Landscape and our closest celestial body – photography paths leading through cultural meaning and Cartesian geometry.
Moon Moonrise
There was a moon, and there was a mountain. The mountain had close relations with the Moon. Particularly with the Full Moon that visited her regularly and hung over her top for a while. When the Moon was supposed to appear, the sky got beautiful navy blue. The Moon was always on time, and the mountain was always on place. The Moon was not only bright but also preceded and followed by light. She was dark. Once just dark, once true solid black. They both were no-hurry types. Even when things went pretty fast from one point of view, they slowed down from the other. When rising, the Moon seemed to climb over her hillside like a point going along a chart of a math function. The mountain symbolised the Earth’s landscape. The landscape is reduced to a single form. The Moon symbolised a comer. One thing is constant, and the other one – is constantly on the way. One shape that dominates locally, and the second one - is in the Universe. Both are nearly perfect. A strong connection without a touch. When together, they became a story. When alone, each of them was a promise of the story. As far as their relations lasted...
Simple Landscape With The Moon
This is how I saw the Moon in my home landscape between 2016 and 2019. The mountain is called Ptasznik (the word is difficult to translate, but it comes from the Polish word “ptak” which means a bird; Germans used to call her Vogelberg, which means a bird mountain).
“Full Moon” is inspired by many well known cultural meanings of our world and our closest celestial body, as well as it is a kind of geometry-play. I wanted to create a universal story placed in my local landscape and to propose a symbolic and minimalistic version of traditional landscape photography.
She is one of these very characteristic triangle-shaped peaks, so despite of being pretty low (717 meters above sea level), I have seen her as a well representative for all the mountains. The title of my project is “Full Moon”. It has seven photos, and I believe it will not be more. “Full Moon” is inspired by many well known cultural meanings of our world and our closest celestial body, as well as it is a kind of geometry-play. I wanted to create a universal story placed in my local landscape and to propose a symbolic and minimalistic version of traditional landscape photography.
The photo titled “Simple landscape with the Moon” is an antipostcard for me. A typical landscape postcard is composed according to the rule of thirds and presents pretty colourful landscape, including many eye-attractive objects. Often the thing aligned with one of the strong points is the Sun at sunset. Postcards are like dishes in a restaurant where everything – steak, chips and salad – looks tasty and has its place on a plate and stimulates joyful feelings. My photo is also composed in such a manner, but everything else is in opposition: the colours are only a few, the landscape is reduced to a single simple shape, and there is the Moon instead of the Sun. I do not think it is sad etc., but it is not joyful as well. The other photos in the project are kept in this convention however, major surreal effects appear. This series is put in order like most novels with an introduction (“Meanwhile”), action set up (“Moonrise”), a culminating phase (“Ptasznik and the Moon”, “Simple landscape with the Moon”, “Moon way”) and the end (the photos have not been titled yet). It is my only series in which chronology plays a crucial role.
Full Moon Moon Way
Full Moon, No Title
Semicirlcles
My second lunar project is named “Semicircles” and it could be described as an evolution of “Full Moon” however, it has appeared in my mind partly because of nature protection matters. The highest mountain I can see from my town is “Śnieżnik” (the word is also difficult to translate, it comes from the Polish word “śnieg” which means snow; Germans used to call her Schneeberg, which means a snowy mountain). There are no trees on the top of her which is hundred percent natural thing (1425 meters above sea level and severe microclimate). Śnieżnik has a beautiful look, especially in early spring when the forest under the top is seen from a distance as blue or black, and there is still snow on the highest part. No wonder this mountain became a heart of a landscape park. But it does not mean she is well protected.
The highest mountain I can see from my town is “Śnieżnik” (the word is also difficult to translate, it comes from the Polish word “śnieg” which means snow; Germans used to call her Schneeberg, which means a snowy mountain).
Hill
Dome
A few years ago, the local authorities decided to destroy this natural landscape by building a view tower (unfortunately, it has been done yet). When I heard that horrible news, I wanted to celebrate the Śnieżnik’s natural shape in some special way. I was wondering what was the key feature of her, and the answer was a semicircle-like shape, emphasised by the bald top. That is how I decided to put the mountain and the Moon in a first quarter one below the other.
A few years ago, the local authorities decided to destroy this natural landscape by building a view tower (unfortunately, it has been done yet). When I heard that horrible news, I wanted to celebrate the Śnieżnik’s natural shape in some special way. I was wondering what was the key feature of her, and the answer was a semicircle-like shape, emphasised by the bald top.
The photo is titled “Hill”. The project consists of three photos. All of them have the same basis of comparing the Moon in the first or last phase with some another semicircle or oval natural object. The other two photos have been taken in the Stolowe Mountains National Park, that is in my neighbourhood too. I have an idea to take the fourth photo, and I am still waiting for the necessary weather conditions.
The Moon, though often visible in the daytime, is strongly connected with night, so also spiritual and mystic things. I do not feel that mysticism dominates my photography, but it is present there for sure. One of the common lunar concepts from mysterious tales is an old forest to be crossed by a main character on a moonlit night (generally, doing something at moonlit is usually a magical experience). I have a standing alone photo which uses this motive. It is titled “Scary forest”, and it was taken on a peat bog – one of the most important nature preserves in my neighbourhood - where withered trees are a part of nature landscape. Literally, except for the sky, there are only the relict trees and the Moon so this frame is hundred percent magic.
Standing alone in a scary forest
Standing alone, postcard for Lynch
As an epilogue, I have a photo which I have taken being inspired by David Lynch’s films, “Twin Peaks” – probably my favourite series - especially. This photo is titled “A postcard for Lynch”. His films - or even the first season of “Twin Peaks” alone - have so rich symbolism that may be the best option is not to write here about it. Just want you to know I miss no owl wanted to sit in front of my camera. So there is space for a better postcard...
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.
Horse Play is a visual metaphor disseminated across four photos, each composed of the subtlety to be found only in the stillness of nature. A state of grace, of existence and being without thought - without concept of any past or future - only the present, the eternal now. It is this infinite and boundless state that excites me as a nature photographer, to magnify on that stillness for my audience to (also) be witness to the stillness and grace of nature itself.
These images were taken in the wetland of River Turiec not far from where I live. They represent the kind of images I like taking when light does not inspire me to photograph grand views. Often, I find this type of work more creative, spontaneous and rewarding.
Sutherland is an ironic name. It's origins lie in Old Norse, with it being the land south of Scandinavia and the Norse colonies of Shetland and Orkney. Sutherland is around as far north as you can in mainland UK and as different as you could imagine from the flatlands of East Anglia, where I live. Early in my adventure with a large format camera and film I took myself to Sutherland for four days to immerse myself in photography and suffer the joys of a midsummer sunrise so far north. These are four favourite images from that trip and they persuaded me to continue on my journey using the not so new technology.
This set of images illustrates the interplay between water – both solid and liquid – and leaves – on, above, and below the surface of the water. Covering early autumn to early winter, they highlight the gestures and contrasts found in nature as one season transitions to the next.
These images are a subset of a larger collection I refer to as "groundscapes". They represent an evolution in the subjects which have resonated with me over time – from the grand landscape to intimate landscapes and, finally, more abstract landscapes. As my interest in the abstract has evolved, I've found that I increasingly point my camera "down" at the earth, rather than "out" at the earth, as there are entire worlds, literally at our feet.
Astrid wrote a beautiful article for On Landscape in 2021 about finding creativity and the difference that it makes to her. I very much recognise and agree with her assertion that the best course of action is to keep an open mind. The piece was accompanied by a series of personal and often intimate images, and two years on it seems a good opportunity to see what other fruits time spent in nature and an absence of preconceived outputs have led to.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?
I grew up in Graz, a medium-sized city in Austria surrounded by forests and mountains, so I was never far from nature. I was a shy and introverted child who always felt as though I didn't belong. We didn't have much, my parents worked hard, and I was an only child, so I spent a lot of time alone. I loved being outside in the forest, dreaming up my own worlds, writing fairy tales and poems. I didn't have many friends, and I always felt uncomfortable around other people - I saw myself as an oddball. As I got older, I tried desperately to fit in by putting all the things I thought were unwanted by society in a box and burying that box as deep as I could and putting on a mask that I wore for many, many years. I studied to become an interpreter and ended up working as a scientific coordinator in a research centre and being a caregiver for my elderly and sick parents - secretly mourning the imaginative child and plagued by anxiety and depression.
Imagine you were forced to choose. Either you had to do all your future photography in just one single location, or every photo you take would have to be at a new place, for the rest of your life. What would you choose?
Thankfully, few of us are forced to make such a definitive choice. But all photographers must make some version of it. How wide or narrow should the scope of my photography be? Should I work within tight and well-defined boundaries – for example only particular types of images, in just some specific location? Or should I throw a wider net, trying a bit of everything? Maybe seascapes one day, macros of flowers the other.
I call these two approaches The Well and The Field, going deep or going wide. I believe most photographers do a bit of both, and many of us probably are not even thinking about it. We just shoot things we are attracted to, and sometimes we are attracted to the same things and the same locations, and sometimes not.
I recently spent some time watching a bartender care for her patrons who were ordering fancy drinks that incorporated four or five ingredients that didn’t seem like they should go together. The bartender was taking care to use just the right amount of her chosen ingredients, utilising artful techniques that playfully blended each of them into a tasty and beautiful concoction. I admired how she was able to skillfully combine a shot of high-end bourbon, a splash of bitters, a small amount of simple syrup, a few ice cubes, and a dehydrated orange wheel into a glass that had been placed over a smoking pile of wood chips to create a “Smoked Old Fashion.” It reminded me of the way in which some photographers are able to craft their images using disparate elements that wouldn’t necessarily go together to create an image that is greater than the sum of its parts. It reminded me of the work of Hans Gunnar Aslaksen.
I first became aware of Hans’ work because he submitted it to the Natural Landscape Photography Awards last year, where he earned a top 10 finish for his overall portfolio. There was something about his work that drew me in, wanting to more closely understand why it stood out so prominently amongst thousands of other photographers’ images.
When I learned that Hans had a graphic design background, it made me instantly realise why his photography works so well – he has formally studied the techniques necessary for creating appealing designs in his day-to-day life as an art director.
When I learned that Hans had a graphic design background, it made me instantly realise why his photography works so well – he has formally studied the techniques necessary for creating appealing designs in his day-to-day life as an art director. This includes composition, colour theory, the use of patterns and shapes, and using images to communicate ideas.
When you find something at which you have talent, you do that thing until your fingers bleed or your eyes pop out of your head. ~Stephen King
What is the Meaning of Life?
Ah - the ultimate question. The singular ask which has led to more wars, more conflict in the world than any other question man has ever conceived. What, my dear reader, is the meaning of life?
According to the most intelligent computer in the universe, "Deep Thought" (https://amzn.to/3BRYwAK), the answer is simply 42.
Perhaps a better question than this, however, is why we as a species are so overtly concerned with the meaning of our lives. Personally, I have never witnessed my dog attempting to figure out the meaning in life; nor do I believe a fish swims in its bowl, pondering how it arrived there, wondering why it exists in the first place. And yet we often find ourselves wondering these such questions, and more, all of which revolve around the meaning of our lives.
The disappointing reality is that we are but a blip in the cosmos, something which the universe will quickly forget even existed. To be blunt, it won't take long before most people in the world forget about your existence, even. Simply think about the millions of people who lived just a hundred years ago; save for a few who built a sort of legacy for themselves, their names are largely forgotten.
So, if this is the case and we are not living in some sort of simulation, what is the point of trying to find the meaning of life?
In the 70’s and 80’s, many, if not most budding landscape photographers in the US were disciples of Ansel Adams. Adams was also an ardent environmentalist who spent thirty plus years on the Sierra Club board and had trained in another profession, that of a pianist. Many of my generation also championed another ardent environmentalist who also spent 30 plus years on the Sierra Club board and had been trained for another profession, that of medical research, and who had also left that training to become a photographer. That photographer was Eliot Porter. Through a love of nature and largely the influence of Porter and Adams, my life focus and profession also became the environment and photography. Eliot Porter is also honoured to have coined the phrase; ‘the intimate landscape” and the intimate landscape became my primary artistic expression.
We can thank the light – and work – for slowly but inevitably drawing Laurentiu towards photography. It’s interesting that this, rather than a love of outdoor activities, came first. I sense that Laurentiu is like many of us most comfortable behind the camera, but he’s been generous in sharing his thoughts, and his words make for a beautiful and evocative read that sits well with his images.
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 grew up in a small town in Romania, where, at that time, the usual activities didn’t in any way include going out into the wilderness or into the mountains. One can say that from this point of view, things have looked pretty dull over the years.
What really comes into my mind as a clear picture is when I used to walk around the streets of the neighbourhood, and the weather looked fickle; the light in the sky and the clouds sometimes would become interesting. Those moments proved to be really fascinating during my walks in such weather conditions. And that was due only to the light that I was witnessing. It’s only after some years that the attraction towards the light proved to be actually an attraction towards photography. But at that moment in the past, I was just drawn by beautiful light conditions and nothing more.
After some years, I had to go to University, which happened to be in Bucharest. Things continued to be more urban. My whole life was somehow focused on the usual things, studying and trying to make a living. Still, there was no sign of photography or anything that might lead to my future passion.
Then I started out my employment in telecommunications which led somehow to a lot of travel throughout the country. Through the business, I had to wear a camera, and this came along with me for technical purposes and such, so my curiosity in photography arose in small portions. Besides doing my usual tasks, I began from time to time to foray into nature and its beauties. Like any other beginner in photography, there were lots of bad pictures and failures. My interest in photography was somehow starting to show up timidly. Something was drawing me towards making pictures, but things were far from being clear in this regard. Travelling from place to place, and seeing interesting sceneries, made me, in a way, curious and eager to capture moments.
What part has photography played in your life so far, and how much time can you now devote to it?
When photography comes from your heart, it definitely plays a special role. It’s like an interesting book which you open from time to time. You put it aside when finished, and then, when the time comes, you open it and start reading again. Thus, the magic is always present and only waits to be revealed whenever there comes a proper time.
I am not a whole-time dedicated photographer. Photography is just a passion which brings me joy and relief. Whenever I have the opportunity to go out into the mountains, or just somewhere into nature, I will bring the camera along with me. I know that somehow something interesting might occur, and I don’t want to miss it.
When photography comes from your heart, it definitely plays a special role. It’s like an interesting book which you open from time to time. You put it aside when finished, and then, when the time comes, you open it and start reading again.
I might say that the camera is quite present in my life, although I get to spend time in nature only at the weekends if things are fine. It’s also true that sometimes one should take short breaks from taking pictures just to let your mind breathe in the normal way. As strange as it might sound, the mind needs moments of rest from the photographic work. Over time I’ve noticed that there are moments when you actually cannot produce a picture of good quality. One needs to breathe for a second. Then, everything comes to life again. I think that is true anywhere in art, be it in photography, music, writing, or painting.
But I strongly believe that in order to get to a certain level, one has to work pretty hard, and one needs to spend enough time in nature to get to know it. Only then can one speak about really good pictures.
Unfortunately, I don’t have this lucky life to spend so long in nature. So all the pictures I manage to make are during weekends, if I’m lucky, or during my trips throughout the country after I finish work.
In the beginning, I used to take all sort of pictures, from nature to urban, from macro to wide landscapes. Perhaps in those times, I was looking for something through photography - a story, a pattern, a vision, a different world. I don’t know.
I suppose things like these are happening somewhere at the back of our minds, and over the years, suddenly, something interesting comes up; with an inner desire and a lot of work, one can get at the essence.
You started off, I think, recording your expeditions into the mountains. Did anything in particular prompt you to become more serious about the photography side of things – something you saw or experienced perhaps?
The truth is that when going into the mountains, it becomes quite natural to take pictures, be it for art or just for memories. Walking around, being with your friends, enjoying the views, the time, the air, all these bring along a certain state of mind which allows you to feel free and dive into photography.
Over the years, mountains have meant for me either a simple walk through the forests and ridges or climbing some parts of them. They have brought me a lot of peace into my mind and into my soul and taught me to keep calm in difficult situations.
Over the years, mountains have meant either a simple walk through the forests and ridges or climbing some parts of them. They have brought me a lot of peace into my mind and into my soul and taught me to keep calm in difficult situations. Mountains, through their roughness, teach you how to see your limits, how to deal with your fears, and how to see life in a different manner. They are beautiful and rewarding. That’s why some memories should be kept forever. And this is made possible by photography. Once you get to make an art out of it, the memories are even more valuable.
If anything made me look more seriously at photography, I really don’t know. It’s a long, long process which usually takes years after you realize that photography means more than just taking a picture. These days the internet is full of beautiful and interesting pictures, so it’s really difficult, if not impossible, not to carry all these into your subconsciousness. Perhaps we all take little parts with us whenever we see a good picture on the internet. That image, like others, leaves gently a trace in our minds. Subsequently, when the time comes, and we do photograph, the images we finally make may have delicate nuances from others. That’s a fact.
As for me, what made me look more serious about photography is probably the way I felt about shapes, colours, lines, light, shadows and so on. The human being has always been strongly attracted by beauty, whatever this could mean. Fortunately, some of us were given a special gift, one to express the beauty. In photography, this means making interesting, strong pictures with just a camera and your artistic mind.
Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you or driven you forward in your own development as a photographer?
As I said before, my journey into the vast land of photography began a long time ago. The first steps were very timid and without any clear conclusions. It’s only during the last few years that things have begun to look more serious. It’s also true that one must try a lot until one discovers the essence. This discovery sometimes has its share of chance: the chance to meet talented people, interesting places, and circumstances. In my early years of photography, I had the pleasure to get to know someone who is now a good friend of mine, Dorin Bofan, who happened to be a good photographer even in those days. Then we decided to try and go more often into the mountains, exploring places and seeing new perspectives. His photography was definitely something that I took into account to a great extent. As time passed by, I had the pleasure to get to know photographers on social media or in the mountains. This also gave me the chance to go ahead with my dreams and focus constantly on photography at a different level, wishing to create better and better images.
That was the start towards a more serious view of photography. But a more complex and profound process takes place in our minds and souls. Things begin to build up inside ourselves at such a level that the images that we create belong to us in spite of all the pictures we see every day on internet.
Definitely, I met a few important people in my life, photographers or friends, and that played a major role in my education as an image producer. But what comes in the end is an image that is the product of my inner self, my own beliefs, views and feelings. Thus, photography has become literally an inner conversation but without words.
Definitely, I met a few important people in my life, photographers or friends, and that played a major role in my education as an image producer. But what comes in the end is an image that is the product of my inner self, my own beliefs, views and feelings. Thus, photography has become literally an inner conversation but without words.
Your images seem to change quite a bit around 6 years ago – from mountain views to more intimate details. The mountains are still there, perhaps in a more abstract or atmospheric form, but you become a wonderful observer of small details and quiet moments. There’s a sense of you shifting from looking at the landscape to seeing nature?
Indeed, it’s been quite a change for me. My vision has shifted discreetly from mountain views towards inner world views. The mountains have remained all the time in my soul and mind, but somehow I got to focus on other, different photographic subjects. There have been times when I could not go to the mountains for various reasons, and so I was facing a new situation in which I had to find something else.
The transformation has taken some time period in which I was literally taken by the wave and let myself ponder over the abstract and inner artistic world. Then, I think that the places I have been to lately made me think of photography a little bit differently. There is always a connection between life, things you are going through, and the images you finally get. As I have progressed in my later years, something must have triggered a change in my mind towards a more abstract view of things. Maybe I had this passion for abstracts well hidden in my mind, and it was just waiting for the right moment to emerge. At this time of my life as a photographer, I feel more attracted by patterns in nature. I see things in shapes, lines, and shadows, and I find myself very often trying desperately to put them into an image in the end. Everything around us brings a contribution to the way a photographer gets to see the world.
At this point, will you choose 2 or 3 ‘favourite’ photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about why they are special to you or your experience of making them?
There are many images that I really like or love, and I must say that it’s a rather difficult task to pick some. To make things easier, I will just choose 3 of them from the pictures selected for this interview.
Frozen Soul
This image was taken in an area where I rarely get to photograph because it’s too far from home. The weather conditions which I found were so great that they finally allowed me this beauty. I was so lucky to be there at the right time. Everything happened on the frozen surface of a lake which was covered from place to place by little fallen branches, leaves and lichen. I had been walking carefully all day long on the frozen water looking downwards with the hope of catching something interesting within the icy frames. I finally found this little wonder surrounded by ice bubbles, and I saw it as a soul, a frozen soul. Since then, I have never had this photographic opportunity again.
Saying Goodbye
During the last two years, I have been developing a curiosity as regards to water and what it can offer in different weather conditions. I have noticed purely by trying and playing with the camera that I can get some interesting images once I manage to put things in order. By putting things in order, I mean having a leaf or something else, a reflection, a certain pattern of the ripples arranged in such a way that the final image is really a success. We often hear that an image must have a message, and it’s true. But what is somehow beautiful about photography is that this message gets to us through the eyes. What an image stirs then within our minds is what I call a miracle. The image “Saying goodbye” is such a story.
So Close
One strange thing about this image is that I usually don’t make macro photographs. It happens quite rarely and only in some situations. This one is made with an inverter mounted on my usual 24-70mm f4 lens. One very warm summer evening, I went out for a walk with some ideas in my mind regarding the way I would photograph, but nothing could have prepared me for what was to happen. The park that I visited had some high bushes hosting beautiful pink flowers. The type of flower was quite perfect for what I had in mind to do. I shot many images. It was hot and quite difficult to pinpoint the flowers with the camera. This type of photo is difficult because you need to stay very still when pressing the button, and you need to move millimetres to and fro in order to focus on what you want. When I saw the spider resting on a petal, I realised that I might have an interesting image. All I had to do was to wait for the right moment. Then an idea crossed my mind. What if I get the spider unfocused and the flower in focus?! The final impact was really beautiful.
Tell us a little more about your local area and the places that you are drawn back to? Do you need to travel far for your photography?
I have lived for so many years in a big city, surrounded mainly by concrete and only by a few parks; it’s something that I had to get used to. Living in a hectic urban area requires some adaptation, and some dexterity, to cope with everyday life. From time to time, one has to get away from it all, and that happens when visiting places, going out into nature or into the mountains. This is how I manage to breathe fresh air and give my mind moments of rest.
There are a few places where I can go whenever time allows me. Some of them are quite far from the city, around 2 or 3 hours’ drive from home, so this usually happens during weekends or short holidays. I often revisit a dear place for me, which is about 2 or 3 hours’ drive from home, where I can make abstract images; it’s called Muddy Volcanoes. It’s not really a large area. Although it’s not really a fantastic place, it gives me joy and rest to rethink some photo frames. Another opportunity for photography is when I go into the parks, and I use as subjects the water, the leaves fallen from the trees, and some reflections. These subjects in photography are not always easy to handle, but when I am lucky, I can get pretty interesting photos. The trees remain a constant subject in my images, no matter what season I am in.
But for most of my images, I do have to travel a few hours from my town. That’s a necessity if I want to have a complex and large portfolio.
I have lived for so many years in a big city, surrounded mainly by concrete and only by a few parks; it’s something that I had to get used to. Living in a hectic urban area requires some adaptation, and some dexterity, to cope with everyday life.
What cameras and lenses do you currently enjoy using? Has this changed over time?
At this time, my usual equipment is a Canon 6D camera together with 2 lenses, 24-70mm f4 and 70-200mm f4. Besides these 2 lenses, I use an inverter ring for macro, but that happens quite seldom. During my time as a photographer, I’ve realised that these 2 lenses are pretty much what I need to make photos. I focus more on going out into nature than on trying to buy more and more equipment. I know it sounds like a cliché, but that’s how things have been working for me for some time.
I used to have different cameras and fixed lenses with good optical quality, but I had to sell them all and resign myself to very simple equipment. Just that, and the desire to photograph. Since I have been drawn lately more towards intimate photography, I have found myself many times taking pictures with just the 70-200mm lens, be it landscape or abstract photography.
And yes, things have changed entirely when it comes to photographic equipment. Now I keep only the bare necessities, so to speak, in order to get at least good quality images. I prefer to put aside some money for travelling to interesting places, which could bring me joy and satisfaction as regards photography prospects. One thing I would keep with me at all times is a good optical lens which I could use for an abstract approach.
How big a part does processing and editing play in realising your vision? Do you have an established workflow?
An important part of an image is the first camera shutter release. Then one can say that the magic can begin and makes its way to the final image.
Right after I come back from a short or a long trip, I download the images and have a quick look at them to see whether there is something good that deserves to be kept. Sometimes, when the conditions are right, I come back home with some good images. The ones which prove to be wrong would definitely end up being deleted.
When I’m home, and I have some spare time, I get to work on some of the images that I chose as being interesting. The whole process of getting the final image takes, by and large, about 15 minutes, sometimes even less. The truth is that I don’t anymore make complex images which are supposed to have multiple exposure layers and which imply a lot of work for me. Now I use only one exposure frame, which I process in Photoshop. I use a few Curves and Exposure layers which I tune very, very carefully so as not to affect the final image too much. I prefer to make small and discreet changes because this way, the image gets to look natural and not over processed.
It is said that the final destination for a photographer should be a print of good quality which brings before the beholder’s eyes nature’s beauty. It is an interesting process which should be the final stage in our formation as photographers.
I don’t have a predefined or established workflow. It depends on the image I work on at that moment. Some are easy to process and don’t need much adjustment, while others are more delicate and need more attention and careful work. What I’ve learnt over the years about editing is that it has to be done very softly so as not to alter the image. Following very discreet steps leads to a better processed image.
Mainly, the workflow includes some contrast adjustments, luminosity increase or decrease, and some spot removal.
Do you print many of your images, and if so, how do you choose to print and present them?
Unfortunately, printing is not part of my life as a photographer. There is no demand for this, so I don’t print mine at all for sale my images. I remember that I made some prints some years ago for an exhibition, and that was all I did in this regard. It is said that the final destination for a photographer should be a print of good quality which brings before the beholder’s eyes nature’s beauty. It is an interesting process which should be the final stage in our formation as photographers. There must be an evolved market so as to be able to sell prints in large formats. Another way would be probably to make prints just to offer them as gifts to friends or relatives. One thing remains certain: an image will always look better on a print.
What do you feel you’ve gained through photography?
Photography is my way of dreaming, it is my connection to a certain part of myself which doesn’t know how to speak otherwise. I remember years ago the way I was fascinated by light in the sky, and then I didn’t know how to translate it into something more definite. Years have passed by, and I have come upon photography which has proved to be an interesting way to translate beautiful nature into images.
Photography is a long and discrete journey which happens mostly in our minds and ends up changing us and our structures as human beings. It brings about soft changes for the better; it makes us appreciate the world, nature, and the things around us. The first stage in this journey is the subtle connection with nature, the joy you feel whenever you are out there. With time you realise that you can get to know lots of people with the same interest for photography. That’s another beautiful aspect when you get into this world. Most of my friends come either from photography or from travelling.
Do you have any particular projects or ambitions for the future or themes that you would like to explore further?
I would not call them ambitious projects but just themes to be explored a bit further. There have been places which I have discovered by chance over the years, places that have proved to be quite interesting and full of surprises. It’s about patches of forests which drew my attention pretty much and which offered me opportunities for beautiful images. All I’m looking for now are different meteorological conditions which could bring about some interesting changes to the way these forests can look. I find forests and trees a very fascinating subject for me as a photographer, mostly during autumn and winter times.
One season is brilliant for colour; the other one is perfect for minimalism. In wintertime, the forests tend to look more simple than usual, which makes them a good subject for minimalistic frames. That’s why I call these “themes to be explored”.
One season is brilliant for colour; the other one is perfect for minimalism. In wintertime, the forests tend to look more simple than usual, which makes them a good subject for minimalistic frames. That’s why I call these “themes to be explored”. Another place which I mentioned that I happen to visit from time to time – Muddy Volcanoes – is an area covered in muddy flows and crusty surfaces suitable for abstract approaches. Although photographically speaking, I feel tired of this area, I like to revisit it and lose myself within it. I like that I still find inspiration in spite of all the images which were born here. It’s a land with not so many opportunities but with some surprises, if you allow them to show up.
One thing that I crave is alpine photography which I’ve kind of neglected a bit. I have always been attracted by alpine, wild, remote areas, and I really hope that one day I’ll resume this kind of adventure. Although it’s obvious that the abstract style has taken me over in recent years, alpine photography will always find a special place in my heart.
So the next themes that I would like to explore are very simple and dear to me: abstract and alpine. Now it’s up to life or some luck to see if all these will come true.
You’re good friends with Dorin Bofan, who we’ve interviewed previously. How helpful has it been to have a fellow traveller in planning trips and developing as a photographer? Do you have any more adventures planned together?
Yes, I met Dorin some years ago when I was very much at the beginning of my journey as a photographer. I remember he had at that time a website which looked very good, and I was quite interested to see if I could have a similar one for myself. With his help, I managed to bring some useful adjustments to my own web platform. Since then, we’ve become very good friends and have been trying to arrange our adventures together as much as possible. Firstly, we tried to get out into the mountains in our search for interesting images, each of us obviously in our own artistic way.
Besides being a talented photographer, Dorin is a good friend. We just happened to resonate with each other as regards our visions about life, about photography, and this has had a huge contribution to our journeys. He now travels a lot more than I do in different countries, and that’s an advantage for him as a travel planner and photographer.
Then followed some trips abroad in Norway and Iceland, in areas which proved to be very interesting and tempting, thinking about what these countries’ landscapes can offer. Besides being a talented photographer, Dorin is a good friend. We just happened to resonate with each other as regards our visions about life, about photography, and this has had a huge contribution to our journeys. He now travels a lot more than I do in different countries, and that’s an advantage for him as a travel planner and photographer. Since the pandemic and due to some other problems, we have had a break in our journeys, but I hope that we’ll resume the adventures and we’ll get to some interesting areas such as Iceland, Scotland, Spain, and Turkey. Anyway, I hope this dream is not too far-fetched.
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 have rarely felt the need to break away from photography for a long time because I never get to be overloaded with this kind of activity. Photography plays a significant role in my life, but just in small portions. I’ve only happened to feel the pressure of too much photography when travelling abroad, mostly in Iceland and Norway, places where I really made lots of images. There the amount of work as a photographer was quite huge, and I almost felt tired of taking so many pictures. Separate from these periods of travelling, I like to have the camera at hand in case something interesting occurs.
Another hobby that I had some years ago was alpinism, but I had to give it up for a bit due to some health issues.
Then, when time allows, I enjoy taking short or long day trips walking around the city, watching movies, reading, and talking to my friends.
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 are so many good photographers out there, and choosing some of them is a pretty tough task. Fortunately, I saved on my phone a link with some photos and now I’m able to offer an example.
I once found out about a photographer who caught my attention with his portfolio. He’s a very subtle artist who manages to capture the essence from time to time. His name is Manuel Enrique Gonzalez Carmona.
Thank you Laurentiu. I know readers will enjoy reading this, and will hope that you continue both dreaming and travelling.
If you’d like to see more of Laurentiu’s photographs, you’ll find him on Facebook
While we feel sure that if we had stood beside the camera we would have seen the same subject in the same way, we carelessly mistake the photographic rendition for authenticity and rarely realize just how extensive a mental adjustment we make every time we look at a photograph . . . We adjust so easily that we permit the photograph with all its changes of the visual world to be the most convincing liar of any of the visual media. ~Minor White
Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, included in his work, The Republic, is among the best-known thought experiments in Western philosophy. The allegory is told by Plato’s fictionalised version of his mentor, Socrates, to Plato’s brother, Glaucon. Over the years, several interpretations of the allegory were proposed. Rather than review all of them (which I recommend you do independently if you are interested in philosophy), I will attempt here to distil some of these interpretations into useful ways to think about photography.
Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, included in his work, The Republic, is among the best-known thought experiments in Western philosophy. The allegory is told by Plato’s fictionalised version of his mentor, Socrates, to Plato’s brother, Glaucon. Over the years, several interpretations of the allegory were proposed. Rather than review all of them (which I recommend you do independently if you are interested in philosophy), I will attempt here to distil some of these interpretations into useful ways to think about photography.
Try to visualise the following: a group of prisoners is held in chains in the deep recesses of a cave. Between the prisoners and the cave entrance is a wall blocking their view of the world outside the cave. The prisoners have been in the cave since childhood and have no direct knowledge of what the world outside the cave looks like. Between the wall blocking the prisoner’s view and the opening of the cave is a small fire causing amorphous shadows to be projected onto the upper portion of the cave’s back wall, where the prisoners can see them. Based on these shadows, the prisoners attempt to guess what things in the real world—the things casting the shadows—are like. This is Plato’s way of describing how most people experience their world: imprisoned in a cave, having no direct knowledge of true reality, either attempting to infer or accepting others’ inferences for what the world is really like based on vague and partial evidence and then accepting these inferences—amounting and somewhat-educated guesses and myths—as true reality.
I am so thankful for what I am able to do as part of my job, using my minds eye to be able to express a passion via creativity, using a sheet of film and a camera to catch my thoughts. The camera is an extension of my mind and when out in the environment I love the challenge of being creative. I am also fascinated by what others may interpret from what I see once the piece of work is complete. What emotion would it stir by viewing the image but also, does the writing that accompanied the image make the work more understandable.
Now I, for one, have no professional understanding of geology other than limestone, sandstone and the other basics, but when I noticed a small stretch of river bed I had walked past countless amounts of times before had the most amazing colour and detail, I wanted to explore this more.
This stretch is no more than 40 meters in length, showcasing deep reds, which, when looking closer, could give people the impression that the riverbed was bleeding.
We all know that a bleeding riverbed of blood is not possible, but what is this sign of nature telling us about what is going on beneath the rock, or is the river expressing its concerns about health?
We all know that a bleeding riverbed of blood is not possible, but what is this sign of nature telling us about what is going on beneath the rock, or is the river expressing its concerns about health?
Having on only a few occasions photographed through water, mainly at wildlife, I wanted to use this opportunity to see what the visual outcome would be of a fast flowing river over such amazing rock. I also decided that I would like to use different films to create different outcomes, be it texture, tone or contrast.
Putting this together in my head at home, I was thinking about best times to approach this subject. I did not just want to shoot for the sake of it, but I was thinking mid-summer would offer me a better opportunity due to tree cover causing less flare. I also wanted to visit during either overcast conditions or clear skies early or late in the day. My film choice was between Kodak Ektarchrome, Ektar, Portra and Ilford Ortho. I love the Kodak films - chrome for its sharpness and Ektar for its dynamic range. I would not normally use Portra for this subject, but I was intrigued by what it would produce, and Ilford Ortho is the only black and white film I use.
Over the next 6 weeks, I would venture down to the river, which was a good 2 miles from the truck once I was parked. Being accompanied by my son Gethyn on a number of occasions while documenting the stretch of river, we would discuss why the river was red. On one occasion, he noticed a large number of tadpoles in a large pool being fed by the freshwater of the river, which made his day. I get great pleasure in taking him out with me in nature, seeing his enthusiasm for being in the countryside.
Another issue would come with focusing on the bed of the river while turbulent water was flowing. It took a while to tilt and swing to get good coverage. I was always aware that some may not look as good as others due to water depth and some exposures which went over 2 minutes, taking into account reciprocity failure. I
Having said that, there are times when I think, why do I do this. Bringing out a six year old when trying to do work is not always the best idea, but this is one of the very few occasions.
I used a 2 week period of overcast weather to take a few exposures and then sent them away for development. I was quite pleased with what I had produced, but as the weather became more pleasant, it became much harder to compose scenes due to reflection and also losing possible detail in the darker areas. Shooting on my 5 by 4 camera, I found the best lens to use was my Nikkor 210mm lens with a polariser. On a 35mm camera, this is the equivalent of about an 80mm lens. I was able to get near to the surface to focus on small areas but was also able to use it for a wider view. By the way, using a large format, this was a little tricky, and my Harkila wellies often saved the day as I would be standing nearly knee deep in water at times.
Another issue would come with focusing on the bed of the river while turbulent water was flowing. It took a while to tilt and swing to get good coverage. I was always aware that some may not look as good as others, due to water depth and some exposures which went over 2 minutes (taking into account reciprocity failure). I am one to keep things as basic as possible, this way I feel it is down to me to correctly expose while also composing and focusing the view, I even count off the times for exposure.
I will confess that I do use a great app which has been very helpful called reciprocity timer, it saves me from taking printed sheets advising on times to expose the film. I have at times forgotten to take my phone with me, though, which again can cause a real problem as you have to guess what the added time would be if needed.
This is where I would also prefer negative film over slide where I can get an overall better dynamic range. I would dabble with the use of Ortho black and white film just to see how the black and white film would react to the reds of the river.
Again the film went away to the soup factory for development and returned a few days later. I then scanned the film at home and started having a look at the collection I had created in just under 2 months. This is another process I love in shooting film, it's not straight back in your face, there is so much more to it, and it can take a long time until the process is finished. I was pleased with the work. Most were exposed okay, and I was very pleased with two of the slide negatives. My personal favourite was the Ektar image, the conditions were spot on for what I was trying to create, but the film handed it all really well. I also think the composition helped, though, with simple lines of red on a flattish surface of the rock.
Back to why the river was showing these amazing colours in the limestone cracks. This particular area was once a prolific silica mine; the remnants of buildings and mines from the past are there for us all to see today. I was made aware that mining under the ground can open up cracks that could send water flowing in different directions carrying iron and minerals with it, eventually finding its escape routes through small cracks in river beds.
This particular area was once a prolific silica mine; the remnants of buildings and mines from the past are there for us all to see today. I was made aware that mining under the ground can open up crevasses that could send water flowing in different directions carrying iron and minerals with it, eventually finding its escape routes through small cracks in river beds.
To the north, the landscape is a large area of red sandstone pressing against the limestone, this may be this be due to the geology and topography of the area. To the south side of the limestone are coal fields that were heavily mined during the industrial revolution and even up until recent years as large open casts. Might it be the years of pollution into the rivers during this period causing these fascinating features. I have had many conversations with locals who remember how much poorer the water quality looked during that time period.
I do, however, like the idea of not fully knowing, it gives us the impression that the river has its own character, It shows us what it wants us to see. Eventually, it is up to us to take in what it is trying to say through how it shows itself to us. The environment is very good at expressing itself, although most of the time, we don't even notice. When we do, it can send us on a journey that we may not expect.
I can only hope that when we do notice things in the environment that were not always apparent before, it will also make us reflect on how we look after it, keeping the landscape in a healthy state for future generations to explore and wildlife to flourish. Just as important is how it allows us to express our own artistic expression; it is always changing. Documenting this is important and in many years times it may even be beneficial, but the landscape always offers us the opportunity to capture how it feels, and that is something I am very thankful for.
Most people with a strong passion for photography, like us, when we decide to turn pro, we have no idea where this road will lead us. Some may have an interest in teaching and decide to become a workshop guide, others may love to make videos about their photographic activities and open a YouTube channel, and others may want to see their work published so they build up a highly specialised portfolio to work for publishers or other clients. If we make it, we will surely reach a point where we’ll start to get offers to do high-profile and long-term commissioned projects.
Hopefully, we’ll reject anything that will not be in line with our main interests. This is not easy to do, especially when starting out, but it is necessary to stay true to ourselves and persevere in chasing our dreams.
We may then experience periods where the type of projects we love doing are not available, so, like an amateur photographer, we decide to do such ideal projects ourselves.
As photographers, the more we will practice photography, the more our understanding of the ideal commissioned work will be specific, simply because by practising the same craft over many years, we’ll become more aware of what we truly like doing. So we find ourselves accepting more often the kind of work we truly like.
We may then experience periods where the type of projects we love doing are not available, so, like an amateur photographer, we decide to do such ideal projects ourselves.
It was Joe Cornish who wrote a series of articles for On Landscape in which he broadly divided his landscape photography into a number of categories, from the geographic landscape, through to the intimate landscape, all the way to the landscape of memory (see links to Joe's articles at the end of this end frame). “Ontological minestrone”, he called it (which did make me laugh), a “very rough” categorisation prompted by his work on a definition of landscape photography requested of him by a society. It was a fascinating series, headed with the thoroughly profound definition he proffered. Hinted at, but perhaps, not overtly explored, was the degree to which his categories were universal to all landscape photography and, to some extent, could overlap.
Against this background, No Smoke Without Fire is a thoroughly fascinating photograph (it featured in a joint exhibition, Woodland Sanctuary Exhibition in July 2022), seeming to have nested within it several of Joe’s categories and concept of landscape and itself hinting at an extension to his definition, which is what it can tell us, photographer and audience, by appealing to our archetypes, about ourselves and how we might move through the world.
Aesthetically, it is an extremely pleasing photograph. There is a meta-design of two broadly interlocking and contrasting triangles, one of dark earth and one of light forest. Within that, there is a sub-design of triangles of tone, starting with a large dark one to the left, a lighter one to the right, then another darker one higher up on the left. Colours are within a limited and beautifully complimentary palette, and tones are well distributed and contrasted.
As Joe has already mentioned in his own overview of the Fountains Abbey project, it wasn’t really his favourite subject matter. In fact, as far as landscape goes, you couldn’t get much further away from his love of mountains and wild places. But a challenging job like this is just why you need someone like Joe Cornish to get the very best out of a landscape such as this.
This is, for me, why you can learn more from studying the work that Joe has done here than you can from a random collection of sublime landscape photographs. When the main tools that you have to work with are your compositional skills, knowledge of light and ability to create coherence in a body of work, those skills should be obvious in most of the photographs.
Seven Bridges Valley
The book starts with a range of photographs of the abbey itself taken in a wide range of conditions. I see this as a context-setting introduction. The meat of the book starts with “Abbey Landscape” and a range of pictures that find viewpoints to show the built and natural landscapes balancing each other. There are a couple of pictures that I think are exquisitely constructed, which I’ll show below. They work together, almost like a cinematic ‘draw-back’, moving from the architectural images from before and slowly revealing the wider landscape.
Summer Evening
Summer Evening shows the edges of the managed landscape so well, from the formal grounds of the nave and chapel leading via the great cloister to the infirmary bridge where the river banks overflow with reeds and grasses.
It’s the River Bank and Ruins photograph that really demonstrates Joe’s compositional skill and ability to find just the right place and moment.
Riverbank And Ruins
Even without the Abbey, this photograph would have many of the makings of a classic. The strip of light on the ferns delineating the bank, the backlit trees, the cool blues of the river. But then we add in the warm and cool of the architecture, the play of light on the windows, the perfect positioning to frame the arched window between the trees. Every part of the picture working in close harmony.
This middle chapter continues these juxtapositions, offering the advantage to the man-made or natural as conditions fit.
You can almost feel the moment that Joe has submitted to his passion for the trees in the Abbey grounds. In the flip of a page, these sweet chestnut, beech, lime, horse chestnut and sycamore become the stars of the show and Joe is just the person to bring out their best features.
I’ll give you two of my favourite examples. The first is also Joe’s (I think) and shows part of the lifecycle of the trees. Joe found a way of showing this deadfall as organic forms, meshing with each other, almost moving together.
Fallen Ancestors
The second, which Joe has title Primate, is the remains of a fallen branch, bark stripped and showing twisting sinew-like fibres. The composition places the ‘head’ of the branch against a glow of chestnut colour.
Primate
The remainder of the book focuses on the features of many of these fallen trees, bringing out the spirit of the area through wounds and burrs.
The book works as both documentation of the Abbey site but also as introspection, a view of what Joe’s drivers are in his working practices and, as such, it makes really interesting browsing.
I asked Joe a couple of questions about the project
Obviously, Fountains Abbey and the surrounding land aren't instantly inspirational in the way that the mountains of the Scottish Highlands might be, but do you find the limits on natural beauty place more onus on the photographer and hence can be more satisfying when your contribution to a beautiful end picture is more significant?
Because, yes, the relatively “minor” scale of the Fountains landscape would not ordinarily inspire someone who loves wild places, mountains and dramatic shores. But really, that was a big part of the challenge and, therefore, enjoyment of it. I learned to tune in to the place, and that proved creatively to be a great experience.
The water garden and abbey buildings were more challenging as they have an ordered quality, and also they have been painted and photographed continuously for well over a hundred years… some of those earlier pictures are known to me, and inevitably that is an influence, even if the influence is: ”To avoid plagiarism I had better avoid that perspective, or composition”. I even had to avoid plagiarising my own previously made pictures from before the commission!
When I go now, I do so with an enormous sense of freedom, partly from the obligation of the commission but also because my familiarity with the place is such that I have an idea of what and where might be interesting in many different conditions of light and season, and so can organise my creative efforts accordingly.
Overall I have found the experience really positive and liberating. Fountains has become an ongoing creative place for me.
Were there any pictures that got away because the conditions weren't right, or you wanted to refine them more, or they didn't fit in the book?
There were certainly some ideas that I didn’t fulfil because with the best will in the world you can’t be there every day, and the conditions required for certain ideas is usually very specific. In particular, none of my visits coincided with a really convincing fog event, although I had a misty morning at How Hill that gave the image on page 7 opposite Justin Scully’s foreword. Some I was fond of that didn’t make it into the exhibition of course, if only because of limitations of space. A couple of these made it into the book.
Awakening
Since the exhibition opened (and has now finally closed) I have re-started visits from time to time and some unfulfilled ideas are starting to appear. I’ll include two here. But in the end all images tend to appear unpredictably, which is a part of the joy of landscape photography (for me, anyway).
Panorama
The Book
The book itself is hardback, cloth covered and very nicely printed on heavyweight paper (72 pages of 200gsm). Joe has said it is one of the best litho reproductions he has had. It includes a short foreword and introductory essay by Justin Scully (Site Manager) and Mark Newman (NT Historian). It also has two short essays from Joe about the project and the exhibition.
The pages of On Landscape have seen, in both articles and comments, continuing discussions about the “natural” and the expressive and creative use of image modifications in producing images1. Those modifications might range from the choice of medium (paper, film or digital of different types) to extreme post-processing techniques (either in the darkroom or on the computer). Some of the most “unnatural” landscape photographs are also the oldest, when the photographer had no choice but to produce images in monochrome. Even after the arrival of colour photography, many photographers continued to work in monochrome for expressive effect, but also because of their knowledge and understanding of the black and white medium and processes, such as Ansel Adams (1902-1984) and the zone system for controlling exposures and contrast.
Ansel Adams, 1927, Monolith – The face of Half Dome
A good example of this is his story of the origins of visualising the final print in making the negative when he made the image Monolith – The face of Half Dome in 19272. Initially, he made a monochrome exposure with a yellow filter (on a 6 ½” x 8 ½” Korona view camera that he had hauled up to a rock slab called The Diving Board), then.
As I replaced the slide, I began to think about how the print was to appear, and if it would transmit any of the feeling of the monumental shape before me in terms of its expressive-emotional quality. I began to see in my mind’s eye the finished print I desired: the brooding cliff with a dark sky and the sharp rendition of distant, snowy Tenaya Peak.
To do so, for his last sheet of film, he used a dark red filter to darken the sky even further, and, having examined the developed negative, reported that
I had achieved my first true visualization! I had been able to realize a desired image: not the way the subject appeared in reality but how it felt to me and how it must appear in the finished print. The sky had actually been a light, slightly hazy blue and the sunlit areas of Half Dome were moderately dark gray in value. The red filter dramatically darkened the sky and the shadows on the great cliff. Luckily I had with me the filter that made my visualized image possible.3
Monolith – The face of Half Dome is one of Adam’s most famous images because of its link to the concept of what is now often called pre-visualisation, but in its processing (including the later printing in the darkroom) it is certainly unnatural in its treatment of the tones but perfectly acceptable to the viewer in giving an impression of the contrast of a clear blue sky and the light greys of the lit cliff face of Half Dome.
Using a red filter, of course, allows only the longer wavelengths of light to be recorded. Blues are filtered out, hence the dark sky. This can be taken further by using a sensor that is sensitive to infrared light and using a filter that passes only infrared wavelengths.
Using a red filter, of course, allows only the longer wavelengths of light to be recorded. Blues are filtered out, hence the dark sky. This can be taken further by using a sensor that is sensitive to infrared light and using a filter that passes only infrared wavelengths. The first published infrared landscape photographs were produced by Robert Williams Wood (1868-1955) in 19104. There was a Royal Photographic Society celebration of the centenary of infrared photography in volume 150 of the RPS Journal in 20105. These first infrared images were produced using an experimental emulsion that required very long exposures, but by the 1930s, all the major film companies (Ilford, Kodak and Agfa) were producing films sensitive to infrared wavelengths. These were still, however, also sensitive to some visible light wavelengths, so were normally used with a low pass filter to cut out shorter wavelengths. The most common filter used was at 720nm (89B, R72), but 695nm and the more extreme 830nm were also used. I have many images taken on Ilford SFX film using a R72 filter. This requires an exposure adjustment of about 4 stops and therefore needs longer shutter speeds (hence the blurred clouds or waves that were common in many infrared images taken on film). It also requires an adjustment to the focus since lenses will focus infrared light to a different plane than visible light. Many film-era camera lenses had red marks on the focusing ring to indicate the adjustment needed for infrared film (something it was all to easy to forget when only using infrared occasionally!).
One of the first infrared photographs was taken by Robert Williams wood in about 1908 of his summerhouse in East Hampton. This seems to pre-date the version published in the Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine in 1910. Wood later published more infrared images taken in Italy in the Illustrated London News in 19116.
There are still some infrared films in production7, but there are also digital alternatives, including cameras developed specifically for infrared use (such as those used in assessing heat loss from homes and, for scientific purposes, the temperatures of volcanic lavas). Most digital camera sensors are sensitive to infrared wavelengths but are covered by a cut-off filter that does not pass those wavelengths. This means that to record infrared a conversion is needed to remove that filter and fit either a clear all-frequency filter (which would then require an infrared filter on the lens as for film), or a replacement internal filter at 695, 720 or 830nm. A number of companies in the UK provide such a service for different makes of cameras. Some of the Sigma cameras with Foveon sensors were designed with IR cut filters that could be removed quite easily8. The 3 layer Foveon sensors also avoided the softening effects of the Bayer array or Xtrans filters that still cover the sensors of other digital cameras after the infrared cut-off filter is removed. The autofocus on digital cameras still works in infrared when the focus is detected on-sensor or via the EVF, while modern lenses with APO elements reduce the focussing issue even more.
Paul Gallagher, in a previous article for On Landscape, gives a nice account of how such a digital conversion came to change his practice for black and white images, particularly in trying to avoid the stereotypical high contrast that often results from the use of infrared filters in bright light
Paul Gallagher, in a previous article for On Landscape, gives a nice account of how such a digital conversion came to change his practice for black and white images9, particularly in trying to avoid the stereotypical high contrast that often results from the use of infrared filters in bright light.
The high contrast effects of monochrome infrared images can often be used quite effectively to augment the minimalist feel of landscape photographs. There have been a number of celebrated landscape photographers who have worked in such a monochrome minimalist tradition but without using infrared film or sensors, most notably perhaps Michael Kenna and Hiroshi Sugimoto10. Since the availability of conversion services for digital cameras, both monochrome and colour infrared images have become much more commonly posted on the internet11. To my mind, they work best in monochrome; the false colours of colour infrared come across much more as just false (albeit that they have important scientific uses in remote sensing and astronomy, while judging by their ubiquity on the internet, clearly appeal to some photographers at least as experiments).
So for those readers who might want to think about giving film or digital infrared a try, then some recent infrared images follow, some in the minimalist tradition. For those who still have a film camera, that may be the cheapest way to start – you need only a roll of film and a low pass infrared filter12. If you happen to have a spare digital camera, then it may also be possible to get a conversion made for the order of £25013. Not all lenses give good results with infrared – some will produce a diffuse bright hot spot in the centre of the image, especially at smaller apertures14. The images that follow have been taken with a converted Fujifilm X-E2 camera with a replacement 720nm low pass filter. Some show the more muted range of tones preferred by Paul Gallagher; some the more extreme range of high-key and-low key elements, including the dark skies, that are possible in sunny conditions (when care must be taken to expose for the right of the histogram and not burn out the highlights – or at least not too much). The advantage of having such a camera is that it can provide an alternative view of the world; the disadvantage of course is that it is yet more weight to carry when walking!
Lammerside Castle, Mallerstang
Trees and contrails, Trans-Swiss Trail near Breuleux, Switzerland
The ready availability of infrared film and cameras also raises a question about how far the unnatural can be acceptable in making creative images. That question has been at the heart of some of the recent philosophical discussions in On Landscape15 and in setting up the Natural Landscape Photographer Awards16 (NPLA). Clearly, we are not going to prevent photographers and artists from using the full range of sensors and digital processing techniques that are available, in the same way that some still choose to use 19th Century alternative processes. Thinking about this issue suggested to me that a possible philosophy here is that of the philosopher of science Paul Karl Feyerabend (1924-1994). Originally trained in the Vienna school, Feyerabend became somewhat of an iconoclast in the philosophy of science. His most well-known book had the title “Against Method”; his most well-known phrase “Anything goes”. His position was determinedly relativist, and he suggested that any coherent system of beliefs could be valuable to those who believed in it (we cannot know what he might have made of conspiracist memes about climate and other issues on the internet since he died before such memes became so widespread).
Feyerabend had the view that this also held for current scientific theories, which would, in their turn, inevitably be replaced by new systems of beliefs as science evolves. Belief, including modern science, is therefore conditioned by social groups (and now by reinforcement on social media).
Feyerabend had the view that this also held for current scientific theories, which would, in their turn, inevitably be replaced by new systems of beliefs as science evolves. Belief, including modern science, is therefore conditioned by social groups (and now by reinforcement on social media).
We can perhaps make the analogy here with the appeal of different styles of more or less natural landscape images. “Anything goes” (in terms of choice of film, filter or post-processing), but some images might appeal to us (or our group) more than others. That this social conditioning also applies in Art is demonstrated quite nicely by a recent study of the value of paintings by male and female artists that showed that historical, social conditioning still controls responses to Art, it seems, though the influence of critics and galleries and the response of collectors17. But even if this surely ought not to be the case for landscape photography today (though some examples of highly priced male photographers come to mind), we will still respond to different types of unnatural image in different personal ways.
In the case of infrared images, unnatural, of course, is only from the point of view of a human eye with its limited range of sensibilities. Other eyes (for example, bullfrogs, vampire bats and many snakes) have eyes that are sensitive to infrared wavelengths. Such images are not, therefore, unphysical; they reflect the actual infrared emissions in different parts of the image in the form of tones or colours, but by revealing the infrared, they just provide a quite different aesthetic feel to an image in terms of tones and textures. In that sense, they might be considered more naturally unnatural than the monochrome representation of the visible spectrum, including the example of Monolith - the face of Half Dome above. It is just that such images are not necessarily considered unnatural since we have become used to interpreting and appreciating monochrome images from the very earliest days of photography.
Indeed, early photographic emulsions were more unnatural in that, before the development of orthochromatic emulsions, they had limited sensitivity to lower frequency wavelengths in the visible spectrum, being primarily sensitive to blues. However, we are much less used to seeing trees and grass glowing white because they have higher infrared emissions in sunlight than nearby rocks or tree trunks. Perhaps that is one reason why there have been relatively few articles containing infrared images in On Landscape. There has also been little presence in NPLA. There does not appear to be anything in the current rules barring infrared images, although in explaining the aims of NLPA, Tim Parkin stated that “the post-processing and interpretation of images [should] respect the inherent truth of the scene experienced, and photography aware viewers would not feel deceived by the end result if they were to see that original scene themselves”18. We will not see the original scene in infrared, of course, but in being aware that infrared reflects relative tones of heat emissions, we might also not be deceived by such images. We could consider that they are consistent with a pragmatic realist philosophy19.
Or perhaps the aesthetic just does not appeal to many – as Paul Gallagher suggested, the extremes of contrast under sunny conditions are just too great. Perhaps there is less scope for the creative use of metaphors or representation of emotions in infrared, but such images can, at least, cause the viewer to think a little. If that is only to realise that, oh! that is just another infrared image (even if not labelled as such), then perhaps not much is gained. But if the “unnatural” appeals as a form of abstraction from reality20, or to reveal some aspect of reality that might otherwise go unnoticed, then perhaps the possibilities are greater. That is up to the viewer to decide.
Trees, grass and fence post, Trans-Swiss Trail near Les Pommerets, Switzerland
Lone pine on the banks of the Tzouchdana River, Zinal, Val d’Anniviers, Switzerland
Last sun on the Ober Gabelhorn and clouds, Val D’Anniviers, Switzerland
Alpage de Donin, Anzère, Valais, Switzerland
Cloud over Frilihorn and Les Diablons, Val d’Anniviers, Switzerland
Cloud over the Weisshorn, Val d’Anniviers, Switzerland
Shadows on Long Crag, Mallerstang
The Howgills from Birkett Knott
River Eden at Shoregill, Mallerstang, Cumbria
The Devil’s Mustard Mill, Stenkrith, Mallerstang, Cumbria
A path through flowering ramsons, Stenkrith, Mallerstang, Cumbria
These include the SD10 and SD14 SLRs and the SDQ, and SDQ-H mirrorless interchangeable lens cameras (but not the Merrill and Quattro fixed lens cameras.
Reported, for example, in https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2022/aug/02/painting-gender-pay-gap-recalculating-art. This revealed that prices for art by men are an average of 10 times greater than that by women, and that the value of female art can decrease if it is signed. This is despite the fact that when pieces are shown to collectors to decide whether it is by a male or female artist the correct identification rate was 50% (i.e. no better than random choice). The same was true for pieces of art generated by artificial intelligence, unless they were assigned to male or female names, in which case the male labelled works were again assigned greater value.
Roger’s emails end with, “The risk in life is not taking one.” I wonder how many of us would, after a challenging start, secure career success and financial stability and then turn everything on its head to pursue a passion? Some of you may have done this; others may dream of it. Roger Fishman has embraced what he calls his ‘Life 180’ and seems to be doing quite well at it. I get the impression that he probably doesn’t do anything by halves. He’s clearly a motivated and high achieving individual whose life lessons have both prepared him well and generated considerable empathy for others. Beginning with a passion for wildlife, if not penguin poo, he now concentrates on aerial photography and videography, which highlights the effects of climate change on polar landscapes. We’ve all seen stunning aerials of Iceland, but it was Roger’s abstractions of water and ice in Greenland that first caught my eye and offered an introduction to his adventures and his passion for the planet.
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 much do you feel that your early experiences have shaped your approach to life and who you are now?
I grew up in a small town of 15,000 people in Orange, Connecticut, with my parents and two older sisters.
It was a charming tree-lined town where the main street was named Orange Center Road, which was a two-lane road with no traffic lights when I was very young, and only over time got its first stoplight at an intersection where my mom and I got hit by another car…and this was way before anybody wore seatbelts.
When I was growing up, there were lots of farms where one could get fresh vegetables and corn, as well as fresh milk from all the local cows.
Orange also had an annual fireman’s carnival with rides, games, grilled burgers and hot dogs, all of which took place on the town green.
And amongst all this beauty, history and charm (I mean, I did “win" the sesquicentennial contest for the person in the town with the most freckles), there were my parents, each with their own history and challenges. Which led to their unhappy marriage and ultimately led to a necessary and painful divorce.
There were many good times but also challenging times, as we encountered some extreme financial difficulty. After my parent's divorce, my mother had to buy groceries and pay bills while getting paid $2/hour and working 6 days a week as a dental hygienist. In fact, I was given food stamps in elementary school and refused to use them because I was embarrassed, as it would mean that other kids could see how financially poor we were.
However, many positive things happened from this experience that were amazing and impactful for my life. One is that the principal of the school (which was named after her) created a kind and dignified solution to my situation. She took notice of what was going on and had me come to the nurse’s office each day and get a quarter that I could use for lunch. She taught me the importance of kindness, dignity, and putting yourself in someone else’s position/shoes. Her name was Mary L. Tracy.
As I get older and the longer I create landscape and nature photographs, the more I yearn for my artwork to be about something more than just a beautiful view. Don’t get me wrong, I still think there’s tremendous value in conveying the natural beauty of Earth through our photographs, and this approach can certainly fulfil many photographers’ hopes and desires; however, there is something very compelling for me to aspire for my photographs to do more, to be more, to accomplish more. This has become especially true in our modern era of climate change, pervasive racism, gender inequality, and wealth inequality. These are all problems our societies face and are areas where art and photography can play a role in bringing these issues into the forefront of our collective consciousness.
This year marks 10 years since I left my law practice behind and took the plunge into professional nature and landscape photography. And yes, that is cause for celebration! Because the fact that I am still in this profession after 10 years means that it is viable and that I have managed to make my hobby my job. And most of the time, it actually still feels like 'living the dream'.
The anniversary is a great time to look back at the past period. What has changed? And what will the future bring? Although I am under no illusion of being complete, I would like to mention some developments in landscape photography that stand out for me. So herewith are some musings from a now fairly experienced professional landscape photographer.
The Business Side
When I started as a professional photographer in 2013, the digital revolution had already taken place. This meant that the market for photographers had already changed dramatically, with the main feature, of course, being that the value of photos plummeted dramatically. Although I would have loved to have experienced the financial golden age in photography, I think it was an advantage for me that I started when the market had already changed. Now I knew better what I was getting into. Today's landscape photographer no longer makes his money mainly by selling stock photos and publishing articles.
It’s five o'clock in the morning. Outside my train window, I can see illuminated, modern cities passing by. Slowly, the alps begin to appear. The landscape here is idyllic. Old wooden barns in flowery meadows which roll up to beautiful snowy peaks which are lightly brushed with the morning light, it could be the cover of a chocolate box.
Suddenly I hit a tunnel, and everything changes. The ground is covered in shingle and rocks, olive trees and grapevines sit at the bottom of sheer precipices and towering peaks. What sits high above the tunnel separates not just the two languages and cultures but also the geography, vegetation, weather, and the North and South of Europe. Up here is where I am heading.
Except for the sheep farmers and hiker huts, the Greina pass is one of the places where nature still has a strong foothold in Switzerland. This can be difficult for farmers up there. I met one lady who had a small hut on top of the ridge. She told me how the eagles and the recently introduced pack of wolves often take her lambs, she was exploring the idea of getting a llama in the future to protect them. The elements can also be unpredictable and fierce.
The constantly changing climate has created a landscape that made me nostalgic for the mountainous areas of the UK. At certain points in the pass, you’d come across weathered mars-like rocky structures, boggy swampland and deep carved out gorges.
There is a back and forth between the Mediterranean and northern European climates along the pass. On the two occasions, I went up there to get these shots, there were storms on one side and 30c heat and blue sky on the other. The storm clouds on the northern side repeatedly broke off from the bulk as they went over the ridges running along the pass, they then rolled up the valley, bringing intense wind, rain and snow.
The constantly changing climate has created a landscape that made me nostalgic for the mountainous areas of the UK. At certain points in the pass, you’d come across weathered mars-like rocky structures, boggy swampland and deep carved out gorges. It's beautiful to photograph, you could easily spend a few days in just one of the valleys. It is also very quiet. Something that I very much appreciate about the hikers and photographers that you meet up in these remote areas of the Alps is their mentality; the need to be peaceful and respect nature is something which is quite ingrained in this hiking culture.
I stayed in two different hiking huts when I went there; they somehow, miraculously considering the location, offer breakfast and dinner if you are there at the right time, which I never was.
There is something in the smell of the location and the soft sounds of running water and chirping groundhogs. Like a calmness which is almost thick in the air.
On both trips, I had the pleasure of beginning my days under clear night skies before the clouds and fog came in over the ridges as the sun lit up the valleys. As I made my way to my shooting spots before dawn, the rocks around me glowed in the starlight.
There is something in the smell of the location and the soft sounds of running water and chirping groundhogs. Like a calmness which is almost thick in the air. Occasionally, this was broken by a sudden storm that would creep unexpectedly around the valley, there was something very humbling in the unpredictable nature of it. Such an atmosphere was beautiful to photograph in, I plan to visit many more times in the future.
Once a photograph of the Earth, taken from outside, is available, a new idea as powerful as any in history will be let loose.~Fred Hoyle, 1948
There are very few scenes that haven’t been gazed upon and photographed here on Planet Earth.
From the deepest oceans to the highest mountains, just about everything’s been done.
But there’s one very simple scene that the astronauts of Apollo 8 weren’t prepared for as they hurtled towards the Moon in 1968: what Earth would look like from space.
They were so intent on their mission, so focused on reaching the Moon, that they hadn’t thought what Earth might look like when they left home, but, boy, they were certainly about to be confronted with it.
It’s quite natural for that to happen, of course, particularly with their intense training and the focus required to achieve such a goal.
But there’s a lesson to be learned here about the human condition: we can be so focussed on a distant dream or goal that we often omit to admire and absorb the splendour along the way.
It wasn’t until the astronauts had achieved a major part of their task — to launch safely into space and inject into lunar orbit — that they were able to pause, look around and truly appreciate the beauty of their now distant home and everything they held dear within it.
This phenomenon has a name. It’s called The Overview Effect: a greater, perhaps spiritual, appreciation of our planet when seen from space; that any borders are merely a human fabrication; an “instant global consciousness” that the planet is one system and that we are, in fact, already in space together on our very own magnificent spaceship.
The astronauts (and everybody around them) were dutifully machine-like in their approach to the mission, but it wasn’t until they were more relaxed that they were able to appreciate a different perspective altogether.
By pausing for a moment, they were able to lift their heads, to look up and allow new sights, experiences and thoughts into life aboard their own temporary tiny spacecraft.
Bill Anders humbly wondered if they should have sent poets on Apollo 8 instead of rigorously-trained astronauts. He felt that the three of them perhaps didn’t do justice to conveying the grandeur of what they had seen to their receptive compatriots who were now so very far away.
As they say, when you press the pause button on a machine, it stops. But when you press the pause button on human beings, they start.
There even seemed to be a tinge of guilt that they were the people in that position when the unexpected greater purpose to their mission dawned upon them.
Bill Anders humbly wondered if they should have sent poets on Apollo 8 instead of rigorously-trained astronauts. He felt that the three of them perhaps didn’t do justice to conveying the grandeur of what they had seen to their receptive compatriots who were now so very far away.
However, I happen to think Anders was a touch self-critical — I rather like the very simple words he uttered when he looked out of the tiny window and described what he saw:
“Oh my God! Look at that picture over there! There's the Earth coming up. Wow, that's pretty.”
To me, it’s perfect.
Anders then asked Jim Lovell to pass him some colour film, and he duly started clicking away. One of the exposures turned out to be 1/250th of a second that would change the world forever.
As Mission Control in Houston put it: “There’s a picture.”
More simple words to describe such a spellbinding sight. In those moments, the now awestruck people behind Apollo 8 found they’d gone to the Moon, but they'd actually discovered Earth.
The photograph became known as Earthrise — not only one of the most famous, most reproduced and indelible photographs of our time but also cited as ‘the most influential environmental picture ever made’ and for good reason: it’s an image that still resonates around the world, one that sums up both Earth’s rare beauty and vulnerability.
It’s also a landscape photograph that contains every landscape photograph ever made on Earth— indeed, encompassing every photograph you’ve ever made.
Every misty lake, every craggy mountain, every glistening waterfall, every windswept tree, every roaring ocean, every sprawling vista.
But more than that, as Carl Sagan regaled in Pale Blue Dot:
“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives.”
Amid our ever-increasing global turmoil, you hold a special gift that affords you the ability to remind others about the wonders on our doorstep.
So, keep making your stunning pictures with vigour and passion.
May they be a reminder to anybody who sees them that the good Earth, the only home we’ve ever known, sure is pretty and sure is worth saving.
By now, there can’t be many people that haven’t seen the other-worldly “photographs” generated by the various forms of artificial intelligence-based image generation algorithms. They’re typically of the ‘uncanny valley’ sort, almost realistic but slightly too fantasy book cover for their own good. Their progression from small objects of interest to high-resolution, realistic productions has been meteoric. But for all that they can generate ‘award-winning images’, what does their future hold for landscape photography? Firstly, what the hell is AI imagine generation anyway?
What is AI Image Generation
Firstly, a little context and background for just what artificial intelligent image creation actually means, and it’s quite different to how people might imagine it. It’s also quite disturbing because even the engineers who have programmed these algorithms don’t quite know how they can create a final image.
Most people imagine that the algorithms have scoured the internet for ‘components’ of images that they somehow composite/collage together to create a final image. This would have substantial and obvious copyright issues immediately, and the original photographers that have photographed people, buildings, cars, etc. would more than likely recognise their ‘sections’ of a final image, especially if it were publicised widely, as perhaps in the winner of the competition mentioned above.
AI Images are not collages (unless you ask for one)
In reality, the process of creating these images is as strange as anything I would have imagined possible from all I know about computers. Firstly, the system looks through many millions of images that have text associated with them, and it creates a ‘looks like’ database, essentially a bunch of fuzzy references that get stored in the brain of the computer (I use poor metaphors for creative effect). When it does this for many millions of images, the ‘brain’ has a system that can recognise images, and parts of images, and relate them to the text that was stored alongside them. Imagine this is a ‘savant’ child that doesn’t know anything about art or even about the outside world but can say “that curve looks like something Monet might do” and “that circle is a bit like a roundabout”, etc.
If you’d like an overview of how the two main AI image generation systems achieve these, have a read of the following, and please ask questions in the comments if it doesn’t make sense or if you’d like to know more. You can just skip this and go look at the ‘funny’ pictures below if you like, though!!
AI Types
There are a couple of main ways that AI systems work, one is called a Generative Adversarial Networks and the other is Stable Diffusion. Don’t worry – you don’t need to know these but it might help you understand some of the legal subtleties around copyright later in the article.
Generative Adversarial Network
From your perspective, as a user of the system, you supply a ‘seed’, a set of words that the computer can use to target source material and/or an image that is used to add visual cues. For our example, the phrase is “ten dollar note”.
The computer then creates a ‘generator’ and a ‘discriminator’. For our purposes, we can call them a ‘forger’ and a ‘detective’. The systems then sets them against each other – this is the ‘adversarial’ part of the Generative Adversarial Network.
Now comes the insane part. The forger generates a page of colourful noise. No numbers, no shapes, just noise. Like a hippy on their first psychedelic experience, the forger then looks at this noise and says “Now you mention ten dollar note, that bunch of noise over there reminds me of a face and those squiggles look like numbers” and it nudges the pixels around to make them look a bit more like the hallucination. The end result still looks mostly like noise but with a hint of ‘form’.
Here are a couple of pictures being generated by Midjourney AI. You can see something of the steps it takes to reach the final image. These aren't working from 'noise' but from Latent Spaces (see later in this section).
Midjourney AI - Iterations (Jacob van Ruisdael)
Midjourney AI - Iterations and final images (Loch Maree)
Once we have gone around one cycle, the detective then has to guess between this page of noise and an image from its data set of real “ten dollar notes” and have a guess whether the colourful noise is a real note or not. Like a savant child, the detective knows nothing about ten dollar notes but it knows when it sees something “familiar”. It guesses whether the forgery is fake or real.
Generator vs Discriminator (forger vs detective!)
But just as the forger is rubbish to begin with, so is the detective. Once they’ve had a guess, they’re told how they did they take a tiny step toward become experts on “ten dollar notes”.
After a huge number of iterations, the forger becomes a master but so is the detective. Because they were trained on lots of ten dollar note images, the results start to look more and more like what we have in our source material. But the result will be some strange combination of all the features of the ten dollar (an australian one, a canadian one, a US one, etc).
10 Dollar Bills (but AI's don't understand numbers)
Stable Diffusion
The other common system, Stable Diffusion, uses an inverted way of working out what is needed and is, fortunately, a bit easier to describe. It takes its source images, replaces them with noise and then works out how to transform the noise back into the image. It stores these transformations for every source image.
When you provide your text prompt (or image), it takes a set of these ‘noise-removing transformations’ and applies all of them in some balanced way. Gradually the noise transforms into an image (like magic again). I’ve kept this short so hopefully you’re still awake at this point.
Latent Spaces
There is another aspect of both Generative Adversarial Networks and Stable Diffusion Algorithms that isn’t mentioned much. In most cases, instead of directly using the source images as a collection of pixels, they use ‘latent space’ representations of the images. The latent spaces are a way of encoding images in something other than pixels. For instance, it may use a matrix of facial features (something that is actually used as a common sub-algorithm in many AI image systems). The facial features may be eye colour, nose shape, mouth structure, head angle, etc. A picture of a face can be deconstructed into these elements and, through this, images that are similar get stored close together in this multi-dimensional matrix. Any point in this matrix space represents a unique looking face. As you move around in the matrix, the face changes, eyes getting bigger, nose shorter, skin texture changing, etc. This is behind a lot of the clever manipulations of faces you might have seen on social media where one face transforms into another.
Face Arithmetic
The ’aspects’ of a picture don’t have to be descriptive in the way that our face adjectives are. It might store aspects such as shape, texture, shadows, and aspects that don’t even have words that a system has recognised as a common feature of images. It’s this decomposition of images into latent spaces that has allowed AI to be so efficient in storing and combining disparate elements (for example, a fish on a bicycle).
Either AI system can create absolutely novel views that have never existed and that don’t exhibit any strong similarity with any “individual” source image. As Asimov said, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic” and this fits the bill perfectly.
What it isn’t, however, is an actual ‘intelligence’ (at least not yet). There really isn’t much that could be described as intelligent going on at all, at least not compared to human intelligence. What we’re seeing bears more in common with a savant child than a self-conscious artistic intelligence.
We’re still a long way from a system that can think abstractly and create novel ideas (rather than permutations on existing ideas). Some might say that most humans are the same, and perhaps they might not be too far wrong there. However, we’re still a long way from Terminator, SkyNet and the Rise of the Machines.
Some Examples
After an initial play at seeing how far I could push Midjourney AI into creating weird stuff (a penguin in an Edward Hopper bar, aliens playing cards in the style of Caravaggio, cats having a banquet in a red and black cave in the style of Caravaggio) I thought I’d see what it could create in terms of landscape photography.
First, lets see what it thinks is the best landscape photograph! Here’s “Award Winning Landscape Photograph”
Award Winning Landscape Photograph
Whilst it’s definitely a landscape and capable of winning an award, it doesn’t exhibit any aspects of 'award winning' I would wish for. So it was time to try some ‘specific’ searches. Let’s try some location-based ones first to see what it thinks of photographic areas (excuse me that these are all British).
Yorkshire Landscape Photography
This has definitely picked up on some good Yorkshire cues. It has the broad glacial valleys, stone walls, sheep, stone built cottages with trees, etc.
Lake District Landscape Photography
Again, the AI is picking up on location based cues and you can almost guess where photographs are from but they’re not quite right. I love how the AI thinks photography from the Lake District should be part of interior design though (reflects the targeting of art at the middle classes in Cumbira). But if you think the Lake District is all posh holiday cottages, Cornwall wants goes full interior design!
Cornwall Landscape Photography
More very Cornish views, they’ve got the coastal geology right and the wide open beaches almost Marazion but also Watergate-esque etc…
I gave it something I though I might be a bit more familiar with so I'd stand a better chance of recognising things.
Lochaber Landscape Photography
So Lochaber isn’t a keyword that is used very often, but it’s picked up on a more Highlands look (a bit Scandi I think perhaps). The mountains look like nothing familiar though. Perhaps "Glencoe" would be better term to use.
Glencoe Landscape Photography
All of these definitely look Glencoe esque but with a flavour of Glen Etive in them. But I’m struggling to see where they are. Some of the mountains almost look familiar. It’s that ‘uncanny valley’ again.
What I think we’re seeing is that the system certainly isn’t collaging elements into a scene but it is including elements that it thinks are important. For instance, it seems to think “I see mountains in all of the photographs that are associated with Glencoe so I’ll make sure I put some mountains in” with possibly some specific types of mountains – i.e. Terraced, rocky, etc.
If we ask it to make a picture of Scotland’s most famous mountain (at least visually) things start to look a little more familiar. Possibly because of the volume of images that match this description, the mountain has a classification of its own.
Buachaille Etive Mor
Finally we can see something recognisable going on. Randomly placed trees are appearing but at least in a couple of these images you can make out the differentiation between the North and East faces.
Let’s go full ‘photographic icon’ and try Buachaille Etive Mor with Waterfall and Trees
Buachaille Etive Mor Waterfall
Oh yes!! That top left one is getting pretty damned close now and even has the right bulging rocks in the foreground. (for reference, see the image from David Mould below)
I fancied the top left one done as a larger picture and Midjourney allows you to ‘upscale’ an image it has created.
Buachaille Etive Mor Waterfall
Interestingly, the painting above also has a signature on it. I’ve tried interpreting it but it makes no sense. This is quite common for text and numbers on Midjourney. It has a ‘savante’ like idea of what writing and numbers should look like but no idea what they are.
Again, I spent a while seeing what other iconic locations would look like and I’ve included the following for you.
Fairy Pools
Durdle Door, Aurora and Bioluminescence
Whilst asking for upscale of a photo of Patagonia, I accidentally asked for it twice. It was very interesting to see that it copied the broad strokes of the idea but the ‘infill’ areas had lots of differences. Different peaks, different trees, clouds looked different etc.. You can see from this how Midjourney starts from broad outlines and infills things it thinks match the view.
Two Sequential Upscales of "Patagonia Landscape Photography"
It’s quite clear that, in order to generate something recognisable, you need to work with very popular photographic locations or ideas. For instance, if you want to ‘forge’ an amazing view of Kirkjufell with Aurora then Midjourney does a fine job
Kirkjufell and Aurora
Or the Old Man of Storr at Sunset?
Old Man of Storr
Or even some more abstract but iconic ideas such as “icebergs on a black beach”
Icebergs on a black beach
Or my particular favourite, rainbow aurora and snowy sunset
Rainbow Aurora and Snowy Sunset
Is it Art?
Well, considering the problems we have working out if human-generated work is art or not, I’m loathe even to try to answer this. And I think the answer is more tied to the human aspect than people would like to think. If everything humans can ‘create’ should be considered ‘art’, regardless of its derivative or mechanical nature, then should we consider the same for the machines, unless we define art as ‘stuff humans make’, which is absurd if analysed at any length.
If everything humans can ‘create’ should be considered ‘art’, regardless of its derivative or mechanical nature, then should we consider the same for the machines, unless we define art as ‘stuff humans make’, which is absurd if analysed at any length.
If we’re not saying “all things humans make are art” then we must have some sort of distinction between different images in order to differentiate art from not art.
If we imagine a ‘black box’ analysis (rather like Turing’s AI test) then we need to be able to look at an image with no external information and say whether it is art or not. The chances of us doing this in a way that consistently rejects all AI images is virtually zero. Hence some AI images must be art.
That is unless we define art by the stuff that came before the generation of the artwork, i.e. art is in the thoughts and actions of the creator leading up and including the act of creation of a painting, photograph, sculpture or whatever. This would really screw things up as, without knowing how a piece was created, we can’t say whether it is art.
I personally like this idea that art is a symptom of everything but the artwork; that art is intrinsic to its creator and context. This does also mean that if I generate an AI artwork and use it in an artistic context, then the AI image can become art through the way I create and use it.
As you can see, the definition of art is like a manic cat being herded into a box on the way to the vet. It wriggles and writhes and refuses to be pinned down.
I do like the fact that the birth of new technology can challenge our perceptions of things we took for granted and thought we understood.
My own personal interpretation is now that art comes from inside the artist, from connections and relationships, from influence and synthesis. Storytelling, metaphor creation, etc. I still think the artwork itself is a big part of what art is but is insufficient by itself.
In this way, the future of art is probably more connected with the artist than the artwork and, if this is true, this is no bad thing at all.
The Influence Question
People often say that AI images are overblown, gaudy and cheesy, but they’re forgetting that these AI systems don’t have a taste filter, and they have been trained on every image found on the internet. And, not to be too blunt about it, the Internet is made up of mostly overblown, gaudy and cheesy images, and we shouldn’t be surprised that the current AI results reflect that.
What will be interesting is when systems can be trained on curated data sets. All modern art paintings, the back issues of On Landscape, the highest-ranking images in art competitions, etc. Some photographers are already experimenting with using their own photographs as part of the influence data set for their local AI systems.
There are already photographers out there creating their own data sets and extrapolating from them to create derivative works.
Will it put Photographers out of Business?
There is a long history of technological developments arriving and being accused of killing existing industries. And it’s true that many industries do die out because of new technologies - but for every industry dying, new opportunities arise. The introduction of photography was originally seen with horror by the painting establishment. They thought that it was the end of painting. In reality, it was the end of photo-realistic painting for most ‘consumer’ purposes but it was the start of one of the biggest ages of development in the history of art. Freed of the shackles of reality, artists started to ask themselves, “what else can we do” and the late 19th and early 20th Century developments in art all find their seed in this moment.
So what benefits can landscape photography take from the use of AI? The first answer can be derived from the fact that the AI has absolutely no knowledge of the subjects that it’s creating photographs from, and hence each image is a standalone, semi-random creation. This means that any photographic work where the veracity of the ‘subject’ and the emotional concept is important, cannot be easily generated. Also, any series of photographs on a concept that tries to evoke a feeling or idea will still, for the moment anyway, need to be conceived and executed by a human being.
I’m sure that some way of creating cohesive photographic series may happen at some point, it will be a lot harder to create than the current single images though. (we must add that once AI becomes indistinguishable from humans, they can inherently do whatever humans can do - I don’t see this as something on the horizon, and so it’s pointless reacting to the possibility).
Also, and this is important for landscape photographers, images that depict the real world with some level of veracity will be very hard for AI systems to create without actually going out and photographing them itself. So if your photography has its foundations in creating bodies of work from the real world, you should be well placed to continue as long as you can find an audience that cares (a perpetual challenge for any photographer).
However, if your photography relies on the perspective blended, aspect ratio transforming, dehaze applied, wowalicisous visual eye candy, then you might well have met your match, even with the current generation of AI. Time to find a new niche perhaps?
So what use is AI image generation to us?
So we’ve decided that AI image generation isn’t going to affect our livelihood (despite it affecting our blood pressure when we see them billed as “amazing moments” on the Internets) What use is it to us then?
One of the biggest uses I can see is as a way of tapping the internet for ideas. I spent a couple of weeks of evenings throwing prompts at the system to investigate what the systems would generate given prompts, including various artists, living or dead. For instance, I tried generating works by Claude Lorrain and was pleased to see it producing an image that included so many of his compositional techniques. I also used it to look at Turner, Ruisdael, Bruegel etc. It was really interesting to see which elements the AI had extracted from the range of images available to it for each artist. You could easily draw compositional or tonal tips from some of these distilled images.
Claude Lorrain
Pieter Bruegel the Elder
JWM Turner
You could try this with photographers, but I don’t think there is enough work online for Midjourney to derive anything useful. It is entertaining to see what it conjures up and, if you apply an analytical approach to your browsing, I’m sure that some of its creations might trigger some creative ideas.
If I were a visual artist working in a more abstract sense or in mixed media, I think that the way that Midjourney conjures up creations that look like nothing you’ve ever seen before could be a fantastic way of sourcing new ideas. At one point, I had played with creating a Peter Lik view of the slot canyons in Arizona, but the work looked more like folded paper, and so I ended up working on creating standalone origami works that resembled desert canyons. If I were of a more practically artistic nature, I could imagine taking these ideas and using them as the basis of a project.
Origami Canyons
Where might it go?
At the moment, the seed pool of images is uncurated. In other words, it might have some good images in there, but it’s also full of crap. As mentioned previously, it would be very interesting to be able to pick a library of images to work from. It may be that all those skills keywording stock photographs will become useful again!
There will also, inevitably, be massive improvements in the way that you can work with images. The ability to specify how an image is laid out, ask the system to create a variation in textures, ask for specific objects (trees, grasses, etc), and supply ‘influencing’ images. In other words, be directly creative in the way a final image is constructed. There are already AI systems that allow you to make a rough sketch and they will interpret the shapes and make a scene from them (click here).
So the biggest changes will probably be in the way we interact with these systems. I can see an AI that generates a scene but also creates a 3D model that allows us to reposition the camera, for instance. Or we can manipulate items using some form of virtual reality tools - stretching mountains, for instance (oh dear). Here’s an example of just this.
For a range of different directions the Stable Diffusion model is taking, try having a look at this video from Two Minute Papers (a highly recommended subscribe if you’re into the geeky side of AI systems)
We’re not in Asimov’s World Yet
In Guy Tal’s article in this issue, he suggests that we may develop an AI robot that can travel to various locations and take photographs in a way that is ‘perfect’. An AI robot that, when told to take a landscape photograph, can find and interpret all the information on photography, interpret the perfect 2D photographs and try to find a way to position itself in ways that can recreate that perfection. That understands the cycles of weather and flora and can infer the way that secondary bounced lighting can change the way an item is interpreted by the human brain as three-dimensional. Etc.
I find this situation difficult to imagine without the AI photographer becoming so human-like that we might need to start thinking of such a machine as self-consciousness. And machines that could do something like this will be changing society so much in other ways, the fact that it might be able to reproduce an archetypal Peter Lik is essentially meaningless.
Before this happens, I can see situations where a drone can be let go, and it can go and search for compositional elements in an area using some of the visual formal devices (compositional components) and moving around to create parallax-driven relationships.
But the real answer on where this will go is “we don’t really have a clue”. When the Internet started being used, most futurists were so far out in their predictions of the possible (beyond the trivial “everyone will have access to the content of books) that it’s quite funny looking back. The same will be true for AI and image generation.
The Copyright Question(s)
The first copyright question is “are AI generated images copyrightable?”. I will be very surprised if some AI images aren’t considered copyrightable as most of them have some aspects of human intervention, and there doesn’t seem to be anything to say that the ‘prompt’ isn’t a direct creative control over the output image, even if that output image is automatially generated. It will probably take a few court cases before the law settles down, and those cases can only start when somebody ‘copies’ an AI-generated image, so it may be some time yet.
The bigger question is whether AI algorithms are breaching the copyright of the source images that it has scraped from the internet.
If you’ve read the overview of how the AI algorithms work above (GANs and Diffusion) you can see that the system isn’t really copying anything from the source images and is, in fact, acting in a similar way to how our own creativity is influenced by our past experiences. Nearly every artist in the world will admit that we don’t ‘create’ anything new, we use our own memory of everything we’ve seen to inform something new. In fact, many creatives collect printouts (or Pinterest boards) of the ideas they want to work around, particularly in the commercial world.
We may inject a small amount of our own ‘novel’ ways of working, but the vast majority of our work is a synthesis of many of our influences. So a computer generating an AI image isn’t copying the content it finds, it’s being influenced by it (for some definition of influence), and, as a human, at least, you can’t be prosecuted for being influenced by something.
It’s worth looking at a couple of the court cases surrounding the use of copyrighted source material in the generation of AI images and how the ‘prosecution’ is framing their motions.
In nearly all cases, they are trying to suggest that the AI systems actually make clever collages directly from the source material. This only makes sense as an attempt to fool a judge into a early motion in order to avoid analysing the issues more deeply. In other words, the prosecution already realise that they don’t really have a leg to stand on.
We have to remember that copyright law has legal pressure on it not to limit people who are honestly creating new art. Examples of this abound, some quite absurd. The most obvious is probably Richard Prince’s use of black and white photographs of Rastafarians where all he did is scribble or paste in a guitar and a funky face. The judges found in Richard Prince’s favour.
The open and shut case surrounding copyright is probably Google’s direct copying of images in the creation of their image search engine. If copyright allows this, then it’s hard to see how the obviousy transformative images generated by AI breach anybody’s copyright.
The images were clearly mostly copies of the originals, at least in terms of image real estate. However, the courts protected Mr Prince’s use of the images as transformative.
If this is protected, how can we possibly suggest that my picture of a Cthulu god MAGA knitted toy is somehow not transformative?
This harks back to the difference between ‘influence’ and ‘plagiarism’, and I can’t help but think of the results of AI algorithms as an ‘influence’ engine, probably more so than many humans.
Let’s say the law says that all of the images are derivative. We now have a potentially massively useful resource dead in the water (at least commercially). Plus we now have new legal precedent for claiming that transformative work could actually be illegal.
In human terms, each artwork is considered on its own terms. The artist perhaps knows what influenced them (however, there is precedent for people creating things that are very similar to things that they had previously seen but forgotten) but legally, each case needs to be handled separately and it’s up to the ‘plagiarised’ artist to sue.
There is an extra problem with AI image generators though. The end users don’t know if what has been produced is derivative or transformative because they have no clear idea where the influences came from. As a large company, would you trust images generated by AI to be ‘cleared’, I know I wouldn’t? This isn't restricted to just AI image generators though, your AI sharpening software also pulls in resources from elsewhere to 'comp in' areas of lower resolution. You didn't think all those facial details were appearing from nowhere did you?!
Epilogue
The story of AI Image generation is only just beginning and we don't know where it is going to go. Here's a couple of interesting tit-bits for you to chew on though. At the current rate of use of 'source material', AI's will run out in less than a decade. They'll not only start regurgitating the same old sources but with so much AI generated content appearing, AI's will also be eating their own creations.
Finally, AI's are only as good as image captioning and with SEO so important, images are no longer captioned for their meaning but for their commercial usefulness. Capitalism's noise is already the bane of the AI world!
Where there is delight in a process, there will be style, and the activity of production will itself have aesthetic quality. But when men assimilate themselves to machines and value only the consequences of their work, not the work itself, style disappears, to be replaced by something which to the mechanised man appears more natural, though in fact it is only more brutal.~Bertrand Russell
Several photographers of note have expressed concern recently about the increasingly popular use of Artificial Intelligence (AI) to generate photo-realistic images.
The concern is certainly justified for those who earn a living by producing such images. Alas, such are the inevitable and ruthless consequences of the simple laws of supply and demand.
The concern is certainly justified for those who earn a living by producing such images. Alas, such are the inevitable and ruthless consequences of the simple laws of supply and demand: so long as any object is valued only as product and less so (or not at all) as the result—the byproduct—of some significant human experience, market forces will drive the production of this object toward the most efficient, quickest, and most cost-effective method of production.
Thus, the more important question is not whether AI can produce photographic images more effectively and prolifically than humans can (there is little doubt that this is, or soon will be, the case) but whether works of human-made art deserve some special consideration beyond that afforded to other manufactured objects: a consideration linking their value intrinsically with some desirable human experience inherent in the method of their creation. This is why many artisanal (human-produced) products, including such things as cabinetry, pottery, gourmet food, and portraiture, still persist and are highly valued even when technology exists that can produce them more cheaply and en masse. This likely will be the case for artisanal photography, too. However, as was the case with other artisanal disciplines, there is little doubt that the introduction of automated photographic technology will diminish greatly the number of people who may be able to earn a living from practising photography professionally, and these few will by necessity possess uncommon and difficult-to-achieve excellence in craftsmanship, creativity, and aesthetic sense.
Many of us follow a cycle from creative interests through ‘sensible’ subjects and studies (often advocated by well-meaning adults) that inevitably brings us back to our beginnings. For Cath, a postgraduate degree unexpectedly opened up a creative career, and more recently, photography has become a big passion and has led to a great deal of her time in wellies and water.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to study and do?
I grew up in Lancashire, as an only child, in what was then a village between Preston and Chorley. From an early age, it was apparent that I had what would traditionally be seen as male interests. Train sets, Mechano, technics Lego. These, alongside soft toy animals, were my toys of choice. I was not interested in more traditional girls’ toys, such as dolls, and was probably considered to be a bit of a tomboy.
My dad was a keen fell runner, and as a family, we spent many happy weekends up in the Lake District, where my Dad would run in the various fell races. I always thought that the Lakeland countryside was magical. Growing up, I wondered if this was just nostalgia from happy childhood memories. Now I’m an adult, I feel lucky to have spent so much time in what I now think is one of the most beautiful national parks in the UK.
At school, I was good at art, but also very good at the sciences and maths. I was persuaded into taking science A-levels by my well-meaning teachers. I ended up doing a Computing Science degree at Stirling University. At the time, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, so I went through the motions and completed the degree. In doing so, it crystallised what I had felt throughout my academic career: I wanted to do something creative with my life. I went on to do an MSc in Computer Graphics, where one of the modules introduced me to an animation package called Softimage. Finally, I found what I wanted to do, and I’ve worked in the 3D computer graphics industry as a character animator ever since.
By temperament, I am not unduly excitable and certainly not trigger-happy. I think twice before I shoot and very often do not shoot at all. By professional standards I do not waste a lot of film; but by the standards of many of my colleagues I probably miss quite a few of my opportunities. Still, the things I am after are not in a hurry as a rule.~ Bill Brandt
The late November sun poked through the clouds as it slipped closer to the horizon, bathing the river and islands in the warm evening light. As I was commenting to my wife on the beauty of the light, I noticed a half-rainbow opposite the setting sun, its one end disappearing below the water’s surface. Rainbows are not uncommon where I live, but the combination of the late afternoon light and the rainbow dipping into the river made it particularly beautiful. My wife said I should get a photo of it, so I pointed my two index fingers at each temple and said, “click.” She gave me a look that only wives can give an idiot husband. I had no desire to photograph the scene, content to witness and revel in the beauty unfolding before me. After several minutes it disappeared, but the memory of it is forever seared into my brain. What more could a photo of it have offered me? What would my motivation have been had I photographed it?
I am sure the next step will be the electronic image, and I hope I shall live to see it. I trust that the creative eye will continue to function, whatever technological innovations may develop.~ Ansel Adams
I feel very lucky to live in a time and place where I have consistent access to the necessities of life. I do not have to spend most of my time and energy trying to secure clean water, nutritious food, shelter, clothing, or an education as we had to in the past. I find it all too easy to take our modern technological conveniences for granted and forget that it is because of these things that I have the extra time and energy to roam freely with something like a digital camera. With this piece of kit, coupled with the means to travel long distances easily, I can pursue my interests as a photographer across Wales’ beautiful landscape and be on many of the summits in the south within a couple of hours of waking up.
Consider the effort required by the earliest landscape photographers to achieve something similar 150 years ago. Their equipment would have been unreliable, cumbersome and difficult to use. You would have needed lots of different skills to fix the available light onto the surface of the film, which, back then were in their infancy and hard to acquire. They may have even needed a mobile lab – a horse drawn cart - to complete their photographs in situ, not to mention the chemicals required to fix an image, the lack of roads and the quality of the ones that existed. And accuracy was a word that wasn't usually associated with mapping. You would have needed lots of time and lots of money to be a landscape photographer in the nineteenth century, you probably needed several assistants too.
Now, the marginal cost of a digital image is close to zero, effectively the cost of the electricity to charge the battery for your camera. Cars are reliable enough to make significant trips away a feasible and regular thing to do, and perfectly good maps are available on every mobile phone (which are in themselves powerful computers). I have a very good single person tent, durable, warm clothing, and I can filter my own water if I run out on the hills. I am not trying to say that contemporary photography is a walk in the park, it can be very difficult, and it is not without its risks, but compared to what those early photographers had to grapple with, I would say we have it pretty good.
The marginal cost of a digital image is close to zero, effectively the cost of the electricity to charge the battery for your camera. Cars are reliable enough to make significant trips away a feasible and regular thing to do, and perfectly good maps are available on every mobile phone (which are in themselves powerful computers).
How did we get from there to here? Let us take two great photographers of the early to mid 20th century: Ansel Adams and Eliot Porter. These two were experts at pushing the boundaries of possibility with their approaches to the craft of photography. They were passionate, insightful, pioneering and skilled. However, in addition to those fine qualities, they were also the lucky recipients of certain technologies that became available during their time. This allowed them to discover new opportunities, opportunities that were not there before because the appropriate technologies were not in place. They realised what was possible through the novel combination of the technologies that existed during their time.
How did we get from there to here? Let us take two great photographers of the early to mid 20th century: Ansel Adams and Eliot Porter. These two were experts at pushing the boundaries of possibility with their approaches to the craft of photography.
Imagine leaping from the ability to make fire from sticks and kindling straight to the rocket ship. This is such a monumental leap that it cannot be taken seriously. The gap between discovering fire and using the combustion of refined fuels to send objects into space against Earth’s gravity is massive. So many discoveries are required to go from one to the other, making it an unfeasible prospect to achieve a leap like this without inventing a whole lot of stuff first. At a minimum, you would need time, extensive networks of people, writing, institutionalised science and maths, communications, computer technology and a whole host of other things before something like leaving earth is even considered a remote possibility.
The cooking of food, keeping warm in the cold, protection against predators and the lighting of dark spaces are natural progressions after the discovery of how to make fire. These are the ideas that are closest and easiest to find out; they are the logical, adjacent steps, and indeed the evidence in the historical record bares this out across different hominid species going back 100,000’s of years. People cannot help but share their ideas and we are excellent copiers, so innovation speeds up considerably when people settled, formed towns and cities and established connections between them.
The idea that any given moment has within it a realm of possibility that makes certain discoveries much more likely is what the author Steven Johnson calls ‘the adjacent possible’. By that, Johnson means that ideas tend to come naturally, almost in a linear fashion, next to one another. It is much easier to make the adjacent step from, say, idea ‘c’ to idea ‘d’ once ideas ‘a’ and ‘b’ have already been established. To go from ‘a’ to ‘d’ is extremely unlikely, the ideas are not close enough to become apparent to people at the time and, therefore, not likely to occur. He says that ‘great leaps beyond the adjacent possible are rare and doomed to be short term failures if the environment is simply not yet ready for them’.
If you follow the process of small logical change from one idea to the next for long enough, you end up with ever increasing complexity. Adams and Porter were alive when the development of key technologies existed, like reliable portable photography, the combustion engine, the plane, road networks and long-distance communications. These are the ideas and the means through which the wilderness could be accessed by these two photographers for the purposes of making their landscape photographs. Also, photography itself changed rapidly too, film was well established in Adams’ time, cameras and lenses became more reliable and less cumbersome; colour film was also beginning to emerge, of which both Adams and Porter were early adopters. These technological convergences allowed Ansel Adams to explore north America’s vast national parks, as can be seen in his beautiful black and whites, and Eliot Porter to photograph breeding birds up close and visit some of the world’s most interesting and remote places like - Arizona, Iceland and the Galapagos.
With the right culture - one that institutionalises reason and constantly updates and questions itself accordingly - you end up with exponential growth. A quick look at the internet, and you will see the effects of exponential growth patterns everywhere. Millions of pictures covering every continent on Earth are shared across the internet every day. We send robots to the surface of Mars and the Moon, and we photograph the stars, nebula, and the Milky Way in remarkable detail. Of course, looking at big things far away is not the only direction we go in, microscopic organisms and their constituent parts are also visible to us now, the likes of which were very difficult to view just a few decades ago.
The last 20 years have seen more change to photography than the 150 years prior, and, with no sign of advancement slowing down, the next ten will yield just as much change as the last 20, and so on and so forth.
The last 20 years have seen more change to photography than the 150 years prior, and, with no sign of advancement slowing down, the next ten will yield just as much change as the last 20, and so on and so forth.
Several images in this book were made using a small but powerful drone. Drone technology is a recent development in photography, it is having a huge effect with its potential to explore new horizons allowing access to areas that were out of reach by anyone without a helicopter, wings, or a jet pack! It is just pure luck that I live in a time where drones exist, I did not invent them. I am the lucky recipient of this technology, and it has been made possible by many adjacent technological ideas, such as rocket powered spacecraft, GPS satellites, the micro-chip, very small digital cameras, electrical storage and advances in aerospace engineering. It is likely that drones would not exist if any one of those adjacent ideas were not in place first. I have the scientists and engineers who developed each of these technologies, and of-course chance timing, to thank for the fact that I have a drone.
What did I do before drones came along? Well, I walked up mountains and lived within the two-meter maximum height of my tripod to get a different perspective, like most photographers. It will be interesting to see what offshoots come out of such a powerful technology. What ideas come naturally after the creation of something like a drone? Surely it shouldn't be too difficult to scale it up and get the flying vehicles that were popularised in 20th century science fiction, who knows?
The end frame series of articles has always been one of my favourite parts of On Landscape. All the agonising about which photographer to choose, which of their images to select, all the possible alternatives, how to explain the emotional impact of the chosen image, etc., etc.
It didn’t take me long to select my favourite photographer: the work of Niall Benvie has been inspiring and challenging me since I took up photography about 12 years ago. My fascination started when a photographic society colleague and I experimented with Niall’s “Meet your neighbours” techniques as part of a worldwide network of people using the same protocols. The technique was valuable again during lockdown when we all reacquainted ourselves with our neighbours.
His work ranges, from what he terms “Classic Wild” through to his more recent deeply thoughtful and disturbing “Despatches from the Collapse”, is breathtaking. He features frequently in On Landscape, and deservedly so. It is hard to keep up with him, his imagination, technical skill, teaching ability, aesthetic sensibility, thoughtfulness, care for the planet…
Choosing a single image from such a catalogue is an order of magnitude more difficult. In the end, I decided it almost didn’t matter which image I chose. They are all my favourites, and any one would be wonderful. So here is “Colour transect #19, 57.868º N”.
I was languidly enjoying this immense life of things, which is manifested in the play of light and shade. It was there, in such a wonderful place, that I had the idea to narrate the earth’s phenomena and that I immediately sketched the draft of my work... To know the earth, I studied not only books, but the Earth itself.~ Élisée Reclus
...we make our landscapes, and they make us.~
David Lintern
Despite the many years that have passed, I still have a vivid memory of a sunrise on a mountain pass 2,500 metres up in the Pyrenees, tucked inside my sleeping bag. In impressive silence, the peaks of the distant mountains stood out above an immense, luminous sea of clouds.
Despite the many years that have passed, I still have a vivid memory of a sunrise on a mountain pass 2,500 metres up in the Pyrenees, tucked inside my sleeping bag.
During my excursions of those years through the mountains of my homeland, I enjoyed these places and learned to admire the landscapes I travelled through, and this enjoyment and interest in landscapes led me to study geography.
As a hiker and geographer, I longed to visit the grand, beautiful landscapes of the Earth, but a lack of time and money prevented me from making such trips, and they were put off for the future.
Although I never dedicated myself professionally to geography, I continued to be linked to it through geographical associations, and I was particularly interested in what is called landscape geography. However, this interest waned as it seemed to me that landscape geography began to take up post-modernism as its epistemological foundation and started to be diluted into a kind of erudite hermeneutics, moving further and further away from real landscapes, which were being seriously affected by the disastrous consequences of our social and economic systems.
In spite of this, my interest in landscape brought me closer to landscape photography because, after all, as Élisée Reclus wrote in his preface to La Terre (1868), the immense life of things –including landscapes– is manifested through the play of light and shade, which are essential and constitutive elements of photography.
I first read about landscape photography in a second-hand copy of John Shaw's book, Landscape Photography. I can still recall my difficulty in understanding the Adams and Archer zone system and its relation to f-stops!
My growing dedication to this genre of photography coincided with my move to Germany. I left behind the harsh, dry, luminous landscapes of the Mediterranean to settle in central Europe, a region with wetter landscapes, ancient mountain ranges worn away by erosion, huge forests and wide plains with many lakes and pools, and innumerable rivers and streams loaded with sediments and myths. I began to photograph the ordinary landscapes around my new home with frequency and dedication. Despite the many years that have passed, I still have a vivid memory of a sunrise on a mountain pass 2,500 metres up in the Pyrenees, tucked inside my sleeping bag.
I left behind the harsh, dry, luminous landscapes of the Mediterranean to settle in central Europe, a region with wetter landscapes, ancient mountain ranges worn away by erosion, huge forests and wide plains with many lakes and pools, and innumerable rivers and streams loaded with sediments and myths.
However, I still longed to see and photograph the emblematic landscapes that were shown in photography magazines; Greenland, Iceland, Norway, the national parks of the United States, Scotland, Namibia, the Dolomites… For the most part, they were still out of reach for me.
The perverse effects of mass tourism were beginning to spread to photography, and the unhealthy need to publish photographs on social networks only accentuated the problem of overcrowding and damage to landscapes. What was the point of that?
At the same time as tackling the technical problems of photography, I started discovering the problems that were beginning to affect the practice of landscape photography; the masses of photographers in certain locations. Articles began to appear in which the authors described their experiences in certain locations, squeezed between dozens of photographers who, clinging to their tripods, struggled to keep their place, waiting for the right moment to press the shutter. The perverse effects of mass tourism were beginning to spread to photography, and the unhealthy need to publish photographs on social networks only accentuated the problem of overcrowding and damage to landscapes. What was the point of that? Where was the necessary calm, thoughtful relationship between the photographer and landscape to give photography a sensitive, intimate expression?
From time to time, I had the opportunity to take the occasional excursion to more distant places, but my photographic excursions mostly took place in the local area and were a sort of dogged exercise in improving my technique and my ability to “see photographically”, ready for the day when I would be able to visit the “great landscapes” and take good pictures.
I live in a densely populated region on the slopes of the Taunus Mountains. The city I live in used to be a farming town, and in the early 1960s, it was transformed practically overnight into a city designed to accommodate large numbers of people from many different backgrounds in need of housing.
IAs in many other places in the world around the same time, cement imposed its aesthetics on both private and public spaces, creating geographies of border-spaces, of non-places, transition or intermediate spaces which were anodyne, without apparent structure and badly designed (whether on purpose or not) for fostering collective life.
As in many other places in the world around the same time, cement imposed its aesthetics on both private and public spaces, creating geographies of border-spaces, of non-places, transition or intermediate spaces which were anodyne, without apparent structure and badly designed (whether on purpose or not) for fostering collective life.
In my city, lost between these ambiguous, transitional border-spaces, there is a small woodland that is barely 1 kilometre square, a stream about 4 kilometres long and a pool used by the municipal fishing club. These, therefore, are the three landscapes where I have carried out my photographic fieldwork; wood, stream and pool.
Then, when my personal circumstances began to allow me to travel to more distant places, the Covid pandemic started, and consequently, all my travel projects returned to their drawers. As David Lintern says in his article The Body Keeps the Score, at the same time, you work with what you have. So I continued with my wood, my stream and my pool.
As time has passed, the urge to take photographs has been relegated to the background. I think I have learned something about photography during this time, but what I do know for sure is that I have learned to enjoy the solitude of the wood on misty mornings, to be surprised by the hasty flight of a roe deer at my footsteps nearby, to be annoyed by how indifferent a family of wild boars rooting at the edge of the wood are to my presence, to perceive the change in the murmurs of the stream after the previous night’s rain and to marvel at the subtle elegance of the grey heron on the banks of the pool.
I still have a lot to learn about photography, true, but I think I'm on the right track; I’m starting to understand what Chris Murray says about photographers who primarily photograph in ordinary places with ordinary subject matter: they are seeking something inside themselves first, the subject matter is secondary.
One of the best parts of organising the Natural Landscape Photography Awards is that it has provided a mechanism through which I can discover and appreciate photographers and their work, especially those that adhere to a more “natural” editing style. One such photographer that immediately captivated me with her work was Mieke Boynton, a photographer living in the small mountain town of Bright, Australia. Mieke owns and operates a photography gallery there with her partner and last year’s winner of the NLPA’s Project of the Year, Matt Palmer.
In this article, I hope to convey how Mieke’s approach to photography has elevated her work, how her immeasurable passion and aptitude for aerial photography have differentiated her from her peers, and how her desire to honour the Aboriginal people of Australia has given her work purpose.
While Mieke’s work has not eluded the attention of other competitions in the past (she is the first Australian and first female to win the Epson International Pano Awards in 2019 and, that same year, was also named Victorian Landscape Photographer of the Year), I believe that her work has not yet been fully appreciated by her peers across the pond in the UK or in the USA. In my opinion, Mieke is a world-class landscape photographer. In this article, I hope to convey how Mieke’s approach to photography has elevated her work, how her immeasurable passion and aptitude for aerial photography have differentiated her from her peers, and how her desire to honour the Aboriginal people of Australia has given her work purpose.
My photographic modus operandi isn’t quite fire & forget, but I’m generally more concerned with the next photograph than my last. In the vast majority of cases, I’m more interested with the process of making an image rather than the finished product. The latter is rarely more than an incomplete, imperfect witness to a very enjoyable experience outdoors. Even the chore of fighting gravity, dragging my slightly overweight frame and 20kgs of camera gear up a hill, seems worth it. More still, I love the challenge of working out how to squeeze some recalcitrant portion of reality into a frame, hopefully resulting in an attractive and intriguing photo. Whilst I quite often feel an initial satisfaction with the products of those exertions, few of the photographs still move me 30 days later, let alone after 365.
This review of my best twelve images of 2022, therefore, feels like a slightly strange exercise. However, I can see that it’s quite the rage; at this time of year, there are dozens of dozens in my social media feed. Ansel Adams famously wrote that twelve significant photographs in any one year is a good crop. Significant is obviously the key word here. I am the kind of person who feels Eeyore is dangerously over optimistic. So, hoping that I will make twelve notable images seems very ambitious.
Obviously, some images that I have made over four decades have a deeper significance for me, and I have returned to a few of these again and again. (There must be some reward, or I wouldn’t keep doing it!) Realistically, few of the images here will ever make it into the list of my career best. Does that matter? Not really, we can never know when that wonderful mix of opportunity and resonance with a subject will result in a truly great image. Nor is it up to us to say which images are genuinely significant. Other eyes and the lens of time must determine that. I am content that last year’s crop has provided some likely candidates for my (almost mythical!) third book.
Footnote: I didn’t make a photograph I liked in every month last year, so the images are only “more or less” arranged in month order…
Submerged
I love a chance discovery. Wandering across open moorland in Iceland, I came across this pebble. Sunlight through the ice had warmed the darker pebble enough for it to melt a little opening, like a present unwrapping itself.
After the Rain
Retreating rain clouds provided the intensity of colour and the soft sheen on the slate wall in this image from Dinorwic.
Retreating rain clouds provided the intensity of colour and the soft sheen on the slate wall in this image from Dinorwic.
Flow
I am fascinated by the systems that work behind the scenes to generate surface appearance. In this case, the patterns in the sky and on the beach arise from different kinds of flow. The similarities are more than coincidental. Self-similarity is visually satisfying, so that helps to hook the viewer.
Time enough
The way the colours and quartz veins flow through the rock is the product of unimaginable pressure over millions of years.
The way the colours and quartz veins flow through the rock is the product of unimaginable pressure over millions of years. The sea has then eroded the surface into softly complementary forms, revealing a beauty that was born from deep time.
Oscillations
Intriguing forms can arise from finding the right balance between time and light. In this instance, I wanted to compare the straight reeds with their oscillating reflections. The key here was finding the right shutter speed.
Graffiti
Earthquakes in 2016 devastated several villages and towns on the border of Umbria and Marche in Italy. Many of these are still awaiting help for rebuilding. This graffiti covered door is in a ruined building in Castellucio.
Earthquakes in 2016 devastated several villages and towns on the border of Umbria and Marche in Italy. Many of these are still awaiting help for rebuilding. This graffiti covered door is in a ruined building in Castellucio.
Ode
A freeform poem in light and colour, with a nod towards Monet. (I hope!).
Bergs
Alexander Fleming said that “chance favoured the prepared mind”. It also favours those who’ve already set up to make a photo when the sun unexpectedly peeps through the clouds.
Alexander Fleming said that “chance favoured the prepared mind”. It also favours those who’ve already set up to make a photo when the sun unexpectedly peeps through the clouds. It looks like a serene experience, but there was some frantic resetting of shutter speeds!
Panning for gold
The golden birch leaves gathered in this dark, algae coated bowl in the rocks looked like bright treasures to me. The title was suggested by a friend, Dave Mead, and it’s much better than my original. A good title should ideally be poetic and enrich the image. Mine was sadly pedestrian.
Sunfire
Standing in a goatherder’s barn in the Picos de Europa, I was drawn to the molten orange light that spilled around the pantiles on the roof above.
Standing in a goatherder’s barn in the Picos de Europa, I was drawn to the molten orange light that spilled around the pantiles on the roof above. It looked as if they were being consumed by a furnace. The cool shades of the roof timbers also contrasted beautifully.
Fractured
It’s perhaps an indelicate subject, but I have often found compositions whilst obeying a call of nature. On this occasion, this recently fractured slate caught my eye. I was drawn by the combination of geometry and colour. It reminded me of abstract paintings from the early 20th Century. I also liked how fresh it seemed; the colours were very vibrant and broken piece close to its original position.
Vase
Spoil from the nearby slate mine at Ballachulish has been scattered across the beach. I noticed that, serendipitously, time and tide had rearranged these few stones into a shape reminiscent of a vase with seaweed growing in just the right position.
Spoil from the nearby slate mine at Ballachulish has been scattered across the beach. I noticed that, serendipitously, time and tide had rearranged these few stones into a shape reminiscent of a vase with seaweed growing in just the right position. All it took was forty minutes of searching through the chaos before I recognised the pattern within.
In our end of year issue, Joe Cornish wrote about his favourite images of 2022 and we also asked our subscribers to send in their favourite images from 2022.
We were overwhelmed by the response, with contributions from all corners of the world and almost 100 contributions. So in addition to David Ward's selection from 2022, we have a giant gallery from our subscribers below. Thank you so much for responding to our request, the images are amazing and we are so grateful for your support!
We've created an index of photographers at the top if you wish to find a particular photographer, they are sorted in alphabetical order by surname. Don't forget you can click on an image to see it larger if you wish.
Many thanks to you all and a Happy New Year from Tim, Charlotte, David and Michela.
First snow, Mikael Ackelman It was the day of the first snow for the season. I really love the colours, tones and structures when snow falls on bare ground and always try to catch those moments.
Untitled, Martin Addison I have always loved photographing patterns in nature. Rock patterns, sand patterns, wood, clouds, trees, leaves and of course seaweed which is the subject of this photograph (in case you were wondering).I also take much pleasure in extending those patterns and transforming them into something else, through multiple exposure, ICM, kaleidoscopic effects and the like. In this case the patterns remain the same, but I have shifted the colours using Lightroom which has emphasised the beautiful textures in different ways.
Avenue of Pollarded Trees, David Ashcroft Taken at National Trust Mottisfont, Hampshire, England
Untitled, Jan Bainar Few days after reading Joe Cornish 's article about his favourite photos taken in 2022 I ventured out into the woods and hills of Carpathians mountains - the part of it that I have never visited before. I have found this steep rocky slope with tangled old oak trees which I have been shooting for almost 3 hours. This picture is the very last one, taken 20 minutes after sunset with 30 second exposure which blurs small branches moving in the wind. The tree somehow reminds me of this year that we are leaving behind. It was a year of many contrasts with our nice wedding in June and several beautiful travels without any Covid restrictions but with horrible geopolitical twists and turns occurring few hundred kilometres away from my home and this place.
A quiet night by the sea, Krister Berg I spend a lot of time in the archipelago of Stockholm. The barren islands and the sea has a lot to offer to the adventurous photographer.
Peak of Le Besso in the Val de Zinal, Valais, Switzerland viewed from Cabane de Petit Mountet, Keith Beven A narrow band of light was making its way up the rock face as the sunset, gradually turning more orange. This was taken just as it reached the base of the cloud surrounding the peak.
Badbury Hill Wood, Oxfordshire, Robin Boothby Autumn seemed to be later this year, with some leaves clinging on into early December in my local beech wood. Add in the best fog conditions I can remember in a long, long time and this is the result.
Rowan Tree and Gorge, Snowdonia, Wales, Holger Broschek I captured this photograph during a workshop with Simon Baxter in Snowdonia. We had been walking along the river with ever changing views for two or three hours, when we finally came to a bridge over the gorge, where the other photographers decided to take a rest before turning back. I arrived at the bridge a few minutes later and this composition immediately caught my eye. Since I made the photograph on my birthday, I consider it to be one of my favourite birthday presents ever.
The Stone Valley Trails, Jim Bullard The Stone Valley Trails are just down the hill from my home. I hike and photograph there frequently. This vignette was on a smaller side stream.
Red Rocks Park in winter, Phil Castagneri This park west of Denver, Colorado is famous for its amphitheatre and the many artists who have performed there. Perhaps lesser known is the surrounding park and trails with views of interesting sandstone formations. While exploring the park, the winter light illuminating this tree at the bottom of a ravine caught my eye.
Dawn dreaming, Alan Coligado On a recent trip to Turkey, I took the popular early morning hot air balloon ride in Cappadocia. Of the many photos that I took of that unforgettable experience, this is probably my favourite. I like its simplicity and dreamlike quality.
Waterloopbos, Netherlands. Reflection, Melanie Collie Built in the early 1950's in Netherlands. Now open to wander and cycle on the trails through a forest dotted with hydrological models once used to study the behaviour of water. A fascinating piece of history.
Untitled, Nigel Cooke An image from our time spent travelling in the van down the Wild Atlantic Way in Ireland. Not of course you would know from the image. A few moments of late evening light as I walked along Keel Strand on Achill Island. No time to think about the more expansive vista instead, as is often the case, looking down towards my feet. Perhaps an image that will find its way into my long-running personal project - Along the Strand Line - or maybe it will forever remain just a moment in time.
Winterton Dunes, Andrew Cooper Taken late in the day using a Lensbaby velvet 56, selectively focusing on the grasses in the front. It was only when I transferred to Lightroom I realised how soft the grasses behind had gone.
Interstellar Salt Plant: Majestic Moments, Giovanni Corona I have always been fascinated by the salt pans of Sant'Antioco, a semi-abandoned place. I've always imagined it, at night, as if it were an abandoned lunar facility, a projection of humanity's future in a place far from our home, the Earth. Inspired by the film "LUNE".
A Corner of Paradise, Phil Crean I'm always exploring new parts of the coast near where I live on Tenerife and found this tiny cove with it's lovely colour in the rocks hidden between a hotel and an old village. It captures some of the essence of the wonderful volcanic landscape on my doorstep.
Autumn Sneffels Emergence, Mount Sneffels, Colorado, USA, Anthony S. Crouch Landscape photography has taken me on a journey to seeand experience scenes that I only imagined visiting in the past. Thebeautiful colourful Aspens of Colorado dappled with the light from theclouded sky, alongside the awe inspiring Mount Sneffels, was one ofthose moments where you had to put the camera down and enjoy thepeaceful scene out folding in front of you.
Falling, Michael Cummins Hanging branches of an old silver birch tree in heavy fog at Bolehill, Peak District. Taken in December 2022 on a short trip back to the UK from south-west Ireland.
Head of a Woman II, Mike Curry I was leading a workshop on my reflections work and as such don’t normally use my ‘big camera’. I wanted to show everyone the sort of feeling I was looking for so whipped out my iPhone and snapped this. I think both I and the students were shocked when I caught this image. Nothing done to this image apart from a bit of levels and contrast enhancement. Serendipitous or experience? Not sure I am the best to decide! This is a reflection of a crane at Canary Wharf in London if you were wondering!
Ice Abstract, Frank Dalemans The shapes and details of ice structures stimulate the imagination and never get boring.
A dawn twilight view from Moon Overlook, Hanksville, Utah, Dan Dill The textures and colours are otherworldly.
Hills and Valleys, Andre Donawa I always look forward to visiting this location. Even though it’s mostly known for its grand panoramic views there are some intimate hidden gems when you take a good look around. This is a reef I always visit when I’m in the area; around this time of year, the moss is exceptionally green.
Calm Beeches, Tom Dornig I was out early that morning, I wanted to photograph something completely different. My expectations were not met. On my way back, I decided to stop and take a walk through the misty woods. What I saw were these beautiful beech trees, stood in the fog.
Winter River, Stuart East One of my favourite spots on a river in Sussex. I've photographed it many times but never seen it quite this cold before. The reflections, light, hoar frost and sky all came together at the right moment.
Rocks, Pebbles and Sand, Christopher Edwards titled it 'Rocks, Pebbles and Sand' although the story behind the image was how I had to rush the shot before a playful dog came into the scene - potentially ruining it. Photographed on a bright early Spring day on the North Wales coast, the clear blue skies somewhat forced me to look for the more intimate or smaller scene on the beach. About to call it a day and head back to the car, I suddenly noticed this interesting group of rocks and pebbles. I was acutely conscious of the incoming four-legged friend from the corner of my eye: I literally had about sixty seconds or less to frame and take the shot before the scene was plastered in canine paw-prints and undoubtedly ruining the image I had in my mind!
Copper Leaf, Hank Erdmann “Copper Leaf” was imaged in a eddy of a small stream behind a log laying in the stream. The foam was created from a small water cascade in the stream. The copper colour of the leaf matched the colour of the fringes of the foam which is what caught my attention.
Winter morning at Stokssnes, Oleg Ershov
Morning Frost, Eastern Sierra, Franka Gabler Every year I photograph fall colour in the California Eastern Sierra. I often look for past-prime fall color locations, where most foliage has abscised from the branches, revealing graceful, slender aspen trunks. I was drawn to this small, isolated aspen grove standing strong amongst bluish-purple willow brush. A thin layer of frost gave the vegetation silvery color cast, and made aspen branches glow. The sparse remaining foliage reminded me of a decorated Christmas tree.
Rainy backyard, Christoph Geiss My family and I took a few trips this year which resulted in more spectacular landscapes than this one. Throughout the year, however, our small garden was a source of quiet relaxation and joy. So I am quite fond of this one.
Getting a head start on spring, Franz Gisin
Door and Fern, Derrick Golland The Return. The door, once black, hangs loose. The brickwork, once white, is peeling. The fern fronds celebrate the return of nature.
Frosted Trees, Strensall Common, Morris Gregory Strensall Common is a short walk from my home and is full of photographic potential which I try to capture in ever changing weather conditions. This November provided some early morning frost for a few days so I visited several of my favourite locations on the common to get some shots that complemented the ones I had taken earlier in the year. I like the subtle colours of this composition and the way the leaves on the small, stunted tree, are holding out against cold winter weather.
Godrevy Sunset, Stewart Gregory It may be a honeypot location but I have chosen this one as it is an image that came together in a few brief minutes between heavy rain squalls pushing through and at the end of a very uninspiring day.
Mist at Somerleyton, Ruth Grindrod November mist stayed with us in Norfolk and Suffolk for one whole day back in November, making it a perfect time to visit some nearby woodland. The greys of the trees coupled with the last bit of autumn colour on the leaves were portrayed wonderfully in this diffused light.
Forestry Contorsions, Auvergne, France, Fabien Guittard Magic forest mood around Pavin Lake, the trees seem to be struggling to escape the approaching winter. Maybe it's the unusually mild climate for the season that makes them want to cool off in the lake.
Overflow, Claude Hamel I witnessed the creation of a new stream as the normal water passage (to the left of the picture) got blocked by ice flowing over the waterfall after a warm winter spell. A few days later, all was frozen and snowed over. Being “ haunted by waters”, I can still hear it glide down the slope!
Season of the flood, Kay Hathway Widespread floods in the east of Australia in 2022 blighted the year for many. The Barwon River is part of the biggest river system in this wide, usually brown, land. The River Red Gums have prospered here for centuries, and more. This tree, usually on the bank of the Barwon River, is very old, very beautiful and very graceful in its slow flowing bath of floodwater.
Textures, Elan Valley, Sue Hawksworth I took this photo because I liked the variety of textures and the colours were helped by the fact it was a rainy day. It was taken in the Elan Valley which is a large landscape and I wanted to find an intimate landscape in all that space.
Three Gull Feathers, Robert Hecht Photographed at Agate Beach, Oregon. As I was working, two women with their dogs came by and asked, “Are you one of those researchers looking for scientific data?” I laughed and replied, “No, just an old photographer looking for beauty!
Painting the sea, Seascape, Back of Keppoch, Arisaig, Highland, Scotland, Estelle Slegers Helsen "Spending some time in Scotland the past year for a photography and history project, there was not much time to take “off-topic” pictures.One evening, staying at a campsite at Back of Keppoch, Arisaig, I took my tripod and camera late in the evening to catch some light"
Alderley Edge golden hour, Phil Hemsley Gorgeous autumnal golden-hour light, as rain clouds retreated, catching the Cheshire Plains, looking out from the wonderful Alderley Edge to the Pennines. I had visited it that day (finally) for the first time, a place imagined vividly whilst reading Alan Garner's Weirdstone Trilogy - in my childhood. My Great-grandma had lived beside it. a magical moment.
Pretty But Invasive, Bruce M. Herman Vetch is a pretty but invasive species of wildflower common in South Central Alaska. I made this photograph at a recovered landfill as part of a self-assigned project, "The landfill: on and adjacent.” The photograph was made with a Nikon D800E converted to infrared (wavelengths > 720 nm) and then converted to B&W.
Winter Woodland, High Moors, Belgium, Marc Hermans While I find it impossible to pick a favourite image, this one will always remind me of a beautiful day of photography on the High Moors in Belgium
Black River. The Tarkine wilderness, N/W Tasmania, Trevor Holman I was able to get away in May to photograph a beautiful inland salt lake in Victoria & early this month went on a photographic journey to the north west corner of Tasmania to an area known as takayna/ the Tarkine. An area of almost 450,000 hectares it is the largest Australian (and the worlds second largest) temperate rainforest, a wilderness of beautiful rivers & streams, forests of myrtle, leatherwood and manferns.
Southern end of Spittal Beach, Robin Hudson I made this image at the southern end of Spittal Beach. I was initially attracted by the orange/yellow rock which contrasted with the cool blue tones of the barnacles. After that it was a matter of finding a composition with the shells that worked.
The Portal, Neil Jolly My favourite image of 2022 happened along in the last week of the year. We experienced a day of snowfall at moderate temperatures. As evening approached the skies cleared and the temperature began to drop. Ground fog formed as the evening went on and when the crescent moon rose I was treated to my first ever moon bow!
Human Spirit, Michael Jones Inside each of us is a "something extra," more than the sum of our parts: a magic spark, a fountain of creativity. A backlit grape leaf in fall captures this light within. Fall 2022 - Fresno California Grape Vines
After the Rains, Katherine Keates Spring rains and thawing winter snow can leave the loop road into and around Cathedral Valley, a remote district in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park, muddy and sometimes washed out. But, if the conditions are right and you are willing to hike a bit offroad into the valleys between the rounded Bentonite hills, you can find some of nature’s most interesting art right at your feet. The hills are made of silt, sand, volcanic ash, and bentonite displaying mounds of banded hues in shades of brownish-red, grayish-green, blue, and purple. This slippery mud that collects in the gullies, also produces a mosaic of colourful cracked textures once the rains subside and the thirsty earth drinks. And, as we all know, everyone loves to play in the mud.
Untitled, Prashant Khapane These birch trees caught my attention during this day-long walk in the local woodland. The fog just lingered all day. These trees reminded me of myself. I have been an immigrant in Europe for the past 20 years. Although I've managed to make great friends in Germany and the UK, assimilate and integrate culturally, as an immigrant people often tend to mix with folks from back home, make friends and strengthen bonds. Often criticised rightly or wrongly for the same. From where I was standing this group did remind me of my roots and the community. However, as I gave my perspective the wings I often should, I realised that this is an oak dominion and these birches are segregated. Human beings as species are part of Nature, after all.
Reeds on a Newfoundland pond near dawn, J.A. Lamont The silhouettes of the dried reeds (Eleocharis uniglumis) resemble hieroglyphics. Nature as always is meaningful yet ultimately inscrutable. 200mm, f16.
When Trees Dream, Bonnie Lampley I don’t know if trees dream, but if they do, this is what I imagine it to be. This tree is dreaming of lovely fall days along the Merced River in Yosemite Park.
Black Bryony, Andy Latham Black bryony foliage dies away and leaves strings of vibrant berries scattered in hedgerows and scrub. This image was taken hand-held on a compact camera in low light so is hardly an example of technical excellence but it represents the fun I've had this autumn photographing the abundance of berries in the Arnside-Silverdale AONB.
M5 Viaduct, Gordano Valley, Harvey Lloyd-Thomas An iPhone snap whilst out for a walk with friends; a walk that I'd last done many years ago as a child.
Untitled, Adriana Benetti Longhini The gorge of the “Orrido di Pré-Saint-Didier” ravine is situated in the Valle d'Aosta alpine area of northern Italy. A small path leads you to an ancient bridge over the Dora di Verney river, where there are two thermal springs originate. On the top of the small stone bridge water flows out at a temperature of 22 degrees, while a second source at 36 degrees feeds thermal springs and a spa.
Our Roots, Martin Longstaff ‘Our Roots’ was taken on an uncharacteristically calm and warm, late afternoon last winter in the Cairngorms National Park. The roots and the trees, lit with a low, soft light, are undoubtedly the subject. But the reflection in the dark, still lochan and the winter grasses provide an essential supporting cast
Untitled, Rob de Loë A thread of water flows over the edge of the Terra Cotta waterfall in southern Ontario during the dry summer of 2022. Millenia of flow have carved out a cave in the soft Queenston Shale stone under the hard cap of Dolomite.
Early October, Hedley Hall Woods, Gateshead, Mark Luck Its one of my favourite woodlands to photograph because of its mixture of new and older, established woods. On this occasion, the setting sun was filtering through the trees providing a warm glow and highlighting some of the detail of the leaves
Untitled, Tony Martin I feel a strong pull towards this image; in my mind's flight of fancy the main tree seems to float untethered, a feeling compounded by the ebb and flow of the sinuous limbs. The ethereal calmness is disturbed however by the unresolved darker limbs reaching in, purpose unknown.
Setebos, Dave Mead My favourite image of 2022 is 'Setebos', a three image stitch made in woodland away from the main paths in the Birks of Aberfeldy on a Ward/Cornish workshop in November. I included it in the final evenings 'show & tell' straight from the camera and Joe stitched it for me. It had worked better than I could have hoped for and the reaction of the other participants suggested it was special. I hope you like it too.
Mt. Shuksan sleeps, Ian Meades I was on an early autumn backpacking trip to Lake Ann in the North Cascade mountains of Washington State, catching an ideal weather window before the snow started in earnest. I woke in the middle of the night to an exquisite view of the west face of Mt. Shuksan, illuminated by a brilliant full moon. By far my most sublime experience of 2022, but also spiked with the subtle incense of distant wildfires that had been burning to the east.
Llyn Coch and Cnicht, Graham Meek A late summer's weekend camping trip to Snowdonia provided this view of Cnicht from above Llyn Coch just after sunrise.
Mist on the Heather, Kieran Metcalfe A truly surprising morning - the forecast was for clear skies and, being in the middle of August's heatwave, I certainly didn't expect there to be any moisture around for mist. It was an unexpected joy when high clouds and low mist caught some colour, setting off the purples of the heather. The lone birch sapling made for a pretty subject, which I framed in the crook of the hills.
Overshadowed, Seshi Middela I just like the Turbine standing against the majestic mountains with forces of nature at play
Derwentwater Leaf Wave, Julia Moffett
Snowball Fight, Alfredo Mora As I was hiking around the Flatirons in Colorado, I heard thumping sounds nearby and then saw an "avalanche" of snow crashing down the ponderosa pine trees. I was fascinated by how the snow floated in the air dispersing in random order and interrupting the wonderful quietness of the forest. I observed the light filtering through the snow and trees. There was no way to predict where these huge snowballs (as I call them) would occur but I knew I wanted to capture this wonderful display of nature. Seeing the powdery snow falling in the forest made me smile. My imagination spins and I think that just maybe, the trees do have snowball fights when we are not looking.
Galician storm, Christophe Noel This image was made in early January 2022 in the north of Spain. I drove to the seashore before sunrise, where 4 meters-high waves were crashing against the rocks. I spent more than 2 hours trying to capture the raging power of the sea and this is the best shot I got.
Coastal dunes of the Dutch Wadden Islands, Gerard Oostermeijer My favourite landscape is the coastal dunes of the Dutch Wadden Islands. In this wilderness, dunes are being born, grow or are eroding or destroyed by the play of the elements.The dune structures, patterns and textures form excellent subjects for monochrome photography, so my two greatest passions meet and I am happiest here.
Untitled, Annika Öhman This photo from Lofoten, that didn’t quite turn out as I had intended it to do, is one of the photos from that trip, that I am most pleased with. A bit of a mishap at first I made a double exposure by unintended zooming while shooting. And it somehow intrigued me, so I made a few more attempts, zooming and moving the camera with a slow shutter. The light was a bit boring, so it was best in black and white conversion, I found.
Huisinis Dream, Lorraine Parramore 2022 was the year I stopped trying to please club photography judges and explore creative imagery. ICM can express the colours, shapes and moods of a place. For me, this image of island 'hills', sandy beach, and blue-green sea evokes memories of the Hebrides.
Cold Desert Steel, Matt Payne When the sun goes down, a whole new world emerges before our eyes and creates new opportunities for interesting photography. Here, sand dunes create depth, wonder, and scenic intrigue at blue hour, with sweeping lines and interesting textures providing compositional visual depth where light typically paves the way. Black magnetite, a heavier substance than sand, provides up front visual interest and an anchor to this cold desert landscape photograph taken in Death Valley National Park.
The Uprising, Geoff Pearman At the time when I created this image I was reading the book Uprising: Walking the Southern Alps of New Zealand. The story of an amazing series of treks undertaken by Nic Low as he retraced the routes the ancient Māori took as they criss-crossed the South Island. Here I was standing on a pass on the route between East and Central Otago. As I intentionally moved my camera during a long exposure and followed the ridge lines I had a strong sense of the land being thrust upwards as a result of geological activity.
Frosted, Tim Pearson Woodland reveals itself slowly, over the seasons and years, and this constant state of slow flux means that capturing the essence of the place is a never ending but always rewarding challenge. This image is one of those rare occasions when I've felt close to understanding this very special corner of East Yorkshire.
Nexus, Jason Pettit I wanted this image to depict my vision of the interconnectedness of the forest. Above ground the branches interlace with each other, under ground the roots mingle in a network of nutrient conduits. If one concentrates on this the perception of the forest shifts from a quiet inanimate thing, to a thronging entity of harmonious endeavor.
Temperate, Lewis James Phillips Learning a new discipline, story telling about the environment, getting to know myself again.
Sunset at Rhossili, Adam Pierzchala A standard eye-witness image, perhaps a cliché and certainly not a shot with great artistic merit. But, it’s from our first holiday with the children and grandchildren and it evokes memories of a beautiful evening and a joyous hush as we watched the sun go down. Hence its importance to me.
Maelstrom, Paula Pink I am particularly fascinated with rhythms and textures found in the natural world, and how to capture this photographically. "Maelstrom" is an exploration of form, shape, and pattern using ink and pigment in conjunction with light. The image is intended to be both abstract yet descriptive, evoking ideas of structure and chaos; calm and turbulence; beauty and destruction; endurance and impermanence
Black Oaks in White Silk, Paul Porter Rushing up to the Sierra for the potential visual opportunities presented of a big snowfall can be fraught with uncertainly and yet can be so rewarding as the snow in the lower elevations can be so transient. So I felt so grateful, standing in thigh deep snow, to experience wandering in the soft hushed beauty surrounding me and to call on some of my favorite Black Oaks displaying their white silk livery.
Be Dazzling, Abby Raeder Look for the dazzling and wonder can't be far behind.
Lightshow in puddles, Julia Redl-Freigang The last golden evening light is reflected in the small puddles. The discolouration of the leaves created the golden hue, which I admit I enhanced a little in post-processing.
Marine Treasure, Cesar Llaneza Rodriguez I went out to do intimate landscape photography along the coast; that day I found a cluster of seaweed still wet; I set out to make an abstraction based on the combination of color and textures. I Use a cool white balance and light with a pocket led panel with a warm color temperature.
Untitled, Raico Rosenberg The twisted and gnarly roots of an old Canarian pine tree (Pinus Canariensis) caught my attention on the roadside on the way to Teide volcano in Tenerife where I live. I simply love wandering around my natural surroundings with my Fuji X-T2 camera and seeing what visual delights serendipity brings me.
Rock Figures, Maria Ruggieri The color and structure of this rock face evoke a cubist style of painting that invites the eye to explore the many figures hidden in plain sight. The way this rock broke is also reminiscent of the way a sculptor works to reveal its subject out of an amorphic surface. This artistic gift of nature demanded my full attention.
Wild Garlic, Herbert Schlatt I was hesitant to submit, because I think this picture is nothing special when I compare it to the magazine content, However, to me it is, because when I am in this area I am feeling relaxed and excited at the same time.
Deep Forest, David Southern Standing at the furthest margins of a rocky shoreline at low tide can seem like being on the seabed. This is where I like to photograph the kelp forests that inhabit the cool waters off the Northumbrian coast. Watching the canopy of brown and gold fronds breaking the surface of the sea with each successive wave is both captivating and inspiring.
Lifebelt, Peter Stevens This image was taken at Alnmouth. I came across the lifebelt and supporting wooden cross unexpectedly, and returned to the location three times before the conditions were right.I like it because it is visually attractive to me, but also because I had to work hard to achieve the composition. It took some time to juggle the focal length of the lens, the aperture, and my physical position to get the balance between the foreground lifebelt and grasses, and the beaches in the distant background. It was worth the effort.I had in mind that a black and white conversion would enhance the graphic nature of the image and this was confirmed once I got the file back home and onto the computer.
Skeleton tree, Dries Stevens
Autumn from Ben Alder, Michael Stirling-Aird Some shapes in the composition appealed, but this is my favourite image because I was there with my wife and 3 children, including our 8 and 9 year olds (Ben Alder is not a short walk!)
Lough Leane, Killarney, Ireland, Teddy Sugrue It was a very cold dull winter's day when I took this image but at times when the light broke through the clouds, it created a very dramatic scene.
Early Morning Congruence, Rita Swinford I shouldn't have been alone, but the sun had promised to rise... the dunes are wonderful this early in Death Valley CA, I have been here before, but I never tire of the rhythm.
Branch Lines, Alison Taylor It was the last afternoon of my week in Amble and although the tide was extremely high, forcing me into the sand dunes, I found this little branch resisting the sea which was hurling tree trunks and boulders about on the shore.The sun was setting and casting a lovely glow on the surface of the sea and the waves were roaring onto the beach. It was a wonderful way to end my week.
Tormented Beauty, Chris Taylor This image was taken looking down from slippery rocks as the kelp swayed in the violent sea. Having smashed a camera body as I slipped in similar circumstances yesterday, I was torn between the beauty of the seductive hair in the water and the torment of the sea and rocks. If I could paint, this is what I would paint.
Sweet green and red, Kye Thompson One of the interesting discoveries was coming across the artist Valda Bailey Iand her way of working with multiple exposure. Though just beginning to experiment I am delighted with how colour is emphasized. Like Valda I am avoiding the obvious and finding a new direction - brilliant beginning for 2023.
Untitled, Gary Tucker French composer Olivier Messiaen was synaesthetic, and one passage in his “Quartet for the End of Time” features “cascades of blue-orange chords” for the piano. His evocative phrase came to my mind when I captured these lakeside reeds in a silent summer dawn."
Garbat Forest mist, Andy Turner Having climbed Ben Wyvis earlier in the day during a cloud inversion, the forest below was veiled in heavy mist on the descent. In late October, the trees were a riot of colour but in monochrome it creates a hint of a snowstorm.
Oak on the Water., David Wallace The idea for this image came to me a few weeks prior while hiking in my favourite local park. The conditions weren't quite right yet as most of the leaves were floating on top of the pools of water along the Olentangy River outside Columbus, Ohio. When I returned 2 weeks later it was actually better than what I imagined it would be. These six leaves were floating atop the water while the rest had sunk below. A little bit of focus stacking and this was the final result. Some images work because the scene in front of you is such a universally agreed upon beautiful view that it seems like you could point your camera in any direction and something good would come from it. This is not one of those scenes. It’s nothing but a big “puddle” with leaves decaying. But that is exactly what I like about it and it’s what makes me so proud of this image.
Grey Matter, Karin De Winter Abstract geology sedimentary rock pattern photographed on the Atlantic coast of Spain, 2022. I am very much intrigued by the wide diversity of lines, textures and patterns one can find in areas with sedimentary rocks, and try to depict them as small or tiny landscapes.
Untitled, Gaby Zak Taking a peaceful walk in the woods and taking a moment with nature, I saw the sunlight shining through the trees, I just loved the way it hung in the air amongst the fog. I took this photo in Christmas Common, South Oxfordshire, on my Fujifilm x-t20.
If the sum of the whole can be greater than its parts, then René Algesheimer has plenty to draw on, with a skill set that encompasses music and mathematics, a highly relevant contemporary specialism, and considerable passion for both the visual arts and written word. Working almost exclusively on projects, René tends – contrary to what we are encouraged to do by social media – to hold these back and allow them, and himself, the time needed to fully develop. As a consequence, our interview gives you a taste of some work that is not yet on his website but which René has put forward to illustrate his answers. We also link to some of the work that Rene refers to, which is on his website but not illustrated here, and which exemplifies the different approaches that he takes in developing projects.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up and what your early interests were? You seem to have an interesting background, studying music in parallel with mathematics and now working with social structures and marketing.
I was born and raised in Bingen in, Germany. In my childhood, I spent a lot of time at the River Rhein, in a big nature reserve, and enjoyed going exploring with my friends. We have there a lot of old willows, beautiful big poplars and many orchards that let me experience the character of trees. I grew up very sheltered in a religious family, where togetherness, harmony, gratitude, and common work were very important. My grandfather owned orchards, and we were regularly outside after school, in the fresh air, in the fields cutting trees, harvesting apples, pears, cherries, plums, or whatever was in season. We told each other stories, discussed topics that interested us, and ate our breakfast, lunch, or dinner outside in the fields after the work was done. It was an almost perfect childhood for me in a wonderful family. Almost like in “Bullerbü” books by Astrid Lindgren. I have drawn much in my life from this time. First and foremost, humility; gratitude; a great deal of love for the world, its creatures and nature; hope; creativity; and resilience.
I recently finished reading Robert Macfarlane’s Landmarks1, a captivating book about the relationship between language and landscape. This relationship is explored through a unique interweaving of two components: chapters and glossaries, each pair focused on a different type of landscape. As I read Landmarks, I was struck by its relevance to modern nature photography. In particular, the book’s glossaries provide a framework for a new way to think about collections of images.
Before exploring this idea further, however, it is important to understand what Landmarks is and what it sets out to accomplish.
Each of its chapters examines the work of an influential author who was fundamentally impacted by the subject landscape, from Nan Shepherd and the rugged Cairngorm Mountains of northeast Scotland to John Muir and the diverse woodlands of the Sierra Nevada. Macfarlane’s nuanced narratives give the reader the context necessary to gain an understanding of how the landscapes captivated these authors, inspired them, and shaped their literary work.
Borbhan (Gaelic) Purling or murmur of a stream.
I am no connoisseur of British literature, which is the chief focus of Landmarks, so I will be the first to recognise that much of the subject matter in these chapters was beyond my immediate grasp. I read with the intent to enjoy as much as I was able to, with enough humility to know that I would not fully appreciate every detail that Macfarlane explores.
Robert Adams, in his 1996 essay “Truth in Landscape”, opined that “landscape pictures can offer us three verities - geography, autobiography, and metaphor.” I find this is a useful framework through which to consider why an image remains in my thoughts.
A photograph in which an artist succeeds in posing a question is uncommon. An image in which the viewer is left pondering a moral response to the posed quandary is memorable. The skill required to pose a question rather than to just present one side of an argument is considerable. The easier option of presenting a single side of complex questions runs the risk of veering towards propaganda.
Such a memorable image, for me, has been " On the nature of things 2012” by Dr Les Walkling. This image has stayed with me since I encountered it seven years ago. It does not surprise me that it has been used commercially as an example of photographic excellence.
This composition visually illustrates the choices for the viewer of the uses and values of forests. The intact forest on the right hand side is separated by the disused rail line from the logged trees on the left. Between is a crossing leading to a locked gate. In the background, there is a built environment on a dead end road. There are no elements of awe inspiring beauty, so the viewer is left to ponder why this combination is being presented for their consideration.
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 feel lucky I live in an area with several nature-protected areas. Within a radius of 20 km from my home, I count at least three nature reserves that I want to pay homage to in this selection. I took the liberty of calling them “my own” since, after so many hours spent photographing them, I have yet to meet another landscape photographer or find any significant body of work created in those areas.
The first nature reserve is a former sandstone quarry within walking distance from my house. It is also the smallest one: you can walk around it in less than 10 minutes and miss most of its beauty when in a hurry, as I did initially. It became my photographic playground during the COVID-19 lockdown in 2020, and I now have a whole portfolio dedicated to it. It’s incredible how much you can discover in a landscape when you immerse yourself in it long enough.
I’ve selected two shots of it. The first is a small area of backlit pioneer grassland. I took many photos of it, but only once was I lucky enough to witness a sunrise with morning frost. The second one is a hornbeam tree in all its blooming glory, bent in front of the old quarry working face.
I lived in the area for almost ten years before discovering the second reserve, known as “calcareous grassland.” Maybe it took me so long because it is not that well maintained or promoted. It’s a pity, given the biodiversity there; I found amazing trees and beautiful patches of colors during autumn, as in the shot presented here. It took me forever to organize the chaos of colors and shapes into a cohesive whole, but I’m thrilled with the result. Please view in full screen to enjoy all the details.
Finally, I must cross the Luxembourgish border to reach the third reserve, a former quarry as well. It is the biggest of the three and has multiple hiking and mountain bike trails, making it a popular weekend destination. The reserve is full of birch trees and pioneer grassland that thrives in these rough conditions for vegetation. The group of birch trees in this photo is a favorite spot of mine that I’ve returned to at various times of the year: here, they are portrayed in early autumn.
These nature reserves allow me to practice landscape photography all-year round; they are my go-to locations when attractive conditions present themselves. I find it very rewarding to create images I’m proud of in those places since they are so personal.
Taking a walk in the peaceful landscapes in Dumfries and Galloway, I wanted to capture the beautiful scenery that I was surrounded by. I never get tired of the stillness and tranquil views. With the weather constantly changing, there's so much to take in and never a dull moment to take a photo.
This portfolio, “Photographing the ephemeral”, is about the light reflections emitted by glass. The images show forms, patterns and colours that are constantly changing and have a very short duration. The glass reflections are ephemeral forms that offer the photographer very little time for tripod planning and composition.
For me, details have always had a magnetic attraction. They have stressed the notion that the small parts form the whole, the same way the points form the line. From then on, I searched everywhere for details in all kinds of glasses: dark, clear, curvaceous, small, large, rough and smooth.
My interest in details explains my commitment to developing a photographic language that responds more to my intuition and imagination than to what I see with my eyes… all that is hidden, difficult to see… the ephemeral, which we often miss, but the camera can capture.
I published a recent bilingual photo book on this theme titled “Intimate experiences - Photography of the ephemeral”, where I include texts about my experiences and feelings when encountering ephemeral subjects and about my creative process.
I confess I became obsessed with the magic and versatility of all that is ephemeral around us.
Last year, over the course of several weeks as summer yielded to autumn, I brought my camera with me on strolls with my wife and dogs at Tower Grove Park, a local park in St. Louis, Missouri. Ever since my first visit, the park’s diverse and characterful trees (about 7000 trees, spanning approximately 340 tree types) have captivated my imagination. When I began playing with some compositions, I became further entranced by their details, from the texture of their bark to their glowing leaves overhead. The personality of each tree slowly began to come into focus.
These four images represent only a small part of a portfolio I hope to continue growing for as long as I live near Tower Grove.
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.”
