectation that he couldn’t see other possibilities. As American photographer, Berenice Abbot pointed out, “If we travel with expectation we make expected photographs”. They say travel broadens the mind, but only if we remain open to all the possibilities. Otherwise, travel does nothing more than confirm our tunnel vision.
Images on the Net behave like Richard Dawkin’s memes, infectious ideas that can lead us astray. This addictive quality is one of the preconditions for the creation of a honeypot photographic location. As landscape photographers, we can find it all too easy to unconsciously imitate another’s composition of a well-known location – I know that I have been guilty of this in the past.
Let’s compare these two images of a slightly famous building in India:
This is beautiful, but how could it not be? It doesn’t move our perception of the Taj Mahal beyond what we already know. Simply holding up a photocopier to the world cannot change our outlook.
The Taj At Dawn
This is beautiful, but how could it not be? It doesn’t move our perception of the Taj Mahal beyond what we already know. Simply holding up a photocopier to the world cannot change our outlook. That the building is beautiful isn’t a revelation. The photographer has simply illustrated what resides in the architecture.
Steve Mccurry Taj Mahal & Train
Steve McCurry’s image, in contrast, changes the way we perceive the Taj. It’s no longer an isolated archetype for architectural perfection but rather a building within a wider context. By including figures and contrasting the steam train with the mausoleum (two anachronistic artefacts), we are forced to consider a wider perspective beyond the accepted cliché. We find out that - contrary to our expectations - bustling, noisy, chaotic everyday life goes on all around the ordered, symmetrical, hallowed, tranquil and perfect structure. The mythical façade is torn down.
The same idea can be applied to iconic landscapes. Let’s return to you as one of the attendees on my Namibia trip…
Soft light falls across high dunes as you begin the final leg, walking across the cool sand. Reaching the top of a low rise, you look down on the baked, white bed of a long dead lake. Its surface seems to glow. Dotted across it are the evocative, darkly skeletal remains of camelthorn trees.
There’s a faint chill in the still pre-dawn air as you climb into the 4x4 for the 60km drive into the oldest desert on the planet. Soft light falls across high dunes as you begin the final leg, walking across the cool sand. Reaching the top of a low rise, you look down on the baked, white bed of a long dead lake. Its surface seems to glow. Dotted across it are the evocative, darkly skeletal remains of camelthorn trees. Towering deep-orange dunes enclose the bowl and as you watch, the first rays of dawn kiss the slopes to your right. This is your first experience of Deadvlei.
I am lucky enough to have been there close to twenty times. It never disappoints. Deadvlei is on most people’s list as a Namibia ‘must see’. I don’t disagree. It would be almost impossible to design a photo tour of Namibia and leave this hauntingly beautiful place out of the itinerary.
Unfortunately, a particular prescription for how to make images here has become dominant. But, as with all photographs, views of this place lie by omission. The myriad possible images are collapsed into a small subset, and the ‘must see’ has become characterised by a single perspective. Here are the first few rows of thousands of similar images of Deadvlei on Google.
The ‘standard view’ stresses the separation of the trees, portraying them as characters straggling across an alien desert landscape. There’s nothing wrong with that approach. For me, it evokes the primordial, desiccation, heat, a struggle, death, and persistence. You may have different interpretations; luckily, other connotations are always available!
It’s a place that seems tailor made for panoramas, and I too, made a photo in that vein.
Deadvlei, Misty
When I made this image, a sea fret had drifted 50km across the desert from the Atlantic, filling the bowl in the dunes with lucent vapour. This is a relatively rare event, but in all other respects, this image presents a fairly typical perspective. By the way, just to prove that I, too make mistakes, this image was made on a point and shoot that I had failed to notice was in low quality jpeg mode. It was only when I loaded the image onto Lightroom that I realised my mistake. Blog sharp, but it would never make a metre wide print. Doh! Every day is a school day!
This location and view are iconic, which is partly why I chose it as the “cover” for the tour description on my website. However, I am always keen to explore alternative angles and the different moods that they might engender.
I wanted to make the trees the main focus, showing the sand blasted lines and contortion of the trunks and branches in greater detail. Using a medium telephoto, I compressed the perspective and excluded the wider landscape. This significantly changes the emphasis and interpretation
Deadvlei, Camelthorn Trees
In the ‘standard view,’ the trees are silhouetted players sharing equal billing with a spectacular stage. I wanted to make the trees the main focus, showing the sand blasted lines and contortion of the trunks and branches in greater detail. Using a medium telephoto, I compressed the perspective and excluded the wider landscape. This significantly changes the emphasis and interpretation. I also wanted to highlight the extraordinary quality of the dawn light, rather than the full sun seen in most of the images. For me, one of the wonders of Deadvlei is the way that the trees and pan are lit with borrowed light. As light sweeps across the clay, it bounces off the surface, filling the shadowed trees with a beautiful soft glow. By contrast, the shadowed surface, lit only by the sky, is a deep blue.
It's important for me that the clients understand the trees’ story. Understanding why a place is the way it is - what geological forces shaped it and what life (or death) there is like - can guide how best to photograph that place. It helps the photographer decide which elements to emphasise and which to play down.
The camel thorn trees at Deadvlei lived for hundreds of years along the course of an ephemeral river, hence the straggling line. For a few days every year, seasonal rains on the distant Naukluft mountain range cause water to flow deep into the desert. The watercourse meanders across a broad plain, holding the dunes at bay and pushing 60km into the restless sands. Big Daddy (at 300m, one of Namibia’s largest dunes) stands just to the southeast of Deadvlei. The dune system is constantly but slowly on the move. Over time the sands cut off the river’s flow. From that point, the trees were doomed. They first grew here about 1,600 years ago and have been dead for hundreds of years. The region’s extreme aridity has preserved their skeletal remains as monuments to a past oasis.
Deadvlei, First Light
There’s always much more to a location than the ‘standard’ images convey. So, I always encourage participants to see (and photograph) things from different angles, both metaphorically and literally.
There is, necessarily, always a gap between how people perceive a place or country before they visit and the reality of being there. One of my tasks is to try and bridge this reality gap for my groups. I do this by providing a lot of background information (e.g., ecology, geology, history and politics) to help them interpret what they are seeing. I believe this is much more beneficial to their photography than looking at example images on the Net. I personally find the background information essential when planning an itinerary like this. Obviously, I need to acquire an in-depth knowledge of the country before I can pass it on to the group. Gathering that knowledge takes time but it’s a worthwhile investment.
One of my tasks is to try and bridge this reality gap for my groups. I do this by providing a lot of background information (e.g., ecology, geology, history and politics) to help them interpret what they are seeing. I believe this is much more beneficial to their photography than looking at example images on the Net.
Burning Bush, Hoarusib Oasis
I first visited Namibia in 2008, when I worked for Light & Land, and was immediately smitten by its austere beauty. I have returned as often as I can since, and its allure is undiminished.
I’m ashamed to say that in the first year, I was as green as most of the clients! Fake it ‘til you make it is quite a common outlook for operators in the photo tour and workshop business. It’s not an attitude I have ever felt comfortable with.
After that initial tour, I set about trying to find out as much as I could about many different aspects of the country. There’s a lot to learn: Namibia is a vast country, almost 1/3 as big again as France, with one of the lowest population densities in the world. It has a fascinating history of human occupation, from the San through to the German colonial era. In the early days of my research, the local ground operators, Ultimate Safaris, were a key resource. I also garnered a lot of information from my partner, Saskia, who lived and worked in Namibia as a guide and safari company manager for over eight years. Reading up on a country using books and online resources can get you quite a long way, but ultimately there’s no substitute for first-hand experience. From 2016 to ’18, Saskia and I worked together running an eco-lodge in neighbouring Botswana. We spent a couple of our month-long leave cycles exploring the kind of places in Namibia that you can only reach in a decent 4x4 and where you don’t see another soul for days at a time.
Camping with the “Old Lady”
All of these sources helped me to build a better model for a tour. The itinerary needed to include some of the better-known sights. In a way, it would be great to turn our backs on them completely, but experience has shown that clients want at least some of the ‘must haves’, and who can blame them if they’ve never been there before? The trick is to persuade them to make different images. If I was going to provide a truly novel and creative experience, I needed future tours to concentrate on the “unknown” parts of the country. (Of course, we’re not really discovering anything new as far as Namibians are concerned!) Most photo tours stick to the southern half of the country, where the dunes are at their most spectacular. They ignore the vast, rugged landscape to the north, areas such as Damaraland (typified by displays of colourful geology, magnificent tabletop mountains and bizarre looking vegetation) or Kaokoland, sparsely populated even by Namibian standards.
Damaraland Dawn
An obvious way to give people a different perspective is to take them to anonymous places for which they have no expectations. It’s easier to see something with the eyes of a child if it truly is the first time you see it. Even then, it takes time to tune in and see beyond the obvious, time to stare until the subject reveals itself. Rather than rushing from one set-piece photo opportunity to another, I give people the time to explore.
I set the scene for them when we arrive at a location and allow them time to commune so that they can develop their own response rather than apply an outside formula found on the Net.
I set the scene for them when we arrive at a location and allow them time to commune so that they can develop their own response rather than apply an outside formula found on the Net.
Ephemeral Riverbed
You need time to notice sunlight skim across the bed of an ephemeral river, kissing the relics of the last water to flow this way…
Quiver Tree Bark Last Light
Time to see the last light on quiver tree bark…
Time to trace the swirling pattern of a desert lily’s leaves…
Karoo Lily
Time to trace the swirling pattern of a desert lily’s leaves…
Mud Curls
Time to find chocolate-coloured curls of mud…
One of the best things I can give participants is the time and space to be uncomfortable… so that they can be individually creative.
Palm Trunk
Time to appreciate all of these and to find ways to photograph them.
One of the best things I can give participants is the time and space to be uncomfortable… so that they can be individually creative.
If the article above piques your interest, I believe David has one or two spaces left for the workshop at the end of January, you can find out more here. Thanks David!
The Blue Ridge Parkway is a 469-mile-long roadway and corridor connecting two National Parks, Shenandoah and the Great Smoky Mountains. It is not a national park but a national parkway, which is more of an administrative distinction than an interest for most visitors. It is, however, the most visited unit in the national park system. Fortunately, the visitation is spread over such a large area that it is rarely oppressive; indeed, the visiting photographer rarely notices passing traffic.
This may be an unknown area for many readers, so I have included a few location specific notes to help orient you. As I write repeatedly, the entire Parkway offers one continuous photo op. You just must be there in the right light; a spot that appeared mundane in the wrong light springs to life in favourable conditions.
I live closest to the southern end of the Blue Ridge Parkway, which, fortunately for me, is, I think, the most scenic part. The spur road leading to Mount Mitchell at milepost (hereafter MP) 355.4 south to the boundary of Great Smoky Mountains National Park at MP 469 holds an infinite opportunity for the photographer and is the basis for this article. There are many scenic overlooks for those partial to grand scenic, but every mile contains intimate scenes waiting to be transformed into art.
With elevations ranging from 2031 feet at the boundary with the Smokies (MP 469) to 6053 feet at the Richland Balsam Overlook at MP 431.4, spring comes to the Parkway at different times starting in mid-April and the lowest levels and into mid-May at the highest bands. The first few days of May are usually consistent year to year at the 5000 foot mark where it is most glorious.
Spring colours provide a soft and gentle palette; erupting buds are everywhere, along with freshly opened leaves in their delicate hues. Serviceberry provides a delicate white accent when in bloom, and the fresh leaves have a slight orange hue. Budding maples add red and orange, sometimes out of gamut for most printers. Delicate lime green and lemon yellow abound. Oaks may not have started in early May, offering the bare bones of the forest with their muscular branches.
Weather is everything to photographers on the Parkway, even more so than in most places; a low cloud deck engulfs the ridge tops (fog for all practical purposes), creating wonderful atmospherics. How low the deck drops varies with each weather system that moves through. Play all day long if it holds. Clear skies offer the chance for back-illuminated images with colour varying from brilliant to muted. There is no “bad” light on the Parkway, just different effects and opportunities. Black and white options abound, though losing some of what is special about high country spring. Be prepared to work in rainy conditions if that is what is happening. Rain also offers its own mood and opportunity and often accompanies a low cloud ceiling, so to get the fog, you may have to get wet.
Logistics depend on many factors, mostly how far you are travelling. Locals can make day trips, and If you are prepared to camp, there are several options on and near the Parkway. There is one hotel on the Parkway itself, the Pisgah Inn, which also has a restaurant. It books months in advance. Waynesville, NC and Asheville, NC are the two most logical places to stay; the former being perhaps a bit better located as a base, the latter being a larger city with many lodging and dining options and an airport.
The Mountains-to-Sea Trail is North Carolina’s state hiking trail. It stretches 1175 miles from Clingmans Dome in the Great Smoky Mountains to Jockey’s Ridge on the Outer Banks and shadows the Blue Ridge Parkway through this section of the Parkway. You will see periodic markers showing where the trail comes onto the shoulder of the road and back in again. Enter at any of these access points for an intimate woodland experience. For more detailed information, go to https://mountainstoseatrail.org/
The Photo Experience
There are many miles of opportunity here (114, actually), and the weather changes everything. If the cloud deck is low and settled on the ridges, then many miles of foggy, misty compositions await. The mood changes when the sun comes out, at which time you must shift gears and play the light.
If the cloud deck is low and settled on the ridges, then many miles of foggy, misty compositions await. The mood changes when the sun comes out, at which time you must shift gears and play the light.
Backlighting and side lighting on fresh growth can yield brilliant colours, and clouds can be dramatic, even more so early and late in the day. Rain can give a yet different mood and effect, and you should be prepared for that with whatever products and tools you prefer. If you have a hatchback vehicle, the open hatch is a wonderful umbrella, and if you have image stabilised equipment, you can photograph from the dry comfort of your vehicle in many cases. When you think you have seen it all, a change in weather or light makes it new again. There are a few short hikes that can be productive, but this is really a driving and looking quest. Useful focal lengths run the gamut from ultrawide to longish telephoto; the medium format user will rarely want for the more extremes offered by 35mm equipment, though those extremes can open additional opportunities. Before I switched to digital, I photographed the Parkway with 4x5 film, so those who favour that format can still find happiness.
A word of caution: Roadside parking is allowed wherever you can get completely off the asphalt. However, care must be taken, particularly in wet conditions, not to tear up the turf. In a practical sense, this means AWD or 4WD, which is gentle on the wet ground allowing you to get back on pavement without getting stuck on wet grass, as is common with conventional 2WD.
Every picture tells a story. What follows is my story of high-country spring on the southern end of the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Clouds moved across the ridges and through the gaps in a constantly shifting display. The area around was engulfed in a thin layer of bright cloud ( fog) that created conditions reminiscent of paintings by Albert Bierstadt. The delicate blooms of serviceberry were the main draw, with bare trunks providing structure, but the light was everything. In more mundane conditions, one might ask what the fuss is all about. FujiFilm GFX100s 45-100mm zoom at 90mm f/ 11 ISO 400, 1/125 sec.
From the same location, compositions revealed themselves in a 360-degree kaleidoscope. Dense fog would have yielded an entirely different mood, though potentially as delightful. That is the great beauty of the Parkway for photographers; it is possible to visit the exact same spot repeatedly and take away different images every time. Importantly, one sometimes has only to turn around to find more opportunities. FujiFilm GFX100s 100-200mm zoom at 180 mm. f/ 11, 1/125sec ISO 400.
When in the cloud, the Parkway offers new potential at every turn. It becomes difficult to keep track of each opportunity that you wish to file away for later.
When in the cloud, the Parkway offers new potential at every turn. It becomes difficult to keep track of each opportunity that you wish to file away for later. The fog suits the soft delicate hues in a way that no other conditions do. Many images are not at a particular mile marker or established overlook as in this case. FujiFilm GFX100s 100-200mm zoom at 126mm f/ 11, 1/80 sec ISO 1250.
Around the next bend may be an entirely different scene. Naked beauty without the adornments of leaf or bloom, here are trees at their most basic, muscular trunks intertwined in a graceful ballet. The Blue Ridge Parkway is all about trees. FujiFilm GFX100s 45-100mm zoom, f/ 11, 1/50 sec ISO 6400. The high ISO was required because I was handholding in very low light.
Soft backlighting from thin clouds gives a slight translucence to the fresh growth. The soft red of new maple blooms adds a splash of colour.
Soft backlighting from thin clouds gives a slight translucence to the fresh growth. The soft red of new maple blooms adds a splash of colour. Such scenes are found at whatever bend in the road you find yourself; watch the light, and it will help to inform your search. This was handheld requiring a higher ISO to achieve a sharp image.
GFX100s with 100-200mm zoom at 140mm, f/ 16 at 1/40 second ISO 640. FujiFilm.
The extreme example of subtle colour is the complete absence of color. When there is no foliage for the color enthusiast, the bare bones make wonderful subject matter for black and white images. This was a rotational panorama using an ultrawide lens and a nodal slider on a gimbal apparatus. Next time I will hand hold it. The anchor for this image is an iconic ancient beech tree at Craggy Gardens MP 364.5, less than ¼ mile up the Craggy Pinnacle trail. It photographs well in most conditions. Sony A7R4 with Sigma 14-24mm zoom, f/ 11, 1/60 sec, ISO 125.
The Cowee Mountains Overlook MP 430.7 at 5950 feet elevation t is very popular and photographs best in the evening light. Due to its elevation, it is among the last places visited by the spring bloom. Serviceberry is the dominant tree with white blossoms as well as young leaves that are orange-red in hue. This is one of the places for fans of the grand scenic to find joy. It is considered the most photographed and iconic vista in North Carolina. On a clear day, the back illuminated foliage screams out and can rival the autumnal display. A blank sky usually has some density to avoid burning out. Rotational stitch Sony A7R4 24-105mm lens, f/ 11 1/80sec ISO 200.
The Cowee Mountains Overlook MP 430.7 at 5950 feet elevation t is very popular and photographs best in the evening light, including sunset and after. Due to its elevation, it is among the last places visited by the spring bloom. Serviceberry is the dominant tree with white blossoms as well as young leaves that are orange-red in hue. This is one of the places for fans of the grand scenic to find joy. It is considered the most photographed and iconic vista in North Carolina. On a cloudy day, the colour is more muted. Rotational stitch FujiFilm GFX50s 32-64mm zoom at 64mm f/ 15 1/5 second ISO 100.
These beech gaps are dying due to a blight affecting the trees. This one has been one of the most resilient, but time is taking its toll. Often low clouds create foggy conditions, as well as valley fog clouds rising and passing over the crest.
Beech Gap in fog at Graybeard Overlook MP 363.4. — close to Craggy Gardens mentioned previously. This is one of the places where the Mountains-to-Sea Trail is most easily accessed, literally a step from the parking area. These beech gaps are dying due to a blight affecting the trees. This one has been one of the most resilient, but time is taking its toll. Often low clouds create foggy conditions, as well as valley fog clouds rising and passing over the crest. This location is to be checked when in the area. FujiFilm GFX50s 23mm lens, f/ 16 , 1/8 sec ISO 800.
The Blue Ridge Parkway provides countless views of the ridges and valleys below. As spring progresses, the ridges take on a mix of colours in many unique shapes. Different light will give different moods, here with soft backlighting. FujiFilm GFX50s with 100-200mm zoom at 130mm, f/ 11 at 1/100 second ISO 400.
Fog changes everything; the view is restricted to elements, sometimes only a few feet away, and much clutter is obscured. Moody, even spooky images can result.
Fog changes everything; the view is restricted to elements, sometimes only a few feet away, and much clutter is obscured. Moody, even spooky images can result. Roadside compositions at no place, in particular, are the norm; drive with your eyes open, and you will find them. Most will likely be unique to your day on the Parkway and your personal vision. FujiFilm GFX50s with 32-64 zoom at 54 mm, f/ 16 at 1/60 second ISO 800.
Back illuminated colour on new growth can be incandescent here at Soco Gap MP 456.2 in the late afternoon. Regardless of what light you are given, there is always something worth your time, even when conventional wisdom suggests otherwise. Simple levels and curve adjustments can put it over the top requiring judicious post processing. FujiFilm GFX50s with 100-200mm zoom at 107mm, f/ 16 at 1/50 second ISO 400.
When in the cloud, the landscape can be reduced to forms and textures with all else taken away, and the palette is quite muted. A light touch is needed in post to preserve the effect of the moment.
When in the cloud, the landscape can be reduced to forms and textures with all else taken away, and the palette is quite muted. A light touch is needed in post to preserve the effect of the moment. Phase One P45 back on Mamiya 645 with 45-85mm zoom at 55mm f/ 22 1/6 sec ISO 50.
Serviceberry with lichen and moss. Conditions often impart a painterly quality to the image without having to resort to complicated post processing moves.
Phase One P45 back on Mamiya 645 body with 75-15mm lens at 90mm f/ 22 at ¼ sec ISO 100.
The structure of these trees shows through with only a hint of foliage. The asymmetrical balance was intriguing with the silhouettes of the trees against a blank background. Perhaps it went on forever? A special pas de deux in the clouds.
FujiFilm GFX100s with 100-200mm zoom at 100mm, f/ 11, 1/320 second, ISO 400
Sunbeams over backlighted ridges, as seen from Pounding Mill Overlook MP 413.2. This overlook offers many moods and compositions and should be a mandatory visit to see what seasonal treat is being offered. It offers a nearly 270 degree field of view with great variety.
There is so much potential subject matter along its length that an almost infinite variety of found subjects exists in addition to the icons. There are certainly those sweeping vistas, but the real treat is the trees.
So, what is it that makes the Blue Ridge Parkway so special for photographers?
It is a bit hard to put a finger on it, but on reflection, I think it is this: It is a roadway, 2 lanes wide plus a shoulder of varying width, often wider that the road itself. This provides space to back away from the trees and get some compression and isolation and a clean composition. Being deep in the woods is a wonderful experience, but often with associated clutter and too much closeness. It becomes difficult to see the trees for the forest. There is so much potential subject matter along its length that an almost infinite variety of found subjects exists in addition to the icons. There are certainly those sweeping vistas, but the real treat is the trees.
I am the author of Best of the Blue Ridge Parkway, a guide to the Parkway for photographers and outdoor enthusiasts, available in hard copy at Parkway gift shops and as an e-book on my website, www.nyesimmons.com .
Without freedom, no art; art lives only on the restraints it imposes on itself, and dies of all others.~ Albert Camus
I knew it was coming. I just didn't think it would last this long.
This past spring, my wife and I relocated to the Thousand Islands region in the northernmost reaches of New York State, fulfilling a lifelong dream of mine. As expected, the business of the impending move and subsequent settling in conspired to bring to a halt any creative work. Compounding matters have been the hectic pace of summer and the seemingly endless social and familial obligations.
This past spring, my wife and I relocated to the Thousand Islands region in the northernmost reaches of New York State, fulfilling a lifelong dream of mine. As expected, the business of the impending move and subsequent settling in conspired to bring to a halt any creative work.
Toss in the fact that summer is my least inspiring time of year, and the result has been too few meaningful experiences in nature to fuel the creative engine. Gazing out over the St.Lawrence River while sipping my coffee, I can’t help but wonder, where do I go from here?
When On Landscape asked me to pick a photograph to write an End Frame article about, I was not only humbled but also very indecisive. There are so many landscape photographers I admire and am inspired by. As I thought about which photographer and which specific photograph to write about, I was overwhelmed. I decided the photograph had to be a non-traditional one, and it had fit into my approach to photography and life. Joan Myers work immediately came to mind.
In the early 1970s, Myers turned to photography. She began as a large-format platinum-palladium printer, examining and photographing the relationships between people and the land. Her highly acclaimed work has been the focus of three Smithsonian exhibitions, more than fifty solo and eighty group shows, and eleven books. Her work is included in the permanent collections of the Amon Carter Museum, Bibliothèque Nationale de Paris, Center for Creative Photography, Denver Art Museum, George Eastman House, High Museum of Art, Minneapolis Museum of Art, Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Museum of Modern Art, Nevada Museum of Art, and San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, among others. Today she lives and maintains a studio in Santa Fe, NM focusing on the myth of the American West.
I recently attended Joan Myers’ exhibition at Obscura Gallery in Santa Fe, NM and was drawn to her Devil’s Highway landscape works. One particular photograph which gave me pause was “Wonder Valley, CA 2019.” As a photographer who travels to remote destinations in search of unique landscapes and curiosities, Joan’s “Wonder Valley” photograph has everything. The composition of the photograph leads the viewer through its depth, from the modern structure to the mountains in the background. Additionally, the details of the objects in the phone booth and costume are evident, but also in the more nuanced areas of the photograph, such as the shrubbery.
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.
I have always felt that infra-red images would show Dartmoor’s moody Tors to their best advantage and provide the viewer with my interpretation of ‘Wild Dartmoor’ - on both high and low moors.
Way Marker and Higher Tor was taken on an overcast day and have the advantage of just a few rays of sunshine breaking through low cloud, to give great highlights on and around the waymarking stone. I walked over to Higher Tor and found a tree growing straight out of the stone (Tree on Higher Tor) creating an image of tenacity; clinging to the stone. Moving on to Emsworthy Tor I found another tree just on the higher edge of the Tor, at this point, the sunshine again highlighted the Tor itself, along with the wider landscape beyond.
The dappled sky brought life to the Tor below. Moving down into the valley I came across a tree that had fallen across the stream, which represented something at the end of its life; lying at the foot of a lovely plantation (in the prime of life).
Found 50 km southeast of Calgary and 5km east of High River, Alberta, Frank Lake is a productive wetland important to hundreds of bird species. I visited the lake on a rainy and cloudy day and stayed between 9 am and noon. An overcast sky makes the diffused light, so I did not have to worry about the shadow the harsh sunlight makes in the middle of the day. Instead, I tried to capture simple composition focusing on my target and its reflection in the water.
With the main access road and the observation blind, both located on the east bank of the lake, I could imagine how the sunset light, coming from behind, could make excellent colours and helps to capture beautiful photos. I can also imagine early morning at sunrise that could make mist or fog at the water's surface. These are ideas to think about and explore when deciding to revisit Frank Lake.
An area in Utah, once covered by a massive salt lake, has been moulded by wind and water over millions of years. I have always been drawn to the landscapes of the Southwest United States, where it is hard to comprehend the forces which sculped this area. With my Nikon D850 and a borrowed drone, I tried to capture a representative collection of structure and contrasts in colour black and white. The draw to return is strong
Childlike curiosity and exploration are key drivers of my photography. These four images are part of my photo montage series, which focuses on an explore, experiment, and play approach to crafting images. I use a hybrid method in creating multiple exposure images by capturing images in the field and then combining them in the digital darkroom. Intentional Camera Movement (ICM) is often used to give the final image an ethereal quality.
Scenes of trees (often aspens) found in my local Colorado woodlands help anchor each image. Seasons are represented but also the natural elements, including water, earth, wind, and fire. The images help communicate messages of the destruction of our natural world, of regeneration and hope, and of dreaminess and tranquillity. By combining images in this way, I have the creative freedom to express myself and unlock my imagination in new ways. This series has been a wonderful project to work on as it helps challenge me creatively. I look forward to expanding it in the seasons to come.
A few years ago, I decided to switch the misty valleys and rich woodland of the Surrey Hills for the dramatic coastline of Northumberland. After years of juggling the commitments of a full time job with a desire to be out taking photographs, the time was right to make the move back to my native north of England. I’d been landlocked in the home counties for too long. Having spent my formative years living by the coast, I had an irresistible calling to be beside the seaside once again.
Having already put some roots down in the North East, it was an easy decision to migrate to the Northumbrian coast. Once the house had been sold, it was time to downsize. This meant letting go of many of the material possessions that had been amassed over 30 years. As well as being a cathartic exercise, it seemed environmentally responsible not to be hauling old furniture, rusty garden tools, musty books and old clothes 350 miles up north.
For the first few months in my new environment, I concentrated my photography on the spectacular castles and vast sandy bays that this stretch of coastline has in abundance. But it didn’t take long to start looking beyond the iconic attractions and shift my attention to the smaller details that lie at our feet.
The intimate landscapes are often overlooked by visitors to the region. These soon became a greater source of inspiration than the wider, grander views. I’d go searching for Interesting rock strata that mimicked the waves breaking on a beach, kelp forests at low tide or tree-like patterns formed by fragments of coal dust.The idea of a project was conceived. Shoreline - Intimate Landscapes of the Northumbrian Coast’ would culminate in the publication of my first book in April this year.
The intimate landscapes are often overlooked by visitors to the region. These soon became a greater source of inspiration than the wider, grander views. I’d go searching for Interesting rock strata that mimicked the waves breaking on a beach, kelp forests at low tide or tree-like patterns formed by fragments of coal dust.
Almost as soon as I had started to embark on my project, the restrictions imposed by COVID lockdown had an impact on my coastal explorations, but out of adversity, opportunities arise. Fortunately, I live close to a Kittiwake breeding colony which meant that during the summer months, I could visit the birds on a regular basis whilst still adhering to travel restrictions. Many enjoyable hours were spent in the company of these elegant, noisy and graceful gulls observing and photographing their behaviours. The Kittiwakes arrive on the coast in April and head out to sea once the young have fully fledged. Their scruffy compact nests are built on low south-east facing sandstone cliffs. The setting lends itself well for capturing images that show the birds in the natural landscape. The cliffs have remarkable wave like patterns along lines of weathered rock strata along which the birds build their nests. By mid-August the birds have returned to the sea. While their nests remain throughout the winter months the cliffs no longer echo to the distinctive cries of ‘kittiwaaak’ ‘kittiwaaak’. I will have to wait until the following spring to hear these sounds again.
It was the extraordinary geological features that initially held my attention. Basaltic rock, shales and sandstone feature heavily along this coastline. The sedimentary rocks are made up of many layers laid down over millennia. Exposed to the elements, these layers are eroded by time and tide to create wonderful textures, shapes and patterns. While it has taken tens of thousands of years to create the strata and thousands of tidal cycles to sculpt them, their appearance can change over much shorter timeframes. Inclement weather and the seasons all play their part in the ongoing shaping of the miniature landscapes.
Boulders and shipwrecks that have been buried for many months or years may be revealed following a winter storm. Over time longshore drift will expose areas previously covered by sand, pebbles and seaweed. These changes to the physical appearance of the rocks mean that there are new discoveries to be made on almost every visit to my favoured locations.
Basaltic rock, shales and sandstone feature heavily along this coastline. The sedimentary rocks are made up of many layers laid down over millennia. Exposed to the elements, these layers are eroded by time and tide to create wonderful textures, shapes and patterns.
However, not all short term changes are for the better. During the summer months, algae will gradually cover some rocks obscuring patterns, whereas strong summer sunlight and salt spray may bleach natural colouration. The tide is a dynamic compositional factor I try to employ in the creation of my images. As each wave washes over the rocks, it will deposit, rearrange and remove its sea-drift and castoffs.
Careful composition can eliminate many distracting elements from the viewfinder, but sometimes it might mean waiting for mother nature to toss a few pebbles or a piece of seaweed into the right position in the frame. Patience is key to coming away with pleasing images. This waiting game seems to slow down time. Most of my shoreline excursions don’t yield great photographs but it is always a fulfilling experience. Searching along the tideline with the sights, sounds and smells overwhelming the senses are reward enough for these endeavours.
It is not only the geology that provides endless scope for discovery, Northumberland has some fairly remote stretches of sandy beach and tidal flats. It is a joy to explore undisturbed areas where the tide and wind have combined to sculpt exquisite sand patterns or tiny mesas around fragments of shells.
By the end of the winter of 2021, it was time to bring the project together in the form of a book. The design of the book and the curation of the images proved to be an unexpected pleasure. An inspiring and satisfying labour of love rather than a desk bound chore.
I had set out on a personal journey to celebrate some of the beauty that can be found when we take a closer and deeper look at a familiar subject. On days when the light conditions were favourable, and by applying a little imagination, the discoveries were boundless. Rock strata that look like waves on a choppy sea, human figures, faces or a distant mountain range.
I had set out on a personal journey to celebrate some of the beauty that can be found when we take a closer and deeper look at a familiar subject. On days when the light conditions were favourable, and by applying a little imagination, the discoveries were boundless. Rock strata that look like waves on a choppy sea, human figures, faces or a distant mountain range.
The titles of the images deliberately entice the viewer to unravel a mystery or find something I’ve not seen myself. The best intimate landscapes are those that exert a charm which extends beyond their limited field of view and invites us to let our creativity flow freely.
My endeavours to capture the secret world that lies beneath our feet continues and my fascination with landscapes in miniature remains undimmed. However, from time to time, I look up and gaze out to the sea to observe the colours of the water, the shape of the waves and the reflections of the clouds. As well as a captivating shoreline, the north sea has many moods. Who knows, this could well be a theme for my next book.
Shoreline - Intimate Landscapes of the Northumbrian Coast
What is the best camera for landscape photography? What lenses should I buy?
How can I make my photographs look like [insert photographer’s name here]?
What’s the best time of year to photograph [insert subject here]?
Which roads and areas should I go to when I visit [insert location here]?
What list of locations should I photograph when I visit [insert place here]?
These questions dominate magazines, chat forums, discord channels and are the focus of many YouTube channels, popular websites, and blogs.
Yet, these are generally not the most meaningful questions to ask if one is to seriously improve their photography and grow as an artist. It’s completely understandable that these are the questions that get asked the most often since there’s a constant stream of new photographers emerging into this craft daily, and it is, after all, part of the journey of the modern landscape photographer; however, consider the subject of this essay, landscape and nature photographer Brent Clark, an excellent longitudinal case study as to what other questions might be more relevant if one is to improve as a photographer and make personally-meaningful work. .
My previous article (Bidean nam Bian – A Walking Guide) described the ideas behind the first in a new series of detailed walking guides to some of Scotland's most iconic peaks. The following article charts the practical challenges of melding images, text, illustrations and maps into a concise and practical walking guidebook.
Bidean is a mountain which gives up its secrets one facet at a time. No single viewpoint, or single walk, can tell the whole story. It is a massif so crumpled and folded in on itself as to defy any attempt at a singular defining aspect. Perhaps the view of the Three Sisters from The Study comes close, although this only encompasses three of the nine hills and shows nothing of the higher peaks of the range. To journey into this mountain realm is to lose oneself in a rocky maze of ridges and corries of immense character. This is not a mountain of wide open skies and grand vistas but an almost subterranean world, enclosed and intriguing, where shattered cliffs surround haunting, silent corries, and fast flowing burns tumble through deep ravines. Once the corrie walls have been scaled, mile after mile of lofty ridges link up the summits; natural viewing belvederes high above the mountain sanctuaries of Coire Gabhail, Coire nam Beith, Coire Eilde and Coire nan Lochan.
The Routes
The concept of the book was to provide a detailed, comprehensive study of the massif, which includes the two Munros of Bidean nam Bian and Stob Coire Sgreamhach, along with all the subsidiary tops and the outer peaks.
Bidean nam Bian has a plethora of superb routes to the summit. Some are well known, but many are not, and traverse some of the most spectacular mountain terrains anywhere in the Scottish highlands. It was these lesser known routes which I wanted to highlight, in particular routes to the summits of the outer peaks such as Aonach Dubh, Beinn Fhada and Gearr Aonach (the three sisters).
The book would be split into separate chapters for each summit. Of course, we needed to include all the well trodden walking paths to the summit of Bidean, but it was just as important for us to include routes on the outer peaks and the tops as well. This often gave shorter walks of great variety and also less frequented though equally dramatic routes on lesser known hills. As with much of Glen Coe, these walks are inevitably on steep and challenging ground, but they are also emphatically walking routes with only occasional mild scrambling, such as Dinner Time Buttress and the Zig Zags of Gearr Aonach.
Bidean nam Bian has a plethora of superb routes to the summit. Some are well known, but many are not, and traverse some of the most spectacular mountain terrains anywhere in the Scottish highlands. It was these lesser known routes which I wanted to highlight, in particular routes to the summits of the outer peaks such as Aonach Dubh, Beinn Fhada and Gearr Aonach (the three sisters). These mountains are right in the very heart of Glen Coe but are curiously unfrequented as most walkers generally head directly for the summit of Bidean. These outer peaks are both challenging and enjoy superb viewpoints in their own right. Any ascent can easily be extended to include the summit ridge of Bidean.
There are many fantastic routes through some wonderfully rugged ground in the heart of the massif. They explore hidden corries, tiptoe under and around some of the mighty rock buttresses of Bidean on tiny climbers tracks, and there are also routes on the quiet side of Bidean above Glen Etive where wildlife and wildflowers abound. These routes have a real flavour of gentle mountaineering about them, often weaving over steep and rugged ground by the easiest lines.
The mountain has nine separate summits, and each summit has its own chapter. As I was already very familiar with the mountain, so many of the routes were already well known, but some, and this was the fun part, were not at all. These routes were found by studying maps, scouring old guidebooks for clues and for some, just being curious and intriguing.
Taking An t-Sron as an example, the ridges were a natural place to start and one, the east ridge, turned out to be an absolute gem. There was a vague reference to it in the Irvine Butterfield guide 'The High Mountains of Britain and Ireland' but no reference of how to get onto the ridge from Coire nam Beith or any indication of the ridge above. Clearly, this needed investigating, and after an initial steep scrabble, it proved to be a fabulous route full of interest and with simply superb views. I have been up and down this ridge half a dozen times now, and it has become a firm favourite. Another route on An t-Sron, from Fionn Gleann is entirely of my own making and demonstrates my fondness for fossicking around on steep ground. It introduces the walker to the beautiful Fionn Gleann, another place which really deserves to be better known. Hidden in full view from the road through Glen Coe, this glen is an absolute gem. Full of wildflowers in the spring and early summer and with a beautiful river, this is the quiet side of Bidean.
Another route on An t-Sron, from Fionn Gleann is entirely of my own making and demonstrates my fondness for fossicking around on steep ground. It introduces the walker to the beautiful Fionn Gleann, another place which really deserves to be better known. Hidden in full view from the road through Glen Coe, this glen is an absolute gem.
The route heads through the lower glen then climbs directly to the ridge between An t-Sron and Stob Coire nam Beith. It is emphatically a walking route, but it is dramatic and adventurous and finishes with an easy scramble up a wide gully between rock towers.
These are just two examples, but they give a flavour of the book's less widely known routes. Finding the routes was very easy but narrowing them down was a different matter altogether.
My enthusiastic reference gathering had yielded over forty routes. The page count had reached five hundred and the book was in serious danger of needing to be split into two volumes, which would have been rather excessive for a single mountain, even one as complex as Bidean. I needed to do some pruning. The popular and well trodden routes to the summit had to stay in, in fact, any route with a path needed to stay in. I chose to discard the routes with a marked sense of exposure, this being a walking guide, so out went the Rhyolite romp and Ossian's rake due to the exposure, another steep and potentially problematic one on the north east face of Aonach Dubh, a beautiful but steep rocky scramble on the sunny side of Stob Coire nam Beith and several more. I finally settled on 31 excellent walks, which kept the page count reasonable yet still fulfilled the brief. Throughout the initial stage, I made copious notes on the ascents, particularly if it was on pathless terrain, but found that even then, I often needed to repeat a route just to make sure.The routes which were selected for the guide are a perfect mix of popular walks on good footpaths and my pick of the best pathless routes to the summits.
There are so many things I have learnt during the production of this guidebook. I had the unique privilege to work on the entire project, cover to cover, producing the text, photographs, illustrations and maps. Of course, I was working to a brief but, within those constraints, had free range to pick the routes, the aesthetics of the illustrations and maps and the accompanying photographs. The book became one of the most enjoyable projects I have worked on.
The process
One of the major challenges was linking the text description of the routes to the maps and illustrations. This was achieved by creating a standard template for each route, consisting of a brief introduction, then the route with a map, illustration and text description. Sequential numbering of each stage of the route was marked in the description and also on the map and illustration. I wanted the reader to be able to interact with the guidebook in as natural a way as possible. Some would choose the visual aspects of the guide to route find by using the map and illustration alone, some would use the text descriptions, and others would use a combination of the three depending on terrain, experience and conditions.
Many times I would go back to a route just to make sure I had the description absolutely perfect. It was often so very subtle a change which made the difference as I was learning all the time to match my interpretation of salient features on the ground to what others might see standing on the same piece of ground..
Looking back now, I can see how inefficient my working methods were. Many times I would go back to a route just to make sure I had the description absolutely perfect. It was often so very subtle a change which made the difference as I was learning all the time to match my interpretation of salient features on the ground to what others might see standing on the same piece of ground. Apart from these challenges, the book seemed to progress in a very organic way as routes were walked, illustrations and photographs made and maps completed, and it was always hugely enjoyable. I'm sure I could have been much more efficient if I had planned each walk meticulously before any field trips, such as matching a route walk with making an illustration, for example, but time pressures and goals achieved have no place on the hill, at least not for me. If there is to be joy in the book, then the process must be a joy. Just the sheer pleasure of walking through these beguiling mountains, spending time sketching views and watching the cloud shadows, or bathing tired feet in the crystal mountain burns at the end of a long day brought such simple happiness. Certainly, for the second book, I will try to plan ahead a little more, but we shall see.
All the routes were walked as ascents and descents at first, but it soon became apparent that some routes were steep and potentially problematic in descent. I, therefore, decided on the idea of steep up, easy down for the routes on pathless terrain, I don't want to frighten off my potential readership after all. The route planning stage proved to be supremely enjoyable, and I found so many interesting corners of the Bidean massif that I might never have found without the excuse of producing this guidebook. It proved time and again that even on a busy summer's weekend, and in an area as popular as Glen Coe, most of the hill is quiet away from the main paths. The hidden corners and secluded corries of this complex mountain massif live long in the memory.
After all the routes had been written up, illustrated and mapped, they were all meticulously tested with the help of some extremely kind volunteers. During this stage of continuous route finding and checking, I tallied up a total of almost 47,000 metres of ascent, and every day on the hill was a particular joy.
The Photographs
Although the guidebook was designed to be practical and pocket sized for use on the hill, it also needed to be inspirational, and the photographs were vital to the overall aesthetic. I had initially planned to use film as much as possible to keep with the classic 1950’s feel, but as the project went on, I found a digital workflow much more straightforward, as it cut out the time loss of having to wait for the film to be processed and scanned. The photographs also needed to be representational, to show features and topography and help clarify the written route descriptions. My interpretation of the landscape needed to take a back seat on this project which proved to be a blessing rather than a curse. Free from the burden of heavy cameras and tripods, I found a photographic simplicity which was a revelation and a relief to my ageing knees with so much steep ground to cover.
The Artwork
It was decided early on that the book should be a visual as well as an informative work. Photography is a wonderful media but can, on occasion, show a little too much information, particularly over complex ground. The illustrations were a way of showing what needs to be there but without the extraneous detail visible in a photograph.
For each route, I planned to produce an illustration to clarify the most challenging ground of each walk within the constraints of a single viewpoint. This concept of a single viewpoint was important to me as I wished to draw all the illustrations from life out on the hill. In this way, I could see exactly what was there as opposed to struggling to see details on a photograph far removed from the subject. On a purely personal level, it is what I enjoy most, sitting out on the hill with a sketchbook. Observation and interpretation are the key, but more than anything, just being alone and creatively engaged in a mountain environment that is such a pleasure.
On a practical note, the illustrations needed to be extremely accurate and not subject to too much artistic interpretation. In my thirty years as an artist, my drawing style has evolved to an extent that I knowingly exaggerate form so naturally that the discipline required for these illustrations was challenging at first. I ended up using a viewing frame, squared up using a sheet of acetate to plot out key features so as not to introduce any topographical distortions.
On a practical note, the illustrations needed to be extremely accurate and not subject to too much artistic interpretation. In my thirty years as an artist, my drawing style has evolved to an extent that I knowingly exaggerate form so naturally that the discipline required for these illustrations was challenging at first.
The illustrations were first drawn out in pencil, sat out on the hill, and then rendered in ink back in my studio. I found this the ideal compromise for both accuracy but still with some life to the drawing from the initial work being made outdoors.
A heavy weight cartridge paper with an acrylic ground to seal the surface was used. This ground layer has a good 'tooth' or texture which gives the ink work character as the pen has a tendency to skip over the surface. The final stage of the process is a thin, translucent layer of paint to give some tone to the illustration. I wanted the illustrations to have the appearance of a silver gelatine photographic print, and to that end, I experimented with various ideas for the paint layer. Tests with ink and wash, diluted ink in isopropyl alcohol, watercolour and acrylic paints were made but none had quite the right feel. Finally, I found a way of getting the feel of a photographic print by using powdered graphite bound in a thin glaze of zinc white oil paint. The graphite gave a beautiful silvery sheen, and the zinc white was translucent so the ink drawing could still be seen clearly underneath.
The maps are similarly hand drawn and proved to be a real labour of love. My wish was that the routes would be able to be followed by using the maps and illustrations alone, with only a brief glance at the text for clarification if necessary. All well and good, but this meant that the mapping needed to be extremely accurate. Six weeks after starting the maps I emerged from my studio looking pale and hollow eyed...but with accurate maps.
In conclusion
Bidean nam Bian, or 'the pinnacle of the mountains' when translated from Gaelic, rewards a leisurely and prolonged exploration. To walk amongst it's mountain sanctuaries, crystal rivers and challenging crags can provide a lifetime of memorable experiences. It exerts a magnetic pull on mountaineers, hillwalkers and tourists alike, a mountain of challenges and rugged beauty, and a place of secular pilgrimage for those who love the high places.
Kickstarter Campaign
Walking in Glencoe Guide - Bidean nam Bian
In order to get the book started, we looked at raising enough money to print a pilot project which we could distribute in various outlets and assess the demand for the a longer print run. This first Kickstarter campaign will support the digital printing of 500 books and, if successful, will help us decide whether to extend the print run on a full litho printing press. There are a few different rewards available but the main reward will be an early copy of what we think will become a classic series of walking books.
Ever since seeing Frans' work in the Wildlife Photographer of the Year archive and learning about his background in environmental economics, I have wanted to learn more about how his work has developed and how his approach is informed by his original career choice. I was delighted to have the opportunity recently when a reader chose one of Frans' images as an Endframe (Water Lilies - Botswana) and I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation. Seeing how a predominantly wildlife photographer approaches the landscape was also interesting i.e. how the idea of the separation of subject and context that is so important in wildlife photography is applied to just the landscape.
Tim Parkin: Your original direction in life was as an environmental scientist in the 1970s, and you worked in Nature Capital/Ecosystem Services (working with nature to provide what humans need and enhance the quality of life). How did you transition from this to photography, and was this background a major influence in your future work?
Frans Lanting: I have a background in environmental economics, and in the 1970s, I studied to become an environmental economist. And my interest was to reconcile the sciences of ecology and economics, which was a novelty at the time. Quantifying the value of nature still is... I won't say a novelty anymore, but it's still not mainstream. I was keen to contribute to that discipline. And then, life took a different direction, and I decided to become a photographer. I've always been interested in nature, but the idea that you could actually make a living from photography focused on the natural world, that was pretty preposterous. But in the United States, the profession was more evolved than it was in Europe. And I'd come to California to do research in this environmental economics profession, and that is where I became familiar with the work of the West Coast Photographers.
Of course, that included people that we were very familiar with in Europe - Ansel Adams and Edward Weston, etc., but there were quite a few others who were more activist-oriented. Edward Weston was never an activist. He was a fine art photographer. Ansel was a fine art photographer, but he was very much an activist. He played a big role in the Sierra Club and was quite involved in influencing governments, and through clever use of his work, he made quite a difference. And so did Philip Hyde, who is not nearly as familiar to Europeans as Ansel and Edward were. But Philip actually went even further with his commitment to conservation. And there were a number of others. That combination of artistry and activism really appealed to me because in Europe, that simply didn't exist. Nature photography as a whole was really underdeveloped.
And in the UK, there was Eric Hosking, who was a bird photographer and a wildlife photographer. To him, landscape was something on his periphery. And there were a number of landscape photographers, but oddly enough, I cannot recall a single photographer who was an equivalent to Ansel and Philip Hyde. And the same thing in the Netherlands or in Germany.
It's a bit of a disconnect because, especially in the Netherlands, in the '60s and in the '70s, there was definitely a new current towards environmental activism that grew out of traditional nature conservation and nature appreciation, but photographers never made that connection explicitly.
So, in the US, I found a different connection, and scientists play a role in it. And I thought, well, this really appeals to me, and let's give it a try. Oddly enough, it worked, and I moved into wildlife photography. I feel very passionate about animals and what I can do with them, how I can relate to them and vice versa. I started telling stories with my camera, which was another niche that was not very well developed. Natural history is pretty static in those days.
And there was a need and a hunger for stories about the natural world that drew connections with human society, and that became my niche. And it still is, in a way. My fundamental philosophy hasn't changed, but the way I go about doing things, that has changed, of course, both in terms of how I capture images and what I do with them, the kinds of stories I tell and how I approach projects and so on and so on.
And there was a need and a hunger for stories about the natural world that drew connections with human society, and that became my niche. And it still is, in a way. My fundamental philosophy hasn't changed, but the way I go about doing things, that has changed, of course, both in terms of how I capture images and what I do with them, the kinds of stories I tell and how I approach projects and so on and so on.
I didn't really start practising photography until I was in my mid-20s, and it was on my own. Yes, there were very few role models. There were a couple in the Netherlands, and I sought them out, and I learned some things about the craft of photography. But I pretty much did things on my own, and through making mistakes and trial and error, I evolved a style that made up for my lack of technical understanding. I also borrowed inspiration from photographers outside the field of nature photography.
An infinite scene stretches out before me; an open view of the horizon, where the glistening Pacific Ocean meets a clear, blue summer sky, only interrupted by the large, dark shapes of a few jagged sea stacks and the backlit spray of waves crashing against them. I'm comfortably lying back on my towel, slightly propped up on my elbows, digging my toes into the fine, black, sparkling sand while enjoying a cold beer with my wife.
A few surfers are riding in on the small waves before jumping off and paddling out again. People are walking up and down the beach, holding their flip flops in their hands, smiles on their faces. But it doesn’t feel crowded–there is plenty of space for all of us on this long, uninterrupted stretch of coastline. Looking out at the open, endless ocean, as all other sound is drowned out by the low vibration of crashing waves, we can all find a sense of solitude. Even though I’m thousands of miles from home, I’m reminded of my childhood, spending entire days at the beach with my friends. I’m certain that on a day like today, we couldn’t have picked a better place to be.
Once the sun sinks a little closer to the horizon, my wife and I decide to go for a walk. I take one last big sip to finish our drink. Although it’s no longer cold, I still savour every bit of it, swishing it around in my mouth a little to absorb as much flavour as possible before letting it pour down my throat. We leisurely make our way down towards the shore and walk along the beach, splashing our feet in the cool water. Looking for some relief from the sun, we head for a large area of shade behind a massive sea stack. A long puddle of seawater, left over from the high tide, is slowly draining out towards the ocean, leaving behind smooth and intricate patterns. From a certain angle, I notice the clear blue sky is reflecting on the surface of the shallow water, adding a beautiful cool tone to the small, subtle scene.
When I was a small boy living in Canada in the 1950s, we would often visit my Aunt and two cousins who lived in a remote log cabin in the Laurentian Mountains. I remember they used to pick us up in some sort of Jeep-like contraption, and we would drive for miles up old rutted logging roads until we reached the cabin. It was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods.
One Autumn afternoon, my two cousins took me to see a raft that they had made at the side of a lake. As they were older than me, they wouldn't let me sail on it, so I stayed at the side of the lake all alone whilst they paddled off across the water.
Getting bored, I decided to head back to the cabin without telling them and promptly got lost. I had somehow missed the path, and it was getting foggy and dark. I shouted for help, but no one came. I was getting very scared. I remember reaching a clearing, and dripping branches were reaching down – like claws wanting to grab me.
Most photographers have experimented with intentional camera movement or multiple exposures at some point. Usually just setting a long exposure of a few seconds and waving the camera at some exciting subject matter. The results can be engaging and are an easy way to transition from studied, static exposures to a form of creative expression. So it would seem anyway. However, without investing a great deal of time in developing the craft to produce work with a personal signature, the work often falls into one of a few set visual memes.
However, the list of photographers who have taken these techniques and created a truly personal style is small indeed. At the top of that list is undoubtedly Valda Bailey. Her work follows the pattern of many true artists where a personal investigation into an idea or process is allowed to develop and blossom into something unpredicted. In Valda’s case, the spark of the technique was from Chris Friel, whose expressive long exposure work itself stood head and shoulders above other practitioners. Valda was inspired by these expressions and ended up creating her own images that took the technique and style to a whole new level.
Valda’s first book, “Fragile”, showed a set of photographs that were wholeheartedly connected with the landscape. From trees and forests to textures of lichen and flowers the images deconstructed our recognisable views of the outdoors into planes and textures. The images remind me somewhat of John and Ann Blockley or Joan Eardley.
We May as Well Dance - Valda Bailey
It’s been some time since Fragile was published and there has been a marked progression in Valda’s work in this new book. The images are still mostly inspired by the landscape but they are often more abstract, almost to the point of occluding their origins. We see the influence of her friend Paul Kenny occasionally sometimes in set piece, abstracted floral arrangements. Sometimes the photographs echo the creative work of Vaughn Oliver (look in your record collection if you have an 4AD albums such as the Cocteau Twins - do we still have album art?) or Nigel Grierson.
“But is it landscape?”, “But is it photography?”, “But is it Landscape Photography?”
This is something you’ll have to answer for yourself, but in my mind, most of the work is created in the landscape, and it uses a camera as the tool with which to create. That qualifies it enough for me to pay an interest in it, and the resulting work can’t help but be inspiring, given its range and depth. The range of work may well be its one weakness, though. The collection gives me a bit of a feeling of ‘greatest hits’, which, while excellent for enjoying individual images, breaks up a sense of progression or movement as you browse the sections. I’d love to see the individual albums these hits came from and have a sense of the development and discovery that informed them. That’s me being overtly picky, though, but every review needs some negative stuff in, doesn’t it? And now I’ve given the ego a little kick I can return to say to offer some positive assertions that the book is excellent; printed well, editorial insertions sparse and timely, Kozu have created a wonderful addition to their catalog and if you’re interested in the extent to which a camera can be used and abused in the creation of art from the landscape, the book will be an interesting addition to your library.
If you'd like to buy a copy, it's available directly from the publisher at Kozu Books.
Believe - Linda Bembridge
Between Valda and her workshop co-leader, Doug Chinnery, they have inspired a great range of photographers. Even if you’re not interested in using some of her techniques, the approach to photography as a creative art should not be underestimated. However, many people have been inspired by the use of those techniques such as our other book author, Linda Bembridge.
Her book/project is no as landscape oriented as Valda’s. Most images are constructed from photographs of windows and wall textures. Both Valda’s and Linda’s books document a period where Covid has created constraints on their lives and Linda’s images are more often constructed at home by layering parts of a single source image. The work has a sense of visual play about it and in some ways it’s what I would have liked to see from Valda’s book - a sense of a deep exploration of a vein of creativity. The results of Linda’s discoveries don’t inspire me as much as Valda’s do - but as examples of what can be achieved at home from a single source image, they’re quite fascinating.
The finest quality of this stone, these plants and animals, this desert landscape is the indifference manifest to our presence, our absence, our coming, our staying or our going. Whether we live or die is a matter of absolutely no concern whatsoever to the desert. Let men in their madness blast every city on earth into black rubble and envelope the entire planet in a cloud of lethal gas—the canyons and hills, the springs and rocks will still be here, the sunlight will filter through, water will form and warmth shall be upon the land and after sufficient time, no matter how long, somewhere, living things will emerge and join and stand once again, this time perhaps to take a different and better course.~ Edward Abbey
This article was inspired by an email exchange with Tim Parkin in which Tim asked about the influence of certain nature writers on my work. For reasons I explain in the article, Edward Abbey seemed like the obvious one for me to start with. Some readers may know that Abbey’s legacy has been the topic of much controversy over the years. My goal here is not to defend Abbey’s politics, personality, or methods. He has done much of that, himself, in his own writings. I urge interested readers to research and decide for themselves. My goal here is to describe Abbey’s influence on my own life and work.
The opening page of Edward Abbey’s book, Abbey’s Road, features a hand-drawn caricature of a wooden sign inscribed, “Take the other.” This should not surprise anyone familiar with Abbey’s penchant for solitary desert explorations and his often cantankerous and sarcastic style. In his best-known book, Desert Solitaire, Abbey explained, “I generally prefer to go into places where no one else wants to go. I find that in contemplating the natural world my pleasure is greater if there are not too many others contemplating it with me, at the same time.”
This highly-anticipated group exhibition of black & white photography is on at the Joe Cornish Gallery. This is the culmination of a one year of mentoring programme by photographer Paul Sanders.
Photography is a very personal journey, a combination of technical skill and unique expression of a moment experienced. This took us a long time to understand, which is why Paul started to support other photographers through a mentoring process over the course of a year.
By asking pertinent questions about why people photograph and encouraging personal exploration of their influences gradually, our confidence and awareness of the individual expression in experience of a subject grows.
Patrick Kaye
Patrick Kaye
There is no one size fits all approach, each individual needs supporting and directing in a myriad of ways so as to draw the best out of them while using constructive feedback to build on their unique perspective.
For Paul, it is important not to try to turn out clones but to allow each photographer to openly express visually their individual awareness of beauty. Beauty is everything from the mundane to the most exquisite landscape, learning that beauty has no rules, boundaries, or formula is one of the most important lessons a photographer can learn.
The process of working so closely with a handful of photographers has been inspiring. Drawing on Paul's depth of knowledge and experiences has enabled us to look harder at the way we work, our own awareness and the barriers we put in our own way too.
There are photographic formulas that help one learn the process or overcome the technical hurdles, however, there comes a time when you have to cross those boundaries and work with your soul, allowing the spiritual and emotional connection with your world and your story to come through. We, as photographers, are telling our story and our connection with the world we inhabit today.
Patrick Kaye
Our photographs are the legacy we leave for future generations, so they can see and feel our way of life, our social and economic fabric and the deep connection we as individuals experience.
What draws us to specific genres, locations or subject matter as we explore the relationship between people and spatial settings, and does our affinity to a particular environment begin with nature or nurture? Perhaps these attachments we develop come from culture or identity, or maybe they are rooted in feelings or perceptions. Do the images we connect with invite curiosity or trigger a memory, an emotional response or a sense of belonging?
Whether you are brought up in a natural or built environment, this will have a profound influence on how you photograph, and through photography, a sense of wonder will enhance that connection. Working with light, pattern, details, and textures gives us the opportunity to make images that appear either simply beautiful, while others arouse a deep curiosity within and give us the opportunity to express a depth of mood, emotion and a true connection with the subject.
Photographers Exhibiting
Susi Petherick
‘As part of my mentorship with Paul Sanders, I wanted to create a body of work to act as a love letter to my friends of some forty five years, celebrating my affection for them and their Croft in northwest Scotland. All of the small elements of their life, captured in black and white, express my feelings about our long, rich friendship and this place I call my second home.’
Patrick Kaye
‘I have been photographing for over six decades, but the pandemic caused me to spend time on local subjects. My project of photographing allotments was inspired by the rich material I encountered on my daily walks. Each patch invited speculation about the owners and what the land meant to them. In one small area of suburbia, a relationship of chaos and order existed between Man and Nature. With Paul’s great support and valuable encouragement, I have come to acknowledge the richness of “the ordinary” and to appreciate how rewarding that can be.’
Kate Somervell
Kate Somervell
As a Gallery Photographer, I was discussing my plans for the year with Curator Jo Rose, who offered a group exhibition to those involved in Paul’s mentoring course.
‘This has been a truly inspirational year. Paul has encouraged me to slow down, be present and more deeply connected to the landscape, as well as to experiment with different genres and techniques. Far from seeking images, an open mind, increased awareness and slower approach has allowed me to discover images. This new, more mindful approach has resulted in greater depth and a stronger emotional connection to my work in respect of my chosen landscape’
Paul Sanders
‘The images I am exhibiting are a personal narrative, each one represents an awareness of my place in the world, seeing the equivalence in flowers. My images are miles away from the photographer I thought I ’should be’ and come from a much deeper place than anything I have made before.’
A preview of the exhibition
Exhibition Details
The exhibition runs from 3 September - 26 November
Address:
Joe Cornish Gallery
Zetland Street
Northallerton
DL6 1NA
There’s been a lot of grumbling recently about the Instagram algorithm, but it’s worth spending some time looking through Explore - that’s how I found one of Mark Davis’s images which led me to both his profile there, and the idea that there might be a story to go with the images.
It’s easy to delude ourselves here in the UK that it’s only the last few years that have been difficult, but talking to Mark reminds me that the 21st century as a whole has been a time of challenges and of changed lives. It makes me very happy that Mark has found a passion for photography, and that this has helped him come to better know the nature of his new homeland.
Amongst Giants
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 study and do?
I am from the United States and grew up in the Northeastern part of the state of Arkansas. I believe this region of the United States shaped my love for the outdoors and nature. Arkansas is largely a rural area of the country and has its nickname, The Natural State, which is spot on. The state has a diverse landscape with an abundance of farmland, woods and forests, lakes, rivers, swamplands, and mountains to explore and get lost in. That is just what I did while living there. As a child, I did not realise how special Arkansas’ diversity was, but in hindsight, the diversity gave me opportunities I can appreciate as an adult. Arkansas’ rural culture and its landscape helped to shape me as a person and as a photographer.
Arkansas is largely a rural area of the country and has its nickname, The Natural State, which is spot on. The state has a diverse landscape with an abundance of farmland, woods and forests, lakes, rivers, swamplands, and mountains to explore and get lost in. That is just what I did while living there.
I have always been attracted to outdoor activities, and as a child, it was not uncommon to find me playing in a woodland area near my home.
Fast forwarding to my early 20s, I decided I needed to get out of my hometown and see the world. One sure fire way to do so was to enter the military, where I picked up a few skills and some schooling. However, things changed quickly after I enlisted.
When I started as a professional landscape photographer almost 10 years ago, I had little doubt about my positive impact on the earth. After all, as a landscape photographer, you are close to nature, you are often in nature, and with your photos and your stories, you are an ambassador for nature. You show other people how beautiful, important and vulnerable nature is, thereby creating awareness and desired behaviour. The fact that in order to take these photos, some negative effects would occur from time to time (e.g. flying), I was happy to accept. After all, the balance was clearly positive.
Now, a little older and perhaps a little wiser, I have a more nuanced opinion. Are we reaching the right people as landscape photographers? In a cynical mood, you could say that the audience of landscape photographers consists largely of other landscape photographers. And they are not so much called upon by your photos to protect the earth, but rather to fly to the same wonderful places to take photos of them too. Of course, this is certainly not the whole story, but it is certainly an effect that we have to face up to.
National park De Hoge Veluwe, the Netherlands, after a large wildfire in 2014. The amount of wildfires has grown considerably in recent years.
I still think and hope that, on balance, I can have a positive influence with my photos.
After the hottest and driest summer ever in Europe, with countless forest fires, crop failures and withered landscapes, I do think that we landscape photographers should take a more critical look at our own impact and do more to actually keep the balance positive.
But after the hottest and driest summer ever in Europe, with countless forest fires, crop failures and withered landscapes, I do think that we landscape photographers should take a more critical look at our own impact and do more to actually keep the balance positive.
In this article, I will therefore give some tips on how to reduce your negative impact on the environment. In addition, I will look at some ways of increasing your positive impact. As there is already enough general literature on how you as a human being can reduce your carbon footprint, in this piece, I will focus on the special aspects related to landscape photography.
This article is not meant to be an indictment, and I certainly do not want to deny anyone their passion or make their work impossible. I am not in that position at all, as I am far from perfect and still have some green steps to make. This article is, therefore, also a report of my own struggles and first steps on this path. Above all, I hope that we will deal with this topic more consciously and perhaps talk about it more often. In my opinion, there is quite a lot of attention on how to behave as a photographer in the field (for example, through the Nature First principles), but important themes such as the impact of air travel, regularly buying new equipment, and the impact of (international) workshops are rarely discussed.
Burnt pine cones, national park De Hoge Veluwe, the Netherlands.
Tip 1: Fly less!
The first tip is both obvious and uncomfortable at the same time: fly less! The CO2 emissions of air travel are significant, and therefore flying is a major contributor to global warming.
You may question if I am the right person to give this advice, as I fly several times a year to Iceland and other destinations for my own photo projects and my workshops. I still feel that this is occasionally justified for my work, so I do not go as far as photographers who have decided not to fly at all.
But I have been working on how to limit flying for some time. For example, a few years ago - partly as a result of my frustration with the rise of mass tourism in Iceland (see my earlier article on this) - I decided to reduce my group trips to Iceland from 3 to 4 times a year to once a year. I have not replaced those trips with other trips either, although that is quite a drain financially.
You may question if I am the right person to give this advice, as I fly several times a year to Iceland and other destinations for my own photo projects and my workshops. I still feel that this is occasionally justified for my work, so I do not go as far as photographers who have decided not to fly at all.
You can also significantly reduce CO2 emissions by simply not going as far. Ask yourself if you really need to go to Patagonia or New Zealand. I decided a long time ago to stay in Europe for my photography and to limit intercontinental flights to once every 5 years at the most. That makes a big difference. The CO2 emission for a flight to Iceland from Amsterdam, for example, is five to six times lower than a flight to Patagonia. There are all kinds of online tools to calculate and compare emissions. Sometimes it feels like a loss that I can't go to destinations outside Europe, but you can't have everything, and this restriction makes me feel a little more comfortable with flying within Europe every now and then. Besides, it feels good to promote Europe with my photography and maybe encourage other European photographers to stay in Europe as well.
Of course, it is even better to stay closer to home and not fly at all. Many photographers have discovered their own backyard photographically during the many covid-19 lockdowns, and this has resulted in many interesting projects. It would be a pity if we all stopped doing that now that the borders are open again. In addition, it is perhaps good to know that you can make a name for yourself with interesting photos of your local patch at least as well as with photos of 'epic' places around the world. The latter has already been taken many times. To endorse this, I would like to mention that about half of the photos with which I have won a prize in prestigious photo competitions such as Wildlife photographer of the year and European Wildlife photographer of the year were taken in my own country, the Netherlands, or in neighbouring Belgium, which is easily accessible without flying.
Very dry ground, national park Maasduinen, the Netherlands
Storm in Noordwijk on the Dutch Northsea coast. In the last few years, the rains have become much more extreme in the Netherlands and many other countries in Europe.
Finally, I have decided that I will only accept a lecture at a photo festival once a year if I have to fly there. This has already resulted in several cancellations.
I think that the bottom line is that every landscape photographer needs to assess for himself how often he flies and how this can be reduced. Not flying at all seems to me to be unrealistic, but flying significantly less is definitely achievable.
Carpooling is an obvious way to go if you are shooting together or going to a photo festival.
By the way, you can compensate the CO2 emissions of your flights by planting trees. This often costs only a small amount of money. This ‘solution’ is contentious though and it should never be a licence to continue flying carefree. Read the article CARBON OFFSETS DO NOT WORK by Vicki Brown for a number of strong arguments against this practise.
Tip 2: Limit the use of the car
Let's stay with transport for a moment: limit your car kilometres, because they are also responsible for considerable CO2 emissions. This is also a tricky one. Public transport does not usually take you to all the desired places and certainly not at the times that are considered interesting for landscape photography. But again, think about it and see what you can do to reduce the CO2 emissions of your transport.
Carpooling is an obvious way to go if you are shooting together or going to a photo festival. And if you limit your speed, this can lead to 10 - 15% fewer emissions!
Electric driving is an important step towards reducing our impact and, although the environmental sums may not add up to positive results now, the future is definitely in that direction and needs the public demand to progress. However, for most of us, it is still financially unfeasible but one to keep an eye on.
High water, the Netherlands. The main rivers in the Netherlands have flooded regularly in recent years.
High water (II), the Netherlands. There is beauty in the flooded landscape, but it is scary at the same time.
Tip 3: Limit the negative impact of your organised trips and workshops
Many (semi) professional landscape photographers earn a substantial part of their income by organising photo trips and workshops. It is worth looking at how you can minimise the negative impact on the environment. Of course, the advice to fly less and to look for destinations closer to home that might be interesting for a photo trip also applies here. You could say that as an organiser you are also in a way responsible for the flights of your participants.
You can also try to ensure that the trip is as sustainable as possible locally.
This can be done, for instance, by cooperating with local hotels and organisations that work in a sustainable way, by ensuring there is less (beef) meat on the menu and by photographing from fixed base camps instead of travelling around and making a lot of car kilometres.
This can be done, for instance, by cooperating with local hotels and organisations that work in a sustainable way, by ensuring there is less (beef) meat on the menu and by photographing from fixed base camps instead of travelling around and making a lot of car kilometres. A hotel in Spain that I visit almost every year for a photo trip used large amounts of plastic to pack lunch and provided plastic bottles of water to every participant every day. In consultation with the manager, we were able to achieve that plastic was used for packaging and that each participant was provided with a reusable bottle to use for water throughout the week. A simple measure that could prevent the use of a lot of plastic.
Furthermore, a simple way to reduce the car kilometres associated with photo trips and workshops is to hold the preliminary meeting online. It is, of course, more fun to meet everyone live, but online is also fine, and you avoid that everyone has to travel for it.
Finally, I think that as a photographer/travel organiser you should always ask yourself whether it is such a good idea to do a certain workshop or trip and whether the impact on nature is not too great. For example, I stopped giving dragonfly and damselfly workshops some years ago because I felt that the impact of a group of people (even when limited to 4 or 5 people) in a fairly small place by the water was too great. And there are fantastic travel destinations that I will never go to with a group because I am afraid that too much damage will be done. This is all the more true as it is usually not just one trip, many photographers and organisations are likely to be inspired by what others offer!
Storm selfie, an image taken at the famous black beach near Vik, Iceland, a couple of years ago
Tip 4: Limit yourself in buying new equipment
We photographers love our gear, don’t we? But perhaps we sometimes go a bit overboard with this. Maybe not everyone realises that the production and transportation of all this equipment has a significant negative environmental impact.
I think many landscape photographers have a certain Fear of Missing Out if they do not use the latest camera or the latest lens. Try to curb this FOMO! Of course, it is nice to have good, state of the art equipment, but you really don't have to buy every new version of a lens or camera that is offered (although manufacturers would like you to believe otherwise).
We photographers love our gear, don’t we? But perhaps we sometimes go a bit overboard with this. Maybe not everyone realises that the production and transportation of all this equipment has a significant negative environmental impact.
Often, improvements are only marginal compared to earlier models. I am still the proud owner of a Canon 100 mm macro lens that I bought second hand in 2005 (!) and is still tack sharp and able to produce high quality images. I admit I have been looking to the successor with image stabilisation more than once but never thought it was really necessary to upgrade. Of course, the financial and environmental benefits go hand in hand here.
It is probably needless to say that good pictures are usually due to the eye, creativity and skills of the photographer and not to the use of state-of-the-art equipment.
Tip 5: Be careful and diligent when photographing in nature
Be careful when photographing in nature and always let the interest of nature prevail over the interest to take a certain picture. I found it important to mention it, but will not elaborate on this point here. Nature First has already drawn up clear guidelines for this, which have been endorsed by many photographers.
Be reluctant to share locations, especially with fragile and unknown nature reserves. This advice is part of the Nature First principles, but I think it is important enough to mention it separately. In times of social media, you have to assume that sharing locations poses a real risk that many people will follow in your footsteps and want to go there too. So be aware of the risks and assess each time whether mentioning the location is harmful.
Tourists & flowers, Iceland
Tip 6: Do not participate in NFTs
Last year, everyone was talking about NFTs as a great new source of income for photographers. If you don't know what NFTs are, read Tim Parkin's introduction here in issue 247.
Not everyone seems aware of the fact that generating and also transferring NFTs costs tons of energy and has a significant negative impact on the environment. So, as a landscape photographer, you have to ask yourself if you want to make money this way. In any case, I have decided not to try it, although the prospect of getting a lot of money for some digital files also seemed attractive to me.
There is talk of more environmentally friendly alternatives, but it is not clear to me whether they have really caught on yet. In any case, the NFT hype seems to have passed its peak, which may make it easier to stay away from it.
Tip 7: See how you can increase your positive influence as a landscape photographer
As mentioned before, as a landscape photographer, there is a risk that your images will mainly reach fellow photographers. It is questionable whether you will make the world any greener by doing so. It is therefore worthwhile looking into whether you, as a photographer, can reach a different audience, for example, with lectures at other locations than photo clubs and with publications in other media than photo magazines. This will increase your chances of surprising and touching people in a positive way with your landscape photos and maybe make them more aware of the value of nature which, as a result, may lead to different choices and behaviour. Of course, such an influence is very difficult to measure, but that does not mean, in my opinion, that it is not worth trying.
In addition, see if you can use your images or your network for nature conservation purposes. Most of us have at least a few hundred followers and sometimes many thousands of followers on social media. For a number of years now, I have tried to share petitions or critical articles that I think are good with my followers, for instance, on Facebook or in my newsletters. The influence is again difficult to measure, but I do feel that it can make a small contribution.
It is therefore worthwhile looking into whether you, as a photographer, can reach a different audience, for example, with lectures at other locations than photo clubs and with publications in other media than photo magazines.
This is one of my most successful images, published frequently and runner up in the Creative Visions category of Wildlife photographer of the year. It was taken within an hour of my home.
Last year, together with a colleague (Johan van der Wielen), I made a series of photos available free of charge to magazine editors if they would like to draw attention to a petition against the laying of an underground power cable on Schiermonnikoog in the Dutch Wadden Sea region, one of the most unspoiled places in the Netherlands. This article was published on a number of widely read websites. In the end, the plan for the power cable was taken off the table. Of course, I cannot say that this would not have happened without our input, but I like to think that it did help a little.
Finally
There is a lot more to say on this subject. I thought it was especially important to write about it once and open the discussion this way. I am open to other suggestions and opinions!
National park De Hoge Veluwe, the Netherlands, after a large wildfire in 2014. The amount of wildfires has grown considerably in recent years.
Burnt pine cones, national park De Hoge Veluwe, the Netherlands.
Very dry ground, national park Maasduinen, the Netherlands
Storm in Noordwijk on the Dutch Northsea coast. The last years the rains have become much more extreme in the Netherlands and many other countries in Europe.
High water, the Netherlands. The main rivers in the Netherlands have flooded regularly in recent years.
High water (II), the Netherlands. There is beauty in the flooded landscape, but it is scary at the same time.
Storm selfie, an image taken at the famous black beach near Vik, Iceland, a couple of years ago
Tourists & flowers, Iceland
This is one of my most successful images, published frequently and runner up in the Creative Visions category of Wildlife photographer of the year. It was taken within an hour of my home.
In the previous three articles of the ‘Past Masters and Expressive Photography’ series (read previous articles), I have analysed the Impressionist’s artistic beliefs, deep motivations, expressive philosophy and lifetime struggles. In this fourth essay, I’m going to explore a group of lesser-known, but no less relevant landscape painters who practice their art right before the Impressionists. Their work inspired, influenced, and facilitated the impressionist’s bright development.
What motivated a group of landscape painters to relocate to the tiny village of Barbizon in France and relentlessly paint there for most of their lives? Why did they fight to institute an “artistic reserve”, the first protected natural area in the world?
A work of art which reproduces the total content of an era (thus not only its style) and which therefore represents a disturbing novelty does not ordinarily become something familiar until the era has passed, it that is, it is only recognized and appreciated when the period of its creation has become a historical totality. This happens most of the time with the coming of the next generation.~ Hermann Broch
It took the prodigious blossoming of pleinairism and the triumph of impressionism for criticism to look seriously at the antecedents of impressionism and for the French school of art history to seek out the sources deep. It was not until 1925 that the book by Prosper Dorbec, "Landscape art in France. Essays on its evolution from the 18th century to the end of the Second Empire" (the French Second Empire ended in September 1870), seriously retraced the work of the Barbizon painters.
So, what motivated a group of landscape painters to relocate to the tiny village of Barbizon in France and relentlessly paint there for most of their lives? Why did they fight to institute an “artistic reserve”, the first protected natural area in the world? And what kind of impact did it all have on future generations of painters and photographers?
After an enjoyable day exploring many images by my favourite landscape photographers, I returned to this iconic 1960 image by Bradford Washburn. This single image fuelled my teenage enthusiasm for both photography and mountaineering. My passion for both started in the mid 1960s when I was in my mid-teens, and it has lasted to this day. A winter course at Glenmore Lodge, taught by a cadre of Britain’s finest mountaineers, fired my passion for hill walking, skiing and later rock climbing. My interest in photography developed alongside because I wanted to capture something of the magnificent snow and rock scenes that I was beginning to encounter in the mountains.
In order to satisfy my urges to be out in the hills during schooldays, I began to work my way through the mountaineering and photography shelves of my local library. And one day, I stumbled across a Bradford Washburn book of mountain photographs. I was immediately captivated by the sheer quality of the large format, monochrome aerial images and their dramatic contents. "After the Storm" was particularly breathtaking and became my firm favourite - I later discovered that It was also a favourite of Bradford’s. And since that moment when I discovered Bradford, I’ve found that we have had common sources of inspiration in mountaineers/photographers.
For many nature and landscape photographers, one of the greatest appeals of landscape photography is its requirement for spending time outside in nature away from the chaos and stress of daily life. It is well documented through rigorous scientific research that spending time in nature can have significant positive effects on our mood, immune system, blood pressure, and stress levels. The Japanese have long-known about these positive impacts and have recommended “forest bathing” or “Shinrin-yoku” since the 1980s to reduce stress and improve the immune system.
As nature photographers, we also likely have all experienced these positive impacts somewhat inadvertently as part of our travels into nature with the camera; however, to fully embrace these effects, one should engage all their senses in the process, including sight, hearing, smelling, touching, and tasting. This doesn’t mean you should start licking your camera lenses; however, I strongly believe that through fully immersing ourselves in nature as photographers, we can harness these effects not only for our health but also to produce more personally expressive and highly engaging artwork in a way that the subject of this article has.
Luis was an early subscriber to our magazine and I've been an admirer of his photography for quite a while. After seeing a recent project, an homage to Monet using scenes from his local area, and also reading some of his excellent writing in his Perspetiva magazine, I was very keen to feature him in On Landscape.
Can you tell me a little about your education, childhood passions, early exposure to photography etc?
I grew up in a small town in the centre of Portugal. It is still a major railway hub and the home of the national railway museum. My father worked for the railway company, so I guess my first passion was about trains. I remember asking my parents for an electric model train for years in a row. I guess I was already a teenager when I got my first one. That passion still lingers, although nowadays, photography takes all the “free” time I have, and so locomotives remain mainly in the shed.
When I was young, photography was not an activity that my parents pursued. The only camera available in the house was a very basic Kodak 110 film camera that was used very rarely. I have only a dozen photos from my early years. Only when I got into university to complete a Computer Science degree I was really exposed to photography. One of my roommates had an old Cosina SLR and transformed our shared bathroom into a darkroom. I discovered the beauty of making photography, not in aesthetic terms but as a mechanical experience: operate a camera, hear the click and process the film until a photograph appears, by magic, on a wet sheet of paper.
After graduating, during an internship in Austria, I felt the need for a camera to capture the beauty around me and so I bought my first one, a Canon EOS 500N. In the first years, in the late 90s, my favourite subjects were architecture and street photography. I loved the pulse of the big cities and the people that lived in them. People's relationship with the city always provided endless photographic opportunities. In 2005, my first child was born, and I decided I no longer had the time nor the stamina to venture the streets - street photography is very consuming from an emotional point of view - and turned to nature. I was very connected to nature since my younger years so it was like a comeback now with a camera in my hands. Since 2007 I have been solely devoted to landscape and nature photography.
There will be few, if any, subscribers to ‘On Landscape’ who are not aware of ‘The Landscape’ by Paul Wakefield (read our review of the book and our interview with Paul). I ordered it when it was first published in 2014, and now, some eight years later, my copy has that well read look to it. Paul’s work first came to my attention actually when, prior to 2014, I had bought a second hand copy of ‘Scotland: A Place Of Visions’ by Jan Morris and Paul Wakefield. I noticed in that book that Paul had included photographs made in Culbin Forest, which is located mostly in Moray in the North East of Scotland.
That interested me immediately as I live some 40 minutes by car from Culbin Forest and had been wandering the area now and again since I became aware of it in my early twenties. That’s more than forty years ago now. I had also established an interest in photography at that time, but it wasn’t until much later that I had developed an interest in intimate landscape photography and had begun to explore the local forests photographically circa 2014.
The forest was established on a huge dune structure known as Culbin Sands, an area surrounded by mystery and intrigue. The history goes back to the beginning of the 13th century with the actual destruction of the Culbin estate by wind blown sand happening in 1694.
It was the mystery surrounding the area and the size and topography of the forest that really drew me to Culbin. Looking at Paul’s website, I discovered that even more images were to be found of Culbin and when I received my copy of ‘The Landscape’, I realised that it also contained images from Culbin. I wrote to Paul with some questions and observations not long after that.
Culbin forest covers approximately 3,500 ha and forms part of the SSSI ‘Culbin Sands, Culbin Forest and Findhorn Bay’, which in turn covers some 5,000 ha. The forest was established on a huge dune structure known as Culbin Sands, an area surrounded by mystery and intrigue. The history goes back to the beginning of the 13th century with the actual destruction of the Culbin estate by wind blown sand happening in 1694. Did a substantial community comprised of 16 farms really vanish overnight in a sandstorm in the late 17th century? The book 'The Culbin Sands - A Mystery Unravelled' by Sinclair Ross, published in 1992 (a PDF version is available), goes some way in establishing what actually happened at Culbin. The Forestry Commission started to look at the area circa 1921. Marram grasses were replanted in order that some of the sand could be slowly stabilised before tree planting began, and today the resulting huge working forest is also managed so as to provide a key recreational resource for Forres, Nairn and the surrounding areas. The dune system is the largest in Britain, and substantial areas of that system have not been over-planted. Shingle ridges run parallel to the forest for 7km along the coast.
I had no objectives in mind really when I started to explore Culbin Forest with a camera, and thirteen years later, that is still true today. I photographed what grabbed my attention. Purposely some of the photographs were taken in overcast conditions in order to prevent over-exposing lichens and mosses. The area virtually never gets mist, and any sea haars burn off rapidly. Misty tree opportunities are therefore non existent unless one can substitute mist for rain. Snow is also a rare occurrence these days, but rainfall seems to be on the increase. The forestry access roads are well maintained, but one has to wander away from the tracks to be in the real forest and really experience it.
To maybe sit and watch for any wildlife. Smell the forest or listen or contemplate the living forest above and beneath one’s feet. Perhaps even to watch the wood ants climbing over those feet. They are never far away! The dune structure on which the forest was planted is, to a great extent, still apparent and can be over 30 metres in height in places. Culbin is full of surprises. In no way can it be described as being wild. However, even though it may be a huge working forest, it is also a sensitive area. If you plan a visit, please take care of walking off the tracks as rare plants, including national and regional rareties, can be found in Culbin. Likewise, rare lichens and fungi also exist in the fragile and diverse habitats. One species of fungi is not found at any other location in Britain.
The dune structure on which the forest was planted is, to a great extent, still apparent and can be over 30 metres in height in places. Culbin is full of surprises. In no way can it be described as being wild.
One of the subjects I discussed with Paul was access, and we both agreed that walking provided the best opportunities for seeing photographs. I remember him telling me that “Culbin is a time consuming place.” He wasn’t wrong! I used to see Culbin as an ongoing project, a live project and one where I would add and cull images regularly. However, enter Guy Tal. In his book titled 'More Than A Rock' (p 107) he writes about projects and how he prefers the term explorations rather than projects. His point being that a project really requires to be completed for it to perhaps be seen as a success. An exploration, however is just that as he explains in his words, “I find ample and sustained reward in merely being engaged in something that interests and fascinates me: a journey that is more important than any preconceived destination.” I can’t say it better than that! Who could?
I will never come remotely close to exploring all of the forest but I accepted that a long time ago. Now, if the light is quiet preferably, I sometimes still make my way to Culbin and wander the forest and look to see what will grab my attention or revisit favourite locations just to see what has changed. I might even take a photograph or two! ‘Finding a path – Culbin Forest’. It’s an exploration.
Thank you to Mark Reeve, Planning forester for Moray & Aberdeenshire FD, from Forestry Commission Scotland, for providing me with additional information about Culbin Forest. And finally, thank you to Paul Wakefield and Guy Tal for their inspiration and generosity.
References
‘The Landscape’ - Paul Wakefield. Published by Eddie Ephraums 2014., ISBN 10: 095647649X ISBN 13:9780956476494.
‘Scotland: A Place Of Visions’ - Jan Morris, Paul Wakefield. Published by Aurum Press 01/10/1986 ISBN 10: 0948149191 ISBN 13: 9780948149191.
‘More Than a Rock: Essays on Art, Creativity, Photography, Nature, and Life’. - Guy Tal. Published by Rocky Nook 15/02/2021
ISBN 10:1681986833.
‘The Culbin Sands - A Mystery Unravelled' - Sinclair Ross. Published by University of Aberdeen Centre for Scottish Studies 1992.
ISBN 10: 0906265169 and ISBN 13: 9780906265161.
For those readers requiring further information on the work of the Forestry Commission in establishing Culbin Forest I would draw your attention to ‘The Culbin Story’ which is archive video footage from 1955. As the introduction informs us "This archive film was made in 1955 - just as the vast task of establishing a forest at Culbin was coming to an end. It tells the story of the people of Culbin being driven from the land by advancing sand and then the mammoth effort by the Forestry Commission to establish the forest we see today". The films are edited by I Anderson and narrated by J Urquhart.
Unpopular opinion: I don't think your life has to have a purpose, or you a grand ambition; I think it's okay to just wander through life finding interesting things until you die.~ Amber Sparks
Among my least favourite aspects of high school English classes was having to find the deeper meaning in every sentence we read. Heaven forbid the author described something simply as she saw it; the sky was never blue as it is perceived by society. No, it was blue because the author was thinking solemnly about something - her life was not going to plan, and she was depressed. And the way she recalled sitting on the couch, the position she sat in, always had to have some philosophical meaning behind it, rather than just because it was a comfortable place to sit.
Perhaps the same can be said regarding art and, specifically, photography. Now that the craft has had its time to mature over the past two hundred years, we find ourselves wondering what the point of it all is. We begin to ponder whether there is meaning in it or if we are pursuing it for its own sake. Even this series of articles I have been writing, entitled *Finding Meaning*, may be seen as digging a bit too deep, waxing a bit too philosophically, about something which inherently has no meaning, whether that something be art or life.
The quote starting this article made me begin thinking that we, as a species, have long moved past the collective ideologies and toward much deeper thought processes. Yes, philosophers have always pondered the meaning of life since the age of Aristotle and Socrates. Yes, there are still individuals who delve much deeper into these such ponderings. Yet it seems individuals of the modern day have begun wondering, more than ever before, what the meaning of life is. Why is it that we work forty-hour weeks, on the low-end, until we reach old age, only for us to then be "allowed" to enjoy our lives? What sense does it make that we have little choice but to work ourselves to an infirm age performing some action we care little for, to raise a family and put overly expensive food on the table and a lavish roof over our heads and keep up with the Jones’s, though we care even less about the materialistic goods we buy with the money we work so hard for.
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, the providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.~ W.H. Murray
A quote from Murray seems entirely appropriate to begin this story, a quote which epitomises that breaking of inertia when starting a new project. He was a mountaineer and writer to whom Glen Coe was the absolute pinnacle of climbing excellence. The memory of these mountains sustained him throughout his incarceration in a German prisoner of war camps during the second world war. His best selling book, 'Mountaineering in Scotland' was written on scraps of toilet paper over the three years of his imprisonment and remains to this day a powerful testimony to the memory of mountains. In a very real way, the recollection of climbing days spent in and around Glen Coe saved his life.
In Mountaineering in Scotland, W.H. Murray wrote about the view of Bidean nam Bian whilst on a winter night walk across the pinnacles of the Aonach Eagach ridge, "From this part of the ridge we were better able to see Bidean, to see it as a whole mountain - shaped by deep corries, thrusting its strong ridges outward to eight sparking peaks, down-curving to lesser tops, emerging from the lowly blackness of Glencoe to a crescendo of light at the summit. That was the Bidean nam Bian of our physical world, by its mere presence there calling our hearts to the world inhabited by beauty." New generations of mountaineers and hill walkers now follow in his footsteps along the high ridges and through the profound hollows of this mountain realm, creating their own individual memories of days lived to the full in this unique landscape.
It is the most fascinating and complex of all the mountains of Glen Coe that our guide book reveals: Bidean nam Bian. This is the story of how and why we produced a walking guide book to this great mountain of Glen Coe, from its conception to its final publication.
So what does it take to write a guidebook? In this case, it took 18 months of serious dedication, 46,800 metres of total ascent, 400+ hours on field trips, and well over 350 kilometres travelled.
Writing a walking guidebook
So what does it take to write a guidebook? In this case, it took 18 months of serious dedication, 46,800 metres of total ascent, 400+ hours on field trips, and well over 350 kilometres travelled. And then there were photographs, many, many photographs (well, this is a photography magazine after all), some on film and some on digital but all with a purpose: to illustrate a walking guide book of the highest mountain in Glen Coe, named Bidean nam Bian. By honing in on one hill, which is, in reality, a mountain massif with nine distinct summits, we could produce a totally comprehensive study giving a new depth of information and detailed route descriptions previously unrecorded in the Scottish mountains.
The original idea for this project came from those two creative catalysts, Charlotte and Tim Parkin. The vision that we came up with was to produce a series of walking guide books to the most iconic mountain areas in the highlands of Scotland, starting with Glen Coe. As the project began to take shape, we settled on designing a classic old school pocket guide with black and white images, hand drawn illustrations and hand drawn maps. To Charlotte and Tim’s great credit, they handed the whole creative process to me, which provided a fabulous opportunity to treat the guidebook as a personal project, whilst Charlotte and Tim helped with feedback and around possible commercial strategies. So often, a photographer or illustrator has a distinct role to play in a large team when commissioned to work on a book, but with this project, there was glorious freedom to cover every aspect of the publication from cover to cover.
As Glen Coe is an area steeped in mountaineering history, we felt that a 1950’s aesthetic would suit the project very well. The publication would be around A5 in size and somewhere around 300 pages long. Although the popular walks on major footpaths needed to be included, I had free reign to include several dramatic and pathless routes of my own to showcase the sheer variety of superb mountain walks to be found on Bidean nam Bian. Many of these routes were on the outlying peaks which make up the Bidean massif such as Aonach Dubh, An-t Sron, Gearr Aonach and Beinn Fhada. These summits are much less frequented than Bidean nam Bian but offer superb mountain walks. We wanted to encourage our readers to explore the mountain hollows and hidden corners, to travel into the mountain rather than only heading straight to its uppermost summit cairn. As Nan Shepherd eloquently puts it in her book ‘The Living Mountain’, 'To aim for the highest point is not the only way to climb a mountain.”
And why Bidean nam Bian?
And why Bidean? (click to visit walking in Glencoe website) Well, throughout the Scottish highlands, there are many film star mountains, and each one is worthy of a guidebook writer’s attention. An Teallach, Liathach, Buachaille Etive Mor, Ben Nevis, Sgorr nan Gillean, Suilven.....its a long list and Bidean nam Bian is undoubtedly one of the very best of these iconic mountains. Add to that the fact that it sits in the very heart of Glen Coe and dominates every view hereabouts, and you have as fascinating and interesting a mountain as it is possible to have in the British Isles.
We wanted to encourage our readers to explore the mountain hollows and hidden corners, to travel into the mountain rather than only heading straight to its uppermost summit cairn.
But it isn’t just me who thinks so; generations of tourists, mountaineers and travellers have rounded the corner, at or below the Study and let out a gasp at the sheer monumentality of the scene, which suddenly, and to fabulous effect, bursts into view. The view, for those wondering, is that of the three sisters of Glen Coe, and it is emphatically a mountain view. Perhaps nowhere else in the United Kingdom is there a more dramatic depiction of landscape tilted to the vertical, which can easily be seen from a major road. Dorothy Wordsworth thrilled at the scene in 1803, “I cannot attempt to describe the mountains. I can only say that I thought those on our right—for the other side was only a continued high ridge or craggy barrier, broken along the top into petty spiral forms—were the grandest I had ever seen. It seldom happens that mountains in a very clear air look exceedingly high, but these, though we could see the whole of them to their very summits, appeared to me more majestic in their own nakedness than our imaginations could have conceived them to be, had they been half hidden by clouds, yet showing some of their highest pinnacles. They were such forms as Milton might be supposed to have had in his mind when he applied to Satan that sublime expression— ‘His stature reached the sky.’”
Other mountains in Glen Coe
Of course, there is far more to Glen Coe than a single view, spectacular though it is, and the three sisters are only part of a large and complex mountain massif which culminates in the summit of Bidean nam Bian. And even this mountain maze is only the southern side of Glen Coe, the northern side rises in an equally fearsome sweep of rugged terrain to the spires and pinnacles of the Aonach Eagach: the notched ridge.
This is the landscape of the sublime, and it still has the power to excite the emotions to this day. Glen Coe is a fabulous manifestation of the classical meaning of the sublime where the strongest of emotions, such as fear, in this case, whilst contemplating the great cliffs of the three sisters, could be inherently pleasurable when viewed or imagined from a place of safety, or a sizeable and reassuringly flat car park in this instance. Although no stranger to the theatrical reveal on reaching the view of the three sisters whilst descending Glen Coe, I still feel a frisson of excitement on every visit.
Then again, it might be the poetic nature of the place which makes this mountain so worthy of attention. Legend has it that the Celtic bard Ossian, Scotland’s answer to Homer, was born in Glen Coe, perhaps under the shadow of the dark cliffs of Aonach Dubh where the arrow slit recess of Ossian’s cave is to be found.
This is the landscape of the sublime, and it still has the power to excite the emotions to this day. Glen Coe is a fabulous manifestation of the classical meaning of the sublime where the strongest of emotions, such as fear, in this case, whilst contemplating the great cliffs of the three sisters, could be inherently pleasurable when viewed or imagined from a place of safety, or a sizeable and reassuringly flat car park in this instance.
Now before I disappear down the rabbit hole of myths, legends and assorted cliches, I know that Ossian was the fantastical creation of the Scottish poet James Macpherson in the 18th century, but his stories were inspired by genuine Scottish ballads from the oral storytelling tradition which was central to the culture of the highlands during the 14th and 15th centuries. It is not difficult to imagine generations of Celtic bards living in and around Glen Coe, spinning tales of epic deeds inspired by the surrounding landscape. Then there are the artistic visionaries who have come here to paint, such as one Horatio McCulloch in the19th century for whom Glen Coe was the very essence of high Victorian romanticism. His paintings of swirling mists and rocky peaks dappled with transient light remain to this day an irresistible template for artists and photographers alike.
The weight of history hangs heavy over Glen Coe, and that’s before any reference to the infamous massacre in 1692, but this is a landscape that transcends the cultural shackles of its past. Once away from the road, the viewpoint, the cairns and memorials, there is a rich and fascinating mountain landscape to explore, and it is this landscape that is the subject of our guidebook.
The aesthetics and style of the walking guide
How to translate all this into the simple form of a pocket guidebook needed a good deal of thought. As with all major projects, I wrote a reasonably detailed brief to clarify the aims and objectives of the publication, which included questions such as, who is it for? (walkers and hill walkers looking for a more in depth guide with varied walks from a casual stroll to an adventurous ascent), what information to include? (maps, drawings and text), what geographical boundaries would we use? (the Bidean massif) Is it for walkers, scramblers, or climbers? (primarily walkers, with some easy scrambles) and many other points to help keep the focus on what we felt was relevant. It was also important to make our book unique, both in its aesthetic and with the information it contained. This would be a comprehensive study of the mountain massif with detailed depictions of the varied routes using both written and visual aids. It was also vital to provide inspiration as to why you might wish to walk a particular route, and the photography was invaluable for this.
This would be a comprehensive study of the mountain massif with detailed depictions of the varied routes using both written and visual aids. It was also vital to provide inspiration as to why you might wish to walk a particular route, and the photography was invaluable for this.
I had initially planned to use film as much as possible to keep with the classic 1950s feel, but as the project went on, I found a digital workflow much more straightforward, as it cut out the time loss of having to wait for the film to be processed and scanned. In this guidebook, the photographs were frequently needed to illustrate the accompanying text. To keep my pack weight down to reasonable levels and to help my ageing knees, I used an elderly Hasselblad film camera and/or an equally elderly Canon digital camera. Processing was kept to the bare minimum, just a conversion to black and white in the case of the digital images so as to let the landscape, not my interpretation of it dominate.
The maps and route illustrations were all drawn by hand over several months, again to keep with the classic old school guidebook theme and were a joy to produce. They give the publication an individuality as well as being vital in clarifying any route finding difficulties, plus they complement the black and white photographs very well. Each illustration was hand drawn whilst out on the hill, then the final rendering was done back at my studio. That way I could keep the dynamic of a sketch from life whilst also being able to produce the accuracy required to keep the topographical details correct.
That all sounds well and good in theory, but how would it work in practice? The next article will give some insight into the methods and challenges encountered during the eighteen months of work to produce our walking guide to Bidean nam Bian in Glen Coe.
Kickstarter Campaign
Walking in Glencoe Guide - Bidean nam Bian
In order to get the book started, we looked at raising enough money to print a pilot project which we could distribute in various outlets and assess the demand for the a longer print run. This first Kickstarter campaign will support the digital printing of 500 books and, if successful, will help us decide whether to extend the print run on a full litho printing press. There are a few different rewards available but the main reward will be an early copy of what we think will become a classic series of walking books.
I felt I had bitten off more than I could chew, thrashing around the mountains of Snowdonia gathering images for my very first book, experiencing emotional highs and devastating lows, yet elated, and it was during that time I first heard the name, Joe Cornish. Mine was a collaboration with the National Trust for Wales, and, if my memory serves me, Joe had been commissioned to photograph National Trust properties for a special project of theirs. That was way back in the early 90’s and I was as green as they come.
So I did some research and tracked down his work, all pre-Google, of course, and I realised then how much I needed to up my game. Years later, and his many books that adorn my bookshelves are a go to whenever I need some inspiration and motivation. So, with all Joe Cornish’s images to hand, trying to narrow it down to just the one for this article was a huge task in itself.
None would argue that Joe is up there among the best landscape photographers in the UK, and perhaps the only one to have a rock named after him! I think we have all probably just ‘dropped by’ one of his more famous locations to see what we could make of it, but of course, the result is never quite the same. Joe has his own style of combining the elements: season, time, light and subject; and his own way then of aligning them to produce an image of outstanding quality. I imagine, however, that pressing the shutter is just the final act following months of location slogging, ephemeris plotting, weather watching, and an ankle-turning pre-dawn yomp! It’s an enviable skill, but one honed by years of dedication and fieldwork out there in the wilds.
He's a landscape all-rounder, as capable of producing an intimate abstract as he is of gathering in the huge scenics. Mostly, he favours a dramatic foreground, well-lit with glancing side light, say, together with some epic backdrop, the whole working together on a level to which the rest of us can only aspire. Sometimes he will reverse the combination; a cool, shaded foreground, perhaps even frosted, with a bright, warm, sunlit backdrop. Some images are full and bursting with colour, while others are sparse and minimalist with a more subdued colour palette. And these, I should declare, are my favourites.
Man is condemned to be free. Condemned, because he did not create himself, yet is nevertheless at liberty, and from the moment that he is thrown into the world he is responsible for everything else he does.~ Jean-Paul Sartre
One might expect that the philosophy of Søren Kierkegaard (a devout Christian) and the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche (famous for asserting that God is dead) will have little in common. In fact, these philosophers shared some important ideas about how one should strive to live. Both believed that the key to meaningful living is for individuals to shape their own lives and to choose their own values, not just submit willingly to external influences.
The one idea uniting all existentialist thinkers is the importance of individualism—not in a glorified or romanticised way, but as the burdensome freedom to make, to live by, and sometimes to suffer the dire consequences of personal choices.
Both are considered today to have been the precursors of a philosophical movement known as existentialism.
Indeed, the fact that Kierkegaard and Nietzsche are both considered existentialist thinkers despite being at deep odds about such things as religious belief should not be surprising. Existentialist thinkers have often disagreed on important matters, and some were openly hostile to each other. The one idea uniting all existentialist thinkers is the importance of individualism—not in a glorified or romanticised way, but as the burdensome freedom to make, to live by, and sometimes to suffer the dire consequences of personal choices. In existentialist writing, as philosopher Walter Kaufmann put it, “Individuality is not retouched, idealised, or holy; it is wretched and revolting, and yet, for all its misery, the highest good.”
Only When I Dream is a group exhibition curated by Beth Taubner and Andrew Coningsby, opening August 30, 2022, at the Coningsby Gallery in Fitzrovia, London.
The exhibition is comprised of fine art photographs, original illustrations and one video and sound installation. Artists exhibiting include renowned fine art photographers Morag Paterson, Ted Leeming, Claire Rosen, Gina Glover, photographer and deep ecologist Carol Sharp, along with esteemed illustrators Sam Falconer and Martin O’Neill. Only When I Dream will stimulate the viewer as we ask them to go on a multiplicity of journeys with us.
Ted Leeming And Morag Paterson
Morag Paterson
The exhibition is about memories and dreams, real or fabricated. The Celtic poet, theologian, and philosopher John O'Donohue spoke about “the invisible world” that is constantly intertwining what we are able to know and see. O’Donohue said that a dream is a sophisticated, imaginative text full of figures and drama that we send to ourselves. These concepts are explored through the multi-dimensional language and visual landscape of Only When I Dream.
Dreaming can involve moments that crystallize yearnings, ethereal and romantic. They can be stories that we conjure tied to memories from the past, or the imagined past, therefore nostalgic and informed by memory or longings. We might experience highly sensory and visual waking or sleeping dreams where the mind and imagination travel to distant lands or just next door. Our dreams might conjure untamed places in the physical world we have been to and long to experience again. Focusing on the landscape as a vehicle for these ideas emerged during the curatorial process.
Gina Glover
Carol Sharp
Timing is everything, and gallery owner Andrew Coningsby and Beth were in agreement that this was the right time to present work that would allow viewers to lift out of the lingering pandemic and travel into other states of mind. We came to understand that each participating artist explored their own deep relationship to the natural world, underpinned by different concerns.
Exhibition Details
Only When I Dream Exhibition, 30 August - 10 September 2022, Coningsby Gallery, 30 Tottenham Street, London, W1T 4RJ
It’s not unusual to get to the point in a career where you realise that you are spending less time doing what you love. In Mário’s case, it prompted him to switch careers from biology to photography, and this allows him to spend longer outdoors in nature. His enthusiasm for what he is now doing is obvious, and his background undoubtedly helps him interpret and contextualize his observations.
His experience of dramatic scenery in other countries has prompted him to search out comparable landscapes in Portugal, and he shares the practicalities and the perspective he has gained from his experiences. We talk too about the contrast between mountains and woodland and what he gains from each.
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 always connected to nature, although the environment was very distinct from what I am mostly attracted to photographing nowadays. I grew up by the coast, in a town called Póvoa de Varzim in the North of Portugal. Going to the beach was, and still is, something I do very often.
I was always connected to nature, although the environment was very distinct from what I am mostly attracted to photographing nowadays. I grew up by the coast, in a town called Póvoa de Varzim in the North of Portugal.
My interest in the natural world began at the beach. Snorkelling and looking for fish was simply amazing, and I could spend hours and hours just observing and contemplating nature. Later on, this led me to my academic career, where I completed a PhD in Biology studying fish behaviour. However, as many people in the field of biology experience, the more you progress in your career, the less time you spend in the field and the more time you spend at the office. This was not something unexpected, but I never thought I would feel so caged.
After my PhD, in late 2017, I decided to abandon my career and dedicate my life to nature photography. After deciding to marry my wife and have our beautiful daughter, this decision was the next best thing I did in my life; what a relief I felt! Now I spend more time in nature but don’t be fooled, a professional photographer working alone can't always be out photographing and having fun. A lot of work has to be done at the office if you want to make a living out of it, especially in the beginning. So nowadays, I am a full time nature photographer who, besides loving the art and craft of being out creating photographs, also loves teaching photography on my residential workshops/expeditions or through online courses.
Living almost on the shores of Loch Ness for the past six years has allowed me easy and constant access to the water. I wasn't travelling as much as I do now in the first few years of living here, so I decided to photograph the Loch every single day for one year. It pushed me to find locations, notice weather patterns, and produce imagery that I may not have done otherwise.
Loch Ness is one of the largest lochs in Scotland, and mostly, it is windy and often grey. But when conditions are good, there is no better place. Early mornings in the winter are generally when I find these incredible pockets of peace. The water is still and glassy, everyone else is sleeping, the mist of low before the wind picks up, and the sounds of nature are all you can hear. I have watched weather forecasts for many years and noticed patterns. If I can see a possible window of opportunity the following day. I will pack all my gear and get ready for an early start. Depending on sunrise, I can be out by 5 am and my day is done by 9 am.
The year project just continued past its end date. I stopped going out every single day as I found I was forcing myself out in conditions that just weren't right. It was time-consuming and not very helpful photographically. Instead, I have continued to photograph the Loch only during the moments that I find beautiful and peaceful.
I have wanted to make a book of these images for many years. In 2018 I sat down and grouped my images into chapters and came up with chapter names and a book name: Still Waters. I printed out possible images for each chapter using a cheap printer that returned a large bundle of 6x8 images. These were laid out all over my floor, and I began work on image selection.
Five years ago, I told myself the story that I was a photographer, and I couldn't write. But I have always thought that words and images work together to create a deeper understanding of any art form.
Five years ago, I told myself the story that I was a photographer, and I couldn't write. But I have always thought that words and images work together to create a deeper understanding of any art form. It was during working towards an exhibition at the Bosham Gallery in 2019 and a deeper exploration of the meaning behind my work that I really learned that I could write. We should never put ourselves in boxes.
But back in 2017/18, I decided to ask for help from one of my dearest friends. Chloe, who went to Art college with me in Manchester. We also found we both loved the sea and quiet places, and over time, I felt she knew me best. Chloe was always a powerful writer and has since become a published author. I asked her to write the intro to the book.
There is a general idea that you need someone well-known to write your intro if your book is going to be any good. I felt that I needed someone who knew me really well.
Chloe wrote a beautiful intro, chapters, and words to match the images. This book is unusual in that two artists, not just one, create it.
I then asked my designer friend David McCreight if he could put it together for me. The design was beautiful, and I was happy. So the question is, why did I take four years to print this book?
I then asked my designer friend David McCreight if he could put it together for me. The design was beautiful, and I was happy. So the question is, why did I take four years to print this book?
At the end of 2018, Suddenly, life got busy. I started my new landscape workshop business and was already busy running my social photography business. I had spent some time figuring out how to make this book work. What sort of printing, what size, what would the cost be? I had approached a local printing company and went through paper choices and book types but felt swamped with options, and the price just didn't make it commercially viable. I researched sponsorship and funding options and spent a long time just trying to figure out how on earth anyone didn't just make a significant loss on books. I approach my landscape photography from a very business viewpoint. My livelihood depends on it, and I didn't have spare funds to finance the book at this time. So it had to be profitable. With no answers to my questions, I ended up just putting the project away on the shelf. It stayed there for many years.
In 2019 I had a solo exhibition at the Bosham Gallery, and the gallery produced a small book of my images and words about the works. This process was pivotal in my career as I learned how to write. It deepened my understanding of my work and made me see the value of vocalising the images' meaning. I battled through the writing slowly and steadily, guided at all times by Luke Whittaker, the gallery owner. He taught me how to articulate my thoughts and express them through the exhibition's writing. After the exhibition, I had several books leftover and continue to sell them online. They are simple but a beautiful representation of my Hebridean seascapes, and I am incredibly proud of this book.
Fast forward 4 years, and I was sitting on a rock in Harris looking through one of Sean Tuckers Collection of images books. It struck me that the concept was similar to my quiet book. The same simple production fitted into my camera back, which I had taken down to the beach with me. We are often drawn down paths because that is how things are supposed to be done. That is how a photographic book should be; A large hardback coffee table book, with many pages, a more expensive and polished affair.
Fast forward 4 years, and I was sitting on a rock in Harris looking through one of Sean Tuckers Collection of images books. It struck me that the concept was similar to my quiet book. The same simple production fitted into my camera back, which I had taken down to the beach with me. We are often drawn down paths because that is how things are supposed to be done.
And absolutely, those styles of books are extremely beautiful and well produced. But I felt that maybe that style wasn't for me. And maybe I liked the simple approach, affordable, easy to produce, and accessible to many. And perhaps if I took that path, this loch ness book would finally see the light of day.
I recalled watching a video by Sean Tucker on creating zines, and a few days later revisited it and was led to ExWhyZed printing. I watched all their videos and reached out to them. What if I could match the size of the Quiet book I already stocked to eventually produce a whole series of books that matched in style. I have been working on a new idea for some while, along the lines of writing my thoughts next to images of the Hebrides. So maybe I can simply get the Loch Ness into print to prove the quality and method first.
By the end of my week on the Hebrides, I had decided on paper, finish, size and design. I adapted the original design to allow for new work of loch ness to be included, and the printers had been exceptionally responsive and helpful. It was a very easy experience. The price meant I would see a profit after selling 70 copies, and I felt pretty sure I could do that. I have a very engaged and lovely community that follows me, and I felt that would do as a start. So as long as I wasn't losing, it was a great exercise.
The final book has just been delivered, and I am delighted with the quality and feel. I also had forgotten how incredibly proud you feel when you see a physical product of your art.
During the winter of 1979, my friend Jim Keating and I skied the John Muir Trail from Mount Whitney to Yosemite Valley. The 211-mile-long trip took us 33 days. 11 days of storms kept us in the tent napping, reading, and catching glimpses of the falling snow out the tent door. Friends joined us for the start of the trip from Whitney Portal to a camp just below the steep climb to Trail Crest. Trail Crest at 13,777 feet is the high point of the Muir Trail. A foot and a half of snow fell when we got to camp, and we were forced to sit out the storm and eat part way through our 10-day food supply.
I snapped photos of the trip, starting with our departure from my Bay Area home. The camera was Dad’s Kodak Contina with a Zeiss lens. I was using Kodak Kodachrome 25 film. I used the distance scale on the camera to focus. My goal was to take photos as a way to journal the trip. I’d been influenced by a slide show Galen Rowell did at a nearby high school. Six to 10 of us watched Galen’s presentation. I had grandiose plans to make my living as a photographer which I was sure would happen after this momentous trip. I had admired Ansel Adams photography. The perimeter walls at the Yosemite Lodge Dining Room restaurant had probably sixty Adams photos. Back in my high school days, I could admire these while waiting for an ice-cream sundae. As a teenager, I spent most of my waking consciousness thinking about rock climbing. But Adams’ photos affected me in a different way than climbing. Climbing was all about feeling personal accomplishment. The photos made me aware of the representation of the scene and the object, the photo itself.
The storm ended, and Jim and I were forced to confront post holing knee-deep steps to the crest of the Sierra, which we did. At the top of the crest, the wind had scoured a spot where we could put on our skis and head down and into the winter landscape of the Sierra. At Crabtree creek, we stopped to make camp. We had our camp set up routine memorized from shake down trips we had taken that winter to get ready for the Muir Trail. This was our first day deeper into the Sierra, and our day-to-day routine became our day-to-day life. The next day we turned north, paralleling the headwaters of the Kern River.
After a cold morning start of coffee, warm granola, and cold boots, we skied along a gentle upward grade over the Bighorn Plateau. The crest of the Sierra sat on our right shoulder. Off to our left, the peaks of the Great Western Divide, Milestone, Midway, Table, and Thunder etched themselves into the western horizon. An endless series of ridges dropped from the crest and divide into the trench of the Kern River. This was the first time I felt that I was inside the High Sierra. Inside a place where lake basins and peaks and streams were there to discover and explore. Not as someone who wanted to conquer a climb or capture with a photo. But as someone who wanted to know what a place was about.
We were in a steady low angled climb headed north toward Foresters Pass on the Kings-Kern Divide. My breathing and the black TRUCKER ski graphic on the front of my skis were my meditation as I was pulled toward the rhombus shape of Diamond Mesa.
I snapped photos of the view, of Jim skiing, giving no thought to lighting or composition. My only thought was to document our progress. We stopped for lunch in the rolling terrain below Foresters Pass. A wind was picking up from the west signalling an approaching storm. As we looked up the south side of the pass, we could see that we would be able to keep our skis on for a while, but the point would come when we would have to boot-kick steps toward the top of the pass. The top of the pass did not look good; the final section had a cornice overhanging the only route to the top. The snow slope below the cornice steepened into a vertical wall. We tightened the rope climbers on our skis and did kick turns until it was too steep to keep skis on. We took our skis off and strapped them to our packs. We didn’t have a rope or crampons or ice axes. We stopped under a rock overhang about one hundred feet below the top of the pass. We thought it better to go one at a time up the headwall in case someone fell. I tried to erase the thought of Jim somersaulting down the rock-hard snow.
We didn’t have a rope or crampons or ice axes. We stopped under a rock overhang about one hundred feet below the top of the pass. We thought it better to go one at a time up the headwall in case someone fell. I tried to erase the thought of Jim somersaulting down the rock-hard snow.
Jim went first, a ski pole in each hand turned upside down so he could stab the handles of the poles into the snow. This didn’t work, and at times, all Jim could manage were thin slices into the snow. I watched Jim move steadily and with deliberation. He eventually made the last moves up and out of sight over the top. As Jim disappeared, I forced myself into a tunnel vision of what I needed to do next. I was very afraid of the prospect of a serious fall. The only thing I could do was to move and not hesitate or waver once I started climbing. I had to trust, not accept, the holds as they were. There was no looking to Jim for help or encouragement. There was no edging out over the cornice to watch my progress or demise. I cinched down my pack and headed up. The wall threatened to pitch me backwards. It was imperative to stay balanced over my feet. Trying to stab in my ski poles was a dangerous move that could easily throw me off balance. I had to look and precisely place my feet where Jim had left impressions in the snow. The start and end of my world were a six-foot circle in front of my face. I didn’t let the thought of the wall getting steeper at the top divert my attention. At the final pitch to the top, my mind swirled, knowing I was close to safety, pitching backwards could kill me. I concentrated on the next moves I needed to make. Then I was looking over the top. There were no good holds, only smooth, wind hardened snow at the summit tabletop. Jim was there but needed to stay just out of reach. In a move, I heaved the top half of my body onto the deck of the summit, knowing my feet would lose purchase. I squirmed for inches until I was safe off the north side of the pass. I didn’t turn back to look at the view. Getting down to additional relief was not a given.
A grey bank of clouds and a strong western wind stung us with snow pellets. We put on storm gear and found a spot just down from the pass to clip into our Troll three-pin ski bindings. We pushed off into the Bubbs creek drainage. At the tree line, we stopped at a spot far from any avalanche path and stomped in a tent platform, and burrowed into our sleeping bags as the snow started to fall at a steady rate. Soon enough, snow was hissing off the rain fly and building up the sides of the tent.
The trip up and over Foresters and the relief of making camp before the storm exhausted me. The storm pinned us down, but I welcomed not having to think about getting up in the morning, packing gear, and pushing off. But we were going through the food. We calculated that we had two days of food left. Our cache at Bullfrog Lake was a long day away.
The trip up and over Foresters and the relief of making camp before the storm exhausted me. The storm pinned us down, but I welcomed not having to think about getting up in the morning, packing gear, and pushing off. But we were going through the food. We calculated that we had two days of food left. Our cache at Bullfrog Lake was a long day away. The storm lasted three days. On the third morning, the air was cold, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Three feet of snow had fallen so we would be breaking trail down Bubbs creek and then twenty five hundred feet up to the food cache. My only hope for mental survival was to embrace the monotony of trail breaking for hours on end.
We marched through the day anticipating the goodies in the food cache. We’d stashed the food under a prominent and easily identifiable boulder near Bullfrog Lake. When we pulled up onto the lake, we could see the boulder and hurried over to our treasure. We easily dug down to the boulders covering our plastic encased food. Shreds of plastic started to appear as we dug our way to the mangled remains of what was supposed to be a food orgy. We were stunned at our stupidity. We sorted through what was left of the food. At this point in the trip, we were 10 miles from the Kearsarge pass trailhead and another day into the Owens Valley. A moment of reckoning was upon us: stay and make camp or bail out just as the trip was getting real. At this moment, Jim and I figured out that we had ten days worth of food. We’d have to cook pancakes for lunch at some point, but at least the robber rodents didn’t drink our stove fuel. So that was it. On we would go. We didn’t think about how to give up. We thought about how to keep going. This same type of situation arrives many times in the course of an adventurer’s life. At times the hardest thing to do is stop and turn around and call it a day. There are times when the signals all point to a disaster in the making. There are the times when the decision to stay or go isn’t clear but what’s the worst that could happen is a prudent thought. These considerations were not something that I had a lot of experience with at the time of the Muir Trail. In a very direct way the decision to continue was my presentation of the dragon to be slain. The thought of the ease of bailing out was replaced with knowing that skiing out would have been quitting on myself. I would not find out what it was like to ski the Muir Trail. It would be easy to find a way to distraction or move on to a mental comfort zone after ending the trip. The decision to continue the Muir Trail gave me a campaign medal and an experience that set my life course.
A wedge of Parmesan cheese and a couple of M and Ms provided additional but limited encouragement.
On we went toward Glen Pass. The sun angle was high enough that the snow on the south side of the pass had consolidated. At the top of the pass, a long north side descent across a bowl of snow led into Rae Lakes. We tied on avalanche cords. 75 feet of nylon cord with small metal arrows that were meant to lead to an avalanche buried a skier. The cord, according to the how-to pamphlet, would float on top of a running avalanche. A long traversing ski brought us onto the flats of the chain of lakes. The snow was deep, and we needed to link two ski poles, attach a water bottle and lower this down to open and running water. A technique we figured out on our pre-course skis. Long mellow touring led us through open stands of pine. The peaks had changed from craggy granite to colourful metamorphic formations. Side creeks of the Kings River crashed through stream boulders. At times the slope we traversed was a continuous flow to the river. The thought of sliding into the turbulence got me to concentrate on the grip of my ski edges. The days were long enough that I could soak in some warmth.
On we went toward Glen Pass. The sun angle was high enough that the snow on the south side of the pass had consolidated. At the top of the pass, a long north side descent across a bowl of snow led into Rae Lakes.
At Marjorie Lake, we made a planned early stop. We’d brought along psychedelic mushrooms to see if getting further into the Sierra was possible. We brewed tea and took the recommended dose, and stood on our ensolite pads. Soon enough, we were able to yell and get wind swirls to drop down the peaks across the lake. We amazed ourselves for hours.
The sun arced to the west, and the cold evening breeze pushed us into the tent.
Parts of the following days were warm to the point where a jacket wasn’t needed at a rest stop. Crossing Pinchot Pass into Upper Basin and the headwaters of the south fork of the Kings River, I got more of a sense of the geography of the High Sierra. Over that pass, there was Lakes Basin, and just over that ridge was Window Peak, and that big flat spot is Arrow Lake. To our right, Split mountain marked the south end of the Palisades. Reading the map, my mind extended beyond the Muir Trail into the complex of the mountains.
For some unknown reason, we decided to put klister kick wax on our skis in Upper Basin. It wasn’t like our rope climbers weren’t working. These were lengths of knotted nylon rope that we threaded or skis through, with the knots ending up on the bottom side of the ski. The knots gripped like tank treads. The rope cost a dollar and fifty cents at Sonora Hardware. Maybe the decision to put wax on was that we’d brought along a pot full of hard wax and klister. We broke out the stove and heated the toothpaste like tube until we could squirt blobs onto the bottoms of our skis. The wax was supposed to be smoothed out, but we achieved a bumpy, inconsistent mess. The wax did grip well, however. We marched toward the V shaped Mather Pass. We were constantly hungry at this point, and the thought of getting to our food cache at Blaney Meadows was haunting our thoughts. Switch backing up Mather Pass proved to be a straightforward series of kick turns. At the top a slight north breeze was blowing. From the top of the pass, mountains swept out like arms from the body of the north facing snow bowl below us. The right arm bent at the elbow and stretched to form the fingers of the Palisades. The left arm bent around the Palisade Lakes. Snow plastered the wall of Middle Palisade. A sheet of cold powder snow blanketed the northern bowl below us. The klister sticking to the bottoms of our skis was going to glue cold snow to the bottoms of our skis. We sacrificed a shred of clothing and stove fuel to clean the klister off the skis. The cleaning was worth it. A run through silky smooth powder-snow took us to camp on Palisades lakes.
I took a picture, a vertical, of Jim making elegant turns down Mather. This photo, along with a few others, distilled my experience of the Muir trail. After the trip it was fun to do slide shows for friends. Our photos telling the tale. But it was only a handful of photos, mostly the grand landscape, that were important to me and set the course of my photography. Early on in my photography, I would only use a large-format-camera.
The next day we traversed down Palisade creek toward Le Conte Canyon. The snow on the south facing side hill was hard, steep and a fall would have serious consequences. At one point, as I was edging hard, my sunglasses fell off and started to skitter away. This was a disaster in the making. Lucky for me, they stopped on a button of snow. I carefully side slipped to the retrieve. At the bottom of the creek at the confluence with the Middle Fork of the Kings River the trail turned right and north into the 5,000-foot vertical relief of the canyon granite walls. We made pancakes at the turn. Gray clouds were moving in fast from the west, signalling another storm. After pancakes, we hastened to make as much distance up the canyon as we could. The thought of breaking trail for 4,000-vertical-feet kept us moving until evening. By this time, snow was coming down hard and the threat of avalanches was on our mind. The thought became reality as we heard the roar of an avalanche echoing in the canyon. We stomped down a tent spot and surmised that being uphill and across the river from the granite slopes of Langille Peak were enough to keep us safe. There wasn’t much of a choice of where to find a safe camp. The canyon walls formed a perfect funnel for avalanches. We were at the bottom of the funnel.
We stomped down a tent spot and surmised that being uphill and across the river from the granite slopes of Langille Peak were enough to keep us safe. There wasn’t much of a choice of where to find a safe camp. The canyon walls formed a perfect funnel for avalanches. We were at the bottom of the funnel.
During the night, we would wake up and hold our breath as avalanches roared down the canyon walls.
In the morning, just as it was getting light, I asked Jim for a weather check. He unzipped the tent door a bit and said it was still snowing. As I was slipping back to sleep, a huge roar came barreling toward us. We could hear tree limbs snapping off as an avalanche thundered uphill toward our tent. Snow hit the tent and encased us in a white and yellow tomb. We carefully unzipped the tent and brushed the snow away from the entrance. We made our way out into the still snowing daylight. We pulled the crushed tent out of the debris. We are at the very end of the avalanche. One hundred feet toward the river, and we may not have emerged. As the snow was sure to keep piling up, we skied back down to the ranger cabin we had passed and broke into comfort and safety. A day later, the snow ended, and we broke trail to Muir pass and the stone hut at the top of the pass. It was cold inside, but we were out of the wind, and we could sleep on the frigid benches inside. The massive Wanda Lake and the curving Evolution Valley swept down the San Joaquin River headwaters. We had a day and a half of food left. The high peaks of the crest didn’t crowd in on the valley, and I no longer felt hemmed in or that I was skiing in what could be a dangerous place. We were descending to the south fork of the San Joaquin and making another turn north to reach Blaney Meadows and our food cache. At the low elevations along the river, we found exposed sun-warmed granite boulders. It felt luxurious to take our boots off and warm our feet on the granite. The warmth made me realise that I’d been cold for two weeks.
We eventually skied into a grove of aspens. Many of the tree trunks were carved with old sheepherder porn from the turn of the century and more modern petroglyphs. I would have thought more about the human need to imprint the earth with our passing, but we had a bouillon cube and a tea bag left for food. At the Diamond D dude ranch, our food was intact in the 55-gallon drum where it was stored. We ate until it hurt. There is a hot springs at the ranch, and we luxuriated in the hot water, washed our clothes, and waterproofed our boots.
At Silver Pass we could see the Minarets, Mount Ritter, and Banner Peak. The peaks and place where I made one of my first backpack trips as a teenager. We camped a short way down the north side of the pass. A strong morning wind in a cloudless sky flattened the tent and seemed to want to break the tent poles.
The stay at the Diamond D recharged our bodies. The characteristics of low elevation forest and open streams put a mellower tone on the travel. For a time, there was no high elevation passes to cross only tree branches to avoid. We started to see imprints of the trail in the settling snow. Five to six foot pinwheels of snow rolled down the Vermillion Cliffs. At Silver Pass we could see the Minarets, Mount Ritter, and Banner Peak. The peaks and place where I made one of my first backpack trips as a teenager. We camped a short way down the north side of the pass. A strong morning wind in a cloudless sky flattened the tent and seemed to want to break the tent poles. We stuffed our belongings, making sure nothing blew away, and high tailed it to down to the shelter of Tully Hole on the Fish Creek fork of the San Joaquin River. Another storm settled in as we made it to a Purple Lake. Lucky, we found a sheltered spot to make camp. We were less than a day to our next food cache at Reds Meadow, and I could relax, read, and revel in the stormy weather. I got out of the tent during the storm to ski around in the soft snowfall light. The world of white snow, brilliant sunlight, and sharp shadows was tempered into a lower contrast and muted contrast. This was the first time that this type of lighting got me to see how a subject changed with the light. The window of my response to the world opened.
We continued onto Reds Meadow, where our food was in an upside down trash dumpster. We dug down to our food, and set up the tent next to the nearby hot springs. No one was there. No ski tracks. No snowmobile tracks. Just over the hill was the town of Mammoth Lakes. Still in the stages of being a funky unplanned resort where someone could live in a Teepee, do summer of construction work, scarf food from dumpsters, ski all winter, and be homeless when that was something cool.
We camped at Thousand Island Lake and had a gentle ski to Donahue Pass. Standing on top of Donahue, the long, gently curving Lyell Canyon flowed west to Tuolumne Meadows.
In this familiar territory, we skied along San Joaquin Ridge with the Minarets and Lyell Range to gauge our progress. The snow on the dark rock of the peaks etched every detail in this scene. We camped at Thousand Island Lake and had a gentle ski to Donahue Pass. Standing on top of Donahue, the long, gently curving Lyell Canyon flowed west to Tuolumne Meadows. The Meadows, as they were known, had become my physical and spiritual home. I’d spent the past three summers rock climbing there with Tom, Alan, Vern, Nick, and Bruce. For me, every part of being in Tuolumne was perfect. There was the carefree life of rock-climbing on the most beautiful granite. Walls of golden glacial polish, and streaks of dark feldspar crystals made the climbing varied and intricate. Climbing puzzles to solve. The parking lot at the Grill served as a natural gathering post for the climbing denizens. Early morning sun and the last rays of the setting sun blessed climber’s battered vehicles. I drank endless cups of coffee in the Tuolumne Grill and rewarded myself with a cheeseburger after a day on the crags.
This was a life I would enjoy until the mid-1980s.
We made it to the park service Visitor Center turned winter shelter as the sun was setting. There was no one there. The next day Jim and I ate the remainder of the psychedelic mushrooms and did pack-free runs down Lembert dome. The skiing felt fast and free. The snow was staying on top of spring melt-freeze corn-snow. Back at the Visitor Center, a group had joined us. When they asked where we had come from, we laughed when we said, Mount Whitney. It felt weird to hear our voices conversing with other people. Talking about the trip made me feel the Muir Trail was the world for me and that the other stuff, day-to-day life, the oil embargo, and the coming of Ronald Reagan were a separate reality.
We skied through the Cathedral Range the next day. Traversing past Cathedral Peak, the peak where John Muir felt he was attending church, and I had climbed at least once a year since I was sixteen, the feeling that this adventure was about to end and what I was going to do in the short term crowded into my thoughts.
We camped one last night and the next day hiked down the Mist Trail to Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley.
The trip was over, but my range of life had just begun.
Extending for about 900 hectares, the pinewood of Classe (RA) is directly mentioned in Dante’s Divine Comedy (Purgatorio XXVIII, v20). The poet himself – who spent the last 19 years of his life in exile, dying in 1321 in the near city of Ravenna – is believed to have wandered into this forest. Despite the modifications that occurred in the area over the centuries, this remains one of the very few settings, among those mentioned by Dante, in which we are still given the opportunity to experience the original sense of the place as preserved in the poem.
The project originated as an attempt to create an evocative series of images which could guide the viewer along the paths of light unfolding within this dense and ancient forest (see more images on Pio's website). Since I did not want my photographs to be mere illustrations of those verses describing this wood, I instead focused on the journey that both Dante and the reader had already undertaken before reaching the Earthly Paradise. In fact, these verses of Purgatorio XXVIII are almost impossible to read without our mind immediately recalling the dark wood of Inferno, the other forest in which Dante finds himself at the very beginning of his journey. On the contrary, such inevitable comparison is the key element through which the intensity of light can now become so vividly depicted. Likewise, the series develops as a crescendo of light, slowly penetrating the forest to reveal its inner paths.
I remember feeling the need for a very rigorous visual approach that could at least mitigate the risk of otherwise being devoured by the inconceivable vastness of the subjects unfolding before me everywhere I could turn. I, therefore, soon decided to shoot the entire project on a 50mm equivalent lens, looking for those scenes in which the monumentality of this unique landscape could become more evident. Since I wanted the viewer to be able to move their eyes on the entire surface of each image, I always tried to focus on the hyperfocal distance – usually at f/8 – thus preserving readability to its fullest, even in the finest details.
To my great surprise, this appears to be the first photographic project on the topic. If, on the one hand, I did remember about this forest from school, what really made me step into this pinewood for the first time was the – very – strong determination with which my wife, the painter Anna Evdokimova, insisted that we visited it during our stay in Ravenna, where we had been invited to arrange an exhibition for Camera Work, in 2018. Back then, she had just read about the pinewood of Classe in an essay by the famous Russian poet Ol’ga Aleksandrovna Sedakova, one of the greatest contemporary authors and among the finest and most relevant critics and translators of Dante’s work. Although on that occasion we managed to spend there a few hours only, neither of us could stop thinking about that landscape.
From the very beginning, I had the opportunity to share my initial thoughts as well as the first photographs with Ol’ga Sedakova. She herself had visited the pinewood long before we met, and I was very reassured by the way she felt about both the idea of my project and the first few “visual notes” I was able to show her.
Just days later, while on our way back to Genoa, we got in contact with Ol’ga Sedakova’s assistant, Margarita Krimmel, who let us know that the poet right at that time happened to be working on her new book – which, among other themes, also covered the relationship between Dante and Ravenna – and was actually looking for a photograph of the pinewood to be included in her new publication. I cannot tell but feel that, in many ways, my project had somehow originated way before I even realised I would shoot it.
From the very beginning, I had the opportunity to share my initial thoughts as well as the first photographs with Ol’ga Sedakova. She herself had visited the pinewood long before we met, and I was very reassured by the way she felt about both the idea of my project and the first few “visual notes” I was able to show her. Meeting her and her assistant was of the uttermost importance for my series to develop in the way it did. Funnily enough, not only did Ol’ga Sedakova write a superb essay for my book La Divina Foresta Spessa e Viva, but she also very kindly allowed one of the photographs from the final series to be featured in the endpapers of her new publication, Mudrost’ Nadezhdy i Drugie Razgovory O Dante, which came out shortly after mine.
A second essential contribution, which instead focuses on the evolution of the landscaping features of the pinewood, was written by the Italian professor Giorgio Lazzari, among the most prolific and well-respected researchers in the field providing the reader with a context to understand the traits of this ancient forest better.
A second essential contribution, which instead focuses on the evolution of the landscaping features of the pinewood, was written by the Italian professor Giorgio Lazzari, among the most prolific and well-respected researchers in the field providing the reader with a context to understand the traits of this ancient forest better.
Since Dante is supposed to have entered the Earthly Paradise in the early morning of a Spring day (either on the 30th of March or on the 13th of April, 1300), I needed to photograph the pinewood in a similar period of the year. For the same reason, I managed to have the book printed in March (in Florence, Dante’s hometown, by La Progressiva) and then published it in April 2021.
In the same year, the project became part of the official programme for the Seventh Centenary of Dante Alighieri’s Death, with the Municipality of Ravenna contributing to publishing the first edition of the book and hosting a 3-week solo exhibition.
1 Vago già di cercar dentro e dintorno
2 la divina foresta spessa e viva,
3 ch’a li occhi temperava il novo giorno,
[...]
19 tal qual di ramo in ramo si raccoglie
20 per la pineta in su ’l lito di Chiassi,
21 quand’ Ëolo scilocco fuor discioglie.
22 Già m’avean trasportato i lenti passi
23 dentro a la selva antica tanto, ch’io
24 non potea rivedere ond’ io mi ’ntrassi;
English (Mandelbaum)
1 Now keen to search within, to search around
2 that forest—dense, alive with green, divine—
3 which tempered the new day before my eyes,
[...]
19 just like the wind that sounds from branch to branch
20 along the shore of Classe, through the pines
21 when Aeolus has set Sirocco loose.
22 Now, though my steps were slow, I’d gone so far
23 into the ancient forest that I could
24 no longer see where I had made my entry;
English (Longfellow)
1 Eager already to search in and round
2 The heavenly forest, dense and living—green,
3 Which tempered to the eyes the new—born day,
[...]
19 Such as from branch to branch goes gathering on
20 Through the pine forest on the shore of Chiassi,
21 When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.
22 Already my slow steps had carried me
23 Into the ancient wood so far, that I
24 Could not perceive where I had entered it
Although he is not particularly well known in the UK, Craig Potton is pretty much a household name in New Zealand. His publishing company produces the most beautiful books and calendars with a focus on New Zealand’s wild places. I first came across his work when I borrowed one of his flagship titles from Wellington Library, having just moved to New Zealand in 2005.
It was called ‘Classic Walks of New Zealand’ and was a collection of intimately illustrated essay guides to nine famous backcountry ‘tramping’ routes (‘tramping’ being the term for multi-day hiking in New Zealand).
In this issue, we talk to photographic artist Gin Rimmington Jones about her striking portfolio of work that draws upon a deep personal connection to stones.
Gin has been drawn from the outset to working in series. She talks eloquently about why stones resonate for her and recur in her work. Onlookers may think in terms of subject, but for Gin, process and time are key considerations.
For Gin, the family’s camera was a precious thing, but the memory of it stayed with her and later on, she found a freedom with digital photography to follow her curiosity with the added benefit of instant feedback.
It’s easy to think that by not starting sooner or becoming more serious about our passion earlier on, we have missed out. What we rarely appreciate at the time is that we bring to our work both our early interests and our life experience, and it is enriched as a result. Photography allows us to both lose ourselves and find ourselves, and time is part of that process too.
Slipping Worlds, 4
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 study and do?
I grew up on a farm in a small village in SE England, so from an early age, I was aware of the rhythms and cycles of the natural world almost by osmosis. Being a tenant farmer and making a living from the land was very hard for my father, it was an uncertain, precarious existence. Each farming year success or failure balanced on the dictates of the unpredictable weather systems and the demands of commerce.
This undercurrent of tension threaded through my childhood, but on the surface, there was the joy of the outside world, which was my playground, where I learnt to respect the forces that shape the earth.
This undercurrent of tension threaded through my childhood, but on the surface, there was the joy of the outside world, which was my playground, where I learnt to respect the forces that shape the earth. My childhood was free and quite wild but very much anchored by my mother, who made sure we learnt about art, music and the classics as well as the flora and fauna that surrounded us. She was a wonderful storyteller and could bring to life Greek mythology for instance, which fascinated me and sparked my imagination.
I was into classical music and literature, reading widely outside the school curriculum, and I also played the piano and wrote poetry. I studied literature at university, but that didn’t work out, and after two years, I left to live in New York for a while.
Water hollows stone, wind scatters water, stone stops the wind. Water, wind, stone.
Wind carves stone, stone's a cup of water, water escapes and is wind. Stone, wind, water. Octavio Paz1
During the pandemic, it seems that many people – among them photographers - have discovered the nearby landscapes, or as João Ferrão2 wrote, "The pandemic has led everyone to explore the "backyards" of our lives, whether physical or metaphorical."
At the same time, many people are aware of the impact of climate change on our lives and on our planet Earth and try to facilitate both behavioural change and social engagement for the actions needed to reduce gas emissions and our ecological footprint. As a result, a growing number of people – among them photographers - have made the conscious decision to reduce their carbon footprints by avoiding air travel or flying less.
And no need to say that, as a consequence of the high number of existing conflicts and crisis situations in many places around the world with their consequences of enduring violence, struggles among communities and the growth of criminal violence, walking with a camera in some landscapes of the world, could be very dangerous.
The world is at a critical turning point, and travel could be any more – at least in the near future - an illuminating, life-enriching experience, as Joe Cornish wrote in his heartfelt and honest essay3.
This situation gives us the opportunity to be focused on the regional landscapes around where we live, exploring our physical backyards, although that can create new problems, such as restrictions or traffic congestion for visitors accessing the Nature Protected Areas,
The world is at a critical turning point, and travel could be any more – at least in the near future - an illuminating, life-enriching experience, as Joe Cornish wrote in his heartfelt and honest essay
overcrowding, problematic behaviour of new profile of visitors and conflicts among different user groups (cyclists against hikers, for example). Our culture, instead of solving the problems, just changes their location.
My local area
In a broad sense, the regional landscapes I usually explore are the landscapes of the German part of the Rhenish Massif, a massif which stretches from western Germany to Luxembourg and eastern Belgium and is drained centrally by the rivers Rhine and its tributaries Main and Moselle, between others.
The Rhenish Massif was formed approximately between 400 and 290 Ma during a period of large-scale crustal convergence, the collision of continental plates and subduction, known as Variscan orogeny, which there are still witnessed in Portugal, Spain, southwestern Ireland, England (Cornwall, Devon, Pembrokeshire), and in the Czech Republic and southwestern Poland.
These regional landscapes, an almost unbroken belt of forest, look, at first sight, like a featureless and eroded structure of plateaux with smooth, rounded peaks that hardly reach 900 m., cut by rivers and broken by deep narrow valleys.
To Plan or not to Plan, that is the Question
Many discussions and articles take place about that theme, and my conclusion is that it depends on every photographer and on the circumstances of every photographer...at every moment.
Reading topographic maps is my approach to the problem. For me, they are nowadays the best reading of the travel literature genre. I spread the map out on the table, and through the contour lines, I visualise the relief: mountains, valleys, slopes, rivers, lakes, ponds, the depths of the slops, the location of meadows and wetlands... At that very moment, photography becomes geography, and geography becomes photography, both sharing the same problem:
Thus we confront the central problem: any landscape is composed not only of what lies before our eyes but what lies within our heads.4
During these readings, instead of plans, what arise are the ideal landscapes and the ideal photos.
Some years ago, reading a map I saw the sinuous line of a river, on the south border of the Rhenish Massif, the Nahe river, a tributary of the Rhine. Between two meanders of the river the contour lines were drawn close together, very close, showing me that there it was steeper ground. Surely cliffs.
The Red Cliffs
The cliffs between the meanders of the Nahe river are the remains of a Rhyolite massif made up of intrusions and lava flows during a special active volcanic period after the Varizcan orogeny (290 - 260 Ma).
The valleys of the Nahe and its tributaries have been being formed since 2,6 million years ago as a result of the ground heaving of the surrounding mountains of Hunsrück and North Palatine Uplands. This led to strong erosion activities – as Paz wrote: Water hollows stone; Wind carves stone - and depending on the underground, narrow gorges with cliffy precipices arose in areas with hard volcanic rocks -as in the Red Cliffs - or wide gentle valleys with flood plains in areas with soft sedimentary deposits. The frequent change between both forms is charming along the Nahe river.
For four or five years, I've visited and walked around the cliffs - a wall of 1200m. long and 200 m. high – , bounded by a huge number of thermophile species which usually can only be found in the Mediterranean region. Being native to Mediterranean shores, I feel at home.
And every time I visit the cliffs, I remember the Octavio's Paz poem Wind, Water, Stone. The power of the words of the poem fascinated me. With a few verse lines, Paz shows us how the powers of nature sculpt, in an endless and constant play, the surface of our planet.
Doing the same with a few photos instead of words is my dream. But I know that's just a dream. Even with hundreds of photos, I couldn't.
My pictures are the endless attempts to capture the momentary and fragile beauty of these cliffs where some trees survive with an unstable balance over the crests and, in the evening, a pair of common kestrels fly with gentle and slow glides among the crags.
References
Octavio Paz. The Collected Poems of Octavio Paz, 1957-1987. Printed by permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
Sanatorium. On Landscape Issue 246. December 2021
A Question of Responsibility. On Landscape Issue 180. April 2019
Donald William Meinig. The Interpretation of Ordinary Landscapes: Geographical Essays. New York, 1979
Every landscape photographer and outdoor enthusiast has heard of the Grand Canyon in the United States and has probably seen countless images of it. It is widely known as the largest canyon in the world. But when you start asking people what the second largest canyon in the world is, it usually remains silent. Did you know that it is the Tara canyon in Montenegro, with a maximum depth of over 1300 metres? And can you name 5 other European canyons outside your own country (if you live in Europe)? I suspect not. And to be honest, a few years ago, I would not have been able to do this myself either.
Fresh green, spring in Bodetal, Germany
The unknown of European canyons was one of the main reasons for me to start a new book project on this subject a few years ago, besides my fascination for (the power of) flowing water, my interest in mountains, rocks and geology and my love for rough, unspoilt nature. But the unknown was the big trigger. Why are American canyons - not only the Grand Canyon but also, for example, Bryce Canyon, Antelope Canyon and many others - photographed to death, but do you rarely see a photo of a European canyon? Are there no canyons in Europe, or is it impossible to get there? Or are they just not that interesting and photogenic? Or are they just not on the radar of landscape photographers?
Meanwhile, my project is about halfway, and I would like to give an update.
We have all heard the advice before – “you really should specialise in some kind of photography if you want to stand out from the crowd.” Indeed, many of us in the nature and landscape photography space has taken that advice to heart, and some of us have even dove deeply into super-specialisation in night photography, coastal photography, intentional camera movement photography, woodland photography, or waterfall photography exclusively. After all, that’s a fantastic way to make a name for yourself – by being known as the [insert your sub-genre here] guy/gal. As such, it has been incredibly exciting and refreshing to get to know and appreciate the work of Viktoria Haack, who has chosen to specialise in being a generalist. As will be revealed, this conscious choice, while likely seen as unwise by most, has given Viktoria an edge as a photographer, not only in the creative output of her work but also in her ability to financially sustain herself as an artist. In many of Viktoria’s most well-known images, she seamlessly incorporates beautiful nature scenes and moments into her images, including lifestyle assignments, weddings, and portraiture. This cross-pollination has also given her landscape and nature work that does not incorporate the human element an edge because she has refined her compositional and conceptual chops through this generalist approach.
Abstractions of nature have not left the world of appearances; for to do so is to break the camera’s strongest point – it’s authenticity~Minor White
During the 2021 COVID lockdown, I produced a book of photographs of water called The Still Dynamic, in aid of the charity WaterAid, that seemed to be quite well received. At least the limited edition of 100 copies sold out quite quickly. While the PDF of The Still Dynamic is still available for download, I found I had enough images from walking through Mallerstang and Switzerland in the last year to produce another volume, this time called Panta Rhei1. Since it is for a good cause, I hope you will not mind this article to publicise the book.
Panta Rhei, translated as Everything Flows, is an aphorism that is often used as a short summary of the concepts of the Greek philosopher Heraclitus of Ephesus, who lived (approximately) from 535 to 475 BCE2. Little is known about his life and since all of Heraclitus’ writings were lost, apart from a few fragments, it is not clear that Heraclitus actually used the phrase himself (it has been implied from the later interpretations in Plato’s Cratylus and Simplicius of Cicilia)3. One of those fragments, however, expresses the same idea as You cannot step twice into the same stream. As a hydrologist, I am very aware of this aspect of my subject. Rivers persist, but their characteristics change over a range of time scales, from the single rainfall event to their geomorphological history, and the water in them is forever being renewed.
River Eden at Stenkrith
From the fragments that do survive, and more so from later writings about Hercalitus, it seems that he was more concerned with fire as a (perhaps metaphorical) driving agent for change than water. He was, however, one of the first philosophers to address the issue of process dynamics and to give process the role of an explanatory feature of nature rather than as something to be explained4.
From the fragments that do survive, and more so from later writings about Hercalitus, it seems that he was more concerned with fire as a (perhaps metaphorical) driving agent for change than water.
He also gave some insight into the way in which process dynamics can lead to order and was the first to distinguish between dynamic change and dynamic permanence, such as in the waveforms and eddies we see in rivers. Constantly changing but with a recurring form.
As a hydrologist, Panta Rhei is also a homage to the International Association of Hydrological Sciences (IAHS), which celebrates its centenary this year. IAHS has used Panta Rhei as the motto for a decade long initiative with the aim of encouraging research on the interaction between water and society5. There is no doubt that anthropogenic effects on the hydrological cycle in many parts of the world are having an increasing impact, both directly through the exploitation of water resources for industry, agriculture and hydropower and indirectly through climate change. It is not that change has not been long recognised in hydrology, but that the societal impacts are still not sufficiently understood. This includes the impacts on the hydrological extremes of floods and droughts and the feedback of those extremes on vulnerable societies. The pollution of waters and its impact on biodiversity is also an important issue in many places. Water security, in terms of both quantity and quality, is becoming a critical issue in many parts of the world, including the potential for cross-frontier disputes between nations.
The collection of images of water in Panta Rhei does not deal directly with these larger aspects of change. It rather tries to address the challenge posed by water to the photographer. Everything Flows but to the photographer, that also creates a fundamental difficulty in representing such change in a still image. I discussed this in a couple of previous articles for On Landscape6. It is a challenge to capture the fleeting changes of light and flow in a way that still implies the nature of a flow in a way that is indeed still dynamic. As a hydrologist, of course, I should have some understanding of the way in which water flows through the landscape, but such knowledge is necessarily approximate and uncertain since many of those pathways are hidden beneath the surface, and where the water is visible in streams and rivers, the patterns of flow are often highly complex in response to the detail of the boundary conditions of the flow. This is something that has proven attractive to film makers for a long time. The Dutch film maker Bert Haanstra (1916-1997) directed a monochrome film called Panta Rhei in 1952 (that can be found on YouTube7) that used a variety of techniques, including time lapse photography, to illustrate the change of water in the forms of clouds, drops, streams, and waves, and the light reflecting from water surfaces.
The collection of images of water in Panta Rhei does not deal directly with these larger aspects of change. It rather tries to address the challenge posed by water to the photographer. Everything Flows but to the photographer, that also creates a fundamental difficulty in representing such change in a still image.
River Eden at Shoregill, Mallerstang
Still photography has to stop the motion (or integrate that motion over the time scale of a longer exposure). This would appear to be a disadvantage but also provides some useful possibilities. The first is that the stilled motion can be explored in all its complexity and detail, at the viewer’s leisure, in a way that the eye cannot either in nature or in video – the movements are just too fast to follow. The second is that creative techniques, smoothing the flow lines or recording the light trails of reflected light on the surface, can be used to represent the nature of the motion in ways that are lost to the eye in real time. These can be seen in the images below.
Another aspect of the Heraclitus fragment, and its later use by Plato and others implies more than the nature of change in nature. It implies that we are always changing as well. A second fragment states: "We get into the same river and yet not into the same river, we are and we are not [the same]." In terms of my photographic practice, it has certainly changed over time: as a result of gaining experience; of spending time with different streams with different characteristics; of changing light when returning to the same stream; of changing from film to ever better digital cameras, though some of the images in Panta Rhei were still taken on film.
In fact, I have now taken many thousands of images of water in its different forms but capturing images I am really satisfied with remains a challenge. It perhaps helps in using digital cameras to be able to see what has been captured on the spot, but I still find that many do not turn out as pre-visualised while other images are unexpectedly magical when viewed on screen or as prints. I would at least like to think that I have got better at choosing when to press the shutter over the years but, even then, the rapidly changing nature of the flow also means that multiple images taken in succession can be more or less successful in terms of the patterns of light traces or the splash and bubble tracks that are produced on the film or sensor. In general, the images are underexposed with minimal post-processing (usually only raising the shadows and increasing the contrast.
Reflections, Sarine at Hauterive
Taking a photograph involves making a selection from nature. Most of the images I have included in the book are selections of only a small part of nature, creating found abstractions8. I generally choose to take photographs of small selections because it is easier to find a satisfying balance of elements. Interestingly, with the cameras I have, I mostly cannot get too close, so the images are mostly no smaller than a bit less than 1m square……but perhaps this is the smallest scale that can be considered as landscape, in that it must include a number of interacting elements of form in a semi-abstract way.
But, of course, those imperfections are also part of the nature of a place; anything that appears perfect is also unrepresentative. This is what gives rise to the tension of the choice - what the Japanese call Wabi Sabi, seeking the perfection of transience and imperfections.
Even at that scale, it is difficult to find perfection in all the elements because of the random nature of things not being in quite the right place or not being able to view from the right direction. But, of course, those imperfections are also part of the nature of a place; anything that appears perfect is also unrepresentative. This is what gives rise to the tension of the choice - what the Japanese call Wabi Sabi, seeking the perfection of transience and imperfections. To frame an image, I am seeking something that is well balanced in form and colour, even if complex in structure and textures. Making semi-abstract and minimalist images is perhaps a way of finding satisfaction more easily, avoiding things for the eye to seize on and critique. In that way we can just enjoy an abstract image as a selection from the wonder of nature. I hope you might enjoy the images in Panta Rhei. Others may be seen at www.mallerstangmagic.co.uk where the book may be ordered in hard copy or pdf.
For the past six and half years, I have made the majority of my income from photography, and the majority of this income has been from print sales.
I live in west Wales, right at the point where the three counties of Ceredigion, Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire meet; the “old” Dyfed. It’s a beautiful area, and I have never felt the need to drive more than an hour for my landscape photography, save for the odd trip to Blaenau Ffestiniog (which I love) and London.
Aberystwyth
I sell my landscape prints through a couple of art and craft cooperatives which have permanent galleries, sale or return in a large number of seasonal and permanent outlets, and with four craft groups of which I am a member where, from Easter to October, we rent suitable premises from a few days to 5 months and divide the stewarding duties.
To be perfectly honest, I have come not to like many of the images that sell the best, and they’d certainly end up nowhere near my wall, and conversely, the images that I do really like, sell modestly or, in some cases, not at all!
My market is unashamedly largely the tourist one, most of whom would like to buy a memento of a beach or other place that they have visited on their holiday. I am under no illusions about these images being works of art. They are ephemeral gifts for the purchaser themselves or whoever has watered the tomatoes in their absence. I am sure that they go on the wall for 3 or 4 years, before being thrown away to be replaced by something else. And that’s fine.
To be perfectly honest, I have come not to like many of the images that sell the best, and they’d certainly end up nowhere near my wall, and conversely, the images that I do really like, sell modestly or, in some cases, not at all!
I have, though, really enjoyed the process of building up a portfolio of these saleable images, of learning about the landscape where I live, learning to understand how weather, tide and light can combine in different places to produce pleasing results. I have enjoyed (re)learning how to use a camera in a variety of situations and to take control of the controllables to get the images that I want. I have enjoyed learning how to use software to process the RAW files to give a finished photo that looks the way that I want it to but retains an integrity to what I witnessed. The whole thing has been fun!
Cenarth
Henllan
The thing is, though, after more than six years of doing this, it is no longer a challenge. It has got to the stage that if I feel the need to add another pretty picture to my portfolio of images that tourists are willing to buy, I can have a look at a few apps, choose my location appropriately, and be reasonably confident that I can pop along, and get the outcome that I want. It’s not that I hate or resent doing this. To a point, I still enjoy it, it’s just that it no longer really satisfies me: it isn’t enough.
Over the last year or so, whenever I have gone out with a camera, it has increasingly been for me; to do what I want to do, to learn new stuff, rather than to add another photo of an obvious location to my portfolio (although commercially, I do have to do a bit of this). I have become much more interested in the details of a place rather than the wider view. The small things that would often have gone unnoticed are increasingly fascinating to me, and I have a strong desire to record them but do so in a way that is very visually appealing. I suppose that, conventionally, a landscape photographer photographs a view or a scene with the intent of showing the viewer what he or she would have seen had they been stood next to the photographer. I am becoming much more interested in showing the viewer stuff that they probably wouldn’t have seen had they been stood next to the photographer, but stuff which can be really interesting and/or beautiful. For me, it’s about going beyond the obvious and really trying to get under the skin of a place.
I have become much more interested in the details of a place rather than the wider view. The small things that would often have gone unnoticed are increasingly fascinating to me, and I have a strong desire to record them but do so in a way that is very visually appealing. I suppose that, conventionally, a landscape photographer photographs a view or a scene with the intent of showing the viewer what he or she would have seen had they been stood next to the photographer.
Llansteffan
What I didn’t expect is just how hard this is! To be perfectly honest, in the past, I’d looked at the work of photographers like David Ward and not really got it. I couldn’t see the point, and anyway, the photographs just looked a bit like snaps of random objects to me that pretty much anyone who knows how to use a camera could do (sorry David!). I am very happy to say, here and now, I could not have been more wrong, and by actually becoming firstly interested in it, and then by trying to actually do it, I have come to realise it is very, very difficult to do, even vaguely competently, let alone superbly well. It is much, much, much harder, in my opinion than photographing the wider scene. And, I don’t think that it is just because I am relatively new to it, either. I do think that it is, inherently, a harder or more challenging approach to get “right”.
There are a couple of reasons for this, I think. Firstly, the approach to looking at the details of a place is completely different to the photographing of the wider view, for me at least. When I do go out to get an image of a wider view to put out for sale, I usually have a very clear idea in my head of what it is I want to photograph. Not just the place, but more or less the exact composition. I will check the tide apps, the weather apps and The Photographer’s Ephemeris and go to the right place at the right time. I am successful more often than not, and failure is usually down to the weather not doing what it was supposed to do.
When I go out to take the sort of photographs for me that I’ve described, I pay little or no attention to weather, tide or light. I pick a day and a place, I take a camera, two lenses and a tripod, and I go for a wander. I do everything I can to absolutely not try to preconceive any kind of image or prejudge what I might find. This is difficult because you not only have to look really hard, but you also have to learn to see in very new and exciting ways. So, I’ll be wandering along, and usually, I see nothing at all. After a while, I usually see something that might be a photograph. I think it just takes a bit of time to get in to the mindset of looking hard and seeing differently.
Marloes
Once I’ve found something that might be a photograph, the real work starts. And it’s here I think that the second reason for this being such a challenge rears its head. It’s a truism that photography is the opposite of painting: the painter starts with a blank canvas and paints in what s/he wants or sees. The photographer starts with all of reality in front of him or her and has to edit this down until there is a photograph that says what he or she wants it to say. When photographing the wider scene, I just think that this is, by definition, a less complicated process. When looking at the intimate, millimetres matter!
So, having found something that might be a photograph, I usually spend quite some time just looking at it, walking round it and really studying it hard, with the camera still in the bag. This can very easily take half an hour.
The concentration and attention to detail that this takes is way beyond what, I at least, use when photographing a wider view. The thing is that it doesn't seem like an hour; it’s only if I look at my watch afterwards that I realise. There have been occasions when I’ve spent the whole day in an area no bigger, and often a lot smaller, than a football pitch and made maybe 3 or 4 images if I’m lucky.
Quite often, I then decide that it isn’t a photograph. At least not today, and I walk on. If I think that there is a photograph, then up goes the tripod, and out comes the camera. The tripod is raised, lowered and repositioned numerous times. Then even more micro adjustments take place (incidentally, I think I’d find this impossible without a geared head and an L bracket: the two best bits of photography kit that I have invested in). And it’s only then that I truly know if I want to make a photograph of that thing on that day. The whole process can easily take an hour and might result in nothing.
The concentration and attention to detail that this takes is way beyond what, I at least, use when photographing a wider view. The thing is that it doesn't seem like an hour; it’s only if I look at my watch afterwards that I realise. There have been occasions when I’ve spent the whole day in an area no bigger, and often a lot smaller, than a football pitch and made maybe 3 or 4 images if I’m lucky. I may have walked far less than a mile, but I am exhausted (but sometimes exhilarated) too! It’s the mental rather than the physical exertion that is the hard part.
In a former life, I knew a hypnotherapist very well. I was extremely sceptical about the whole process. That was until I said, “Go on then, Tim, put me under!”. Without going into unnecessary detail here, it was a profound experience that, 16 years on, I still remember vividly. What Tim also taught me was some self hypnosis techniques, and it is these that I employ when I’m out with a camera. One of the things that he used to say to me frequently was, “It’s when you focus your attention on your intention that you can achieve great things”. My intention is to make an interesting and hopefully appealing photograph, and all of my attention becomes focused on this to the point where hours pass and seem like minutes. Although I am not claiming that my photographs are great!
Mwnt
Tresaith
One thing has been bugging me, though: what to “do” with this new (to me) approach. A conversation with Rachael Talibart gave me the answer. Using Blurb, I have turned them into a project and a book, just for me, really.
I visited nine locations that I know intimately well, within an hours drive of home. For each of the locations, I photographed an obvious, wider view that went on the left hand page of the two pages in the book allocated to that location. Then, within that view the challenge was to find four more intimate photographs of the “unseen” that would be both interesting and hopefully appealing, to go on the right hand page opposite the wider view. And, believe me, it was a real challenge, but one that I loved and consumed me for months. The idea is to use the more obvious wider view as the hook to hopefully attract the viewer’s attention and then more or less force them to consider photographs that otherwise they would possibly have only glanced at or not even looked at at all.
Porthgain
I don’t know if I have succeeded or not, but it has given my love of this approach to photography a purpose, and it has helped me to focus my attention on my intention. It has also led me to really think about what it is that I want to achieve with my photography, beyond taking pretty pictures for the tourist market.
I don’t know exactly how these will evolve, or even if they will all come to fruition, but what I do know is that this approach is, at the same time, both hugely liberating and exciting for me and really forcing me to continually question why I am doing what I am doing
A fairly local photographer to me, who I know well, and who is, in my opinion, a genius photographer, is Chris Tancock. Chris sees very little value in the single image, and now only works in large bodies of photographs to create a narrative. He likens the single photograph to a sentence in a novel: it might be a beautiful sentence but, on its own, has little meaning. So, I now have 3 or 4 ideas for projects, using the approach that I have outlined, where I intend to use many photographs, sequenced and working together, to try to tell a story.
I don’t know exactly how these will evolve, or even if they will all come to fruition, but what I do know is that this approach is, at the same time, both hugely liberating and exciting for me and really forcing me to continually question why I am doing what I am doing. The why of photography is so much more important than the how or the what!
Have you got a project that you would like to write an article about? Or perhaps a photography trip that you have been on and would like to share an article about the images? Get in touch as we are always looking for submissions.
Although we don’t typically equate fine art landscape photography with documentary imagery when you think about it, that is precisely what landscape imagery boils down to. Occasionally a series of images are created in order that they might capture a landscape before it is changed forever by mankind’s insatiable needs. Such is the case with the work of Eliot Porter. A collection of 80 images was first published in 1963 under the title “The Place No One Knew - Glen Canyon on the Colorado” as part of the Sierra Club’s Exhibit Format Series. This was not Eliot’s first foray into documenting the Southwest before it disappeared from view. However, this specific book and its images had a very strong influence on how I saw the land and photography in my youth.
Glen Canyon was formed by the Colorado River beginning in Southern Utah and crossing the border into Northeastern Arizona prior to the Grand Canyon. In the 1950’s it was determined that Hoover Dam in Nevada could not provide for the electrical and water needs of the area, and studies began to create a larger dam somewhere along the Colorado. Glen Canyon Dam began construction in 1956 and was controversial from the beginning. In fact, it has been credited for establishing much of the modern environmentalist movement. Creating a dam project also requires creating a lake where none was present before. At that time, The Bureau For Reclamation saw the value of the water and electricity along with recreation as being far more important than the beauty of the Canyon and the archaeological importance of the area to Native culture and history. The 710 foot high dam was built between 1956 and 1966, with Lake Powell filling to capacity in 1980. I grew up in Arizona in the 60’s and 70’s, making many trips to Northern Arizona with my Grandparents and remember seeing the dam’s waters change the landscape.
Alongside the exhibition by Joe Cornish and Simon Baxter detailed elsewhere in this issue, the two photographers also collaborated on a book to work alongside it (and as a showcase for those unable to visit the exhibition). Designed and printed very quickly, the book follows the structure shown in our recent article but with a few extra chapters and many more photographs.
Although Joe and Simon are working in the same area and on approximately the same timescale, the differences in their images are still very clear. Joe’s exquisite attention to compositional detail and eye for serendipitous associations is clearly present in most of his images. And Simon’s natural graphic design recognition of broad shape and structure and his love of the natural beauty of the woodland locations is clearly on display here as well. Browsing through this showcase book is a good way of clearly demonstrating how two ‘mature’* photographers bring so much of their identity to their work.
Many exhibitions are, in the grand scheme of things, relatively transient affairs. In a national sense, they are often difficult to access and, inevitably, only a subsection of a photographic community (never mind the population at large) gets to access the results. Although it is absolutely true that seeing a photograph in person, printed, framed and illuminated well, is still the very best way of appreciating a photographer's work; being able to see that work arranged in a well-printed book is still infinitely better than browsing through a slide show on a website. The cost of printing a book is still a major investment, and as such, I applaud Joe and Simon for their commitment to creating something permanent from their joint project.
I would highly recommend buying a copy of this book as a great showcase of what woodland photography can be.
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.
Winter offers a series of photographic opportunities that are extremely specific in comparison to other seasons. Abstract, simple, graphic images are the ones that attract me the most during winter photography, as the textures, shapes, light and tones nature offers to make for an exquisite subject in terms of visual characteristics.
This set of images is an excellent example of the diversity snow presents in an abstract photographic approach, each with a different visual geometry and distinct feel concerning the nature and direction of light, yet keeping the unity of the ensemble in terms of the sensation they give of cold, frozen, almost mystical fragments of nature.
I've been travelling the coasts of Brittany for years looking for the most beautiful places, and that's not what I miss. Brittany is a fantastic playground for landscape photographers. However, the particularity of the Emerald Coast, where I live, (the extreme north-east of Brittany) is to offer many wild, jagged coasts, often with a lot of relief. All that I love! Just be there at the right time, with a colourful and cloudy sky!
It should be noted that the climate can change quickly and the rain never lasts long. So don't give up too quickly.
The pictures presented were taken at the end of 2018 with a Nikon D800 or D810. The lenses used were Nikkor 16-35 f/4 (often), 24-120 f/4 (sometimes) and 80-400 f/4.5-5.6 (rarely). Since 2019, I have been using a Nikon Z7. The lenses used until the end of 2021 were: Z 14-30mm f/4 S-Line, Z 24-70mm f/4 S-Line and AF-S 70-200mm f/4 ED VR + FTZ. Since 2022, I now use Z 14-24mm f/2.8 S-Line, Z 24-120mm f/4 S-Line and Z 100-400mm f/4.5-5.6 S-Line.
I almost always use a tripod (Really Right Stuff TVC-33 + BH-55 or for travelling, a Gitzo traveler 2545 + 1382QD). The use of ND, GND and Polarizing filters (Lee Filters until 2020 and Nisi Filters since 2021) allows me to spend less time in post-processing. For transport, I use an fStop backpack from the Mountain series.
Post-processing and archiving are done with 3 software (DxO PhotoLab, Adobe Lightroom Classic and Adobe Photoshop CC on Mac). Calibration is done by X-Rite and printing by Canon (imagePROGRAF PRO-1000) mainly on Canson Infinity paper. Finally, my website is made and hosted by Smugmug (Perfect interaction with Lightroom).
For most of the history of Texas, surface water has been rare. However, huge underground aquifers cover 80% of the state. Windmills drive the pumps that bring the water up for the crops and the cattle.
The windmills you see today look a lot like they did 150 years ago, and they're as much a part of the landscape as prickly pear cactus and barbed-wire fences. These four are in four different parts of Texas: South Texas, Hill Country, The Panhandle, and Big Bend Country.
I have always loved the sea; having lived near the sea most of my life and being a keen deep-sea and rock and surf angler, the shoreline is my happy place.
I love the light at the coast, it is always different and generally unpolluted. I love cloudy skies; the cloudier, the better.
A Photographers Paradise was shot where I live in Sedgefield on the East coast, 450 km from Cape Town. The river mouth is 10 minutes drive from my home and looks west into the sunset, so it is always back / side lit at sunset. I had finished shooting my sunset and was about to pack my camera away when the Heron Bird flew into the shot and landed exactly where I would have placed it and stayed there for a few minutes. Shot on Canon 5DsR.
Drift Wood at Stormy Sunset was shot at Buffels Bay, about 20 minutes from my home. Shot on my Hasselblad H4D40 as the wave receded with a 0.7 second exposure to capture movement in the waves. I placed my tripod in the wet sand with their Manfrotto Snow Shoes attached, which are so useful when shooting so near the water.
Harbour Wall was shot at Velddrif, Port Owen on the West Coast, 150km from Cape Town. I shot it at sunset on my Canon 5dmk2 with a 2 minute exposure (thanks Lee Big Stopper) to smooth the sea and streak the clouds back-lit.
Moonset at Robberg was shot at Robberg Nature Reserve, Plettenberg Bay, 100 km away from my home. I planned the shoot many months before as I had to book the single shack inside the reserve to stay overnight to be able to get to the location before sunrise. I shot it at the full moon as it was setting and the sun was coming up behind me. Fortunately, the weather played ball as I needed a clear sky (for a change). Shot on my Canon 5DsR.
The object of art is not to make salable pictures. It is to save yourself. . . . The thing of course, is to make yourself alive. Most people remain all of their lives in a stupor. The point of being an artist is that you may live.~Sherwood Anderson, in a letter to his son
What is the purpose of art? Why do we invest so much time and effort making, experiencing, attempting to define, and arguing about art? These questions suggest that art has some sort of value that justifies what Albert Camus described as, “the ordeal it [art] demands of a man and the opportunity it provides him of overcoming his phantoms.” What, then, is the value of art? How does art deliver this value?
If we can characterise what the value of art is, we can then presumably use this characterisation to rank some types or some works of art as more valuable than others.
Aesthetics is the branch of philosophy concerned with beauty and taste and, by extension, art. Like anything having the distinction of being a branch of philosophy, aesthetics is a broad and complex subject
In philosophical terms, what we need in order to answer the questions in the previous paragraph is a normative theory of art—a theory that assigns and distinguishes among different arts and works of art based on value.
Aesthetics is the branch of philosophy concerned with beauty and taste and, by extension, art. Like anything having the distinction of being a branch of philosophy, aesthetics is a broad and complex subject. Philosophers who have offered normative aesthetic theories suggested different ways in which art can be valuable. For example, art may have hedonic value (by giving pleasure); it may have aesthetic value (by being beautiful); it may have expressive value (by conveying or arousing emotions), or it may have cognitive value (by contributing to knowledge and/or understanding).
With these types of value in mind, we can now consider such things as whether some types of value are more venerable or desirable than others. For example, is art whose value is only hedonic less valuable than art that is (or also is) expressive of powerful emotions? Is expressive art that imparts an obvious emotion less valuable than art that has profound cognitive value—art that enriches the viewer’s (or artist’s) understanding of the world?
In this third and final part about the Impressionists, I will explore their working mentality and their thoughts about schools, masters and mentors, and see how it compares with today’s photography. (Read the first article: Past masters and expressive photography - The Impressionists - Part I and Part II).
Working Mentality
Paul Cézanne, Camille Pissarro, Henri Matisse and Paul Gauguin, along with fellow impressionists, had the same approach to work. They conceived it as an obsessive, single-minded pursuit.
Paula’s work and life have taken her from graphic design in London to portraiture and fashion/studio photography in Charlotte, North Carolina. In the last couple of years, she has been experimenting with alternative photographic processes. The latter, most notably cyanotypes, have become popular recently. As digital photography becomes more controllable, perhaps it’s inevitable that there will be a desire by some to bring physical craft and chance back into the medium. I came across Paula’s work on Instagram and thought it would be good to find out more about both her background and the variety of different experimental processes she has been working with. It’s been a particularly busy period for her, with two of her watergrams - Skimming Stones and Our World - selected for exhibition in the 2022 Royal Academy Summer Exhibition.
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 Cambridgeshire, England, in 1965 and moved to Edinburgh, Scotland, when I was three. My father, who was a fighter pilot, had been killed in a plane crash, and my mother was forced to move off the air base with three young children and chose to live near her sister. Edinburgh was a wonderful place to grow up because it is a small city steeped in history and culture, and the surrounding area is incredibly scenic and accessible, though I am sure I should have appreciated it more at the time. I was never very good at drawing or painting, so I found an expressive outlet in photography and the darkroom; we had a very good art department and a fabulous photography teacher who always encouraged me. She suggested I apply to art college, and I ended up specialising in graphic design for the next four years. You could say I just “fell” into the discipline because it was new and exciting, and I wanted to do something different.
My college years were both practical and vocational with a lot of skills-based workshops as it was before computers were around to create type, move an image, manipulate it, or change proportions; it was the era of typesetting, Letraset, and cut and paste collage, and if you made an error you had to start over. Photo manipulation was all done manually, which was often laborious and time consuming – correcting exposures, dodging and burning, cropping images in the enlarger, and superimposing negatives. Films and prints were developed and printed manually, and the alchemic process was deeply satisfying. I enjoyed the peace and solitude of the darkroom, which requires focus and patience, a lot of trial and error, and quick decision making; it felt experimental, self-expressive and involved - both mentally and physically. Looking back, it was great training for the hands-on work I am engaged in today.
The Navajo Nation is a Native American territory covering about 17,544,500 acres, occupying portions of northeastern Arizona, northwestern New Mexico and a smaller portion covering southeastern Utah, in the United States. This is the largest land area retained by a Native American tribe in the United States and is managed by the Navajo people through agreements with the United States Congress.
Colleen and I heard of these two slot canyons at the turn of the century and made tour arrangements in 2007 making our images in two trips on March 18th and September 24th.
We travelled from our Salt Lake City, Utah, home to Page, Arizona, where we stayed prior to reporting to the parking lot on the northern edge of the Navajo Nation where tours began. The ride in open topped tour buses through the sand desert was bouncy and dusty. The approach to the canyons was modestly unassuming, with sandstone bluffs rising from the desert floor.
Wayne Bingham
Colleen Smith
We were carrying Nikon D200 cameras with 18-200mm lenses and were allowed to bring tripods into the light filled canyons. Images were later developed using Adobe Lightroom software. The mystical, narrow, and sensuous carved walls of red sandstone were from 30 to 50 feet high. The sand path we walked on is raised and lowered by the movement of flash flood waters that rush through heavy rainfall and have created the canyons. Awestruck and blown away are understatements for the spiritual experiences of leaving the brightness of the desert and entering the vertical walls with soft reflected light.
Make images horizontal or vertical? Yes, with the most successful being vertical, catching the cascading light from the opening slot above to the sand floor. If we inadvertently admitted the sky into the frame, it was such a contrast to the reflected light of sandstone that the sky exceeded the dynamic range of our cameras and became pure white. So, we excluded the sky from our images finding more than enough interest in the sinuous walls and the floor. Capturing the sand floor had its own challenges. There were few enough other individuals there so that we were able to miss most tripod legs and people standing where the images waited for us. So, we composed and waited. We used small apertures that allowed the cameras to adjust for capture time. During the short time, we were allowed inside the canyons the major challenge was moving through the circuitous ways, finding another compelling composition, and moving to another position.
We used small apertures that allowed the cameras to adjust for capture time. During the short time, we were allowed inside the canyons the major challenge was moving through the circuitous ways, finding another compelling composition, and moving to another position.
Sometimes the passage was so narrow we had to squeeze through sideways. We never ran short of places to make an image, rather our limitations were time and other people moving about as they stood in awe making their own images.
Colleen Smith
Wayne Bingham
The stone bluffs rising above desert sand have allowed trickles of water guided by gravity to flow circuitously across the stone surfaces and down cracks for eons. As each storm passes over, the trickles become raging rivers, and the particles of sand erode the sandstone bluffs making beautiful curves and ripples of different colours as they wore the layers of stone. In addition, the freeze/thaw cycle of winter helps chip away at the monoliths.
Water movement has carved canyons, not straight down, but following the softest sandstone curves rendering layers of hard and soft, orange, red, and permanently leaving deep dark desert varnish. The formation will remain as it is until the next storm changes the configuration.
Water movement has carved canyons, not straight down, but following the softest sandstone curves rendering layers of hard and soft, orange, red, and permanently leaving deep dark desert varnish. The formation will remain as it is until the next storm changes the configuration.
Light is a stream of photons, packets of energy, travelling at the speed of 670,616,629 miles per hour. Colours and shapes are highlighted by the photon streams touching the different layers of sandstone. In their turn some absorb, others reflect, darker tones absorb more of the light, and lighter colours reflect and reflect again. Refraction, reflection, absorption, dispersion, scattering light enlivening and differentiating the surfaces.
Sometimes there is enough slot opening for the photon streams to scream all the way to the floor of sand, sometimes visible as a bright column as it passes through scattered dust. Every step one takes along the circuitous narrow canyons, the visible forms and their light quality change and you catch your breath in awe. Time of day is an important consideration, with high, mid-day light providing the deepest penetration into the canyons. Early or late afternoon light diminishes the effects. We were there in March and September mid-day and found the light to be excellent.
Colleen Smith
The Antelope Canyons have become renowned for their spectacular beauty and in order to manage the interested crowds, tours are now more limited and restrictions about what you are allowed to bring into the canyons are in force. Alas, tripods and selfie sticks are no longer allowed. We understand some tour guides allow only handheld phone cameras.
The Antelope Canyons have become renowned for their spectacular beauty and in order to manage the interested crowds, tours are now more limited and restrictions about what you are allowed to bring into the canyons are in force.
We used a google search for tours now available and found “Navajotours.com” to be the one we would choose if we were to return there. Other tours are also available. All of the tour guides are members of the Navajo Nation who are fully authorized to give tours of the Canyon and are able to provide visitors with in-depth information related to the Canyon and Navajo culture as well as weather and flashflood and danger warnings. Rain, miles away can gather volume and speed as they enter the canyons and pose danger to those there. Deaths have occurred in the canyons due to not heeding the warnings.
The exhibition opens at the Danby Lodge (formerly The Moors National Park Centre) on 16th July and will run until 12th September. Entry is free and you can find more details on Simon Baxter's website.
Woodland Sanctuary is a joint exhibition between photographers Simon Baxter and me, Joe Cornish. The work was gathered over the last five years, all of it within the North York Moors National Park.
One obvious restriction of the pandemic was the obligation to stay at home. But no travel created an opportunity to explore our local area more widely and deeply. For Simon that was more or less an extension of his existing practice. For me, it was a chance to deepen the local emphasis I had taken years before, but with a growing focus on woodland.
In our different ways, this converging concentration on trees happened almost simultaneously. Simon’s injuries had led him into the woods as solace and relief from persistent pain. My growing fascination was driven in part by increasing alarm about the environmental crisis… trees seem both a symbolically and scientifically critical resource in preserving biodiversity and mitigating climate change. Whatever our motivation, we both found therapeutic value and artistic inspiration among trees. In May 2019 when we were comparing notes via email, Simon suggested sharing a location he’d discovered. It turned out I had walked through the same woodland the previous month with friends and was intrigued to join him. It was the first of many shared excursions.
The work we had done before, and still the majority since, have been solitary trips. But increasingly as we exchanged pictures and ideas there was a sense of solidarity and shared inspiration. The pandemic accelerated the process (for me especially) as the distractions of more distant travel evaporated.
We recognised that while our work was distinct, the similarities were based on a shared value of respecting the appearance of things as they really are, photographically speaking. This attachment to visual reality is the philosophical basis for the exhibition. There is always a degree of translation and interpretation, but the sense should be that what we saw could have been seen by anyone else standing next to the photographer in that moment.
Natural woodland, forest and trees are no longer taken for granted by policy-makers and corporations. Countless books have appeared about them recently revealing their scientific details, community relations, their cultural and evolutionary importance, their endless utility to humans etc. They are recognised for the critical role they play in the biosphere, carbon sequestration, and in our wider culture. In this new atmosphere of interest and understanding of trees, a photographic/artistic perspective seemed especially timely.
The Inspired By gallery at Danby Lodge in the North York Moors seemed the perfect place to hold an exhibition focussing exclusively on the woodland of the National Park. Arranged in a series of artistically inspired themes, we hope the photographs convey a sense of joy and wonder, and sometimes other complex emotions that can be triggered by looking at trees and walking through the woods. The images reflect the intense experience of studying trees in all weather conditions and all times of the year. Beginning with the idea of a journey in ‘A River runs through it’, the exhibition has nine themes in total, ending with the simply named ‘Sanctuary’, to be found in the small studio gallery.
The passages that follow introduce each section for visitors to the gallery…
A River runs through it
Light Flows Through It | Joe Cornish
Most of the oldest woodland of the North York Moors follows the course of streams, brooks and rivers. The dynamic interaction between cascades, falls, calm pools and wood is a source (literally and metaphorically) of visual delight and an affirmation of life’s dependence on water.
Certain tree species (willow, alder, ash) are especially comfortable with their roots in damp soil, while others prefer the drier slopes. The sound of running water is a therapeutic form of ambient music that helps free the mind from the trivia and distractions of our busy and sociable lives.
Remains of Memory
Life Goes On | Simon Baxter
Surrounded by the comfort and convenience of home, sheltered in our villages, towns and cities we may not notice that buildings, railways, roads and bridges are sometimes abandoned. In a lifetime or two what were once significant homesteads, or even industrial buildings, can be swallowed up by the forest.
The remnants of walls and barely used lanes remind us of the tenuous hold we have on nature. Within three generations all living memory is also lost. Although our influence is profound and pervasive on the planet, abandoned homes show us that the natural world quickly reclaims territory. On the North York Moors, there are many examples, some associated with mining and the birth of the industrial revolution. The natural regeneration that has occurred since is in some sense profoundly reassuring.
Dark Matter
No Smoke Without Fire | Joe Cornish
Although woodland is a place of predominantly positive emotions, there are also dark moments. Fires destroy trees and understory; clear-cutting can appear callous, and brutal; ancient broadleaf trees are choked of light and moisture among conifer plantations. Some dark places in the wood can themselves become the stage setting of a nightmare.
Nevertheless, these encounters are important, all part of a landscape story worth confronting, recording and translating. A dark wood can sometimes suggest the menacing presence of the unseen. This darkness reflects our complex, exploitative relationship with nature as well as our own emotional and physical vulnerability.
Chaos Theory
The Search For Beauty | Joe Cornish
Photographers often seek the elegance of simplicity. However, broadleaf and mixed woodland is the opposite of simple. A tangled wildwood can present the ultimate tortured jigsaw puzzle to torment the photographer. The synthesis of trees and branches jostling for space and light can seem impenetrably complicated, and the impression of chaos profound.
Yet this is also the truth of the wood, and so is an aspect that must be embraced. There is still an obligation to find some sort of order, or pattern, in the confusion of conflicting lines, shapes and textures. Artistically, it’s also an opportunity to embrace the truth of chaos, and use its energy, complexity and discordance to symbolise something of life itself.
The Age of Trees
Descendants | Simon Baxter
Our ancestors evolved using the living shelter that trees provided. Until very recently most of the human population have lived beneath, or close to them and depended on wood as our most abundant and reliable tool and building material.
Various technological advances have seen the rise of stone, bronze, iron, steel, aluminium, concrete, glass, plastic, carbon fibre. Yet wood remains unique in its combination of characteristics and subsequently, its utility. Arguably, it is also more beautiful than its geologically-sourced rivals. As we confront the challenge of living more sustainably, we may once again learn to depend on wood as a primary building material. Perhaps this will even lead to a new ‘Age of Trees’?
But there is another interpretation of this title, which highlights how trees grow and prosper over enormous spans of time compared to our own lives. Numerous tree species in the UK grow to many hundreds of years old, and such ancient trees can be found in pockets on and around the National Park. In a typical forest, seedlings appear widely and a few of these may avoid being eaten by deer or other grazers and make it to become saplings and on into maturity. In the complex web of relationships in the forest, this blend of older and younger trees, as well as the astonishing variety of species, is a constant source of wonder and beauty.
Life Cycle
Beech Leaf Murmuration | Joe Cornish
The fabulous fertility of spring and summer, the evocative colours and forms of autumn and winter - these cycles of life are fundamental in the forest every day of the year. And while wildflowers and mushrooms are easily visible, thousands of microbial and smaller species thrive in the cycles of life, decay and rebirth that operate beneath the trees.
It is within woodland that we can readily feel the pulse and rhythm of nature and the wild world operating where it is left largely free from our interference. You could say this makes woodland the most life-affirming of landscape habitats.
Gifts of Light
Light Weaver | Simon Baxter
The raw material of light is an inextricable dimension of every photograph. In one form or another, all artists depend on it as an expressive force. It can even become the subject - an unpredictable, intangible, elusive manifestation of energy.
When everything works like this, solid matter can seem to dissolve, or the sun may project beams through the ether, evoking a divine presence. Such conditions are usually the result of a rare synthesis of high humidity, almost no wind, and discreet pockets of mist that allows the sun to work its magic. Being so short-lived there is rarely time to practise or experiment, and so our photographs are usually reactive, instinctive, making successful images feel special and quite literally ‘gifts of light’.
All the Wood’s a stage
Winter Clothing | Joe Cornish
Trees can gesture, point, walk, argue, weep, shelter, talk, encourage, mourn, dominate, dispute, dance, perform. Their range of expression is remarkable, and while these interpretations may seem whimsical, the scientific evidence clearly shows how trees function as a living community.
In a very real sense, they do protect and support each other, and share information through their root and associated systems. Older trees are truly the parents of those that spring from their seeds nearby. Broadleaf trees especially seem to echo the range of human actions and body language - sometimes exuberant, sometimes tired, passive, tortured and even asleep.
They act out a full range of emotions, growing and changing through the course of their lives. Sometimes they are injured by storms, fire, lightning, disease and drought, yet still, they live on – their suffering recorded in their trunks and branches. Through the accumulated scars of age, they reflect back to us something about what it means to live a life.
Sanctuary
Welcome Home | Simon Baxter
A place of shelter from the weather, woods are relatively warm when it is cold, and cool when it is hot. The wood is a stabiliser of temperature and humidity that slows the flow of groundwater. While not all creatures favour woods and forests, they are wildlife refuges as well as human ones. In times of war or extreme economic hardship, people may return to the forest as their only chance of survival.
In times of relative prosperity, the woods are the first places we think of for a walk and exercise. They are a haven of birdsong in the spring. They harbour carpets of bluebells in May, as well as the wonderful aroma of wild garlic. Wildflowers also crowd woodland flanks through the summer, and autumn leaves are a red and gold gift. In winter the naked beauty of broadleaf trees is revealed, with their leaves now decorating the forest floor. Spaces in the wood may feel like a small chapel, or even a cathedral when the light, clearing and moment are just right.
Whether it is a search for survival or the search for beauty and a revival of the senses, our woodlands are a sanctuary.
The exhibition is FREE TO ENTER from the 16th July - 10th September, but some special events and talks require a ticket. All ticketed events and booking links are listed on Simon Baxter's website.
What if the landscape in a photograph looked like Salvador Dalí’s clocks?
I've recently had the privilege to meet with an outstanding photographer Fedor Gabčan. He attended the opening of my first ever solo exhibition in a renowned gallery in the city of Ostrava where I live. I must admit that I didn't recognise his work until that day and I did not have enough time to speak with him at the opening. Fortunately, I was gently advised by the owners of the gallery to meet him again. Sure, why not, I would love to meet and talk photography with everyone, every time. So I Googled his work and was amazed by his portfolio, and by one image particularly. You see, one thing I dream about in my photos is to change the way how we perceive the traditional perspective. And there it was, a photo with two perspectives. You can see a huge pile of soil with few chimneys in the background and some sort of waterfall in the foreground. The land looks like Salvador Dali’s cIock. I realised it is a manmade artificial landscape but the photo was definitely taken on an analogue camera with little adjustment done to it. What a refreshing thing to see in comparison with current fashion for pristine wilderness style photos with a lot of editing.
Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against beautiful looking landscape photos. But the more I do it and more I see it, I feel it is contrary to what our current landscapes look like. We tend to shoot wilderness but most of the countryside and cities we live in look so differently. Only a few of us capture manmade landscapes with human impact in them.
"Looker Watchers of the Forest' is the first land art exhibition of its kind to be displayed along the major oak trail at the reserve."
"Much of our conservation work here at Sherwood Forest National nature reserve is dedicated to the protection of our magnificent ancient Oak trees, which have survived for hundreds of years. They really have seen many things during the centuries, so Gary’s work provides a thought- provoking perspective, turning the tables on us the viewers or admirers of the trees to highlight a very topical issue for the natural world."
Jess Dumoulinm, Visitor Experience Manager, Sherwood Forest National Nature Reserve.
I had the idea for Outsider for quite some time, in the autumn of 2017 I began working on my first outdoor photographic art installation which was for the grounds of Amcott House, a local museum in Retford Nottingham, which showed from Jan 3rd- June 30th 2018. Outsider is an evolving land art project which acts as a vehicle in which to experiment and explore various art forms, ones that I have never attempted before and which are outside of my comfort zone.
I can't work with the thought of being pigeonholed to any one particular practice, there is so much more to explore and learn about and I feel you just end up neglecting the others by just doing the same old thing. I also believe comfort is the death knell for creativity. Secondly, I wanted to bring my photographic artwork outside in a natural outdoor environment in the form of outdoor installations, and move away from indoor gallery spaces and being at the mercy of curators. There were a few ideas that I wanted to try with the original concept for the Land art exhibition at Sherwood Forest one of which was to hang the artwork from the trees which ran along the trail using fishing line and to use the branches of the tree as a part of the installation itself.
The reasons being was the lines translucent properties and damage limitation to the trees and for their strength. I liked the idea that from a distance the line would be difficult to see, so it would give the illusion that the pictures were being suspended in mid air amongst the trees. The picture frames I wanted in keeping, I wanted an alternative to the generic massed produced ones, so I created the borders for the pictures myself.
I set about and used my walks in the forest to scavenge for various organic materials which were either dead or rotting together with barks from cut down trees along with various other materials which included moss, lichen, leaves, pine needles, coal, goat willow seeds, burnt conker shells and rotting wood pulp. I have always found that nature never fails to bring something new to the table, either visually or organically. The picture frames I made double sided with a laminated print mounted on both sides which enabled the images when suspended from the trees to be seen both ways when either coming or going along the trail.
This original concept unfortunately for me was rejected, and instead offered the idea of securing the images to wooden fence posts that ran along the trail. That was something I really didn't want to entertain. I wanted to do something different which is what the Outsider project is all about. On the upside, having the artwork shown outdoors in such a beautiful forest, took the sting out of not having my original concept taken on board. That's life. You win some - You lose some.
The picture frames I made double sided with a laminated print mounted on both sides which enabled the images when suspended from the trees to be seen both ways when either coming or going along the trail.
I also feel a deep affinity with the natural world, and it has always had a place in what I do and that's something I try to express in my work whether it's in art, photography or film. That said I have no interest whatsoever in political statements. Visual or otherwise. Art and nature transcend politics for me.
I was just floored, to say the least. I have always been drawn by people either in music, film, art anything really who have the integrity to work and do things differently outside of the system.
I also feel a deep affinity with the natural world, and it has always had a place in what I do and that's something I try to express in my work whether it's in art, photography or film. That said I have no interest whatsoever in political statements. Visual or otherwise. Art and nature transcend politics for me. The Looker series is just a personal take on the situation regarding the demise and destruction of our trees. The Looker series is an observation of the trees eyes. Beautifully created by the trees themselves. Which ironically mirror the very problem. A Humankind.
Much of what I do is intuitive so when I'm asked to write about what I do finding the words is difficult. I am no intellectual by any stretch of the imagination, or academically trained, I'm self taught and have made my own way in life without any need for qualifications or degrees. The act itself of creating art in whatever form has always been at the heart of what I do. It takes me somewhere else. It's never been about money, winning awards or prizes. If it was I would have given it all up along time ago. For me personally it's about being an independent artist which gives me the freedom to experiment with ideas and to see where they go. That’s the prize.I am an individual that really doesn't feel I need someone qualify my work. I do it for me. It's just in my blood. I have spent most of my life in the creative arts and it has always been something that I love doing. I have never really looked upon it as work. It's not a career anymore. But more a way of life.
This time last year we were just receiving the first submissions for our Natural Landscape awards and one of those was from Steve Alterman. Later, after many rounds of judging and verifying images, his exquisite photograph of a pseudo mountain on a midnight black sandy beach won first place in the competition. Since then, I’ve seen a few more of Steve’s photographs in a couple of his published books and he also sent the winning image as well, as a few extra images, for me to drum scan. Yes, the winning image was photographed on his Pentax 67 using Fuij Velvia film. We thought you’d like to learn a little more about Steve’s work and, fortunately for us, he agreed to a Featured Photographer interview.
First Place - Natural Landscape Photographer of the Year - Tip of the Iceberg, Fellsfjara
Can you tell me about how you got into photography, did you study it, were you shown it by friends or family etc?
I have always been interested in photography (my parents got me a Brownie Hawkeye when I was about 10 years old),
I love the landscapes of the American West and at one point actually represented the Arizona Department of Transportation in their dealings with the Washington bureaucracy.
but I never took it seriously until the early 1990s. I love the landscapes of the American West and at one point actually represented the Arizona Department of Transportation in their dealings with the Washington bureaucracy.I started taking pictures on trips there and wondered why they weren’t very good. Rather than taking classes, I started going on workshops with professional photographers and spent more time watching how they worked rather than actually shooting. Things took off from there.
Making the step from photography as a passion to something that puts money on the table is often stressful. How did you make the step and were you immediately successful or did it take a lot of work?
You’re supposed to make money from photography? I didn’t know that. Actually, I have a full-time day job (I’m an aviation attorney, but I don’t spread that around in photography circles), so the pressure to commercialise my photography has been relatively minimal. I’ve always been able to sell an occasional print or sell images to magazines or calendar companies, but the real commercial activity started when I decided to publish a book on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. More on that later.
Volcanic Mud Patterns, Theistareykir, Iceland
Your published work is a combination of reportage/editorial and pure landscape photography but your website is mostly pure landscape. What was it about landscape photography particularly that engaged you and still makes you want to explore with a camera?
Trying to present a picture of the planet on which we live has been a driving force in my photography. Doing editorial/reportage photography has always been secondary, but I usually travel with a camera so I’m sensitive to the rest of the world around us and willing to capture “non-landscape” images. With respect to the landscape, I think the greatest challenge is to give the viewer a “feel” of the place, not just a pretty picture. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as interested as anyone in taking the iconic shots, but it’s often the intimate details that best represent the area. The challenge of finding those details keeps bringing me back to my favourite places.
Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you, or driven you forward in your development as a photographer? What books stimulated your interest in photography?
Very interesting question. When I was first exploring the western United States, I came upon David Muench’s book Nature’s America. It inspired me to go to certain places and look at the landscape more critically. In terms of other “inspirations”, I love the work of Jack Dykinga, and Bill Neill’s way of looking at the details of the landscape intrigues me. Moving away from photographers, I’m also inspired by the work of the great American artist of the West, Thomas Moran. Painters have the advantage of not being limited by what is in front of them and viewing how they perceive the landscape provides a slightly different set of learning tools.
With respect to the landscape, I think the greatest challenge is to give the viewer a “feel” of the place, not just a pretty picture. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as interested as anyone in taking the iconic shots, but it’s often the intimate details that best represent the area. The challenge of finding those details keeps bringing me back to my favourite places.
Rainbow Eucalyptus Bark, Kauai
On The Beach, Fellsfjara, Iceland
How has your commercial work with photography changed over the years?
I think the whole world of commercial photography and the way in which photographers can sell their work (and their expertise) has changed dramatically in the past few decades. The “gold standard” of professional photography used to revolve around stock agencies and selling individual images to magazines, calendar companies and other commercial endeavours. Digital photography changed all that. Now everyone can enter a world that was once reserved for an elite few. In turn, that meant that other income sources were necessary. The most obvious is the proliferation of photo workshops and tours where the professionals make their incomes, not from their own images, but rather for helping others improve their skills.
The “gold standard” of professional photography used to revolve around stock agencies and selling individual images to magazines, calendar companies and other commercial endeavours. Digital photography changed all that. Now everyone can enter a world that was once reserved for an elite few. In turn, that meant that other income sources were necessary.
I never really got into the workshop field (why would I want the administrative details or having to put up with people like me?) and I turned, quite by accident, to the field of book publishing.
Could you tell us a little about the cameras and lenses you typically take on a trip and how they affect your photography?
Ah, now we get to the weird part of me! I usually take everything I own on photo shoots. You just never know what you’re going to confront in the field. For me, that means at least two camera bodies (Pentax 67 and occasionally a Leica R7) and an assortment of lenses from 35 mm to 300 mm. I have a 55-100 mm telephoto as well as a 90-180 telephoto to give me some flexibility, but my “most used” lenses are a trusty 45 mm, a 100 mm macro and the 300 mm for longer shots. Those choices are a bit more limiting that the modern digital bodies and lenses, but they’re what I like to work with.
What sort of post processing do you undertake on your pictures? Give me an idea of your workflow?
OK, another slightly strange answer for you. The simple answer is “not much”. It usually consists of any needed cropping and straightening horizons (because I’m terrible at that), but not much else. If there are wide variations in light in the image, I’ll probably adjust the highlights and shadow detail, but I don’t use very many of the tools in Lightroom. Of course, all of this is after having the images scanned to digital. (You didn’t ask, but I only scan about 5% of the images I take. I keep a lot of the rest, but only scan those I anticipate being able to use somewhere other than on my lightbox).
Mount Edith Cavell Reflected In Cavell Lake, Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada
Your winning image in the Natural Landscape Photography Awards is on film and I was wondering if you still used film or have moved wholly to digital.
By now, you might have guessed that I still only shoot film. The only time I shoot anything digital is with my cell phone and only if I somehow don’t have my cameras with me or I’m simply too lazy to get the equipment out of my backpack.
We know there were so many negatives to using film, especially commercially. However, do you think there was something positive about using film that has been lost?
Obviously, for commercial purposes, a digital image is necessary so there is an extra (expensive) scanning step if you’re shooting film.
The shrinking number of film types is a continuing problem, but I’m still shooting slides and haven’t really thought of trying colour negatives - although I may go there if I need higher speed films for certain low light situations
There are also the issues of having to carry and change film and not being able to change the ISO to account for changing lighting conditions. BUT, I also think there are interesting advantages to using film (other than the fact that I enjoy having the “hard copy” to view on my light table). The most important element for me is that shooting film slows me down and makes “getting it right in the camera” more important. I simply don’t have the right equipment, and can’t afford, the “spray and pray” technique of some digital shooters who apparently think that taking thousands of images and hoping one works is the right approach to photography. I have nothing against digital photography, and modern equipment is utterly fantastic, it’s just not the way I choose to go. (My wife claims it’s simply because I’m stubborn; she may have a point, but I’m not changing!).
Given that you still shoot on film, how do you cope with the reduction in the number of film types available? Are you still primarily a slide photographer or have you dabbled with colour negative?
The shrinking number of film types is a continuing problem, but I’m still shooting slides and haven’t really thought of trying colour negatives - although I may go there if I need higher speed films for certain low light situations. In addition to lack of historic film options, there is also the problem of getting certain current films in the United States. Production cutbacks and outright closing of facilities in Asia during the pandemic have not yet sufficiently reversed themselves. My answer, at least right now, has been to become a bit of a hoarder. A refrigerator that was supposed to hold cold white wine and soft drinks is now filled with every roll of film I can find.
Can you choose 2-3 favourite photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about them?
Rhododendrons in a Redwood Forest
This reflects a pre-visualised image that actually worked.
Autumn Moss in California
This was an accidental total surprise!
Glacial River in Iceland
This is in the “Huh?” category
How do you like to approach your image making? Do you pre-plan and go out with something in mind, or do you prefer to let your photography flow from your explorations on foot?
Yes and yes! I ALWAYS research an area before going into the field and I always have some preconceived notions of what I want to shoot. But my most rewarding images are often those that simply present themselves unexpectedly. I love being surprised! And perhaps the most rewarding question I can be asked by someone viewing my images is “What is that?” That was the case with the winning entry in the Natural Landscapes Photography Awards and many of my other favourites, some of which are included in this article.
How important do you find it to be in the right frame of mind? Have you found ways to work around periods when your mind is busy with other things?
Great question. I think it is essential to be in the right frame of mind – and sometimes there is absolutely nothing you can do about it! Some of the most frustrating times have come when I have been in a fabulous setting and my mind is somewhere off in the clouds preventing me from making the most of the opportunities presented. I can usually get the obvious, iconic, images in these situations, but the lack of creativity is really upsetting. In looking back, I think that many of these times of “creative block” come from fatigue, so I guess one piece of advice is to get sufficient rest – even if you’re going to shoot a sunrise at 4:00 a.m. And try to rest during the day so you are somewhat rested for the late afternoon shooting.
I think it is essential to be in the right frame of mind – and sometimes there is absolutely nothing you can do about it! Some of the most frustrating times have come when I have been in a fabulous setting and my mind is somewhere off in the clouds preventing me from making the most of the opportunities presented.
Layers Of Colour, Autumn In Zion National Park
If you had to take a break from all things photographic for a week, what would you end up doing?
Going to ice hockey games! Or other sporting events that are totally mindless. Or maybe sleeping a lot!
You’ve published a few books in the landscape/editorial vein. Were these successful for you and did you learn any lessons about publishing you could share?
The books, particularly Outer Banks Edge which is in its third printing, have been moderately successful. At least they make enough money to fund my film supply! There have been a lot of lessons learned along the way. The first, and perhaps most important, is that you’re never going to totally agree with your publisher/editor about much of anything! You just have to deal with that. Your concepts about presenting your photography and their concepts of how to sell books are often wildly different! I have also been a bit surprised about the real importance of the optimal paper choice – even if it means spending more money on publication. For me, there is nothing more frustrating than seeing a vibrant image “dulled down” by an incorrect choice of papers. I’m also somewhat addicted to spot varnish on images, but that’s just me.
Can you tell us a little about how Outer Banks Edge came about and the process of making it? What would you say to anyone thinking about trying to produce/sell a photography book?
I never really set out to publish a book on the Outer Banks, but it simply became an outgrowth of other photography work in the area. Before I moved to the area, I wanted to buy a coffee table book that showed the beauty of the landscape (and other elements of a unique barrier island). What I discovered was that weren’t any books that I would consider buying. I had sold a number of images to a magazine publisher in the region and asked whether she had ever published a book or would she be willing to give it a try. Much to my shock, she said yes. And so the adventure of the blind leading the blind began. We engaged a really talented designer and eventually we had a book. We had a bad experience with our first printer in the United States and eventually had to switch to another printer in Hong Kong, but otherwise, things went fairly smoothly. Distribution of the book was always an issue, but I have now found an independent publisher who does all the distribution for me.
Landmannalaugar Mosaic, Iceland
Daybreak, Bandon Beach, Oregon
What sorts of things do you think might challenge you in the future or do you have any photographs or styles that you want to investigate? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
I’m not sure that I’m going to change much, but I always have the challenge of breaking away from my comfort zones of the Outer Banks, the American West and Iceland, and finding new lands to explore that will change the way I look at the landscape. I’m not sure my style will change much, since I’m driven to let the land define the way forward without imposing any preconceived notions.
Which photographer(s) – amateur or professional - would you like to see featured in a future issue?
I was going to say Franka Gabler until I discovered you have already done that! (Read Franka's Featured Photographer interview). Not sure who to recommend.
Volcanic Mud Patterns, Theistareykir, Iceland
Totem Pole Sunrise, Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park
Rainbow Eucalyptus Bark, Kauai
On The Beach, Fellsfjara, Iceland
Mount Edith Cavell Reflected In Cavell Lake, Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada
07 Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park
Layers Of Colour, Autumn In Zion National Park
Landmannalaugar Mosaic, Iceland.
Daybreak, Bandon Beach, Oregon
Bridalveil Fall With Pine Tree, Yosemite National Park
Foggy Morning, Lake Louise, Banff, Alberta, Canada
Along Foothills Parkway, Great Smoky Mountains National Park
Me, After A Bad Day In The Field (valley Of Fire State Park, Nevada)
After sunset on a scorching hot Easter Sunday, I was hiking back to my car with my friend Kane Engelbert through the dunes of White Sands National Park in New Mexico, and as it typically goes with my friend Kane and I, we filled the time by talking about photography. We had just photographed an incredibly beautiful scene where the diffused warm light after sunset cast pastel colours onto the white sand dunes, creating one of the more memorable moments we had both experienced. As such, we were both in a fantastic mood. Our conversation quickly turned to discuss other photographers’ work that we admired and my friend Kane immediately asked me if I had “heard of this guy named Eric Erlenbusch, or “ee_visual” on Instagram. I emphatically affirmed that I not only had heard of him but that I was a big fan of his work. Where the conversation went next was interesting because usually these sorts of conversations end quickly and we move on to the next person; however, Kane and I talked at length about how Eric sets himself apart as a nature photographer. What we had both noticed about Eric’s photographs is that many of them possessed a chaotic composition that still somehow worked well. Of course, thinking about and discussing composition from the perspective of chaos is no easy task and we were both quite stumped as to how Eric was able to pull it all off. I’ve put some thought into this since then and I believe there are several factors that contribute to Eric’s ability to do this: embracing experimentation and play in his fieldwork; seeking out and photographing cryptic subjects in a more random style; and the use of curiosity and openness.
Several years ago, I made a conventional exposure of birch trees in the morning sunlight that seemed inadequate to convey the surprise of my encounter. Suddenly, I got an impulse to try again and move the camera during exposure. The result appeared to express a visual vibration more commensurate with my experience of the trees. I did not see the trees move, but I felt a visceral internal movement. Before I made this exposure, I had seen a few examples of intentional camera movement. Still, I did not know ICM was an established method. I subsequently experimented periodically with this, but it was such a departure from my usual way of working that I was reluctant to pursue it at the time.
The lack of sharpness in these pictures challenged me. Clear and precise rendering of details and texture has long been a primary consideration in my photographs. Did a visual conceit of blurred images make sense for me as a photographer? The natural landscape has been my continuing preoccupation for the last two decades. I like to think my photography affirms solidarity with the nature around me. If I admire and respect the forms of this voluminous universe of beings, why would I want to present it as blurred?
In the throes of COVID, I picked up this thread again, and somehow my results seemed more promising. I did not use long exposures because I wanted to preserve some semblance of the identity of the forms before the camera. I wanted to convey a sense of their aliveness. However, I continued to wonder about my departure from realism. I wasn't sure where this path would lead, but I knew I would not find out if I didn't explore it. So I continued to work with intentional camera movement and considered my understanding of photography and visual perception. .
One of the original appeals of photography was accurately depicting the physical world, unaffected by an artist's skill or interpretation. Though this was a mistaken presumption, photographs are still associated with descriptive accuracy and can be seen as a direct representation of reality.
One of the original appeals of photography was accurately depicting the physical world, unaffected by an artist's skill or interpretation. Though this was a mistaken presumption, photographs are still associated with descriptive accuracy and can be seen as a direct representation of reality. The desire to see things as they are without bias is critical to human intelligence. In that regard, I have been curious for many years about phenomenology - a study of things as they are in themselves, in the most immediate sense of how we experience them, without any assumptions, just what is before us.1 That approach seemed akin to photography's emphasis on what is real. However, phenomenology explores sensory stimuli in its many sources.
When I read David Abram's The Spell of the Sensuous2, it inspired me to rethink the process of awareness. Abram is a philosopher known for applying phenomenology to ecological issues and his perspective resonated with my experience as an artist and nature photographer. In retrospect, Abram's writing seems an essential clue to what I find appealing in these pictures I have persisted in making, despite my uncertainty about them. For Abram, phenomenology is a way to rediscover the perceived world as an interactive one. To see something is to become a host for what we see, however awarely. Even if we are walking unaware in a park, we still interact with the trees through the subliminal calming effect of the sights and sounds. The absence of this kind of experience is associated with what has been called "nature deficit disorder."3 But whatever the consequences, we are always within a field of sensory stimuli, interacting with it in ways dependent on our attention and the brain's processing of sensory information.
The issue of attentiveness is a key one for any artist or craftsperson. The achievement of undivided attention is often called mindfulness: when a person is not preoccupied with the past, future, or judgment. Such a mind is, at its best, open as fully as possible to the present moment and the body's spectrum of sensory stimuli. Of course, there are degrees of mindfulness, and the full extent of this attentiveness might be called acceptance – a mind that neither excludes nor judges what is before it.
The issue of attentiveness is a key one for any artist or craftsperson. The achievement of undivided attention is often called mindfulness: when a person is not preoccupied with the past, future, or judgment.
In Frederick Sommer's words, "In total acceptance, almost everything becomes a revelation."4 The word revelation may sound suspect in modern secular culture. Still, it was a way of breaking through habitual perception to previously unconsidered ways of seeing for Sommer. In a similar vein, Minor White wrote that "the state of mind of the photographer while creating is a special kind of blank, …actively receptive and sensitive, with no preconceived ideas."5 For White, the goal was to sense the spirit of a thing and express that through the photograph. Like "revelation," the invocation of "spirit" can be problematic. However, sensory awareness is a critical element in the literature on spirituality, and sensation is accessible to everyone.
The idea of mindfulness has become a cultural buzzword after being introduced by Jon Kabot-Zin as a stress reduction program at the UMass medical school in 1979. Though Zinn's work was inspired by Buddhist teachings, his medical research, and subsequently that of many others, has shown considerable evidence for the value of mindfulness. However, it is widely unknown that mindfulness was a central idea for early 20th-century phenomenologists Edmund Husserl, Martin Heidegger, and Maurice Merleau-Ponty6. Husserl called for a study of things-in-themselves and for living contact with the here-and-now. For all three seminal thinkers, mindfulness was about the life-world, the world of experience, before sensory awareness transforms into knowledge. For Heidegger, encountering a tree is a two-way experience; to be mindful is to savor its presence and wonder about its existence.7
For Maurice Merleau-Ponty, a principal inspiration for David Abram, the body was not something we have but something we are, the way we experience the world. Our body is what enables our sensory awareness, just like with all other beings in the tree of life. Hence direct embodied experience is regarded by Merleau-Ponty as pre-objective and primordial.8 Perception can allow sensible things to inhabit us experientially, depending on our receptivity and resonance with the experience. For Merleau-Ponty, art was a way to express this primordial experience and return us to the life-world.
Regarding visual sensation, research indicates that human vision involves rapid eye movement to explore what is before us, even when maintaining a steady gaze. The conventional static image we associate with stationary objects seems to result from neural processing that stabilises eye movement differences and associates the visual data with words and concepts.
Regarding visual sensation, research indicates that human vision involves rapid eye movement to explore what is before us, even when maintaining a steady gaze. The conventional static image we associate with stationary objects seems to result from neural processing that stabilises eye movement differences and associates the visual data with words and concepts.9 Though I cannot recover my eye motion during a static subject encounter, I found this research intriguing and suggestive of a more direct experience of micro-moments latent in the perceptual process. Moreover, it is unlikely that any memorable visual experience is static. We move our head to take in what is right and left; we move our body closer to see detail and back to see the context. Seeing involves motion when we are paying attention.
Though representing objects at rest is necessary for documenting details in science, art, or daily life, it also reinforces what phenomenologists call the "natural attitude."10 Indeed, it is customary to see the visual world as a collection of objects from which we are fundamentally independent. Of course, our body is physically separate from the things we see, but we only see them because we are attending to them. There is no "seen" without a "seer." For these pictures, it is as if I do not see them as objects but as interactions. The blur in these pictures records moments when things appear in time rather than being taken out of time. I like to think that the blurring displaces my internal animation back to its source as a vibration that resonates with me.
