There are two approaches, maybe three, to any art: you can make it a real business first of all, in which case ‘Art’ could, probably would, be killed; or you can live for your art, and maybe grow lean in the living, or try to combine the two approaches. In trying to achieve the latter, I have learned that you can’t make a lot of money, get rich, out of your own hide, no less than the corner grocer.~ Edward Weston, in a letter to his son, Cole
There are those who (legitimately) refer to themselves as artists by virtue of being skilled at producing artistic creations. There are also those who refer to themselves as artists by their conviction, beyond just producing art, to live as artists. To the former, the highest purpose of being an artist is to make art, often alongside or in deliberate contrast to less-artistic aspects of life.
There are many who live their lives as artists but earn a living in other professions (or perhaps are fortunate to not have to earn a living at all), and there are also many professional artists for whom art is primarily a means of earning income rather than an expression of an intensified life.
To the latter, the opposite is true: the highest purpose of making art is to sustain an artistic life by occasionally giving tangible form to certain experiences that ensue naturally out of such a life.
It’s hard to think of a point in my lifetime when the focus on humanity’s impact on the environment was more at the fore than now, and long overdue it is. Recently I watched “Don’t Look Up”, the new Netflix feature length film satirising the climate crisis by depicting the reaction to a giant comet hurtling towards earth, and it brought home once again how devastating and ludicrous our response has been to the damage we are doing.
As photographers who spend so much time in the landscape, it seems to me we have a deep responsibility to set an example in what we can all do to mitigate our impact on the earth, as well as sharing and engaging with photography that focuses on climate change. In this desperate context that we live in, I also find it staggering that so many photographers seem keen to pour thousands of kilograms of CO2 into the atmosphere just to make a quick buck through selling NFTs. Although that discussion is probably for another time…(see Tim's editorial for issue 247.)
Nature’s ability to adapt and regenerate does give us some hope, and on a much smaller level, this can be seen from disasters such as Chernobyl or the scarring of landscapes from industry. For many years I have enjoyed photographing abandoned slate mines across the Lake District as they have been reclaimed by nature, the slow creep of regeneration producing a strangely beautiful concoction.
For many years I have enjoyed photographing abandoned slate mines across the Lake District as they have been reclaimed by nature, the slow creep of regeneration producing a strangely beautiful concoction.
However we come across photography, it has a tendency to transform our lives. It’s often a sudden change, which makes a dramatic difference to how we both view and interact with our surroundings. In this issue, we find out a little more about Dutch photographer Elvis Dallie who has a secret friend to thank for sparking his passion.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your early interests and education, and what that led you to do?
I am of Indonesian descent. My parents came to the Netherlands when I was two years old. It was only at a later age that I understood that it was for a political reason and that life there was not good then under President Sukarno. It also had to do with the fact that my father was a soldier for the Dutch army. Anyway, it's a long story and I don't want to explain everything in detail. When we came to the Netherlands and were the first foreigners to come from Indonesia to the Netherlands, we lived in a guest house in Oosterbeek, not far from Arnhem where I still live today. Arnhem is located in the Province of Gelderland and I like it very much to this day. My childhood was very good, which I owe to my parents. My father died when I was seventeen and my mother in 2015. My brother two years before. I come from a family of three children but I have no contact with my eldest brother. After the death of my father, we each chose our own path to process it and while you would think you might grow closer together, unfortunately, that was not the case. I have had a lot of love from my parents and I know what love means.
Recently in a conversation with several other landscape photographers, it was suggested to me that photographs of small scenes in nature such as fallen leaves, mud patterns, and ice formations should not be considered landscape photography since they don’t include the sky or other contextual features of the ‘land.’
When I was younger, I had a friend who was twice my age in years and four or five times my age in life experience. Darrell seemed adept at anything that fixed his attention or fired his passion. When potsherding with him, that is hunting for indigenous peoples relics in Massachusetts’ spring ploughed fields, Darrell taught me much about discovery, storytelling and conservancy that influences my image making to this day. That influence can be seen in images I’ve made at Foxbard and Bardwell Farms, two of the Pioneer Valley’s first farms, each established in the 18th century.
Foxbard
Lessons & Similarities
Darrell was a remarkable outdoorsman. For several years he lived alone in a cabin—with no electricity or running water—on an island set on an isolated lake in the backwoods of Maine. It was there he acquired his encyclopedic knowledge of foraging in the forests of New England. Darrell could tell you which plant could sustain, which could cure and which could injure. A hunter, he used every bit of an animal, even beyond simple sustenance. A talented and diverse artist, he collected deer and moose antler shed in winter, sculpting it with dentist tools into exquisite animistic statues—shamanistic and surreal depictions of elegant, sinuous beings that overtook the flow of the bone.
This seemed even more so when we went ‘potsherding’—that is, methodically plodding the newly ploughed sweetcorn fields of southeastern Massachusetts looking for indigenous people’s artefacts in the fresh furrows.
He was equally adept at pen and ink renderings of the moose and other wildlife of his native Maine. Darrell stood where the clichés ‘jack of all trades’ and ‘font of wisdom’ intersected. This seemed even more so when we went ‘potsherding’—that is, methodically plodding the newly ploughed sweetcorn fields of southeastern Massachusetts looking for indigenous people’s artefacts in the fresh furrows. Fields similar to those I often plod nowadays in the Pioneer Valley looking for nature’s artefacts to place within my frame when image making.
As has been the case with nearly all other End frame recommendations, having been invited to choose an image to present in this series, I found it extremely difficult to make a choice. In previous recent articles for On Landscape I have already mentioned one of my favourite Ansel Adams images, and my favourite LPOTY winning photograph of Mark Littlejohn. Many others came to mind, particularly Michael Kenna, John Sexton and Fay Godwin, but I decided to go with an image that has been hanging on my wall for quite some time now: Full Moon over Mayo by Paul Kenny. Paul’s work should be known to many of the readers of On Landscape by now, not least because of his talk given at the last Meeting of Minds conference in 2018.
I was fortunate to meet Paul at an early stage in his photographic career as the result of an exhibition in Lancaster, close to where he lived at that time in Churchtown. I bought one of his prints then (Blackstone - Bright Water, 1992), when he was still working with a camera, and we stayed in regular contact. We also managed to organise an artist-in-residence position with the Environment Centre at Lancaster University, soon after it was formed. That produced an interesting body of work, including some images of waste items from the laboratory being taken back out and photographed in the environment. Later Paul started to exhibit the prints he had made produced in other ways than through a camera, and I was immediately struck by the nature and intensity of these images. That was when I bought a copy of Full Moon over Mayo. It has been on the wall ever since.
Some wild places have the power to captivate all who visit them, not because they have unrivalled views or superior scenery but because they instil in the visitor a sense of wonder and awe. In 2018 I discovered one such place.
At this time my photography was primarily focused on the coast. I was an experienced yachting photographer and I loved the sea and this was the environment I was naturally drawn to when I ventured out with my camera. However, that all changed when I read a book by Sara Maitland called Gossip from the Forest. It featured a chapter on a local woodland that I had never explored but felt compelled to visit.
First impressions are always important and they are usually what guides me as a photographer. As soon as I stepped off the road and into the cool depths of the wood I knew I wanted to produce a body of work that captured the essence of this amazing location.
It is an ancient landscape of fairytale qualities where vast oaks, some over 500 years old, stand side by side with some of the tallest holly trees in Britain.
The wood is a special place that has been well documented. It has been studied by Oliver Rackham, a leading ecologist of British woodlands, and described by eminent woodland expert George Peterken as being as near to primal forest as anything else in the country. It is an ancient landscape of fairytale qualities where vast oaks, some over 500 years old, stand side by side with some of the tallest holly trees in Britain. Reminiscent of childhood stories, the area is a chaotic tangle of twisted branches where light is sparse and evergreen curtains of holly hang in the air. Dead and decaying boughs and trunks litter the floor and even on the brightest of days the air is cool and the forest dark. The treescape has a Tolkienesque quality revealed in the gnarly shapes of the oaks, the characters imagined in the deadwood and the symbiosis of its compound trees, formed as different species grow on top of one another. For all who enter this magical landscape, mystery abounds and imagination runs wild.
While the wood may have started its life as an oak wood today holly is the dominant species. The evergreen trees are regenerating at a rapid pace and tiny seedlings can be seen all over the woodland floor. But for the oaks, the future is less bright. There has been no successful natural regeneration in the last 100 years and so the dynamics of the woodland are changing. There is a conflict between the hollies and the oaks born from competition for sunlight, which over time has contributed to the enchantment of the forest but will ultimately change its nature forever.
As someone who had never attempted woodland photography before, the ancient forest presented some major challenges, the most difficult being the chaotic nature of the habitat. When I entered the wood for the first time I was confronted by a mass of trees and foliage that felt almost impossible to penetrate. Everywhere I looked the scene was busy and chaotic.
I began by getting to know the wood, visiting with my camera but focusing very much on connecting with the environment and observing the wildlife in its natural habitat. The more I explored the more I felt I understood the landscape and the trees that surrounded me.
The evergreen trees are regenerating at a rapid pace and tiny seedlings can be seen all over the woodland floor. But for the oaks, the future is less bright. There has been no successful natural regeneration in the last 100 years and so the dynamics of the woodland are changing.
There was something very powerful about immersing myself in this ancient oak wood. The gnarly trees have been old for longer than I have been alive and have lived through huge changes in the landscape. Most are between 300 - 500 years old and although they are hollowed and broken and are being crowded out by the surrounding hollies they are still alive and very much part of a vibrant ecosystem.
I was in awe of these trees every time I visited and felt a deep connection with the past and an almost spiritual connection with the wood. This ultimately gave me an idea for the project and influenced the decisions I made regarding photographic style.
I began taking photos in the autumn and deliberately decided to shoot on rainy days when the moisture in the air acted as a filter, simplifying the background but at the same time saturating the colours of the vegetation.
From my initial visits in the autumn of 2018, I produced a panel of 6 images that I felt showed the enchantment of the forest but also hinted at the dark and chaotic nature of the habitat. I entered this panel into the Royal Horticultural Society (RHS) photography competition and was shortlisted to exhibit at the Art and Photography show which took place at the Saatchi Gallery in London. I was thrilled to be awarded a Silver - Gilt medal for my work and inspired to put together a book that told my story of the forest.
By this time I had been visiting and photographing the wood for two years. I had built up a huge collection of images across all four seasons and in very different weather conditions. However, I didn’t want to produce a book that told a chronological tale through spring, summer, autumn and winter. Instead, I chose to tell a story of a connection between two tree species (holly and oak) and also between man and the natural world.
As a regular visitor to the wood and an observer and lover of the natural world, the wood seemed to me to display many characteristics of a human community. It is rooted in time, and nature, connected spirituality (particularly in the past) to those that live among it, made vulnerable by change and afflicted by conflict and mortality. It is these characteristics that I chose to form the structure of my story.
The result is my book Rooted which I published at the beginning of December. Although this is principally a tale about a special area of ancient woodland it is also a personal story of the connection between myself as a photographer and the landscape I work in.
The wood is somewhere that has had a profound effect on me since I first visited in 2018. It has shaped my art and has provided me with a peaceful natural refuge to explore with my camera.
The wood is somewhere that has had a profound effect on me since I first visited in 2018. It has shaped my art and has provided me with a peaceful natural refuge to explore with my camera.
Whilst my images took just over two years to gather the words for the book were written in 2021 in the run-up to and during the international climate summit COP26 which took place in Scotland.
With the news coming out of Glasgow on a daily basis I found myself drawing comparisons between the threats the planet faces and those currently affecting the wood. Rooted is a story of an ancient place, battling for survival in its current form and one that in many ways mirrors man's own story.
I very much hope that I have succeeded in portraying, through my images, the magic and fragility of the woodland and my deep love for this awe-inspiring habitat.
The idea of photographic projects, bodies of work that are related through geography, subject matter or ideas, have been promoted by most photography practitioners as a way of developing your vision and making your work more meaningful. Although the single image is the goal of many photographers, the relationships between images in a project can convey more about the subject and how the photographers see it, than any single image.
As such, it was a goal of ours from the start of the competition to include a project category with the hope that it would be well supported. We needn’t have worried though, we received 4000 images across nearly 400 projects on a whole range of subjects and there were some amazing entries. I thought it would be interesting to share some of our winners here and also some of the more interesting project submissions (with a bias to the ones that I particularly liked).
Matt Palmer, Winner
Ash
ASH documents unprecedented fires in Tasmania from 2019. Areas photographed include Hartz Mountains National Park, Franklin Gordon River National Park, Great Lakes, and Tasmania's East Coast. The project documents the destruction of these fires, the thin line between survival and destruction, and the re-emergence of life, albeit affected by a habitat that has lost many fire vulnerable species.
Carl Smorenburg, Runner-Up
The Drakensberg
The Drakensberg has been a passion of mine for over a decade now. You’ll find this mountain range on the eastern side of South Africa, bordering Lesotho. The Zulu nation calls it uKhahlamba, which means ‘Barrier of up-pointed spears, and it is clear to see why.
I have been hiking and photographing the Drakensberg for 15 years now and every single time I go, I find a fresh perspective in this ancient place. It inspires me to show the mountain rage in all its beauty, because each season brings a different set of conditions, colour tones and light.
The Drakensberg is a lifelong project for me, and I hope you too will fall in love with this small part of Africa.
Hans Strand, Third Place
Icelandic Highlands From Above
I made my first trip to Iceland in 1995 and ran into a book with aerials by German photographer Klaus Franke. The images and the landscape photographed from above blew me away. I had never practised aerial photography myself at that time. Now 26 years later I have been flying about 140 hours over Iceland. This collection of images consists of images all from the Icelandic Highlands. A few of these have ended up in 3 of my books: "Iceland above and below", "Island" and "Beyond Landscape". Iceland is for me a lifetime project and I will most likely continue to go there and make new photographs as long as I have the health to do so.
Martin Longstaff, Fourth Place
Nun'Yunu'Wi – Dressed in Stone
Hunting is still a major pastime in the mountains of NW Georgia (USA). Yet, many years ago, before the 'Trail of Tears' (~1835), it was Cherokee Native Americans who enjoyed these same mountains and forests. This project is loosely based on the legend of Nun'Yunu'Wi, an old man dressed in stone.
The Nun'Yunu'Wi terrorised Cherokee hunting parties, tracking them down and eating them. It was said that his skin was made of stone, that his cane could transform into a rock of any shape and size, and that he used the cane to sniff the air and track his prey. In my adaptation, the rocks and boulders are a community of these stone people, still thriving within these remote mountainous forests, perhaps still feeding on the occasional unsuspecting hunter. The images are taken during the 'Fall', when changing colours transform the landscape and misty mornings start quiet and cool. This is also hunting season and access is restricted to those with a bow, or a gun, seeking deer, bear or wild hog.
Nikhil Nagane, Fifth Place
Bogs of Adirondacks
Bogs are wetlands consisting of wet and spongy ground where water and land interact with each other in a very intimate way. In this project, I have tried to capture that relationship between water and vegetation on the ground. Various seasons bring in vast variations in the bogs and I have tried to observe that change. The Adirondack Mountains in New York are known for their mountains, but what really attracts me to them are the bogs of Adirondacks.
Trym Bergsmo, Commended
The Intimate North
My submission in this contest is a selection of images from the North of Norway. I have always enjoyed this kind of photography; the search for the universe in the details. This gives me great satisfaction, to experience the grand landscape in the details. My imagination is triggered in a different way and the sense of the natural beauty and drama of the landscape becomes very much alive and different from the sensation of an overwhelming view from the top of a mountain. I don’t have to travel far to find these locations. To me, the environmental aspect of not travelling around the world to visit iconic sites is a great motivation and inspiration.
Horia Bogdan, Commended
The Beautiful Dead
In 1991, a small natural landslide stopped the flow of a little river and allowed for the creation of one of Romania's most beautiful lakes: Cuejdel. Once the water level rose, it drowned the nearby forest, creating an "army of trunks" that slowly rot above the water. The remnants of those trees combined with the ethereal mood of this place, made me visit it over and over again, in each season of the year and resulted in this photographic project.
Andrew Baruffi, Commended
Delicate
Zion National Park is a solemn and quiet place to those who need it and seek it. Grandeur and vistas dominate the area, but I believe there’s more to be said in the intimacy hidden within its walls. This is a celebration of the ice nestled between the sandstone; the delicate scenes on the ground beneath my feet, waiting to be noticed. Sweeping concentric lines, leaves caught in a natural pause, and the simple power of reflected light. A condition as fleeting as ice cannot be planned or expected, but rather found when it’s ready to be found. Zion is an easy place to see superficially and disregard its deeper potential, but much like ice; with time and patience beautiful things can be formed and found.
Joe Rainbow
Fractured
I have known this Cornish beach my whole life, playing on the slate rocks as a child and continuing to visit this local spot regularly. My aim with this project was to create an ambiguity of scale, to transform and transport, to free the mind as a child and see towering peaks, marble quarries or aerial views. Landscapes within landscapes, I am inspired by the great abstract painting tradition of Cornwall.
David Southern
Coastal Sandstone of Northumbria
The Northumbrian coastline provides endless opportunities for photography but it is the less obvious subjects that attract my attention most of all.
Soft sandstones have been eroded through the constant pounding of the North Sea resulting in ever-changing rock features and landscapes in miniature. These sedimentary rocks are made up of many layers. When exposed to the elements it is these layers that create wonderful shapes, colours and patterns. Apply a little imagination and the discoveries are boundless; rocks that look like waves on a choppy sea, low lying hills or a mountain range. Time and tide erodes channels in the stone that could be great canyons and intertidal pavements that seem like the surface of a distant planet.
Over time this dramatic coastline will no doubt reveal new and often beautiful landscapes that will continue to fascinate and fuel my imagination.
Andy Hall
Close Encounters
Intimate landscapes offer me the opportunity to absorb and distil beauty and design elements that exist in the natural world that would otherwise go unnoticed. By adopting a magnifying glass approach, I can create images that I know will be wholly original.
In this collection, mostly photographed within a five-mile radius of my home, I've enjoyed aesthetic components of lichen, frost, water, stone, moss and seaweed by combining colour, shape, pattern and texture in close-up detail.
Bonnie Lampley
Colours of the Aftermath
The colours of the landscape after a wildfire burned our area were surreal and oddly calming at the same time. While the smoke was still thick, the colours were muted, desaturated to blackened tones. As the smoke cleared, but still lingered a bit, the landscape turned to soft browns and greys. As summer waned, and fall approached, plants emerged along waterways, their exuberant greenery vividly surreal in the burned landscape. The subdued colours in the quietness of the burned landscape were the calm after the storm.
Kenny Muir
Caledonia
In the not too distant past, northern Scotland was a very different place. The Caledonian forest, an ecologically diverse temperate rainforest, covered much of the Highland landscape. Only a small number of remnants of this great woodland now exist. This selection of images taken across the seasons, aims to highlight the importance of preserving these areas of natural beauty.
Karl Mortimer
25 Square Metres
Images produced from one 25 square metre section of the Rhinogydd in North Wales as a magnificent sunset developed to the west across the Irish Sea. An exploration of landscapes within landscapes and the fractal nature of those landscapes and the geological processes that shape them from a macro to a micro level
David O'Brien
Compositional film pinhole curves
Compositional curves is always a photographic device I search for with my film pinhole camera; the simplicity of composition matched with the simplest form of camera always manages to record the simple forms of nature so well; be it the curve created by light, the sweep of a rock, the movement of clouds or sand patterns left by a retreating tide. The square format and black and white film frames a curve so pleasingly. With no viewfinder and a field of view that only continuing experience can master, the end result is never assured but always welcomed when all the elements come together. Just simple things achieved by simple lensless cameras to create a basic emotional connection!
Larry Monczka
Winter Images--Lake Erie North Shore
From November through March, I am often the solitary witness to Lake Erie's varied moods. Throughout the winter months, at the top and tail of the shortened days, one can experience the dramatic, the ephemeral and the serene. Though close to home, it often feels like an alien realm.
Max Cooper
Lensless Falls: Pinhole Photography from North Carolina's Over-Photographed Waterfalls
As a mountain “local,” I see photographers everywhere. Pros with all their gear and tourists with their phones. We jockey for space in our most beautiful places and try to capture them with our gadgets. The sharpest lens and newest sensor can’t render what it’s like to stand in these scenes, but thousands of photographs are taken of them every day. What service would it be to add my own?
But a pinhole camera is simple. I take mine to these places precisely because they are so over-photographed. The camera's tiny aperture is literally nothing: A hole. A lack. An empty space. When modern photography makes a statement, this primitive photography listens. And when you really listen to a waterfall's roar, you will hear that it defies our statements and that it is not ours to capture.
Alexandre Deschaumes
Statues de Glace
The Frozen claws of Winter. My vision here is focused on the texture. I am looking for a kind of 'emotional connection' with the atmosphere revealed on the mountains.
Jan Eigil Marthinsen
Potholes of Telemark
For thousands of years, these rock formations were hidden from plain sight. It was after they made a power plant and diverted most of the water through pipes these wonders were reviled to us. Massive stones had been churning around, creating the potholes hidden underwater. What really made this special was the discs of ice floating on the surface the day we were there. Replicated the very same twirling pattern as the rocks had been doing for thousands of years.
Mariusz Oszustowicz
Looking for harmony
It's Winter 2020/21. There's a pandemic in the world. Like many people around the world, I am learning to live anew. You cannot travel, you cannot meet friends... There are feelings that I did not know before. Searching for harmony in nature becomes a perfect therapy. For me, it is a cure for everything. The project is my photographic story of longing for harmony. I found her near my home. I am looking for her again in my life. I believe I will find her.
Alexej Sachov
A world of fantasy underwater
The tale is told underwater in Egypt. Diving in canyons, caverns and caves, you see an amazing dance of light and fish.
My last few weeks of 2021 were spent immersed in the world of photography books. And, for a change, I wasn’t looking at other people’s books but designing one of my own. Well, our own, because I refer to the Natural Landscape Photography Awards that I run with Matt Payne, Alex Nail and Rajesh Jyothiswaran. After we realised that we could raise enough money to be able to print a high-quality portfolio book to go alongside the competition, we just had the challenge of “what was it going to look like?”. I have a fairly large library of photography books and so I spent a few days trying to find some inspiration. We knew we wanted the book to be more than just a simple ‘catalogue’ of images and we had already approached a few judges and entrants about writing essays to include in the book so the main challenge was one of ‘style’.
You would think that there wasn’t much you could do with a photography book, after all the main thing is that the images appear as large as possible and there are a lot of them. But it turns out that the books that I really enjoyed coming back to had something extra about them. They had a rhythm of presentation, a subdivision of content into logical sections, supplementary content alongside the photographs that didn’t get in the way but gave a little bit of context. For example, Joe Cornish’s first light has a short description next to each image but also a secondary image that “didn’t quite work”. This added a little extra context about why the main picture worked in comparison.
I should thank Eddie Ephraums at this point as whilst researching the types of design I liked and thought worked the best, the books he edited were, in my mind, some of the most interesting and best designed. He uses classic design elements sparingly to create published works that complement but don't overpower photographic portfolios. Have a look at Joe Cornish's "First Light", Light and Land's "Developing Vision and Style" & "Working the Light", Paul Wakefield's "Landscape" and David Ward's "Landscape Beyond" and "Landscape Within".
A designer colleague told me once that the content of a photography book can be considered the words of a story and that without punctuation, paragraphs, grammar and chapters, even the best writing would be almost unreadable. As a designer, we need to think of everything that isn’t the photographs themselves as the grammar and punctuation of the presentation. One of the most significant elements at our disposal is pretty much invisible and yet has the biggest impact. White space is one of the, if not the most important aspect of graphic design. It informs the composition of the page and as such, it is essential to use well. For instance, as much as many photographers want all of their photographs to be as large as possible, varying the size, alignment and distribution of photographs on the page. Let’s have a look at some of the ways we can present photographs.
Example Photo Spreads
As you can see - if you mix these up you can get quite a lot of variety. Full bleed images can be a little bit of a pain because you do lose a couple of mm where the picture meets the edge of the page but they can look good and if you choose your alignment well, you don’t clip important features of the images used.
The next aspect of book design is to create the broad rhythm of the book, the categories and sections. With the Founders Awards (Mountains, Trees & Forests, etc), the projects, the portfolios and the essays, we had quite a few different things to create visual and content structure with.
Here’s a list of the sections we’ve included as seen on our table of contents page.
Table Of Contents
Just with these sections, we start to introduce some rhythm and variety. We can treat each main section as a slightly different design template as well. For instance, the main categories can appear in white text on a dark background with a full bleed image. Here’s an example of the Grand Landscape category.
Grand Landscape
And we can use this concept for the big subsections such as the photographer of the year or the winner of categories. Here’s a panel showing a few different examples.
Other Category Spreads
One of the things that I wanted to include in the book is a short caption alongside each image describing why we liked the image. We used a simple vertical line to not only act as a boundary for each caption but also to indicate which side of the page it was referring to (only really useful on a couple of pages where captions appeared opposite the image.
Here are three examples of the captions which include examples of one of the judges captions explaining why the image was one of their favourites in the competition.
Image Caption Examples
To cope with the various aspect ratios of the images, we have had to lay out the captions quite differently. Also, in order to choose complementary images across each spread that fit in terms of aspect ratio creates a sort of puzzle with multiple solutions. With enough fiddling around, satisfactory solutions eventually appear (albeit they’re a little bit of a fight).
To be honest, this was one of the most fun parts of designing the book. To have such a collection of amazing images to work with and free reign to organise them in a complementary fashion was such fun. The only disappointing thing was not being able to include more images. Unfortunately, we’ve been told that beyond a certain size a book gets difficult to pick up and read. How annoying!
Now we’ve got the bulk of the single image photographic content designed in, we need to add some of the gallery or portfolio pages. We wanted to include a few photographic projects (as you’ll be able to see elsewhere in this issue) but we could only do this by showing a full project on a single spread or even a single page for some of them. Here are the designs I created for these pages.
Regular Project Layouts
We were quite lucky with some of the projects in that the photographs included were mostly similar aspect ratios. Working with variable aspect ratios has its own challenges, for instance on Trym Ivar Bergsmo’s spread and also on Andrew Baruffi’s page, we just had to work with a constant height and try to distribute the images to make visual sense. I think the ‘filmstrip’ solution looks OK here. It shows that you don’t need to be a slave to a layout design and your eye can forgive a little bit of variance across pages.
Less Regular Project Layouts
"Free fonts!"
I would highly recommend anybody would designs books to prioritise readability over style for the main body fonts. It’s tempting to find something novel to give your book a new look but your main header fonts and general book design are the places for creativity, not the body copy meant for extended reading at small type sizes. The free fonts that come with your graphic design or operating system are often maligned (with Arial and Georgia only useful for web text) but some are actually way better than most commercial fonts. For example, we chose “Minion” as our body font. It comes free with Adobe software but you know it’s a good font when it’s used to style the body copy for the seminal “The Elements of Typographic Style” by Robert Bringhurst. Read more about Minion here.
For the essay sections, I admit to copying various aspects from books that I already own. There are quite well-recognised font sizes recommended for book copy which we used (from newspaper readability and content style guides) and we chose to use a very common font that was designed for readability (see caption). The main headers were already chosen for our logotype but we bought a non-rounded version for print.
The use of multiple columns is, I think, important if you have a landscape orientation book, it makes it a lot easier to scan each line and breaks up the page nicely. It also allows you to embed pull quotes or images without reflowing the page too much.
Here’s Joe Cornish’s essay, which appeared in our previous issue. As you can see, the inclusion of a couple of images and a pull quote, which flow into the text column slightly, breaks up the page layout without making the content any less readable.
Essay Style
Finally, we have a couple of extra page desigs for the Judges and the Organisers. The judge's page was originally going to include a few of the judge's photographs but we thought that it might be better to include the responses to a few short questions about the judging process. We also included the judges top pick from the competition and a short caption on why they selected it.
For the ‘organisers’ section, it made sense to include a few images as people are less likely to know who we are than the judges, plus we have already created a website and a book that discusses what we think about the competition - you don’t really need much more. So we chose a few of our favourite images to show people the sort of thing that we produce when we’re actually taking photos rather than organising competitions!
Judges And Organisers
There was a fair bit of going back to the document repeatedly to fine-tune things. Spacing between captions and vertical lines, headlines and body content, margins on text, etc. Just like going back to a photograph to think about the cropping and space around a subject, you can go back to a book a couple of weeks later and see things that should have been obvious but you were too close to to see properly. Little tweaks were made such as nook numbers were only added to the right-hand pages because that was enough to find things when flipping through the book. The page numbers were also skipped when the caption or photo would have been too close.
There is often a big thing made about the CMYK conversion for photographs but in the vast majority of cases, an automated 'perceptual' conversion to CMYK works very well. There are a few exceptions, mainly in large areas of highly saturated colours where tonality may be lost without manually going in and adjusting things. In our case, there were only two or three images that needed manual interventions. One with very saturated blue/magenta marsh oil and a couple with areas of saturated greens that lost some detail. Yes, quite a few of the rest looked less saturated but seen on their own (never compare conversions side by side!) they looked fine.
To give you an idea of what the final book looks like, I've created a flipbook preview and installed it on the book page which is now live on the Natural Landscape Photography Awards website. The book is currently on pre-sale and comes with a 25% discount which will be available until the 1st of February.
For this issue, we’re turning the tables on Matt Payne, who writes our ‘Portrait of a Photographer’ series. Looking back over these as part of my preparation for this interview, I can see some common threads - what we in the UK tend to call intimate landscapes, a personal approach, an open minded or relaxed outlook, and concern for nature. These can be found too in Matt’s own photography; just as with our images, our words and work inevitably reflect who we are. Matt’s own website contains a breadth of photography, but I was most drawn to the less ‘epic’. This is in no way a judgement of relative quality but like many Matt’s photography has evolved and with time he is increasingly drawn to the smaller views that perhaps speak better of our interactions with nature. Respect for nature has been fundamental to Matt’s experience of the outdoors from the very beginning.
Autumn Nights
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your early interests and education, and what that led you to do?
Sure! My name is Matt Payne – I grew up in a city on the front range of Colorado called Colorado Springs. My great-great-grandmother came there in a covered wagon back in the late 1800s and so I’m a 5th generation native of Colorado. I’m very proud of my Coloradoan heritage and this place is very important to me.
These images were made in the space of a few days as I cleared my mother's house after her funeral. The location is an old tree nursery marked for development on the edge of a town on the south coast of England. I slipped away from clearing out the flotsam of a lifetime at dawn or dusk for some air. It was somewhere I visited with my mum, then walked her dog when she was unable, and so while these pictures were made in a week or less, they gestated over about three years beforehand.
They show an in-between place, a (so-called) liminal landscape, somewhere between states, a place that mirrored my own state of numbness. It felt very much like the waiting room of grief. As anyone who has lost a loved one will know, you don't really know how to react. There's no road map.
Susan Rowe, one of our subscribers, suggested we interview photographer Mark Pickup. He recently gained his distinction from the Associateship in the Disabled Photography Society. We talk to Mark about his photography and how he has adjusted his workflow around his Macular Dystrophy.
Before Sunrise at Arnside
Can you tell us a little background about yourself and how you became interested in photography?
My passion for photography began when I was 15 whilst studying art in school, enhanced by a family holiday to the island of Malta. Whilst there, I fell in love with the landscape, buildings & architecture instantly, which prompted me to use my camera almost everywhere I visited on that trip.
After leaving school I had various short-term jobs whilst progressing my photography skills & increasing my confidence behind the lens. I now consider photography my lifetime job.
Tell us about why you love the landscape genre in particular?
Being outdoors, free to roam & being at one with the surrounding nature. I love visiting locations where any two days are never the same and sometimes experiencing four seasons in one day, particularly in the Lake District!
Frosty Morning on Hampsfell Near Grange Over Sands
When you started photography, which photographers inspired you? And as you progressed, did you find any new inspirations?
My overall photography inspiration was Ansel Adams, as the years progressed, I discovered the works of Joe Cornish & Charlie Waite. Both photographers’ books stimulated my interest further over the years.
A photographer local to my area called Jon Sparks also inspired me to shoot images in and around my home town, he too is a landscape photographer.
During the last ten years, you have become visually impaired due to developing Macular Dystrophy. How has his impacted your photography and how have you adapted your processes and techniques so you can still work with a camera?
This has massively impacted my craft. I now have to use various magnifiers to aid me, and I work much slower than previously to capture the image to ensure everything is correct.
I also have to use magnifiers on my digital monitors whilst editing my work.
This has massively impacted my craft. I now have to use various magnifiers to aid me, and I work much slower than previously to capture the image to ensure everything is correct.
On the beach at Morecambe
You say on your website “I have been strong-willed and positive that this would not destroy my ability or attitude towards my photography” How have you kept your mental resilience strong and such a positive attitude over time?
Having a great team of support from my family & friends! They have kept me positive throughout all my trials and tribulations from the start of my disability. I used my photography as a crutch to help me maintain my mental health and physical wellbeing especially during the early ‘dark days’.
You have a love of the Lake District and the Yorkshire Dales. Can you tell us about some of your favourite images from these areas?
I have taken many images over the years across the two counties & have also captured many images of my home town Lancaster & surrounding areas of Morecambe Bay & its stunning coastline.
Rydal Water
My favourite place to photograph in the Lake District is around Rydal Water, I enjoy this area as it’s a lovely low-level walk with some stunning views of the surrounding fells. My favourite image of Rydal was taken looking towards the Old Boat House.
Norber Erratics Stones
Lone Tree At Nober Erratics
My favourite place to photograph in the Yorkshire Dales is The Norber Erratics, close to the village of Austwick. I love the glacial erratic boulders & surrounding limestone pavement, a geographical marvel! Also, the trees which appear to be actually splitting the rocks!
Sunset On The Beach At Morecambe
Finally, my overall favourites place to photograph are right on my doorstep, Lancaster & Morecambe.
I love nothing more than hopping on a bus to Morecambe to capture the glorious sunsets. Some of my best work has been captured here!
I love nothing more than hopping on a bus to Morecambe to capture the glorious sunsets. Some of my best work has been captured here!
I notice that you photograph waterfalls, does the sound play a part in your experience and interpretation of them?
The sound does help somewhat but for me, it’s the actual vision of the waterfalls. The ebb & flow of the cascading water fascinates me totally!
You published a photography walking guide to Ingleton Falls. Tell us more about this project, how it came about, how you decided what locations and images to include, the highs and lows of the project.
This project was born from a conversation between myself & close friend Andrew McQueen. Andrew being a publisher & myself the photographer, seemed to be a perfect collaboration to create a guidebook!
We both had a passion for the waterfalls at Ingleton, myself through my photography trips there & Andrew taking his children there on family days out. Choosing the images was an easy task due to my photo stock of the area being very large.
Combining Andrew’s knowledge of the area & my images the book was created & rolled into publication.
Last Light on The Ashton Memorial
You have also published a photography guidebook on your home town Lancaster with Andrew McQueen. The photographs are more urban and architectural than landscape. How did you find photographing a different style? How did this collaboration come about with Andrew?
This project came very naturally to me, being my home town, there was always going to be a familiarity when shooting the images. I felt totally at ease whilst capturing each subject & knowing the subjects’ history helped me even more.
In all honesty, I felt this project was a positive challenge knowing I had to get it spot on as being my home town.
Again, as with the Ingleton book, this idea was born over a cup of coffee with Andrew. We both knew it was something that we needed to do!
In 2013 you gained your distinction in ADPS, (Associateship in the Disabled Photography Society). You submitted 15 pieces of work to be judged. Can you tell us about the images that you submitted and how you chose these images?
The subject I chose was Blackpool, captured over a number of visits. The images ranged from landscape to everyday life. Such views captured on the promenade included a family sitting with their luggage having a chat, donkeys on the sand and also some abstract images from everyday life including a seagull perched near some street lighting.
The subject I chose was Blackpool, captured over a number of visits. The images ranged from landscape to everyday life. Such views captured on the promenade included a family sitting with their luggage having a chat, donkeys on the sand and also some abstract images from everyday life including a seagull perched near some street lighting.
My decision for choosing the images came with help from a lady called Margaret Salisbury, she was my mentor for the ADPS process.
You are an Ambassador for British Photography Awards. Tell us more about this role and how you got involved.
At present, the role is low key with very little involvement in honesty. It came about from me helping other visually impaired people learn photography.
Which cameras and lenses do you like to use, and how do you approach post-processing, editing and sequencing?
I currently use Fujifilm cameras, the X100F with a fixed 35mm equivalent 23mm F2 lens being my favourite amongst other Fuji models.
I use Capture One editing software and have done for the last four years. Once all images are loaded up, I choose the images I want to keep/use & process them accordingly, this usually only being small tweaks.
Sunsetting in Morecambe Bay
Are you working on your next project or do you have any future project ideas that you’re thinking about?
In completion is my annual ‘Lancaster Calendar’ which is compiled of images from the last 12 months capturing my home town.
I’m currently in the final stages of organising my Photography Exhibition being shown at The Storey Gallery in Lancaster. The theme of my exhibition is ‘Images of The Morecambe Bay Coastline’ I will be exhibiting 10 images taken over a period of the last 18 months.
Sunsetting in Morecambe Bay
Shipwreck at Roe Island
On the coast at Silverdale
On the beach at Morecambe
Looking towards the promenade at Morecambe
Looking back at Morecambe At Sunset
Just after sunset at Morecambe
Frosty Morning on Hampsfell Near Grange Over Sands
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolio consists of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
The photographs were made more or less around the corner from where I live, in Batenburg (NL) on the river Meuse. In this area agricultural land has been 'returned to nature', to allow controlled flooding of the river when the Meuse rises in winter.
However, this year the water rose in the middle of summer - with dramatic consequences upriver. Here, much further down, the water came quietly, turning the river and its flood plains into a large lake, covering most of the vegetation. It was a fascinating sight, trees full of leaves standing in the midst of the expanse of water, ducks and an inquisitive beaver swimming past where the cycle path used to be, and especially the tallest flowers and grasses struggling to keep their heads above water. On calm summer evenings, with little wind and the sun setting over the water, I made a great many pictures of these curious sights, with the water acting as a mirror.
As a photographer, I explore the landscape around me for images that make ordinary things look different. Light, reflections, abstraction may turn a clump of grass or a puddle into an intriguing image. There is much more to see and experience in the everyday landscape around us if you learn t o look better.
The images in my portfolio have two things in common: each features the Yorkshire coast, and each shows coastal curves, either manmade or natural. You could say that the third thing they have in common is long exposure, which I love to use for the vast majority of my coastal work.
Living in East Yorkshire, I'm a long way from the UK's more dramatic locations. However, the Yorkshire coast has great variety which more than makes up. From the austere beauty of Spurn Point in the south, which I visit regularly and never fails to deliver, to the photogenic views of Whitby, Robin Hood's Bay and Staithes in the north, all bases are covered.
Many photographers comment on the meditative power of the landscape, and there's no doubting that for me, the coast is the place where I can lose myself. Time melts away, and whether I take a dozen images or a hundred, the time never drags; indeed, I'm not even aware that it is passing.
The pandemic has led everyone to explore the "backyards" of our lives, whether physical or metaphorical.
During this period I got to know better a small forest south of the Bom Jesus sanctuary in Braga. I wasn't attracted by its religious character but it turned out to be a spiritual sanctuary for me, a zone of relaxation and introspection whose beauty showed itself when I was most entangled in its intricacies.
This series of images is a sample of a set of several images of a more intimate and abstract character, captured in this wood that has become for me a true sanctuary.
On a January morning, waking up I saw the ground around my home covered with 30cm of pristine white snow. Nothing unusual about the January scene in front of me, given I live in Northern US. The day was gloomy and no sun to be seen. However, as I was looking out the window, I could not help but notice the strange and beautiful lines on snow made by bare shrub branches of small Green Ash and Queen Anne's lace which were peeking out of the snow.
Woodland around my home is mostly Hemlock and various pines. In between, there are some Maple, Oak, and Ash. In Fall Maple and Oaks play a key role in painting the landscape in orange, yellow, and, if you are lucky, bright red. In January none of that is to be seen. But on this January morning, the subdued light with bright white background of fresh snow, the bare and fractal like branches echoed the calm and contemplative atmosphere perfectly.
They say “iron sharpens iron”, suggesting that it takes like-minded individuals to encourage and help each other to improve. In many ways, being part of the photography community is just that - as we see each other’s images we become inspired and encouraged with new ideas, projects and techniques growing out of what we see.
Unavoidably, it also breeds a sense of measuring up our work against another’s similar shots – “they had better conditions than I did at that location”, “my composition is stronger”, etc… There’s certainly a lot to be said for allowing ourselves to be self-critical – or rather self-critique-able – looking at our own work to find what does not sit easily within it and how we could improve next time. Other photographer’s similar images can absolutely be a help in this regard, as well as providing viewing enjoyment.
However, we also need to be mindful of constantly weighing our work in that way. As attributed to President Roosevelt, “Comparison is the thief of Joy”; meaning that if we spend too long directly evaluating ourselves against someone else (or in this case, our images against theirs) we may find ourselves disillusioned rather than inspired, or (perhaps worse) arrogant rather than open-minded.
I have a tendency towards that slippery slope of becoming disillusioned through comparison, so one photographer whose work I find immensely inspiring and refreshing is Ben Horne. It’s precisely because his work and approach are so different to my own that I find it more eye-opening and challenging than that of many other photographers.
When the artist takes any object of Nature, the object no longer belongs to Nature; indeed, we can say that the artist creates the object in that moment, by extracting from it all that is significant, characteristic, interesting, or rather by putting into it a higher value.
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Most creative photographs are departures from reality and it seems to take a higher order of craft to make this departure than to simulate reality.
~ Ansel Adams
Nearly 40 years before the invention of photography, philosopher Immanuel Kant presciently confronted what would later become one of the most contentious questions haunting photography as a medium for art:
Kant proposed that emotions resulting from experiencing aesthetic beauty are different from emotions inspired by other kinds of experience.
the question of whether realism should—or should not—matter in the judgment of aesthetic value (and by extension in the judgment of works of art whose primary purpose is to impart aesthetic beauty—those works we today refer to as “fine art”). In his Critique of Judgment, Kant wrote, “Where the question is whether something is beautiful, we do not want to know, whether we, or anyone else, are, or even could be, concerned in the real existence of the thing, but rather what estimate we form of it on mere contemplation (intuition or reflection).”
It’s easy to think that if you keep going back to the same place(s) that (i) you are missing out and (ii) you will run out of ideas. There’s not a lot we can do if you suffer from FOMO but we can talk to someone who can show you that the latter should not be feared, so for this issue we’re catching up with Yorkshire-based Paul Moon. Speaking from personal experience, there is a freedom that comes from following your curiosity and concentrating your focus, and an opportunity to both discover things that you would have otherwise never seen and to develop an individual portfolio.
It’s hard to believe that a decade has passed since Tim first spoke to you in 2011, though we did catch up over some of your images in 2015. How long have you now been photographing the Yorkshire Wolds? How has your relationship with it evolved?
Hello Michela and thanks for letting me speak about my journey on the Wolds and show you some of my new work. Time is moving very quickly and I’m also surprised it was that long ago since me and Tim first spoke about my images!
I’ve been photographing the Wolds for around 18 years. I started when I had a 35mm film camera but it was only when I first started using digital that I really began exploring the dry chalk dales that are a feature of the area. That was in 2004. I had an OS map showing the areas of access land I could visit and I’d go and wander around as many as I could trying to find a way to make images of the amazing topography and ecology I was seeing.
Some of the deep valley systems cut into the Wolds stretch for miles and I had many areas completely to myself. It probably took me a couple of years to understand how the light worked, where I needed to stand, and how to frame the views.
Some of the deep valley systems cut into the Wolds stretch for miles and I had many areas completely to myself. It probably took me a couple of years to understand how the light worked, where I needed to stand, and how to frame the views. I then began to look at the intimate parts of those landscapes and explored some of the local woodlands. Plants and trees often became the focus of my work on the Wolds. I looked for areas of wildflowers or interesting hawthorn trees which are a common species in the valley systems.
The upper areas of the Wolds are quite difficult to photograph. They stretch into the distance as far as the eye can see and finding a position to photograph these views is hard work. You also need lots of drama in the sky when you photograph the Wolds upland. That’s why I’ve ended up working the valleys. The views through and along them are easier to work with compositionally and, as they are a unique feature of the area, it makes more sense to document them.
Most of the valleys are hidden from view when you’re crossing the Wolds upland. Occasionally there are dips as you travel along the roads and these are the tips of the valley systems. Once you start to walk away from the roads you soon come across and drop into these twisting steep-sided dry dales and valleys.
We are always on the lookout for interesting projects or books, and Neil McIlwraith from Beyond Words suggested we took a look at INNER SOUND. Iain has a background in newspaper, documentary, and commercial photography and draws on this experience in his landscape work. We talked to Iain about his time at art college through to his residences, exhibitions and the background to his books.
Background
I was given my first camera in 1979 when I was 12 years old and pretty much straight away I loved making images. Everything else - the knowledge, the subject matter, the understanding, and the technique (all the baggage that you need but can also just get in the way) came later on. That first camera was purely about the joy of making pictures. Looking back I guess I photographed the family and all the things close and important to me. Which has remained constant.
As a teenager, I was a bit torn between studying English at University or going off to Art School but when I hit Sixth Form fortunately for me our lovely – but very elderly - art teacher retired and a dynamic, much younger teacher called Peter Dryland took over at my school. It was one of a series of pivotal moments which retrospectively you realise were life changing. The people who you learn from in your formative years have such a vital and powerful influence in your evolution. I’m still in touch with Pete today, forty years on. Under his guidance, I found the courage of my convictions to head off to Art School. He even helped reassure my family, as this was something completely unknown to them. I always knew I wanted to come back to Scotland where my family is from and amazingly I was the first kid at my school to get a place at Edinburgh College of Art, back in the mid-1980s. It was fantastic to be a teenager finding myself in such a rich creative environment surrounded by people with so many different artistic interests and talents. Art School can turn your head in so many unexpected directions.
Phoenix
Many of my friends were fine artists, in the School of Drawing & Painting in particular. This definitely had a huge influence on my work at this stage. Photography was always there but I took my time getting back there properly, dabbling in lots of new areas along the way
Still
Many of my friends were fine artists, in the School of Drawing & Painting in particular. This definitely had a huge influence on my work at this stage. Photography was always there but I took my time getting back there properly, dabbling in lots of new areas along the way - including a diversion into Textile Design, which my first degree was actually in. I eventually re-found photography again and took a Masters Degree. Again this was largely down to the gentle guiding hand of one man - Murray Johnston - who was the head of what at that time was a very small photography department at Edinburgh College of Art (ECA). Murray was a massive influence on me. In fact, I was his first and only Masters student - he sadly passed away before I finished my degree. But I learnt an incredible amount from him which still resonates with me even today. I feel incredibly lucky to have known him and to have spent a brief couple of years learning from him. He introduced me to so much – constantly sharing work and inspiring, learning about all aspects of the medium, devouring books and absorbing technical skills bit by bit.
As I grow older I realise too that he helped to show me, by example, how to be a good person. Murray was a catalyst in any social or creative situation - he helped people, that was his thing. There was no snag, no payback or thanks required, he just like helping people. That kind of thing is so rare in the creative world.
As I grow older I realise too that he helped to show me, by example, how to be a good person. Murray was a catalyst in any social or creative situation - he helped people, that was his thing. There was no snag, no payback or thanks required, he just like helping people. That kind of thing is so rare in the creative world.
He also told me above all that content is sacrosanct; pursue your ideas and learn the techniques as you come up against, don’t let your creativity be ruled or hampered by technique or equipment - lack of it or too much of it for that matter! So under Murray, I began looking at other photographers work and got heavily into documentary photography - Don McCullin, Chris Killip, Bert Hardy, Humphrey Spender, Eugene Smith, Grace Robertson, Picture Post. He showed me contemporary documentary British photography - Paul Graham, Paul Reas, Martin Parr; but UK photography at this point seemed quite divided into old school black-and-white versus ‘new’ colour camps. At this point, as it was all so new to me, I was very much in the world of gritty, grainy black-and-white grainy documentary photography. Bill Brandt, Lewis Hine, Dorothea Lange. It’s worth remembering that at this point (mid 1980s) colour photography hadn’t yet arrived in the daily newspapers.
Taking colour photographs was risky and expensive for students. So when Murray organised my first exhibition it was a grainy black-and-white documentary series of photographs about the NHS in South Yorkshire where I grew up. They were a documentary series about my father & mother who were both GPs in the very working-class community where I grew up in Barnsley. In particular, I homed in on the relationships my father had with his patients; there were so many different layers to this. Observing him in his work environment, seeing the warmth of the relationship between him and the people he helped.
Tender Viii
These pictures were incredibly important because it was at that point I knew I was completely hooked on photography and there was nothing else I wanted to do with my life. The subject matter was also a taste of what was to come, drawing on personal relationships but trying to develop & present these within a much more universal framework and touch on issues that would speak outwards to the viewer, not just inwards to the photographer.
So the doctor and patient pictures (‘Picture of Health’) helped crystallise the kind of photography I was interested in and I pursued that kind of documentary work through college and as I started my freelance photography career. This led to me working in newspapers - for the Scotsman, Scotland on Sunday, taking them ideas which got me regular freelance work. Another young part-time Art College tutor, the brilliant Murdo MacLeod, took me under his wing a bit although he wasn’t much older than me. Murdo worked for the Independent and The Guardian and he helped get me a foot in the door with some of the national newspapers as well. But of course, if someone recommends you you’ve got to live up to that recommendation. And I learnt very early on that you are only ever as good as your last picture. You need to prove it all over again the next time. I was made the Scotland on Sunday ‘Young Photographer of the Year’ in 1991 just as I left Art College so it was a fantastic launch and shop window for the start of my career. There was no Instagram or websites to promote yourself in 1991, the only way to get your work out there was to trudge around physically knocking on doors with your portfolio. So this level of publicity for my work was brilliant, however uncomfortable I might have been with that kind of attention on a personal level.
The kind of work I was doing and filled my portfolio also got me a couple of fantastic photographer in residence posts - one in Birmingham at the City Museum & Art Gallery and another in Sheffield for the Untitled Gallery. This was to document the World Student Games and the XVI Universiade Art Festival that surrounded it. This work is currently on show in a big retrospective (The Sheffield Project) at the Western Park Museum in Sheffield. These kinds of projects came just by scouring the small ads in art magazines and applying for everything; grants, residencies, commissions.
Drift
At this stage there wasn’t really any crossover between my freelance work and my own projects, I didn’t make money from exhibiting so paying the rent and putting food on the table was obviously the priority, but even at this early point, I knew how important it was to keep my own work going in the background. I liked the clean divide between ‘work’ and ‘personal’ and that’s still largely true even to this day, though they have maybe got a little bit closer together at times. It’s still rare that I am commissioned to produce landscape work for commercial projects and I am still very much known commercially for my work with people - documentary, lifestyle and portraiture.
Of course, if I knew what makes a good photograph I’d have retired long ago! I hope I would’ve shared the secret. It’s elusive, the chase that keeps you going. I taught photography for many years (at ECA) and even after 15 years all I can say is that if it’s good you just know straight away; whether you’ve taken it yourself or you’re looking at someone else’s work.
I still work on a lot of health related projects for clients including the NHS in Scotland and the Scottish government. I genuinely still love this side of my photography though it is quite distinct and separate from my landscape work; for me, there is a perfect balance of these two very different strands to what I do and I’m so fortunate to have both, even more, so that ‘work’ subsidising ‘personal’ can now work both ways.
Of course, if I knew what makes a good photograph I’d have retired long ago! I hope I would’ve shared the secret. It’s elusive, the chase that keeps you going. I taught photography for many years (at ECA) and even after 15 years all I can say is that if it’s good you just know straight away; whether you’ve taken it yourself or you’re looking at someone else’s work. What makes a great piece of music? It’s a very instinctive thing, there’s no magic formula, but if an image can speak to someone else, touch them and connect with their experience then it’s worked. If you learn something or see something in a new way and it has worked. If it’s you clicking the shutter if something aligns in your head and your heart then you know you’ve got it. Marrying your subject and content with the visual expression of the idea is really quite a trick. I love to learn from a picture, to experience emotion, to be educated. There is also a real balance to be struck between knowing and researching and your subject not over relying on the presentation of other content to back up the image. A good image should work as an image - so much of the photography I love just works on a purely visual level. A picture tells a story, speaks a thousand words. There’s a reason those well-worn phrases exist.
Trace
I’ve mentioned a couple of the people who are key in my development as a photographer but there are others. Chiefly my wife Natasha who has endless patience and is always the first person I bounce ideas and pictures off. In my career, I have met and worked with so many fantastic creative people - designers, artists and writers who I have learnt from and I’d also single out another great academic and champion of Scottish photography, Sara Stevenson. Sara was the curator of photography at the National Galleries of Scotland and I am fortunate to be able to count on her as a great friend and supporter of my work over three decades.
It was around the mid 1990s that things began to progress for me in both areas of my work. My freelance career was busy, I was teaching Photography at ECA two days a week and my own work was starting to move up a gear. Add in starting a family and this was a full-on period. But if you want to get something done, ask a busy person, as the saying goes. It’s good to be busy. So much better than the alternative.
I made the switch across to colour landscape work. The things I was learning in my commercial photography were helping me become a better photographer technically, teaching too invariably sharpens your practice and focuses the thinking – so all this fed into my own personal work. I’d always kept working away on my own projects and had been involved in quite a number of exhibitions since leaving Art School, including a couple of really nice group shows at the Scottish National Portrait Gallery and Street Level Gallery in Glasgow. I had a solo show that STILLS gallery toured called ‘unfinished dialogue’, a series of small colour images originating on SX70 Polaroid colour film that I combined with text pieces that were etched onto glass to give a series of shadow writing poems or texts. So I was gradually moving away from documentary photography in my own projects and evolving my own vocabulary. Robert Frank was a big influence around this period (The Lines of My Hand and Moving Out in particular). I was still very interested in soaking up other art forms too and was looking at work by painters as well as photographers. Mark Rothko & Agnes Martin and the work of the abstract Colourfield Expressionists - and I was delving back into German Romantic landscape painters like Caspar David Friedrich and Emile Nolde for inspiration.
I made the switch across to colour landscape work. The things I was learning in my commercial photography were helping me become a better photographer technically, teaching too invariably sharpens your practice and focuses the thinking – so all this fed into my own personal work.
All of these strands came together in a piece of work ‘From the Morning’ that I made for a big exhibition called ‘Light from the Darkroom’ at the National Galleries of Scotland in 1996. This was a series of 14 semi-abstract colour landscapes shot on medium format and really set at the template for my own working practice for the next 10+ years. It was quite a step into the unknown for my work, making strong references to painting and approaching landscape in a very instinctive, uncomplicated way. In many ways it was the polar opposite to my commercial work photographing people; in the landscape work, I removed all the people - and slowly began to remove all other points of reference too, working with just simple linear form and colour. ‘From the Morning’ was gentle, musical and I thought of the work like verses in a poem, or lines in a song. The pictures were a very simple sequence from dawn to dusk and inspired by the work of singer-songwriter Nick Drake. The title for From The Morning was inspired by the final song on his third & final album ‘Pink Moon’, made in 1972, just before his untimely death at the very young age of just 26.
I always played down the content and never really acknowledged this at the time, but I find it particularly poignant to be doing this interview in National Baby Loss Week - but around this time in 1995, my wife Natasha was expecting our first baby, who very sadly we lost. So at the time I never opened up to admit that these pictures came through the loss of our first child, it’s an incredibly difficult area even now. It’s a taboo subject that really doesn’t get aired in society that I found I was dealing with and absorbing into my work. The landscape as a space to heal and meditate is not a new concept but I think it is one that we are all increasingly aware of. It’s something that has really come to the fore over the last couple of years through lockdown, as we all undertake a massive re-evaluation of our relationship with our surroundings and the value of Nature. So From The Morning presented Landscape as therapy, but while the subject matter was introverted I wanted the pictures to reach out, in a very simple & honest way. In some ways, it was a retreat into myself but at the same time I was going out into the landscape to make sense of things. There didn’t seem to be any guidebook to what we were going through but I know personally immersing myself in the landscape and creating work was a great way of finding a route out of a difficult time.
Harmony
It was around this time that I began working with Photographers’ Gallery in London and I visited Houston Fotofest and made a lot of good friends and contacts over in America. For the next decade, I exhibited a lot of work over there and struck up relationships with several galleries. Photography got a lot more respect in America at that point; it was rare to make a successful life as an exhibiting Fine Art photographer in the UK, it was so different in the States.
One of the high points was in 1998-99 when my work appeared in Sea Change at the Center for Creative Photography in Arizona alongside photographers like Hiroshi Sugimoto and Robert Adams. This toured to US venues including ICP in New York and for a while, I seem to be flying over to America quite a lot. I made so many good friends from this exhibition, meeting so many other photographers and curators that I’m still in touch with today. I kind of realised the exhibition was a big deal when I was being interviewed for the catalogue and was asked about other photographers whose work has inspired me. I mentioned a couple of names of very famous photographers and Trudy Wilner Stack (the curator) said “yes we thought about having them in the show but we decided to go with other work...”. I still haven’t really exhibited the seascapes from this period over in Scotland or the UK but I would love to one day.
INNER SOUND
What came first the images, the project, or the book?
The images came first. They were slowly assembled over a period of years and only started to take shape into a cohesive body of work at some point halfway through. The work was made on a number of wandering trips up to very familiar or particular places in the Highlands with a special connection. It was only with the distance of quite a bit of time and hindsight that I began to pin down the thread that connected them and think about resolving this into a body of work.
The book documents your journey through the grief of losing your father firstly to Alzheimer’s. How did you go about approaching the photography to capture the moods and the journey that you were on?
As with previous work the pictures were simply a reflection of what I was going through. Initially, they weren’t part of some conscious decision to deal with my fathers’ illness through photo therapy but invariably important event life events start to bleed through into the work you make and affect the way that you see in the world and the way that you reflect on the world. The metaphors of the early snowscapes came and found me, I didn’t seek them out. Being lost in whiteouts and blizzards were the start of that long, difficult journey. Returning to places from childhood holidays was a therapy, walking and trying to mend my head and my heart. Taking the pictures actually came later on, incidentally. The storm pictures were a more conscious decision to experience fierce weather, to photograph extreme weather conditions; I’m always reminded of Turner lashing himself to a mast in order to really experience a storm at sea. There were moments like that making these pictures when my tripod and I were all but blown off our feet. There was an exhilaration at times but so many of the Storm pictures were dark moments; premonitions and precursors of what was to come rather than a document of what had been, if that makes sense. There was a storm coming, but I didn’t know it when I was making those pictures. That’s happened for me before in this wild place (Cape Wrath/Sutherland).
As with previous work the pictures were simply a reflection of what I was going through. Initially, they weren’t part of some conscious decision to deal with my fathers’ illness through photo therapy but invariably important event life events start to bleed through into the work you make and affect the way that you see in the world and the way that you reflect on the world.
First Light
The book is structured into two parts the first part Last Man on the Mountain starts with the story of finding the beach that you visited with your father when you were young. The second part ‘The Storm’ documents a passing storm by the sea. What visual (and non-visual) narrative did you want to leave the reader with when you were working on this project? Throughout the book, there are a number of texts. Some of these are Haikus, written by yourself, and some are from other writers. Are there any connections to these texts and/or authors? What extra narrative did you want to weave into the journey for the reader?
It’s very open-ended storytelling. There’s hints & clues that hopefully have plenty of room for the viewer to fill in the spaces with their own response and experiences. As with any narrative you hope to hold the viewers attention, but as I’m reflecting on real events in a way it’s a non-fictional narrative for me, so I’m trying to find a mode of communication that leaves gaps or introduces more elements to draw the viewer in. Above all I am trying to widen the scope of the story and touch on universal experiences and events; I don’t want it to be just about my journey or my father or my family, you always want your work to chime with the viewer and have a wider, shared resonance.
If I’m honest I guess I’m also intentionally slightly covering my tracks by adding these other layers, signposts and clues because I’m bearing my soul in the work and mining very personal emotions and events and that never gets any easier to do. In the same way, I didn’t open up at the time about the content of ‘From The Morning’, it took me a long time to tie ‘Last Man on the Mountain’ to the unfolding of my father's illness, let alone decide that I wanted to put it out there in book or exhibition form. It stayed in the drawer for years as I worked through the emotions. It would have stayed there permanently if not for the intervention and encouragement of others.
Dr Sara Stevenson has written an essay in the book - Touching the Land: “In the wide spaces, we have acute forms of measurement and location - we can feel distance in the coming in the rain or hear it in the far song of a bird”. Was there something about the wilderness of Scotland that connected with you in the making of Inner Sound?
The Highlands of Scotland has become the place where I make work. Certainly something about physically getting away from city life, from noise, worries and distractions and being immersed in a vast, almost empty, primal space has been the inspiration and backbone to my work for over twenty years. And you find yourself drawn back to special places you’ve connected with. The locations that crop up ‘INNER SOUND’ are all very strongly linked for me; tied to childhood memories, family events, places that I go to commune with the landscape and empty out my head or make sense of things, so it was inevitable that working through a lot of emotions around this period would happen in these places.
Spindrift
Orcadia Still
How did the project evolve? Did you have to refine the vision of what you wanted to achieve?
As I mentioned, the project was an ongoing, ever-growing series of land, sea and skyscapes over a period of some 4+ years; a box of 10’ x 8” workprints that just kept getting added to. The more I shaped and refined it, and it gathered meaning and depth, the longer it went back in the drawer as I wasn’t ready to work through all those emotions. That next stage of the project really came together thanks to the intervention of three key people - my wife Natasha, Sara Stevenson and Trudy Wilner Stack. Natasha has always tirelessly and selflessly encouraged me in my work; she saw something of value in the work and just pushed me to keep it going, just as she has throughout my whole career. I cannot really overstate how much I owe to her. I also showed an early draft of the project to both Sara and Trudy and they were both very encouraging. Trudy in particular proved to be the major catalyst for this project.
I kept working on the selection during the editing process, thinking & re-thinking endlessly taking out & putting back until I knew it felt right. The key images never changed but I used a process of continual elimination because there was a lot of work.
She had put together the Sea Change exhibition in Arizona in the 1990s that I mentioned earlier, and we had kept in touch in the intervening years. She was over in Scotland and asked what I was up to so I ran an early edit of the work past her. She has so much experience in curating and putting together exhibitions and publications it was a huge to have her help me get INNER SOUND over the finish line. I’d also sent an early draft to the writer Robert Macfarlane and when I met him in Edinburgh a year later, he pricked my conscience about finishing and publishing the book, so I should note that I owe him a debt of gratitude too. Trudy really made me think about tightening the editing and I cut down what was at one point a huge body of work with over 100 photographs into smaller and smaller edits until we ended with the final selection. It started to feel manageable as an exhibition or a book.
Were there many key photographs that you knew would succeed when you took them? Conversely, did some of your pre-planned images fail in execution?
I kept working on the selection during the editing process, thinking & re-thinking endlessly taking out & putting back until I knew it felt right. The key images never changed but I used a process of continual elimination because there was a lot of work. There’s still a nice big outtakes box! One of the reasons there are so many triptychs was I had always seen this series working in an exhibition on the wall in the gallery. It was largely due to Covid and lockdown that it became a book rather than pursuing exhibition plans, inevitably a lot of aspirations to show the work have had to be sidelined during the last couple of years. But I’m very proud of the book. Books last, it’ll outlast me.
Tell me what your favourite two or three photographs from the book are and a little bit about them.
Last Man
The tiny figure in the huge white expanse of a mountain landscape in the picture is the only direct figurative reference in INNER SOUND. There’s a lot going on with this tiny person. It’s me, it’s my father, it’s my son. My grandson too, whose appearance at the end of the book balances the loss of my Father at the start; both times we emerge into or out of the mist and infinite whiteness. The figure is the viewer too, and their way into the body of work. The snow and landscape dominate the figure, but he strides on towards us, through the incoming snow and encroaching whiteness.
The title of the first section of the book came from this picture, which also references my Father, a very specific memory when he got lost on a mountain and caused panic in the family. We all raced up the mountain to find him, to no avail and I ran back down to alert the emergency services, only to find him waiting, smiling at the car, asking where we all were because he was starting to get worried about us. That’s a very typical memory of him. It also refers to me, I’m aware that I am a bit of a stubborn outsider, which I get from my Father; and both figuratively and literally – I don’t mind being the odd one out in the room and I’m often the last one out in the landscape, waiting for the sun to set, or a particular cloud to perform, or as in this case, waiting for a figure to move to the right part of my viewfinder. In a literal sense, of course, the figure is the last man on the mountain, and it’s a document too.
Inner Sound
This picture is the view from the Applecross peninsula in Wester Ross, looking over the sound to Eilean Mor and Raasay. I was walking out from Toscaig to stay at Uags bothy on one of my autumn wanders for headspace. The process of walking, the placing of one foot after one foot is so cleansing, body and mind. Everything else fades into the ether and you connect properly with nature. I sort my head, I tidy up tangled thoughts, stop to write notes or thoughts and occasionally reach for my camera. On this occasion, I looked up to see the approaching rainclouds and gasped, and couldn’t reach fast enough in my rucksack for my camera. Technically this picture falls at the first fence as I’m shooting into the sun, and the rain, but it caught the moment and what was happening in my head. It’s the bridge into the second section of the book, we move from land to sea.
Outrun ii
Moving out of the vortex. Trying to beat the storm, escape the howling wind and seeing the snow pelting across the ocean towards me. The weather was fearsome, the change almost terrifying. I knew the snow was coming to hit me and I braced myself. You can’t see clearly in the printed book format, but there is a tiny fishing boat just about to be hit by the storm cloud out on the horizon in this frame. That must have been something, to be out at sea and hit by a whiteout. The title for this triptych was borrowed/inspired by Amy Liptrot’s incredible book of the same name, the subject matter struck a deep chord. Writers and poets feature quite a bit in INNER SOUND – Seamus Heaney, Kathleen Jamie, Robert Macfarlane and Norman MacCaig all had a hand in shaping my thinking in and around the time I was working on these pictures. Classical and Buddhist writings get a nod too. I often write down verses or quotes in my notebooks, which is the origin of the combination of the image/text in INNER SOUND. I’ve found text gradually creep back into my work, usually my own writing, INNER SOUND is a combination of ‘found’ and my own text.
You worked with Iain Sarjeant, at Another Place publishing to produce the book. How did the book come about?
As mentioned above it was having the extended time during lockdown to pour over the work for the book that in all probability might never have happened otherwise. But bizarrely because we worked on the publication over that isolated period we’ve still never actually managed to meet up in person. I had become aware of his publishing press a few years ago because he consistently put out such great wee publications. He is fantastic too on social media, which is where we got in touch originally and I think we just had a lot of common ground. There are plans of another collaboration in the next year or so, so watch this space.
The pursuit of nature and landscape photography can take on many forms and the paths we take can be about different things for different people. Some of us just like to escape the hustle and bustle of daily life, finding relief and mental comfort in the solitude and serenity that nature offers. Others prefer the thrill of the chase, looking to enjoy the rare endorphin high created by those fleeting but memorable moments while in the landscape. Some find joy in the monetary success that can be found, albeit rarely, from this pursuit. Others use photography as a vehicle through which they may find a greater purpose for themselves and discover a means of personal artistic expression. Jeff Freestone blends two of these motivations – relief from the noise of civilization and pursuit of self-discovery in a way that makes his work stand out in a very crowded field.
Others still use photography as a vehicle through which they find a greater purpose for themselves and discover a means of personal artistic expression.
Naturally, there are those of us that find joy in all of these paths and motivations to make photographs (and I’m sure we can find others); however, when I spend time examining and enjoying the photographs created by Jeff Freestone, I can’t help but see that he has found something special, something “more” gained through his relationship with craft and subject as amplified by his pure personal motivations.
I’ve barely had a conversation with a landscape photographer in the last few years that hasn’t at some point touched upon the ‘carbon guilt’ complex from which we all suffer - how do we reconcile our love of far-flung places with the uncomfortable knowledge that by virtue of far-flinging ourselves to those locations, we are almost certainly contributing to their potential demise?
I’ve barely had a conversation with a landscape photographer in the last few years that hasn’t at some point touched upon the ‘carbon guilt’ complex from which we all suffer.
We can (and usually do) assuage our discomfort with statements concerning ‘education’, ‘documenting the journey,’ ‘raising awareness’ and so on, but the simple fact is, every time we get on a plane and/or drive hundreds of miles, we are causing damage, and we all know it.
This is not to say that we have no positive effect. There are innumerable examples of local and even national policy being influenced by the vision and courage of the photographic community.
Peter Dombrovskis’ passionate campaigning and his historic image ‘Morning Mist, Rock Island Bend’ even reputedly influenced the result of the Australian presidency. It certainly changed the entire perception and awareness of preservation, specifically of the Franklin River, but more broadly too.
However, having raised the issue of the carbon dilemma of travelling, visiting and photographing landscapes (after all, that’s what we all do!), I don’t particularly want to get over-involved in that specific dilemma here. Greater minds (and consciences) than mine have done so to greater effect and in greater depth than I ever could. Joe Cornish, for one, is an informed, excellent and impassioned writer on this very subject.
However, the pandemic and the resultant lockdown resulted in us all being somewhat ‘becalmed’ for a year or more, and severely restricted in our movements.
I would not make light of this, and many friends and mentors suffered greatly from the inability to run tutorials and events, increasingly their most important source of income.
However, it also forced a particular question which in retrospect presented a positive challenge - ‘if I can’t go to Yosemite (or even Yeovil, for that matter!), where can I go to make images that delight me’?
It also forced a particular question which in retrospect presented a positive challenge - ‘if I can’t go to Yosemite (or even Yeovil, for that matter!), where can I go to make images that delight me’?
During the first phase of lockdown, I committed to following the government guidelines and not ‘cheating’. So I restricted myself to walking from my door, riding my bike, or driving only very short distances - in the absence of specific government rules, I gave myself an arbitrary 15 mile radius as embracing the spirit of the guidelines (even though they were notoriously vague and I could have easily interpreted them more broadly and more to my advantage).
The practical upshot being that I basically made images in my village or in one single location nearby.
As time progressed, I began to feel that in many ways this was no longer a restriction, but a welcome discipline; one that encouraged a deeper examination and appreciation of that location, it was forcing me, in the most positive sense, to be more still and to create a richer and more personal relationship with one place.
Lawrence Durrell wrote about and evoked the ‘spirit of place’, and I think that this nurtured a similar process for me.
The place in question was Holme Fen.
For those who don’t know it, it is a wonderful location, despite the total absence of soaring mountains, majestic waterfalls or mysterious hoodoos.
It is actually a nature reserve consisting of approx 650 acres of ancient fenland, with oodles of wildlife and rather a lot of venerable birch woodland. And I love it.
It is actually a nature reserve consisting of approx 650 acres of ancient fenland, with oodles of wildlife and rather a lot of venerable birch woodland. And I love it.
The absence of mountains is exemplified by the fact that it’s the lowest point in the whole of England, rising to a majestic -2.75 metres below sea level. There isn't a local rock-climbing club.
As I visited and re-visited my ‘place’, a thought began to form in my mind - wouldn't it be great to consider a ‘One Square Mile’ location as a dedicated subject and theme.
And beyond that, wasn't it a pretty cool idea in the broader sense - as a definite discipline and counter to the carbon deficit of the continuous travel commensurate with landscape photography?
So that was my challenge to myself, and one I’d like to offer to my fellow travellers - why not consciously invest at least some of your time to creating a ‘One Square Mile’ portfolio - a celebration of one small area, requiring no significant travel but requiring just as much heart and soul as a trip to Utah.
I have collated a number of images from a specific small section of Holme Fen - including some that are just iPhone shots from the times I wasn’t carrying equipment. These now form my first ‘One Square Mile’ project. And it’s not static - I intend to keep developing my relationship with this wonderful place.
A little like a marriage, to some extent, I took this location for granted and lockdown forced us to spend more time together! Thankfully, and partly because of the actions I took, my relationship is now renewed and thriving.
The whole process has been illuminating, surprising, inspiring and enriching.
I would like to commend the principle and practice of ‘One Square Mile’ to all.
This enigmatic image is not a highly coloured epic landscape, sharp from corner to corner, sunset or sunrise glowing in the background. This is more like a shy little wildflower peeping out amongst the mighty forest trees, a small dot of great beauty in a shaft of golden light. And amongst a plethora of traditional colourful and highly detailed landscapes, it stands out as a rare minimalist work.
If I’d not known the story of Jackie Ranken’s book ‘Aerial Abstracts’, I might look quite differently at this photograph. As a traditional landscape image, I would see a hillside, trees and the distant horizon shrouded in fog or cloud, maybe some snow. The mystery I always enjoy is all there.
But no, the images in this book were made by Jackie while flying upside down, in the few seconds available to her at the top of a loop, as the passenger in her Father’s biplane.
Fear of flying never got a look-in!
At the time Jackie was using her Mamiya 7 medium format rangefinder and Fuji Neopan 400 film. So that’s 6x7 inch format and 10 shots per roll of film. The originals of these photographs were printed by Jackie using the Lith printing process.
Photography is so ubiquitous, universal and essential to the normal functioning of modern life that it is easy to forget it has not been with us forever. We are still less than two hundred years from the birth of photography, and the world has changed almost unimaginably since then. While both science and art, photography’s contact with us all is normalised to such an extent, its role often seems exclusively utilitarian.
George Eastman’s Kodak popularised the family snapshot and, directly or indirectly, inspired millions of amateur enthusiasts globally. A century after Kodak, the smartphone – really a camera with other facilities – has democratised photography. It puts a powerful keystone instrument of science, art and journalism in the hand of billions. As a medium of communication photography has become as universal as the written and spoken word.
As a result, we generally ignore photography’s particular gifts, its strengths, its limitations and its weaknesses.
There are several stages in the creation of an image, and all can have a substantial outcome on its final appearance and the impact to the viewer. The beginning is evident. We head out into the landscape with our cameras and we do this for several reasons. It may be to experience the rich autumn colours as the seasons change, or the freshly fallen pristine snows of the winter. Or maybe it is the warm, low sun of the first light of day that may draw us, or the sun slowly dipping behind the horizon is the perfect recipe we are pursuing. Photographers can also be simply inspired to be in a location almost regardless of the conditions, as just being there is inspiration enough to take photographs. The one component that we all experience is that particular moment when we feel compelled to get our camera out and point it at the scene to make an exposure.
What we see and experience at an early age inevitably shapes our lives and our passions. For David Tatnall it was green on a map, closely followed by the viewfinder’s perspective and walking. From this has come a lifelong passion, and a life’s work.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself and where you photography started?
I was born in inner Melbourne, Australia, and have lived most of my life close by. I remember as a child going on family outings in our old car. It rarely made it to the destination without boiling or breaking down and while we waited for the engine to cool I spent time wandering about looking and listening; just ‘in the bush’. I recall being shown a map of where we’d been on one trip - Kinglake National Park - and I noticed it was marked green. Other places we went to were also marked green and I began to wonder why only small areas on the map were so coloured. Those family outings had an impact. I realised the really good places we visited were national parks – protected land. My interest in conservation began at that time. I wanted to see more green on the map.
Splitters Falls. Grampians National Park
When did you first become interested in photography and what kind of images did you want to make at the time?
I ‘inherited’ my older sister’s Brownie Flash camera when I was young. Our family did recycling before it was fashionable. I regarded each photograph as incredibly special and precious. I suppose the photographs I made were a record of where I went and what I saw. I do recall how special it was to look into the camera’s viewfinder to see the composition I’d made.
The next camera I ‘inherited’ years later was a 35mm viewfinder camera. I calculated exposure using a cardboard dial. This understanding of how the camera’s aperture and shutter mechanisms control light was very important in my becoming a fine art photographer. Photography is all about light. I used that viewfinder camera until I was able to afford to buy a 35mm SLR camera with a built-in light meter. I set up a darkroom under our house and processed and printed all my films. As I moved into secondary school I became interested in walking trips.
Where did you inspiration come from as a photographer?
As I grew older, walking trips were very important to my development as a photographer because I was changing how I photographed. I no longer made reference photographs but began to make photographs of what I felt about the landscape.
As I grew older walking trips were very important to my development as a photographer because I was changing how I photographed. I no longer made reference photographs but began to make photographs of what I felt about the landscape.
A real turning point for me was the destruction of Lake Pedder in Tasmania; a glacial outwash lake protected in a national park that was destroyed in 1972 for a hydroelectric scheme. Photography played an important role in the campaign trying to save Lake Pedder.
I knew a Melbourne photographer, Ian Lobb. He received a grant from the Australia Council to study photography with Ansel Adams & Paul Caponigro in the US in the early 1970s. I recall standing in his darkroom where he showed me the prints made by them that he had brought back to Australia. It was then I realised what a photograph could be. Ian went on to run The Photographers’ Gallery and Workshop in Melbourne. It was there I saw the work of Paul Caponigro, Brett Weston, Eliot Porter and others first hand. I finally had a solo exhibition there in 2003.
As my photography evolved, I saved enough to buy a medium format camera. I used that particular camera for 35 years until it wore out. I bought my first large format camera, a folding 4 x 5, in 1979. I’ve used both medium and large format cameras ever since.
Olegas Truchanas played an important role in the campaign trying to save Lake Pedder. I met him at one of his audio-visual presentations. He spoke quietly and passionately about the need to preserve nature but let his images take the centre stage.
In the 1970s I began to show my medium format colour transparencies to friends at first, then to groups, and finally at public meetings. When the medium format transparency is projected it is a powerful and wonderful thing. At one presentation I meet a sound recordist, Duncan King-Smith. We decided to team up and make audio-visual presentations with my medium format colour transparencies projected via two projectors and a dissolve unit while Duncan’s stereo sound recordings were played.
Our most significant presentation was of a threatened forest in East Gippsland, Victoria. The Rodger River forest piece was 20 minutes long. It was shown in venues as diverse as the Melbourne Town Hall, small country halls, and in an exhibition ‘The Thousand Mile Stare’ at the Australian Centre for Contemporary Art in 1988.
We made a number of other presentations over a seven year period. These took a long time to make and involved long periods of time camping in remote locations. We were fortunate to get a number of arts grants to fund the work.
It was a period of significant conservation battles and it showed me how photography could be a powerful force for change.
Mount Emu Creek
West Cove. Erith Island
Where do you now look for inspiration, or draw motivation from?
I still look at the photographs of Paul Caponigro in books and galleries whenever I can. His view of the landscape is something I understand and relate to. His ability to make powerful yet simple silver gelatin prints is an inspiration to me.
As for motivation, being able to say something about our fragile environment by making a photograph and it having an impact and meaning is it.
As for motivation, being able to say something about our fragile environment by making a photograph and it having an impact and meaning is it.
Readers will be familiar with walking or hiking in their own countries, and may have visited others, but what should we understand from the term bushwalking – the variety of terrain and density of vegetation perhaps, the absence of paths or trails, how much of a physical challenge it is? Tell us a little more about where you live and the places that you are most drawn to?
Bushwalking, hiking, backpacking, trekking, and rambling are all terms for the same activity: walking in nature. It can be on trails and paths, or through the bush without tracks. It can be tough or it can be a simple day trip. The impulse is the same, getting out of the built environment and being in nature.
I have skied cross-country with a heavy pack, through the Alpine National Park in Victoria, camping alone in the snow to make a series of photos that have been collected by the State Library of Victoria. I walk & camp regularly in the national parks that are nearest my home. I try to respect the environment as much as possible. I don’t make campfires I use a fuel stove; I make sure I take home everything that I bring with me.
I am drawn to the landscape that is not ‘heroic’ or ‘iconic’ rather the ‘commonplace’ natural landscape that is the heart and soul of this country.
Victoria is the southernmost state of mainland Australia. The topography is hugely varied and ranges from a high point of 1,986 meters in the alpine region, through warm & cool temperate rainforests on the coastal fringes, to semi-arid ‘deserts’ in the northwest. One of my most challenging walking trips was to a region in northwest Victoria called the Big Desert. The Big Desert Wilderness Park covers an area of 1,417 square kilometres. It is trackless. A multiple day walking trip involves carrying everything including water – there is no groundwater – navigation is by compass. Often people think of it as a featureless landscape but once you have immersed yourself in it the variety of colours, shapes, and vegetation is astonishing. It is a subtle but beautiful place.
Often people think of it as a featureless landscape but once you have immersed yourself in it the variety of colours, shapes, and vegetation is astonishing. It is a subtle but beautiful place.
Cape Conran
Peter Dombrovskis’ photo ‘Morning Mist, Rock Island Bend’ was an iconic call to arms for the environmental movement. What role has your own work played, and what issues are you currently most concerned about?
Actually, it was a call to the heart and soul of the Australian public and its politicians. The environmental movement needed no call to arms.
I have worked closely with the Victorian National Parks Association – Victoria’s oldest conservation organisation - since 1970 over many campaigns to protect the Australian environment, the creation of the Alpine, Errinundra, Snowy River and Murray-Sunset National Parks being the most significant achievements.
I have been given a lifetime achievement award by Parks Victoria (the state authority that manages National Parks in Victoria) and an honorary life membership to the Victorian National Parks Association for ‘an outstanding contribution to nature conservation in Victoria through photography.
Recently I received a grant to make photographs of Melbourne’s largest park – Royal Park – in a campaign to stop a tollway from being bulldozed through it.
Just before COVID lockdowns became normal I was commissioned to make a series of photographs of two significant forest areas: Mount Cole and the Pyrenees Ranges in Victoria. Those areas are now to be included in new national parks.
The protection of Australia’s unique landscape is very important to me but I make photographs in nature for more than political reasons. Here’s an introduction to the catalogue of one of my exhibitions that says it better than I can:
‘Ansel Adams once said that he never made a single environmental photograph. Though David Tatnall’s pictures have often featured in conservation campaigns, it is similarly true of his work that its main purpose is not to make a political point, but to invite the viewer to explore the spirit of the place presented: the context in which the picture is taken may generate a political meaning, but Tatnall’s vision is wider than that of the narrowly political purpose. It celebrates the detail of places long protected, places in contest and places that are still overlooked as worthy of aesthetic consideration. The photographs live on as reflections on landscapes whose land use status has changed but whose spirit still challenges response and interpretation.’
From ‘Seeing the Forest & the Trees’ exhibition catalogue 2003.
South East Point. Wilsons Promontory National Park
How important is it that landscape photography retains this tradition? While social media can be used to raise awareness, do you think there is today confusion between the self and the role that the work can and perhaps should play?
Tradition and nostalgia aren’t big in my life. Although it’s important to know the history of photography, it’s important to look forwards not backwards. The landscape is always changing, in Australia bushfires are a major landscape-changing event.
Tradition and nostalgia aren’t big in my life. Although it’s important to know the history of photography, it’s important to look forwards not backwards. The landscape is always changing, in Australia bushfires are a major landscape-changing event.
The summer of 2019-2020 saw 186,000 square kilometres burnt. Although some of the landscape will in time recover, some places will never look the same again.
I make photographs to honour the land. I do that with the photographic equipment I think does that best: a large format camera. My photographs have been used to draw attention to environmental issues, but I also hope that they stand alone as works of art.
Social media is a weird thing. It can be useful to raise awareness, promote an exhibition, and promote a talk or event. It can also be a showcase for work produced; it all depends on how social media is used as to how it’s seen.
Often, the success of a trip is judged (by others) on the images made, but you’ve said (Time and Tide) that you’ll often return with no images. Do you think that people need to focus more on the experience than the result?
Although coming back from a trip with some good photographs is very satisfying, for me it’s not the motivating factor in going on a trip. Being in the environment spending time in nature is why I go. I’ll only make photographs when the light is good. If necessary I’ll wait, put up my tent nearby, or I’ll just not make a photograph.
When everything falls into place, the light is good, the composition works, I’ll first get my tripod out – all of my landscape photographs are made using a tripod. Then the 4x5 camera is attached and opened. I only have three lenses, a standard, modest wide angle and modest long lens and on a long walking trip, I’ll rarely carry more than two. I’ll attach the lens to the camera, but before I’ve got the camera out of the bag, I will have decided on the composition and the lens to use. Then I’ll focus the camera and make any camera adjustments needed. With a one degree spot meter, I’ll calculate the exposure – I use a version of the Zone System to determine exposure. I then make the exposure, pack everything back up in my pack, and move on.
When I go into nature it’s to be in nature, if I make a photograph, it’s a bonus, being in nature is the experience, the photograph is not.
Mount Buffalo National Park
I wrote a while back about time not getting equal billing with light and what happens while the shutter remains open is still a source of much inspiration for me. Part of the popularity of large format is said to be that it forces people to slow down, but it also perhaps shifts the balance back a little. Getting there, pre-visualising, setting up and exposure all take longer and can’t be rushed. Do you think that adds a greater depth to both our experience and understanding of a place and the images we make?
Using a large format camera is a slow experience, but so is landscape photography. I’ll wait for the light, sometimes minutes, sometimes days. On walking trips I don’t carry many film holders, I try to make each one count, so waiting and taking time is part of the process.
Understanding of place does come from spending time in that place. Watching the light move and change is all part of the experience. Hopefully, it does add depth to the images made.
Would you like to choose 2-3 favourite photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about why they are special to you, or the experience of making them?
Snow Gums. Bogong High Plains. Alpine National Park. 2001
Burnt Snow Gum. Alpine National Park. 2003
These two photographs are linked. The first is ‘Snow Gums, Bogong High Plains 2001’. The second is ‘Burnt Snow Gum, JB Plain 2003’. Both are from parts of the magnificent Alpine National Park. In 2003 a massive wildfire burnt for over 59 days burning the majority of the 660,000 hectare national park.
I made the 2001 photograph on a walking trip across the Bogong High Plains about 1,800 meters above sea level. I camped near these stands of ancient Snow Gums and made this photograph as they vanished in the mist.
I made the 2003 photograph on my first trip back to the Alpine National Park after the fires. It was devastating. Those magnificent trees were reduced to burnt black trunks. I only managed to make two photographs on that trip, this one is the strongest. Both were made on my 4x5 camera using the standard lens.
The ferocity and intensity of recent wildfires have made going back to places very difficult for me. Although some plants and trees can survive and regrow after fires this may take decades.
You mentioned earlier that some areas recover, others are never the same. Have you had a chance to go back and see how the park has fared?
The ferocity and intensity of recent wildfires have made going back to places very difficult for me. Although some plants and trees can survive and regrow after fires this may take decades. Some trees such as Alpine Ash, Mountain Ash (the tallest flowering plant in the world) and Snow Gums don’t survive fires.
The entry road into the Alpine National Park was like driving into a cathedral of massive Alpine Ash trees. These trees if burnt regrow from seed in the ash bed, to reach the height they were would take over 100 years.
The frequency of fires has increased due to climate change and the regrowing trees have been burnt again before they could produce seed. Now the drive into the park is like driving into a cemetery of huge dead trees with no young trees to take their place.
The same goes for forests of Mountain Ash, now massive dead trunks. Snow Gums if burnt can reshoot from a lignotuber at the base. It can take many decades for these trees to reach several meters tall. Once again the increased frequency of fires in the alpine region that would only have a fire once a century means they now have had too many fires in succession for many of the trees to survive.
Black Spur. Yarra Ranges National Park
Digital printing has made outputting our images simpler (though this is not entirely true if it is to be done well). What do we miss as a result? What can the darkroom still offer today, and how much of your print process is analogue/digital?
For me, photography is about the physical print, seen on a gallery wall. My benchmark in excellence in photographic printing are the silver gelatin photographs of Paul Caponigro and the dye transfer prints by Eliot Porter.
I process and print all my black and white photographs in my darkroom. My colour work was all made on transparency film until recently. It was processed at a professional laboratory. I now use colour negative film.
For me, photography is about the physical print, seen on a gallery wall. My benchmark in excellence in photographic printing are the silver gelatin photographs of Paul Caponigro and the dye transfer prints by Eliot Porter.
All my vintage colour prints are chromogenic prints. I’m still able to make them at the moment but in Australia, that process is becoming increasingly expensive and less available.
Although inkjet prints have become the norm for colour printing worldwide I still prefer chromogenic prints for their depth of colour and subtle tonality.
Photography has always evolved, otherwise, we would still be making daguerreotypes and suffering brain damage from mercury poisoning! Photography will continue to evolve. I continue to use film as it gives me the tonality and excellence I want in the prints I make. I’m not nostalgic about it. I own a digital camera but I enjoy using the film camera a long way from towns and cities; a camera that doesn’t require a battery to operate doesn’t beep at you or require updating and simplifies the art of making an image.
One of the big issues using film-based photography now is how best to show it in the digital sphere. Digitally captured images look great on a computer screen, but rarely look as good as prints. Film based images have to be scanned to be seen digitally and usually don’t look as good on the screen, but look much better as prints. I have adapted and continue to adapt the techniques I use to accommodate these issues.
. North West Point. Erith Island
How has the pandemic affected your plans? Did you have a chance to try anything new or different, or did you find any unexpected ways to be creative and remain motivated while you’ve been subject to restrictions?
The ongoing restrictions caused by the global pandemic have affected everyone. It’s frustrating not being able to travel particularly as this year is one of the best wildflower seasons Western Australia has had in decades. In Victoria, we’ve had average rainfall over winter so everything is looking good.
However, I have a native garden at home where I make photographs and I live near two urban waterways: Merri Creek and Darebin Creek. Both are short walks away and I take my camera there to make photographs.
I’ve had a close association with the Merri Creek for many years. I’ve walked the whole 72 kilometre length of it and have had three solo exhibitions of the photographs I made there over the past 30 years. It is one of my continuing long-term photographic projects.
Not being able to go further afield to make new photographs has given me more time to spend in my darkroom printing. My printing techniques have improved and changed over the years and I have been revisiting my old negatives finding new insights in them.
Merri Creek in Northcote
Has the nature of the images that you make, the things that call to you, changed in recent years? The ‘intimates’ on Instagram prompted me to ask you this.
Using a large format camera where the image is viewed both upsides down and back to front I look for patterns when composing photographs. If you look at ‘Burnt Snow Gum 2003’, for instance, the image works both upside down and the right way up.
Using a large format camera where the image is viewed both upsides down and back to front I look for patterns when composing photographs. If you look at ‘Burnt Snow Gum 2003’, for instance, the image works both upside down and the right way up.
I’ve always made photographs of close ups or intimate subjects as well as the big view. Essentially my impulse to make photographs hasn’t changed but my technical ability has developed over the years. It’s possibly best described in this essay by Philip Ingamells:
"David Tatnall’s photographs record exactly what is there. No drama, no contrived perfection, but a resonant perfection nonetheless.
Frustratingly, he does this through viewfinders that present the image the wrong way around. It is as if he either has an uncanny ability to view the picture upside down and inside out, yet in his mind’s eye see it the right way around or, more intriguingly, he uses this impediment to great advantage, composing a most natural and realistic image as if it is an abstract.
I don’t know if I have ever asked David how he does this, or if I ever want to. I expect and prefer to believe, that he is not sure what he does anyway.
The result is quite fine. Almost alone amongst artists and quite rare amongst modern photographers, he takes us to the natural world without artifice, without emphasis, without decoration, without altering a thing. And he opens our eyes and our hearts to something enduring, something very great."
From the essay ‘Upside down and inside out’, by Philip Ingamells, environmental educator and activist.
Do you have any particular projects or ambitions for the future, or themes that you would like to explore further?
I’m working on an exhibition at the moment that’ll be held in late 2022 or 2023. I’m also engaged in a number of long-term photographic projects. The Merri Creek I already mentioned is one. Another is called ‘Land Bridge’; it’s a series of photographs of the Victoria coast, Bass Strait Islands and Tasmania, which were all joined together before the last ice age in a ‘land bridge’. Another project is called ‘Woodlands’. This is a series of photographs of what might be described as ‘ordinary’ bush.
Can you say a little more about what this is like (ordinary bush)?
The ‘ordinary bush’ is best described as the hard to photograph non-iconic or monotonous landscape.
I’m drawn to this for several reasons; firstly it’s very much under threat. Firewood collection, land clearing for agriculture and many more impacts threaten the ‘ordinary’ bush. Secondly, it’s hard to make compositions, as there aren’t many straight lines. I enjoy the challenge of making sense of this landscape within a photograph.
Moonahs. Blairgowrie
River Red Gum. Woodlands Historic Park
Black wattle
You’ve taught photography workshops and been an artist in residence - tell us about those. You’ve also travelled a lot overseas making photographs.
I’ve taught workshops in large format and pinhole photography for over twenty years. I’ve also led photographic trips to Nepal and within Australia. I’ve retired from teaching workshops now but I still mentor a number of photographers.
I was Artist-In-Residence at several remote state-run secondary schools in Victoria and over a twenty-year period I taught around 6000 students film photography. We used simple 35mm film cameras and colour negative film. I encouraged the students to see using the camera. I found it extremely rewarding working with them.
I’ve been very fortunate to have travelled a lot in my photographic life. Nepal was and is one of my favourite places; I’ve been there nine times. Antarctica, The Andes in Peru, India, Italy and Bolivia are also stand out places.
The alpine environment in Australia has always been very special to me. I also really like spending time in the arid regions too.
In fact, if the light is good I’m happy where ever I am.
Snow Gums. Baw Baw National Park
Many British photographers have fallen in love with Dombrovskis' work, in some cases via Joe Cornish and On Landscape's features about him. Could you recommend any less well known books or photographers from the Australian landscape scene?
‘The Mountains of Paradise’ by Les Southwell is the first to come to mind. Les was an engineer by profession, a walker and photographer by passion. This book published in 1983 is a showcase of Les’s photographs of Southwest Tasmania. All made on a 35mm film camera.
This book is regarded as a classic of Australian landscape photography.
Les was still active well into his eighties. His body was found outside his tent on Victoria’s highest peak Mount Bogong in 2017. He was 88.
‘Wild Places’ by Peter Prineas with photographs by Henry Gold documents the wilderness areas of eastern New South Wales; published in 1983.
Henry Gold immigrated to Australia in 1955 and was an active walker and campaigner for the protection of the natural world.
He was awarded the ‘Medal of the Order of Australia’ in 2006 for “service to wilderness preservation through the use of photographic documentation”.
‘Range Upon Range – The Australian Alps’ by Harry Nankin is a series of large format colour photographs documenting the alpine region of mainland Australia; published in 1987.
‘Southern Light – Images from Antarctica’ by David Neilson; published in 2012.
This collection of photographs of Antarctica and the sub-Antarctic made on large format camera is the result of six journeys between 2002 and 2008.
Shipwreck Creek. Croajingolong National Park
Often people think that they can’t add much to the big environmental issues. Do you think most photographers have the capability to support the environment with their photography, for instance by raising awareness of local issues?
Being aware of environmental issues is foremost. Being aware of the carbon footprint created by making landscape photographs must be considered and offset.
Simple things like including environmental information in the photograph’s caption is one small thing a photographer can do. Finding out as much as you can about the location, the plants, the animals that live there and what threat – all land is under some kind of threat – that land faces is another small thing a photographer can do.
Being politically active by using photographs made about environmental issues may not make you popular. But it will help the environment. We all must do something.
Whether a photographer uses their photographs to raise awareness or just get involved by picking up rubbish, pulling out weeds or donating money, getting involved is the important thing.
Thank you, David.
David has undoubtedly succeeded in his ambition to see more green on the map, but I doubt he will see it as ‘success’, with more always to be done. I think however that David would be disappointed if all you took away from this article is that his photography is about conservation. While his images have undoubtedly been a good and faithful servant to it, they are first and foremost about his relationship with the land, and the spirit of place.
Despite all of this, he sees a photograph as a bonus - being in nature is the primary motivation and satisfaction.
Planning a trip of a lifetime and taking time out of your work and busy life takes courage and vision. Courage to follow your dreams and vision of planning the locations, accommodation and transport. When Jay Rasmussen contacted me about his 71-day 12,000-mile motorcycle trip from Minnesota to Argentina I knew I had to find out more. The idea of doing such a long trip on a motorcycle intrigued me - how do you plan such a trip, evaluate the risks and plan for the unexpected?
What sparked your passion for photography?
Eight years ago, my son (19 yrs. at the time) and I set out on a 71-day 12,000-mile motorcycle trip from Minnesota to Argentina. Our friends and family were understandably concerned about our health and safety so I decided to create a trip report (complete with photos) every 3-4 days and distribute it to about 300 people via email. We just needed folks to know we were still alive and thriving as the trip unfolded!
This “Gran Adventura” was the single best event in my life and I wanted readers/viewers to see the beauty, intrigue, and curiosities we experienced on a daily basis. So, I photographed what captured my eye while secretly hoping our friends and family would come to understand Mexico and Central/South America in a fresh and personal way.
La Gran Aventura, Minnesota
Tell me about your background and why landscape photography?
I’ve always felt a strong connection to the earth and simply put I find value in helping others see the beauty surrounding us in the natural world. Much like an animal is able to see subtle nuances in their home territory, I feel that my 68 years on the land has given me an eye for scenes others may never notice or appreciate.
As a child, my mother would take me to art galleries and ask questions about paintings that required my careful observation and deeper thinking – this experience began to shape my own aesthetic. And, my grandmother walked the ocean shores of Florida with me and we looked for shells and found beauty and patterns together.
In college had only one art course – Drawing 101. This course helped me really see and understand lines. Then, as an adult, I started to do watercolour painting on the side while on a Fulbright Fellowship to conduct educational research in Oslo, Norway. During this time I began to better understand some of the elements and principles of design that still influence my photography to this date.
You were the Professor of Education at Bethel University; how do you take your passion for learning into your photography?
A “professor” of education needs to be a life-long learner themselves and I’m wired that way. I’m happiest and most content when I’m learning and it can be about almost anything. I also like challenges and typically have a left-brain hobby to accompany my stronger right-brain concrete sequential nature. As an educator, I’ve come to understand the nature of learning and how we as photographers can fall into a trap known as an “allusion of knowing.” We think we know something, maybe even think we’re masters of it, but that is all an allusion. There is so much more to know and learn about photography and art and as a 68-year-old man, I still feel like a teenager trying to find themselves and their way in the world in a photographic sense. And, I love being on that journey as a learner!
Hierve el Agua, Mexico
Tell me about the photographers or artists that inspire you?
As mentioned before, I’ve been inspired by paintings. The Dutch masters have inspired me to create a series of still life images in our 1916 barn that is now converted into a gallery space. Painters such as Vincent van Gogh and Claude Monet have also inspired my use of colour. The work of contemporary photographers Marc Adamus and Max Rive provides something to think about when creating grand scenes. Sarah Marino, Jennifer Renwick, Krista McCuish, Theo Bosboom, Alex Noriega, and Guy Tal always help me think about composition/content for smaller and more intimate scenes.
A very obscure book, “The Tracker” by Tom Brown, Jr., was the most influential book I’ve ever read in terms of how I approach and see nature.
A very obscure book, “The Tracker” by Tom Brown, Jr., was the most influential book I’ve ever read in terms of how I approach and see nature. This book, which mentions nothing about photography, tells of how one Apache man (Stalking Wolf) walked and became part of his surroundings. As I move with and through nature I try to be in tune with my surroundings and I view any image I’m able to make as a gift versus something that I’m taking.
When I’m on the road creating photographs I live in my van which allows me to be near locations when the light is best for what I hope to experience photographically. And, when driving I like to pass the time learning about the creative process of other photographers through some favourite podcasts such as “F-Stop Collaborate and Listen” with Matt Payne, “The Landscape Photography Show” with David Johnston, “Outdoor Photography Podcast” with Brenda Petrella, and “LensWork” with Brooks Jensen.
I make my living now by doing juried art shows which tends to immerse me in a very competitive world. My photography and the presentation of my work needs to be solid or I simply won’t make it financially and this has really fuelled my desire to improve work on a daily basis. The challenge with doing art shows is that iconic scenes tend to sell best and I still like doing some intimate work. I’ve found that if I stay true to myself, and not just sell out to the more popular images, I can still make and sell work I’m proud of.
You say on your website ”At times, I may find value in representing the objective reality in front of me and I’ll operate more in the tradition of fine documentary image-making. At other times, I may wish to express a personal response to a subject or idea.” How do you respond to a landscape and then decide on the approach you’re going to take?
Tough question. When I’m doing my best work I tend to be in a zone and I respond more from the heart than the mind. I tend to be oblivious to the outside world and totally immersed in the environment. That said, if I have a strong feeling-based response (aesthetic) to a scene I may be a little more creative with the composition and post-processing. And I may work abstractly with ICM (Intentional Camera Motion) or in a Pep Ventosa style of shooting in the round. If I have more of a thought-based response to a scene (efferent), my compositions tend to more straight forward and the post-processing is minimal.
Stahlratte at Anchor, Carti Islands
12,000-mile motorcycle adventure
In the summer of 2013, you took a 12,000-mile motorcycle trip with my 19- year-old son from Minnesota to Argentina. What was the inspiration for the trip?
My son and I sat on the couch and watched the full saga of “The Long Way Round” with Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman. In this documentary, we saw two men crossing the globe on BMWs and we turned to each other and said “let’s do the same thing but go from north to south.”
My son and I sat on the couch and watched the full saga of “The Long Way Round” with Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman. In this documentary, we saw two men crossing the globe on BMWs and we turned to each other and said “let’s do the same thing but go from north to south.
We were both interested in exploring Latin America because of a love for the culture and language. Both of my children are half Mexican and I also saw this trip as an opportunity to help my son better understand his Mexican identity.
How did you go about planning the route? Were there certain locations you wanted to visit from a photography point of view?
Planning the trip was a two-year labour of love that involved learning about geography, culture, and history I knew very little of. I became a regular reader of trip reports on “ADV Rider” (an adventure motorcycle website) and Google Maps became my friend. Because we travelled from May-Aug. I planned a route at higher elevations in Mexico and Central America to avoid extremes in heat. And, generally speaking we stayed at lower elevations in South America to avoid overly frigid conditions.
We tried to stay with friends on the route when possible and ate and slept in locations frequented by locals vs tourists. There really weren't any locations I added to our route based on photographic interests.
What part of the trip were you most concerned about and how did it turn out?
From a planning perspective, the biggest challenge of the trip was planning how to circumvent the Darien Gap, a 66-mile non-navigable stretch of jungle between Panama and Colombia. There are no roads through this area which is extremely dangerous and controlled by narco-trafficantes. The only way around the gap is by air or sea. Fortunately, I was able to find a 1940s German fishing vessel called the Stahlratte (German for Steel Rat) that we could book passage on for us and our motos. This worked out well even though I battled sea-sickness for three days.
My other concern was bringing my son back home alive. His favourite expression was “I’m invincible” which caused me no end of concern!
Valle de Cocora, Colombia
Iguazu Falls, Argentina
What were the highlights of the trip?
The time spent with my son was “priceless” as the TV commercial says. Each night we shared our favourite moments of the day. And every day was truly unique in terms of scenery and experiences and we never knew what challenges and highlights we’d encounter next. Our motto was “The End is Nothing, The Road is All” and this helped us keep our focus on being present and enjoying each day of the trip.
Our motto was “The End is Nothing, The Road is All” and this helped us keep our focus on being present and enjoying each day of the trip.
That said, I was especially happy to bring my son home alive and as a significantly matured young man.
You passed through so many different countries, states and cities. How was it to experience the different cultures?
Given that we only had 71 days for a trip we had to make hard decisions about where to invest our time. In order to get an emic (insider’s perspective) view of culture requires almost total immersion and I don’t feel we accomplished this. The view we had was more etic (outsider’s perspective) even though we focused more on certain countries (e.g., Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Argentina) than others. Sadly, our trip was more of a sampler of various countries and cultures than a full entrée. My appetite was wetted, however, for more time in Colombia in particular.
Have any cultures/countries influenced your art, either through vernacular or fine art sources?
Absolutely, the freedom of expression (artistic and otherwise) in the Latin American world carried over into how I like to work in a heart and passion led manner. I also fell in love with the colours of Latin America and photography during this trip. To this day, my work is vibrant and colourful and I attribute this to our time on the road.
Farmhouse Hoarfrost, MN
There were so many different landscapes from jungle to deserts to coast. Tell us about your photography in these different places. What were the highlights and challenges?
During this trip, I think we experienced every ecosystem possible in 71 days. And, in my estimation, a motorcycle is the best way to truly see, hear, smell, touch the environment. Because my son and I needed to return to the states for school in late August, we had limited time on the road and to do photography. Almost any decision I had to make about taking a photo needed to happen in 3-4 seconds as we motored 30-50 mph down winding roads complete with potholes and all forms of animal life. My highlight of the trip was finding beauty in humble places and sharing that with others.
If one of our readers were thinking about embarking upon a large project similar to yours, what insights and learnings would you give them?
Have fun with the entire process from the planning phase to the daily ride. Be open to what you’ll encounter and find joy in each day of the journey.
Have fun with the entire process from the planning phase to the daily ride. Be open to what you’ll encounter and find joy in each day of the journey.
Creeping Blue, AZ
Martian Skin, UT
Your Photography
Which cameras and lenses do you like to use, and how do you approach post-processing, editing and sequencing?
I work in LR almost exclusively using minimal processing. Occasionally, I work in PS to focus-stack and use a few other functions.
Over the years you have had work in many art shows. What have been your highlights of these?
I always love seeing how people respond to my work.
I always love seeing how people respond to my work. When a guest to my booth has an emotional response to one of my images it’s very rewarding. I’ve had many share very personal responses, some talk about getting goosebumps, some having their breath taken, and some with tears of joy.
When a guest to my booth has an emotional response to one of my images it’s very rewarding. I’ve had many share very personal responses, some talk about getting goosebumps, some having their breath taken, and some with tears of joy. For me, the ultimate highlight is when someone buys a piece of my work to add to their home. When they do this it’s like they’re inviting me into a very personal and intimate space for a long visit.
Tell us more about the printing and framing of the images for exhibitions. E.g. paper, size, etc
All of my work is printed with a friend on ChromaLuxe aluminium using a dye-sublimation process. I use a gloss, semi-gloss, and matte finish and each piece have a custom-made shadow mount frame on the back that I helped design. The aluminium substrate fits my style and strong use of colour because it captures the vibrancy and detail of what my eye is often drawn to.
Ghost Trees, UT
Ice Shards, MN
Are you working on your next project or do you have any future project ideas that you’re thinking about?
When I was a second-year college student I took an interest inventory to get a sense of direction about what I might do with my life. The results showed that I should be an adventurer. When I read this I thought “great, how am I going to make a living do this”! As it turns out, my 30+ years as an educator and now as a full-time landscape photographer gave me that opportunity.
I’m always scheming up my next trip and this “adventure in waiting” keeps me excited about photography. I keep a file of possible locations to visit and I continually add new pieces of information to this file. When I have time to travel, either solo or with my wife, I can usually be ready to go in several days. I’ll normally only have 1-3 specific images I’d like to make in a fairly large area and then I just roam to see what attracts me. I normally scout mid-day and create most of my work earlier or later in the day.
So I believe, that beauty can be found by all, but like truth, each individual finds that truth in different places. As long as you find it and it moves you for the better, does it really matter where you sourced it?1~Joe Rainbow
There are many ways of making landscape images into abstract compositions. We can construct photograms using traditional or scanner methods; choose to focus on intimate details; we can take to the air and look down eliminating any horizon; we can choose to use intentional camera movements; we can defocus all, or all but a small part, of an image. Examples of abstract images have been a feature of On Landscape since its very early days, for example, the article in Issue 3 on David Ward’s book Beyond Landscape, or the interview with Chris Friel in Issue 42. This contribution was instigated by reading the End Frame piece by Marc Hermans and his commentary on Submergence by Joe Cornish3 and also at around the same time by the images of Swiss photographer André Piguet who was featured on an edition of Passe-moi les Jumelles on Swiss television. Those images took me back to the book of abstract images by Graham Cook called Innervisible4 and his aim of “giving seemingly irrelevant and ignored details renewed meaning”. So what is it about those abstracts as landscapes that are so appealing, and how might that meaning be interpreted?
André Piguet: La recette de tante Alice ou La rebellion des amibes
Those images took me back to the book of abstract images by Graham Cook called Innervisible4 and his aim of “giving seemingly irrelevant and ignored details renewed meaning”.
Graham Cook: Portfolio 2.L1
Early Abstraction in Art and Photography
There have been a number of previous articles in On Landscape that have dealt with the history of abstract images in art and photography5.
Seventeen years ago I came to live in Northern Italy and, having always been a person who loves to travel, I set out to discover our neighbouring countries. Both Austria and Germany are not far away by car, so it is easy to visit these spectacular areas, even if just for a weekend.
One of the places that immediately attracted me, not only as a photographer but as a lover of different cultures, was Bavaria. I’ve heard many people describe this federal state in the southeast of Germany as very much “chocolate box”, as its beauty is classically outstanding. Yes, it is very “chocolate box”, but the photographic opportunities are limitless.
Church San Sebastian Hintersee
There are two areas which I can say that I know reasonably well. The first is the area of Berchtesgaden, which is a National Park and is located in the southeast of Germany adjoining the Austrian Salzburg region. Founded in 1978, the park includes an area of 210 square kilometres and is owned by the federal state of Bavaria.
Hintersee Islet With Trees
Hintersee Small Rock Island
It is no accident that Berchtesgaden boasts such impressive scenery as it is Germany’s only Alpine UNESCO Biosphere Reserve and it is also close to Germany’s only National Park in the Alps. For me, as a photographer, the combination of contrasts makes it so appealing: high Alpine peaks, unspoiled valleys and pristine lakes with a scattering of quaint villages and its ancient, cultural traditions.
It is no accident that Berchtesgaden boasts such impressive scenery and is Germany’s only Alpine UNESCO Biosphere reserve.
I had been to Lake Königssee before, during Spring. However, this time I chose to return in Autumn which I knew would be impressive. The lake with its emerald green colour and nestled at the foot of the imposing eastern wall of Mount Watzmann in the heart of the Berchtesgaden National Park is one of nature's true masterpieces. It very much resembles a fjord and has virtually no paths around the lake, so to navigate it one has to board an electric passenger boat (introduced in 1909 to maintain the pristine condition of this alpine lake) which will take you to two drop off points where photographic heaven begins.
Boathouse Obersee
During the crossing to St. Bartholomew, the boatman plays his trumpet to lure out the world-famous Königssee echoes which resound from the steep rock face. In St. Bartholomew, the lovely pilgrimage church is world-renowned for its wine-red onion domes. Here, photographic opportunities abound. I chose to get off the boat at this point as the autumn forests and colours were what I wanted.
Konigssee Cottage In The Woods
At the last stop, Obersee or the “upper Lake” as it is known in German, is one of the most beautiful lakes in the Alps and a place that I absolutely love and which is connected to Lake Konigssee by a ten minute walk. From Obersee Lake you can enjoy breathtaking views of the Bavarian Alps and the highest waterfalls in Germany, the 400 meter high Rothbach falls.
The second area that I know well is Fussen, also situated in Bavaria, and it is here that the world famous Neuschwanstein castle is situated. Again this is a highly popular destination that is to be avoided at all costs during the summer season.
Church Of St.coloman
In Autumn, the photographic possibilities are endless - especially around the lakes that are situated below the two castles. Obviously, a visit to the castles is a must if you have not seen them before; a short tour which is done in various languages with the guides very open to answering questions. I personally prefer Hohenschwangau castle which lies beneath Neuschwanstein as it is old and is great to photograph from the path that takes you up to Marienbrucke, a viewing bridge that gives stunning views of the surrounding countryside.
I personally prefer Hohenschwangau castle which lies beneath Neuschwanstein as it is old and is great to photograph from the path that takes you up to Marienbrucke, a viewing bridge that gives stunning views of the surrounding countryside.
Hohenschwangau Castle
A little bit of information: Neuschwanstein is “modern” and was built by King Ludwig II of Bavaria, also known as the “mad king” atop a rock ledge over the Pöllat Gorge. Construction began in 1868 and was never completed. Neuschwanstein is known as a castle of paradox. It was built in a time when castles were no longer necessary as strongholds, and despite its romanticized medieval design, Ludwig also required it to have all the newest technological comforts. The lavish structure is complete with a walled courtyard, an indoor garden, spires, towers, and an artificial cave. In contrast to the medieval castles, it was modelled after, Neuschwanstein is equipped with running water throughout, including flush toilets and hot water in the kitchen and baths, and has a forced-air central heating system. The dining room is serviced by an elevator from the kitchen three stories below. Louis even made sure the castle was connected to telephone lines, although at the time of its construction very few people had them.
Neuschwanstein Castle
My main photographs of this area are away from the castles in the surrounding fields and walking along the lakes as the forest, mainly beech trees are spectacular.
Lake Alpsee has a hiking path of around 5 kilometres which, during Autumn, offers great photographic opportunities. The forests are a mixture but mainly of beech trees which, as we all know are beautiful to shoot even in late Autumn.
Lake Alpsee has a hiking path of around 5 kilometres which, during Autumn, offers great photographic opportunities. The forests are a mixture but mainly of beech trees which as we all know are beautiful to shoot during autumn.
Boathouse Alpsee
All the above mentioned places are stunning and provide for some excellent photographic opportunities. Sunrises and sunsets are well worth shooting in these magnificent places and during Autumn, with sunrise later on and sunset earlier in the day, getting shots doesn't require getting up very early or waiting forever for the sun to go down, which leaves the evenings free for good food and wine.
Misty Sunrise St Coloman
Pine Tree Hintersee
Many photographers are aware that photographing iconic locations is very difficult, especially during peak seasons. Having said this, there is nothing wrong in my opinion to try and get something special in these locations. It is not about travel photography, it is just about going out there and doing what we do best and this type of photography has its place in an arena where everything is dissected and criticised to the smallest point. Personally, I think it is a genre of photography that is often pushed aside in pursuit of more deep thinking ideas with every shot having to have some deep rooted meaning.
Life is too short for this, we need to get out there and just enjoy what lies in front of our eyes and camera and take in the wonderful and breathtaking scenery.
Still photographing in his late eighties from his home in Stockport, England, Denis Thorpe’s landscape images demonstrate the power that derives from locating them within the context of a broad range of other photographic genres.
In a sense, Thorpe had no choice as an all-round photojournalist employed for decades in Manchester by the Guardian newspaper, but from the beginning, he combined a modernist aesthetic from the likes of Bill Brandt with the humanist engagement of Cartier-Bresson or Picture Post’s Bert Hardy.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolio consisting of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
Alexey Korolyov
Ice Sculptures Festival
Brian Pollock
The Southern Highlands
Himadri Bhuyan
Jing Kieng Jri
R. J. Kern
The Unchosen Ones: Portraits of an American Pastoral
In 2016, I made portraits of youth contestants at Minnesota county fairs. Each participant—some as young as four years old— spent a year raising an animal, which they entered into a 4-H livestock competition. None of the youth I photographed succeeded in winning an award, despite the obvious care they have given to their animal.
Four years later, in 2020, I returned to photograph the young subjects, asking them what they carried forward from their previous experience. Some of them have continued to pursue animal husbandry while others developed other interests. We imagine some of these kids will choose to continue running their family farms, an unpredictable and demanding way to make a living.
As I created the second group of photographs, I asked them what were their thoughts, their dreams, and their goals for the future? How do they fit in the future of agricultural America?
The Unchosen Ones depicts the bloom of youth and the mettle of the kids who grow up on farms, reminding us how resilient children can be when confronted with life’s inevitable disappointments. The formal quality of the lighting and setting endow these young people with a gravitas beyond their years, revealing self-direction dedication in some, and in others, perhaps, the pressures of traditions imposed upon them. The portraits capture a particular America, a rural world, and a time in life when the layered emotions of youth are laid bare.
Dustin, Pastoral Study, 2020
Eric And R. J., Pastoral Study, 2020
David With Sheep And Grandpa, Pastoral Study, 2020
The English translation of "Jing Kieng Jri" (in Khasi language) is "Living Root Bridge". These root bridges are found in the northeast Indian state of Meghalaya and are a feat of bioengineering marvel.
Every time you see one of these, you'll feel like being in a fantasy world. No words or images can prepare you for the experience you'll get there physically. It's indescribable.
Meghalaya owing to its geology and climate is home to the wettest place on earth and numerous valleys/gorges created by the rainfed streams and rivers that crisscross this region. Add to that the fact that it's an earthquake-prone region and most of the villages don't have road connectivity. A visit to the nearest market or town usually requires crossing several streams. It's fine in the lean season, but in the monsoons, it's impossible to cross these streams or rivers without a bridge. So, centuries ago, the people of the region came up with the idea of building bridges using the roots of rubber fig trees (Ficus Elastica). Since then the people have followed this practice of building bridges that are alive and thrive in their surroundings.
Through these four images, my attempt is to show a few of the bridges the people of Meghalaya, particularly the Khasis, have built. while three of these bridges are several hundred years old, one of these is a few decades old and you can identify it from the smaller roots that still need guiding before they intertwine among themselves and grow thicker and stronger.
Living in Glasgow, I've spent a fair number of the weekends exploring the Southern Highlands, whether climbing or hill walking and, more recently, with my camera. The Southern Highlands have a unique understated character, apart from the more dramatic landscapes of Glencoe and the North West.
Despite their proximity to the central belt, it isn't difficult to find quiet places and there are plenty of lesser known perspectives to explore if you are minded to venture off the beaten track. This portfolio represents both the area and the first steps of my journey into photography as a hobby and a passion in its own right.
After Rain, Loch Lomond
Evening Redness In The West, Ben Lomond
Point To Point, Ben Narnain & Ben Lomond From Beinn Ime
From year to year, not far from my home city I visit an amazing ice sculpture festival. You do not need to pay money for entrance and there are practically no people here, especially if you come early in the morning. The organiser of this ice celebration is nature itself — the most talented artist in the world.
I am lucky to live not far from a river with a very interesting site. The current is very fast and turbulent here. A mill used to work here a long time ago. Though half-ruined it is still standing on the side of the river. Debris from ancillary structures remaining in the water creates obstacles to the rapid flow. As a result, a powerful roll was formed with strong waves and swirls. Even in the most severe frosts, when the river is frozen up, this section does not freeze completely. Separate ice islands with hanging icicles appear.
Every time I come here with my camera, I never cease to be amazed at how the powerful energy of the water element and cold-blooded frozen forms of ice combine in this place. All images from this series were taken with a long exposure that is very suitable for such scenes. It helps to capture the movement of water and thereby emphasize the contrast between fluid and static forms of water.
This series of photographs is a visual tribute to the beauty of the water element. I attempt to convey my impressions and to show how water and ice interact with each other.
The most important step in emancipating oneself from social controls is the ability to find rewards in the events of each moment.
~Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi
I confess to feeling awkward these days, as I suspect many do, writing about photography, art, and qualities of experience as momentous events unfold in the world. These may seem petty considerations in a time when the very forces of nature are conspiring to threaten the existence of the human species.
I confess to feeling awkward these days, as I suspect many do, writing about photography, art, and qualities of experience as momentous events unfold in the world. These may seem petty considerations in a time when the very forces of nature are conspiring to threaten the existence of the human species
But there is also a sense in which celebrating beauty and inspiration may be even more important in such times than in others. Anxiety about the future may serve to remind one of the importance of considering the finite nature of life and the wisdom of not taking anything for granted. While such reminders may be prompted by worries and difficulties, their true value is in realising that they remain every bit as important even without the difficulties that may force them to the surface.
Before the artist can begin down their journey of finding meaning - in both life and art - it is important to understand what, exactly, art is. Though attempts have been made to define art since Plato and Aristotle, there is still no solid definition for this subjective topic. What there is, however, are manners in which to categorise art, which provides at least a basic starting point toward figuring out what art is. One of these manners divides art into commercial, personal and any mixture of the two.
Commercial art can be classified as art that is created for the purpose of advertising or selling a product. One such example of this categorization is that of Andy Warhol and his famous Campbell Soup artwork, a piece containing four differently-coloured Campbell soup cans in a squared arrangement. While at initial view this piece seems to be personal art - and though one cannot guess Warhols goals, it does not take long before the implied intentions of the piece are revealed. As commentary on advertising, the idea is to get the viewer to purchase the product being shown. After having viewed Warhol's piece, the audience is more likely to start heading home, thinking of Campbell's soup, possibly going so far as to stop at the store to purchase a few cans. This is at the commercial end of art: advertising disguised through the vein of art.
Personal art is crafted by the artist with a view through their soul, imbuing their artwork with meaning and emotion, of which only the artist may understand or "get."
Personal art is crafted by the artist with a view through their soul, imbuing their artwork with meaning and emotion, of which only the artist may understand or "get." Think of the work crafted by Edward Weston, particularly his series of pepper photographs. While many viewers have witnessed within these fine pieces an underlying dimension of sexual energy - which makes sense, given his primary subject matter being that of naked women - Weston himself had vehemently denied such a thing. The meaning he imbued in his art was different than the meaning his audience found within the pieces. There's nothing wrong with this, however, as the art still maintained some sort of meaning - thereby making it personal art - even if the meanings did not line up between artist and audience. Even if the majority of individuals do not "get" the meaning or emotion behind an artwork, it can still be considered personal art. This is evidenced by Lo Sono (which translates to "I Am"), an invisible sculpture by artist Salvatore Gaura, which sold for an astounding 18,300 dollars (15,000 euros). Salvatore described the piece as being made of "air and spirit," telling in a video about the piece that Lo Sono “asks you to activate the power of the imagination, a power that anyone has, even those who don’t believe they have it.”
A mixture of these two categories may also exist, though only in one direction. Personal art can become commercial art, but the opposite is unlikely. Think of Ansel Adam's photographs of Yosemite. Originally created in order to appease his artistic side - his pieces imbued with emotion and meaning - they were consequently used to bring attention to the beauty and importance of national parks, thereby "selling" a "product."
A mixture of these two categories may also exist, though only in one direction. Personal art can become commercial art, but the opposite is unlikely.
When it comes to a true definition of art, the closest there seems to be is described by the Merriam-Webster dictionary, in which they claim art to be "the conscious use of skill and creative imagination especially in the production of aesthetic objects." Although this definition suits commercial art rather well, it struggles to incorporate the meaning and emotion which makes personal art so, well, personal. So then, how can personal art be defined?
It is interesting to find that the Merriam-Webster’s English Language Learner's definition for art suits personal art in a much more appropriate manner. "Something that is created with imagination and skill and that is beautiful or that expresses important ideas or feelings" - how beautiful a definition is that for such a subjective idea as personal art? Why, it must be asked, is this definition buried in the ELL's dictionary, hidden from view of the public eye? This simple definition lays out the most important aspects of personal art in a manner which everyone can understand - even those just learning English.
Through the use of this definition, we are able to better close what is often thought to be such an open subject, such a cause for rigorous debate. In order to best accomplish this, the definition should be used so as to dismantle the creation of art into three primary components. They are as follows: the item of art itself, an item of beauty or skilled creation; the act of looking deeper at oneself and the world (self-discovery); and the communication of discoveries made while looking deeper at oneself and the world.
According to the Merriam-Webster ELL definition for art, so long as the item of art itself is crafted using imagination and skill - and is beautiful and/or expresses important ideas or feelings - the piece can be considered as (personal) art. This allows for the thinking of art to be simplified in an exemplary manner.
This journey toward the finding of such meaning is one every artist must embark on at one point or the other, not only to become a better artist but to become a content - if not an outright happy - individual.
The only issue to take, however, is how one can imbue feelings - emotions and/or meaning - into the created piece of art. This, then, requires the artist them-self to take a deeper look both at oneself and at the world around them, whether it be Earth as a whole or a smaller "world" in which they are most familiar. This smaller world can be as grand as Death Valley National Park or as intimate as the artist's own backyard.
But how can the artist begin to look deeper within them-self and their world? That is precisely the point of this article series, entitled "Finding Meaning: An Artist’s Journey Toward Finding Meaning in Life and Art." Through this series, I hope to help you gain a better understanding not only regarding what art is but, more importantly, how to create art that contains within it personal meaning and emotion. As a whole, artists are among the unfortunate individuals whose lives are plagued with the constant questioning of what, precisely, their life means, if anything at all. This journey toward the finding of such meaning is one every artist must embark on at one point or the other, not only to become a better artist but to become a content - if not an outright happy - individual. I hope to cover ideas such as the definition of success, figuring out what happiness and art have to do with one another, finding passion in art, and more. It is hoped that, by the end of this journey, I can add to your understanding of yourself as artist and individual.
We live in an image hungry age; for all the benefits, some things have been lost. I keep being struck by the parallels, and differences, in painting. I increasingly hear talk of process, rather than outcome, and how that enriches the experience for the artist, and ultimately, the viewer. Instead of focusing on generating finished works, art is an exercise in learning, and in solving problems - a voyage of discovery, of enlightenment potentially, and a way of escaping the physical world.
These words resonate as I hear Luca talk of how he works. The way that large format and film promulgates ‘the need of a thought’. The experience of making the image, of getting to the place, of discarding the chaff of modern life from our minds.
His images are rather beautiful and somewhat different to what I’d previously associated with large format. Certain forms recur: the peak, the mound, the curve. The horizon, interrupted. Photographing land as water; shapes are fluid and ripple. A frequently minimal aesthetic and pastel tones allow plenty of room for the viewer, and I’m reminded of something I wrote a while back: “What we see is a reflection of who we are.”
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do?
Well, I was born in Milan, Italy, and grew up in the city. I wasn’t taking many pictures in those early years until, while I was researching for my final assignment at university, I discovered large format cameras and something clicked. The beauty of the tool and the magic around the moment when you can finally release the shutter made me start considering photography as a possible future.
When you became interested in photography what kind of images did you want to make? You started with smaller formats but I know that you didn’t take to these?
The first images I took when I finally had my own large format were urban landscapes at night, a sort of “Uncommon places” with what I had available in the outskirts of Milan. Especially in misty or snowy conditions, and to make it even more strange I was cross-processing the films. They weren’t bad considering my early stage of visual education.
Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you, or driven you forward in your own development as a photographer?
Those uncommon urban places I talked about above were inspired by a series of Nadav Kander, who in those same years was shooting highway bridges and suburbs at night. Later on, I found a great deal of philosophical inspiration in the work of Hiroshi Sugimoto, and aesthetics inspiration in Massimo Vitali.
Beyond the resolution and character of the film, what aspects of large format do you find most attractive/useful?
The need of a thought. You must think before you do, every shot is an exercise of visual concentration to rule out from the big number of possibles the one shot you’re going for; in terms of choice of the lens, the position of the tripod, the frame and the time. Not to talk about when I decided to experiment with multiple exposures as in “Vistas Paradossales”. If I could do the same with digital, rest assured I’d be shooting a bit here and a bit there and every 15 minutes or so. The result of having a single shot to capture that image is that afterwards, the editing is very simple.
For the pastel tones more than sticking to a single film, I stick to my workflow which involves careful exposure and a drum scanner which I personally use.
The pastel character of colour negative film lends a subtle tone to the work. Do you keep with one film for all of your projects or do you pick and choose?
For the pastel tones more than sticking to a single film, I stick to my workflow which involves careful exposure and a drum scanner which I personally use. In terms of films, to be honest, I loved the Fuji ones but unfortunately, they closed production.
The images we see on your website are the result of a series of long, solitary, trips. You’ve said that it is only when you’re lost that you start to photograph?
Exactly. I try not to use the trendy concept of serendipity but it describes it well. The images are the visible part of the experience but what’s hidden in them is the adventure and the magic that I went into. When I first started I didn’t realise this, but as the series progressed I began to savour the fascination of being on solo trips in remote places, to the point that now that dimension is predominant and consequently the time spent on trips gets longer and longer. Likewise, I learned not to jump in trying to photograph everything interesting but to take the time to find the right place and maybe shoot a whole series in just a single environment.
To what extent do you think that the inversion of the image in the glass helps you to emphasise the surreal qualities of the landscapes? To take something literal, and make it increasingly abstract?
It works both ways for me. It’s true that for some abstract shots to see the image inverted is a plus and I’ve used it a lot, but many times the first glimpse of a possible image is just by looking at it and then trying to find it back on the ground glass.
A sunrise in the dunes surrounded by shades of colours or a sunset in the Badlands is an out of this world experience and hence suggests states of consciousness that aren’t normally present in our daily life.
We tend to interpret images as being about something we see – what, where, when. Rather than evoking the landscapes that you lose yourself in, to what extent are you evoking yourself: your experiences, your thoughts, your feelings? Is it (self) portrait photography in another form?
As a matter of fact when I get asked where was an image was taken, as comprehensible as it is since we’re talking about landscapes, I’ve got the feeling that it shouldn’t be the point of my kind of photography. I’m much more at ease when I get comments about the feelings they evoke or the dreamy state they create and that they had created on me as well. A sunrise in the dunes surrounded by shades of colours or a sunset in the Badlands is an out of this world experience and hence suggests states of consciousness that aren’t normally present in our daily life. That, I believe, is the core of the images I make.
On a lighter note, are you comfortable with the comparisons that have been made between your images and ice cream? (Perhaps we should say gelato?) Does it say something about our innate need to be able to associate what we see with something we know, rather than accept the new or the unknown?
I missed that about gelato but of course, people see what they see and there’s nothing wrong with that. I still remember a girl saying she felt like scooping a dune with a spoon, it made me laugh because soon after that picture was taken I had to run back to the truck as a sand storm was approaching and while fleeing I ended up breathing and eating sand. Another interpretation is, especially with dunes, people see nude bodies in them. Navels, thighs, bums, breasts. Coincidence? Or it’s my unconscious? Or it’s their unconscious? We’ll never know.
Would you like to choose 2-3 favourite photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about why they are special to you? If not favourite images, then the experience behind them?
LS VII #92
This isn’t a favourite generally speaking but the story behind is quite adventurous. It’s taken near Landmannalaugar in Iceland. For half a day of decent weather I had to stick around that place for ten days and when finally I had my chance I left early morning to trek around a 6 hour ring that became 12 hours because of photographing. After taking this image at sunset I was left with another 4 hours to walk back to the car which I could do in darkness thanks to the telephone’s compass. It was frightening at times but I still remember the adrenaline of it.
LS IX #17
This is one of my all-time favourites. It’s from my second trip to Morocco and I remember I wasn’t happy with the place I was shooting at the time. There were dunes but the vibe wasn’t right, too many tourists around. So I took my 4x4 and randomly started to travel south until I found this small area of dunes with no one else around. I spent the rest of the trip there photographing at sunrise and sunset. These are still the most striking dunes shapes I’ve ever seen.
I’m so happy to go to the lab and see the first time an image gets hung on the wall to be checked. Most of those of course are at their best printed big - 1.5 x 1.2 metres. They’re imposing and alive, and it’s only at that point when I finally have the real feeling of an image;
Is it important to you that other people see your work in print, and how do you choose to print and present your pictures? Is the size of images important in further removing the viewer from common perceptions of reality?
The real thing is of course when an image is printed and put on a wall. I’m so happy to go to the lab and see the first time an image gets hung on the wall to be checked. Most of those of course are at their best printed big - 1.5 x 1.2 metres. They’re imposing and alive, and it’s only at that point when I finally have the real feeling of an image; I’ve looked at it a thousand times on a computer screen but when I finally see it printed the perception changes. They become hypnotic and meditative.
About presentation, I always prefer thin frames and I’ve chosen to print Lambda or Lightjet on matte archival paper.
How do you now view your earlier works? Do you see evolutions, subtle shifts in what draws your eye, and what you want to say?
The really early ones are far from anything I might like now, while let’s say those starting from 2014 are somehow comparable to the recent ones. But of course, I’m very much looking for evolutions in what I do to keep the flame of experimentation on. For instance the last series “Vistas Paradossales” - it’s a major step into evolving what I’ve been doing so far.
In your series ‘LS XI: Vistas Paradossales’ you’ve chosen to juxtapose multiple exposure shots on large format negative film with new landscapes derived from high resolution scans of intermingled solvents. Does this represent a potential new direction for you? Do you have any particular projects or themes that you would like to explore further?
The theme I was exploring in Vistas is our perception of Time and Space, as opposed to what Time and Space are and how they really function.
The theme I was exploring in Vistas is our perception of Time and Space, as opposed to what Time and Space are and how they really function. I wanted to highlight our faulty perception of them and I made that evident in the series.
I wanted to highlight our faulty perception of them and I made that evident in the series. Nevertheless, the theme has always been present in the other series, as one of the reasons I travel is to find places that have that vibe of not belonging to here and now. Before Covid, I was working on the next series and somehow that direction is still present but is keeping evolving, it will not be another one exactly like Vistas.
Working with a large format camera is a big commitment. Do you also use a digital camera in the field or can you foresee a greater role for digital in your future workflow?
I really don’t think so, unless Kodak decides to make it impossible to shoot 4x5in films. Apart from the aesthetics of the negative I also appreciate a lot the fact of having a tangible thing, the exposed negative, which is the image. On the contrary, with digital you just have a virtual copy that only exists on a computer.
What from your ‘residencies’ in quiet places, from the stripped back minimal aesthetic, do you bring back to your home and life in Italy?
A lot, to the point that my pleasure trips became much alike my photographic trips. I really found a way of living, and infinite possibilities in being, wondering around that. I’m seriously thinking that I could be happy in some years to become a full time traveller and not necessarily only for pictures.
You’ve said that you balance the time spent making images during your trips by time not touching a camera afterwards, so if you have 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?
Living and healthy sporty life in beautiful natural places. To recharge the batteries for me, nothing is better than a week or two living close to a wild beach with nice waves to surf. Or to explore a mountain range by trekking, or to find a nice untouched lake somewhere and settle down for some days, swimming and camping. Give me that and I’m happy.
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.
In 2018, while working with several other photographers to forge the beginnings of the Nature First Photography Alliance from the home of my friends Sarah Marino & Ron Coscorossa, I had the pleasure of being introduced to the work of QT Luong vis-à-vis his book, Treasured Lands, which was prominently featured on Sarah & Ron’s coffee table. The impact that QT Luong’s work had on me was immediate and lasting. There’s certainly something to be said for holding a substantial 400-page book of someone’s photographic works in your hands, regardless of the contents; however, in the case of QT Luong, the work within held special meaning and purpose, which immediately impressed me.
QT Luong was the first person to photograph all 62 National Parks, an impressive feat on its own right; however, he did so with a large format film camera – all with the goal to educate his audience on the historical relevance of the National Parks as well as the importance of their conservation purpose.
QT Luong was the first person to photograph all 62 National Parks, an impressive feat on its own right; however, he did so with a large format film camera – all with the goal to educate his audience on the historical relevance of the National Parks as well as the importance of their conservation purpose. As if this was not impressive enough, in 2021, QT Luong followed that effort up with a 300-page book focused on 27 of the United States’ National Monuments, titled, Our National Monuments – America’s Hidden Gems. QT Luong partnered with the talented photographer Ian Shive, who provided text and images relating to the Marine National Monuments described within the book.
There’s a special place in the heart of Italy, right between Tuscany and Emilia-Romagna regions. Far from the iconic places in the country like the Dolomites, Val d’ Orcia, Cinque Terre and so on, but full of great natural views and photographic inspirations. In these forests, I spent my last four years trying to catch their soul and putting myself in front of a blank white page.
I have always been attached to these places. Since I was a child, I spent summers in the Park and its borders with my paternal grandparents and with the Italian Alpine Club. This bond materialised when I started working on a full time project on the Park that could bring to light its beauty thanks to my years of photographic experience in the landscape gained through photographic trips, especially in Europe.
‘Desert Island Discs’ is a long running BBC Radio 4 series that was first broadcast on what was then the BBC Forces Programme on the 29th January 1942, with its first guest being Vic Oliver, actor and radio comedian. The format of the show for those who aren’t familiar with British radio is that people who have made a name for themselves in whatever field, (I hesitate to use the word ‘celebrity) are invited to imagine that they have been cast away on a desert island, choose eight records that summarise their lives, and take with them one luxury item, three books which may include The Complete Works of Shakespeare (that’s one book?), the Holy Bible or similar, and one other book.
So, what book would my choice be? Well, from my rather expansive photographic library, it would be “Listen to the Trees” by John Sexton, and if I had to tear one page from that book it would be Plate no.26, “Crossed Aspens and Sapling, near Ashcroft, Colorado”.
I’ve tried to keep news about the Natural Landscape Photography Awards to a minimum as, although it has taken up a lot of my bandwidth, continuous updates would soon get boring I imagine. However, it’s over! (well the “awards” part of it anyway). Just over a week ago, we announced the winners and runners up of all of the categories and also a few extra awards, which I’ll come onto in a bit. We are all incredibly happy with the quality of winners that were chosen by our panel of judges and we’ll have a gallery of these at the end of the article.
Did the competition meet our expectations and goals though? Well, yes. And surpassed them in many ways (including ending up with 4x as many entries as EpsonPanoAwards and similar amounts to many of the other landscape photography competitions and, in fact, some high profile generic photography competitions). There were a few surprises along the way and we’ve learned a lot in this first year but, judging by the feedback we have had, not only have we hit mostly the right notes but we also seem to have got the timing just about right as it appears that demand for something like this has been simmering away.
Did the competition meet our expectations and goals though? Well, yes. And surpassed them in many ways
Steve Alterman : Photograph Of The Year, Winner
Our main goal was always just to create a space where the sort of photography that we appreciate so much, can shine. To that end, the competition isn’t really complete yet. We’re currently in the process of designing the ‘awards book’, which we’re hoping will be much more than just a ‘Best of NLPA’ catalogue and more of a well-rounded representation for our future goals and aspirations.
I wrote about the foundations for the competition in February of this year when we originally announced the competition. You can read about this in issue 225 and so I won’t repeat all of that.
What might be interesting is what changed along the way and what we learned in the process. Here are a few points.
Scoring
During both the early prejudging, and during the main remote judging by our very talented panel of judges, it quickly became clear that an averaging scoring system wouldn’t work to bring out some of the best photography. In the prejudging, we had many images where one judge would give an image 5 stars and another would give it 0 stars. This image would then not generally do so well as the average score wouldn’t compete with an image that got mostly 3’s or 4’s. But it was these “polarising” images that the judges got passionate about. In the end, we decided that anything that got given a full 5 stars by a single judge was automatically put forward, regardless of the other judges' scores. Images with high average scores still did well but this change promoted the best range images.
Knowing this, we rationed the number of 5-star scores that each judge could apply. When we got these main scores back, we realised that there were few images that the judges unanimously agreed on. Because of this, we ended up changing our final process so that each judge would present their favourite images from each category to the other judges who would then discuss them. Although it was still up to each judge to pick the image they wanted to promote to the final round, it made sense for them to take into account what the other judges said. In that way, the final round would include a favourite from each judge. In this way, all the final images would be a favourite of at least one judge. The judges said how much they preferred a subjective approach like this.
Michael Frye : Grand Landscape Winner
Publishing a Book
One of really exciting things about submissions reaching such a high level is that we are able to produce a high-quality hardback book of the high ranking images from the competition. This means we can ensure that many of each judge's favourite images will be showcased and we are soliciting some comments from them about why they found them so interesting. In many ways, we consider the book as the best representation of the awards because it allows us to showcase a wide range of images that meet the vision we had for the competition.
Raw Checking
For the top 10% of images, we requested RAW files to verify that the images met our published criteria. If images did not meet the criteria, it was normally because of one of the following four reasons.
Over Processing
The extent to which we post-process our images is very much a personal thing and our goal by checking for “over processing” wasn’t to discard images that exceeded a certain threshold. It was more about ‘has the post-processing been done in a way that could deceive the viewer’. We felt it important that there is still a connection to the scene and so if the post-processing broke that connection, we made a choice between making the judges aware of what the raw file was like or rejecting the image if it was obvious that the connection was lost.
Our goal by checking for “over processing” wasn’t to discard images that exceeded a certain threshold. It was more about 'has the post-processing been done in a way that could deceive the viewer’.
Fake Lighting
Using the dodge and burn tool to accentuate features or to make the most of the lighting in a photograph is quite normal. Using post-processing to create light that didn’t exist during capture is potentially a step too far. Only a couple of images did this so much that they were automatically rejected. A few were mentioned to the judges where appropriate.
Cloning
We were fairly flexible with minor cloning if used for cleaning work. All cloning of lens flare, dust and other ‘non-subject matter’ was allowed. Minor cleaning work was allowed so if a small twig was cloned out of a part of an image that wasn’t critical to its success then we let it pass. If it was felt that the cloning had affected distorted the main subject matter of the image then we either referred to the judges or disqualified. This was more about not punishing people who may have done some cloning work but forgotten about it rather than saying it’s OK to clone things in general. Only a few images had such minor cloning and they did not affect the scoring in any way.
Warping/Stretching/etc
This rule covers distortions to the frame that aren’t simulating perspective correction lenses or correcting for lens distortions. The most obvious of these is mountain stretching but there are also lots of uses of the warp tool to pull distractions out of frame, make a composition more symmetric (i.e. warp the subject into the centre of the frame or adjust the height of features from side to side). We were fairly strict with this rule but we did allow minor adjustments that looked ‘accidental’, that didn’t affect the subject matter or were the results of stitching panoramas etc.
Out of all of the images we raw checked in the Grand Landscape category, only 16 out of 358 images were automatically rejected and 18 were ‘borderline’ and would have been referred to the judges if they were chosen. Of the borderline ones, I think the judges would have been fine with keeping the majority of them but they may have potentially scored a little less.
The final number of rejected images worked out at 6% which is a little lower than in raw checking I’ve done for other competitions.
Franka Gabler : Intimate/abstract Winner
In Person Judging
The very last part of the judging was done live over Zoom. Managing 10 people in a Zoom session and keeping everything on track was a little bit of a challenge, especially having rejigged our approach just before the meeting, but our panel of judges helped make it work smoothly.
What became apparent as each judge showed their favourite images and the others commented on them was that each judge’s opinion of an image changed as they were discussed. This may have been because the ‘initial’ reaction was perhaps influenced by subject matter or that it was in an iconic location. Or perhaps the composition was more complex and took a little bit of time to appreciate. And it should be noted that as each judging round progressed, the judges spent nearly an hour looking at all of the images selected.
Our feedback from this is that perhaps we should find ways to integrate a little more face to face time before the final rounds in order to get some reflection going on between judges. We are definitely going to be extending the judging process in order to make sure judges have longer to ‘live with’ their picks and potentially include a ‘review’ session a few days after judging to see if people are still happy with the results.
The Use of Lightroom
All of the judges commented on how useful it was to use Lightroom for the judging process. Being able to filter, order and quickly compare images allowed them to review their choices and reassess images. For instance, one judge tagged images they thought needed a little more time to assess and came back to just those at later in the week to review their ratings.
What became apparent as each judge showed their favourite images and the others commented on them was that each judge’s opinion of an image changed as they were discussed.
Paul Hammett : Nightscape Winner
Feedback to Entrants
One of the things we, as organisers, dislike about the way many competitions run is the lack of feedback for any entrants beyond the winners. Some competitions do give out some general ‘certificates’ on a ‘bronze/silver/gold’ level but what that means is often hidden away or not explained.
We wanted to give something constructive to participants if they got beyond the first stages. To this extent, we spent a while creating certificates for each entry that gave specific feedback on what stage in the process the images reached and explain in detail what each stage means.
You can see an example certificate above and a key to the different parts along with a more extensive description of the judging process, is available on the awards website.
Paul Hoelen : Aerial Winner
Public Reaction to the Awards
We’ve had an incredible response form our participants and also from the general press. Features in some of the mainstream newspapers (although not the ones I read) and also in the likes of Petapixel, DPReview etc. In fact Petapixel weren’t going to write about us until they discovered just how many entrants we had had.
What Comes Next
One of our primary goals for next year will be to offer some seminars on how judges assess images and what you can look for in your own photography to adapt to this, either through the photography itself, editing and/or image choices. It shouldn’t need repeating that winning competitions isn’t the end goal of photography but understanding what other photographers like is at least interesting in and of itself and, I think, can go some way to learning how to be a better visual communicator.
A Gallery of Individual Winners
I'm going to split the gallery over two issues and just include the individual winners in this article. If you want to see all of the photos, including commended, and read some comments from the winners, please visit the website at Natural Landscape Photography Awards.
Michael Frye : Grand Landscape Winner
Doug Koepsel : Grand Landscape Runner Up
Franka Gabler : Grand Landscape Third Place
Franka Gabler : Intimate/abstract Winner
Jeff Freestone : Intimate/abstract Runner Up
Patrick Luchsinger : Intimate/abstract ,Third Place
Paul Hammett : Nightscape Winner
Atanu Bandyopadhyay : Nightscape Runner-Up
Scott Oller : Nightscape Third Place
Paul Hoelen : Aerial Winner
Marek Biegalski : Aerial Runner Up
Lukas Moesch : Aerial, Third Place
Jai Shet : Youth Photographer Of The Year, Winner
Lance Wilson : Youth Photographer Of The Year, Runner Up
Kenny Muir : Founders, Mountain Winner
Nicolas Rottiers : Founders, Mountain Runner Up
Tobias Richter : Founders, Mountain Third Place
Antonio Fernandez : Founders, Rock/sand/geology Winner
Cameron Miller : Founders, Rock/sand/geology Runner Up
Martin Gonzalez : Founders, Rock/sand/geology Third Place
Tony Higginson : Founders, Forest/trees Winner
Igor Doncov : Founders, Forest/trees Third Place
James Lane : Founders, Forest/trees Runner Up
Andrew Herbert : Founders, Water/river/sea Winner
Ian Brown : Founders, Water/river/sea Runner Up
Karl Mortimer : Founders, Water/river/sea Third Place
Your esteemed editor can be credited (or blamed!) for this idea, which is to offer my selection of pictures, all made this year (or within the last twelve months). A sort of alternative On Landscape Calendar perhaps? Not necessarily my best pictures of the year, they are nevertheless ones that I am fond of, or intrigued by…and which haven’t yet appeared in On Landscape! The captions aim to provide a little background to their origins, and why I chose them.
It would be disingenuous to deny that travel has played a huge role in my life and – in spite of misgivings about my carbon footprint – was until March last year integral to how I made a living. A feature of last year and this one has been the complete absence of overseas travel, and the much reduced amount of travel within the UK as well.
The Delta variant wave of the pandemic brought the January lockdown, and every trip/tour/voyage being cancelled or postponed for the second year in a row. Workshops in the UK made a soft return at the end of June, but I had reduced my commitments and expectations, and in any case had a couple of major projects to work on for next year, locally.
In spite of, or perhaps because of these limitations I have been able to concentrate completely on the UK, and mainly just my home patch. It has been a great creative opportunity. With just two pictures from Scotland, one from Wales and one from Northumberland, the majority of this collection was made within an hour of home (and most much less than that).
Water Gardens in Snow
Since I am lucky enough to have Fountains Abbey as a commissioned subject currently, there are a number of images taken there this last twelve months that could have been chosen.
I have recently started watching a landscape photographer called Scott Walton. This is not a critique of his work at all. Just an observation and pulling together of ideas that I have been thinking about recently.
The premise behind this was a simple one but has got very much more complicated. Has digital photography removed the story and emotion behind the image? The ability to buy a camera and remove a lot of the costs to the production of the image allows us to take hundreds of images and keep the best ones. Process these, blend, and extract bits to forge a new image, even replacing whole skies with the assistance of Photoshop, and in the process of doing this, does the image lose its emotional connection with the viewer. Becoming just an image. Another snapshot and equally as disposable.
This was highlighted to me when a photographer I follow on Instagram said he was lacking motivation after just “seeing the same shots of the same places just from different photographers” (Simon Atkinson Photography).
I am not an advocate of film, but I must ask, in the slowness of the process and the expense of getting something processed makes the photographer think more about the image at the time and convey a certain something to it that is missing or removed in digital.
This is my point. So many images of the same places that they lose something. Like watching too many episodes of your favourite TV series and getting bored with it. Susan Sonntag suggested this was desensitisation. Admittedly she was talking about images of war, death, and famine. But the same could hold true for landscape images.
I am not an advocate of film, but I must ask, in the slowness of the process and the expense of getting something processed makes the photographer think more about the image at the time and convey a certain something to it that is missing or removed in digital.
Or do the algorithms remove the emotion? They shouldn’t remove the story but sometimes that seems lacking as well. The subject of the image means what exactly?
Having said this if we look at Ansel Adams work. He used large and medium format cameras and took time to get the image right in camera, pre-visualising for the final image producing a solid workable negative but then may have taken several hours in the darkroom to get the final image to his likening. It is documented that one of his more famous shots, Moonrise over Hernandez has changed a multitude of times from the original image he processed.
What story, as the photographer, are you trying to tell? Even abstracts have a story to tell. Maybe one you must put over to make it mean something to you but at least it engages you in some internal dialogue.
A few years ago, it was suggested that I look at Dalston Anatomy. I initially looked at these but could not fathom out what was being said here. However, I went back and revisited this work on several occasions but still could not see what the author was suggesting. Eventually, I did some digging and found that they were representations of the market that was closing. It showed the vibrancy and diversity of the area. Finally, it made sense. This project had taken the author time to research, to develop the idea before it was put out to the public, but it told a story.
Now it seems we are in a world of “that looks nice” and take the image and put it out with little consideration for anything else. No story no emotion just an image. We as photographers help this along by making images that are just for consumption on social media. If I look at my feed the images that do well are the ones that “Boom” out and capture people’s attention while the good ones are passed by.
I have to say that this bothers me. How do I convey the emotion of the land that I love so much when so much of what I feel is highly personal and extremely difficult to put into an image? How, for example, do I capture the rain falling with everything else that this entails including how it makes me feel? Just to have them passed by because they don’t shout.
I have often asked the question are you just visiting the area or are you part of it. Visiting would mean that you are just looking for images. Being part of it would mean that you understand the flow and rhythms within the area and are able to construct an image that means something. Does film slow you down, so you must become a part of the landscape and digital allow you to visit and move on? In theory, you should be able to take longer with digital. Refining the final image by looking at the screen or using live view. You should be able to immerse yourself into the landscape you are in.
I have often asked the question are you just visiting the area or are you part of it. Being part of it would mean that you understand the flow and rhythms within the area and are able to construct an image that means something.
I really like the work of Rachel Talibart. I found out that she has had a deep connection with the sea from a very young age, this comes out in her work. I think it highlights being part of, and understanding, the environment she is in. Another photographer I look at produces some technically excellent images, but they leave me cold. He devotes time to travelling to wild places, hikes to his locations. But his images, I don’t know, just lack a certain something. It may be as suggested above the processes he puts them through removes that part of them that make them his, reflect his personality. Just make them another……well…… “nice” image?
I might not be connecting with the photographer in the way they intended. I might be missing something somewhere. I might have a fundamental inability to read the images being put in front of me.
The flip side of this is, it could be me. I might not be connecting with the photographer in the way they intended. I might be missing something somewhere. I might have a fundamental inability to read the images being put in front of me. Perhaps, again, as stated above there are too many images of the same thing taken by too many photographers and I am missing the best. However. Why am I passionate about Francesca Woodman, Ansel Adams, Ben Horne, Joel Peter Witkin, Bruce Gilden, Duane Michels and Eduard Boubat? Oddly enough most of these worked with film. Why do I connect with Joe Cornish and not David Noton? Both are extremely good photographers. What does Joe do that David does not?
Has the craft of photography lessened over the years? Has digital imagery removed the getting it right in camera, in favour of Photoshop and Lightroom, in which case is it digital art rather than photography, in the strictest sense? But then why would that leave images empty of emotion and character. Digital art still carries story, passion and reflects the person who creates it.
In striving to improve my own outdoor photography I have to ask myself.
In looking at other work what am I not seeing? What am I missing?
In my own work, what am I really capturing? Does it really reflect what I feel? Does it tell my story? But most importantly does it capture my feelings and evoke an emotional response in the viewer?
After all, we are using a light sensitive media to capture the image so film or digital shouldn’t make a difference.
There are few people who move from an established art form to photography. The contemporary art world tends to have a distrust of photography and yet there are some intriguing works that seem to break through the often prejudiced barriers that lie between seemingly opposing worlds. Margaret's work and its pairing with haiku/tank poetry brings a different expectation from the audience. Like many artists who work with photography, the narrative that exists around the work is often important and investment in understanding it often improves one's appreciation. We talked to Margaret about how she got involved in photography and why she works as she does.
Background
What sparked your passion for photography? Was photography part of your childhood or education?
I didn’t choose photography – it chose me! I was a fine art student at the School of Visual Arts, doing welded sculptures – huge sheets of diamond plate steel – pieces that took ages to finish. SVA added the requirement of one photo course in order to graduate. I was REALLY upset -- I really couldn’t afford a camera – but somehow, I did. I fell in love with the immediacy of photography. It could keep up with me -- and how fast I thought and saw things.
My first trip to Ireland made me a landscape photographer. It was the mobility of light and weather, how that gives you completely different photographs just seconds apart. I love how weather changes the light, how they interact.
Dolmen Axeitos, Galicia, Spain
belovèd
from my prehistoric heart
from my petrified existence
greetings to You
embrace me with Your lighta shearc
óm' chroí réamhstairiúil
ó shaol seo na gcloch
mo bheannacht ort
beir barróg orm led' ghilese
Tell us about what draws you to landscape photography? Did you have a connection with the landscape when growing up?
I grew up in the working-class section of a small town; we had a backyard. I liked to sit under my grandmother’s hydrangea tree. It felt pure. It felt special.
I keep coming back to the idea of Genus loci – the special spirit of a place – that’s what I’m there to discover with my camera.
At the megalithic standing stones of Ireland, Cornwall, England and Galicia, Spain, I felt a connection; I discovered my love of ancient landscapes. Later residencies in the American South at Georgia’s Hambidge Center and The Virginia Center for the Creative Arts allowed me bask in the natural world in ways not possible in a city. I became close to particular trees, groves or waterfalls. My landscapes are always a sort of love poem to place, attempting to capture that genus loci or spirit of a place.
As a culture, we seemed determined to manipulate and control the natural world, yet our souls seem to long for a way back to balance with it. My work is about that yeaning.
Who influenced you most in your photography and art? What books stimulated your interest in photography?
I’m fascinated by our changing ideas of what a “beautiful” landscape is. The critic Estelle Jussim – her book “Landscape As Photograph” was important to me. She talks about how landscapes we now consider beautiful – Niagara Falls, for instance – were considered monstrous by the first visitors who saw them.
Oddly enough, I only discovered Julia Margaret Cameron after I’d been photographing awhile. I had already posed my sisters as Celtic heroines, so when I saw her work, I immediately felt a kindred spirit. I relate to the playfulness, the joyfulness of Jacque Henri Lartigue; the obsessiveness of Eadweard Muybridge; the way Robert Frank revised our understanding of America and what an American landscape could be; I’ve always liked the way Duane Michaels uses image & text together.
It would be fair to say I’m more influenced by music and poetry. I listen to a lot of music – all kinds. I read a lot of poetry.
Musicians/ Composers
I’m inspired by John Lennon - “Get it out, get it down, put a backbeat to it”, he said. Meaning: trust your creative impulse and finish things. I need to hear Mozart for sheer graciousness of spirit – for absolute transcendence.
Poets
Walt Whitman - the original big, generous, expansive, colloquial voice of the American Spirit. Shakespeare – for the sheer power of how his language penetrates human psychology.
Very important: Early Irish nature poetry; Bardic poetry; “Amergin’s Invocation” is a touchstone for me.
A Childhood Influence
The Catholic Mass, in Latin - gave me my sense of ritual, drama and myth, which I now realise marks all my work. I’m not a fan of organised religion, but the church gave me a willingness to see things that aren’t visible – to imagine.
Mên-an-Tol, Stone of the Hole, Cornwall, England
long gone, belovèd
days when men knew
what it was: the Mên-an-Tol
i shall tell You now
the secret must be oursa shearc ní thuigtear níos mó an bhrí
atá leis an Mên-an-Tol
neosfaidh mé anois duit é
bíodh sé ina rún daingean
You say on your website that you “bring the eye of a poet to her photography, exploring archetypes of myth and dream in her imagery.” Tell us more about the part mythology plays in your photographic work
From the get-go, right after acquiring that first camera, I began posing my family and friends as characters from the Celtic myths I was reading. My sisters and female friends were especially patient with me, as I turned them into Celtic heroines. As I read mythology, I was always drawn to the female characters – they were and continue to be a special source of inspiration for me. )
I believe my landscapes are about Gaia – the living, breathing body of our earth – the spirit of the divine feminine. All about reclaiming The Goddess.
I believe my landscapes are about Gaia – the living, breathing body of our earth – the spirit of the divine feminine. All about reclaiming The Goddess.
Every day, I see “the hero’s journey” being made by the average person struggling through everyday life. In the heroes and heroines of myth, I’ve always seen the struggles of the average human being.
THE GOLDEN BOUGH by Sir James Frazer was an important book for me. His point: Our wildly divergent world cultures share a universality in the themes of their myths and folklore – a kind of proof of our collective unconscious.
“McCarthy has been drawn to the landscapes of antiquity throughout her photographic travels. She photographs with an immediate, intuitive reaction to the “genius loci” -- the spirit(s) -- of a specific place.” What does the idea of “genius loci” mean to you and how does this affect your photography?
Avebury has an energy; it’s different from the energy of Stonehenge. The capped dolmens -- each seems to have its own energy. As did my grandmother’s hydrangea tree!
I’m always surprised by what actually happens on a location or site while photographing, particularly on the sites of standing stones. I’ve had clouds form a lemniscate (infinity sign) above a dolmen; a child wander into my shot at Mên-an-Tol and crawl through “the stone of the hole”; random, unexpected, magical moments. But isn’t that why we photograph?
I try to stay in the moment. That can be hard – to put aside your expectations as you’re photographing, of what you think you “should” be getting. The older I get, the more my definition of genius becomes “stay out of your own way”.
Avebury, England
the heavens speak to us
earth speaks to us
what appears and disappears
all things speak to us
come close, belovèd, speak to melabhrann an fhirmimint linn
labhrann an talamh
labhrann gach a nochtann
is nach bhfuil ann níos mó
chugam aniar thú – labhair liom
You mention that your work includes working with different methods such as black & white and infra-red film, using images in sequences, and collage. How do you decide which methods to use for which project? Does the visual idea come first or does this develop as you use a certain media or presentation?
I have long loved black and white infra-red film and used it as one of my standard films for years. Infra-red records a part of the spectrum not visible to the eye -- for me, the infra-red image conveys the hidden dimension and unseen energy of a place.)
In my “Divine Feminine” series, wanting to get beyond the single image, I began placing images in sequence, which allowed me to capture the motifs and scope of a story. In a way, those pieces are self-made myths.
In my “Divine Feminine” series, wanting to get beyond the single image, I began placing images in sequence, which allowed me to capture the motifs and scope of a story. In a way, those pieces are self-made myths. Collage further allowed me to go beyond the single image.
Visual idea or media/presentation first? It’s a two way street -- It can work both ways. I find projects develop in an organic way; a visual idea - or a creative prompt -- will tell you what it needs. Or you realise you’re consistently drawn to a particular subject; or working with a particular media or material. Consistency of media and presentation can be the thread that gives continuity to a body of work. Ultimately, you need a vision for what the project is – what holds it together and makes it work.
You have won various awards over the past few years: American Society of Media Photographers BEST OF ASMP 2020; 2020’s 14th JULIA MARGARET CAMERON AWARD for Women Photographers and the ALL ABOUT PHOTO AWARDS 2020. You’ve also been named among the “Best of the Best Emerging Fine Art Photographers” by BW GALLERIST Magazine. What would you say has been the biggest benefit in engaging with competitions/awards such as these?
In the best sense, it’s about connecting with your photography community, and putting your work in front of the people in that community whom you respect. It’s always nice to be noticed, to have your work recognised. But that shouldn’t be the reason you pick up the camera or make a photograph. As the creator, you’re the final judge on what you’ve made. I try to be thoughtful about where and why I’m sending my work to a particular place. But once it’s out the door, I rarely think about it.
Trethevy Quoit, Cornwall, England
in a dreamless slumber
belovèd, i heard Your voice
speaking to me in words
our ancestors spoke
i awoke – saw everything clearlytrí shuan gan taibhreamh
a chuid, chuala mé do ghlór
ag labhairt liom i bhfriotal
ár n-aithreacha romhainn
dhúisíos – bhí gach rud soiléir
Pyramids of the Sun and Moon, Teotihuacan, Mexico
there is nothing left
no abandoned monument
not known to us now
let's seek the undiscovered
belovèd, within ourselvesníl aon ní fágtha
leacht tréigthe ar bith, a chuid
nach bhfuil eolas air
níl teacht ar an ní aineoil
ach ionainn féin, a thaisce
Over the years you have had many exhibitions. What have been your highlights of these?
The “Firsts” are milestones and thus stand out as highlights:
Throckmorton Fine Art showing some of my photographs at AIPAD: The Photography Show in 2019;
My first exhibition showing large digitally made prints – THE DIVINE FEMININE at Soho Photo Gallery. The technology was new, I was able to create prints on a scale not possible in my darkroom. Digitising my images allowed me to visualise my subjects large-scale, and print accordingly.
My very first one-person show -- photographs of the Irish Landscape at The Overseas Press Club. Putting that show together helped me realise my vision and identity as a landscape photographer.
I’m currently part of a great community of artists in Long Island City, NY; the exhibition spaces are exciting. Artists will often generate exhibition themes and curate shows around what they’re passionate about. Open studios and pop-up shows are starting up again as we re-emerge from covid. There’s a lot of energy there. It’s exciting because so much of it is artist driven.
My vintage gelatin silver prints are not necessarily meant to be compared with digital materials. They’re made on papers no longer available. Simply put, they are from a different world.
Tell us more about the printing and framing of the images for exhibitions. E.g. paper, size, etc.
I’ll usually make digital work prints in my studio starting with standard photo-mat paper; from there I get a sense of what the final paper and size of the exhibition print should be.)
On larger prints (over 20”) I collaborate with printmakers I trust. As you can imagine, the cost of framing and shipping larger works is a major consideration.
I began in photography shooting film and loved the darkroom, the magic of the darkroom. My vintage gelatin silver prints are not necessarily meant to be compared with digital materials. They’re made on papers no longer available. Simply put, they are from a different world.
Today, I love digital processes for the creative freedom and expansion they give my photographic practice. I have options of paper, surface and texture, and control of how images can be sized and placed in a grouping that traditional photographic printing didn’t allow.
Poulnabrone Dolmen, The Burren, Co.Clare, Ireland
the longing to hear
an ancestral voice – though mute
is the heart's longing
to connect with ancient roots
running through us all like veinsan dúil sin sa ghlór
glór ár sinsir – cé balbh
sé dúil an chroí é
teacht arís ar fhréamhacha
'ritheann trínn 'na bhféitheacha
Can you give readers an insight into your workflow - which cameras and lenses you like to use, and how you approach post-processing, editing and sequencing?
Over the years, I’ve used a variety of cameras, from large format (4x5) to Wide lux panorama cameras to 35mm Nikons.
I currently use a Nikon D7500 with several different Nikon lenses; I also use a Nikon D200 that has been converted and dedicated for black and white infra-red. I go out with both cameras, prepared to shoot colour, black and white or both.
When just walking around the city, I have a SONY RX 100 VII camera in my handbag. I’ve also been known to use my I-phone; recently, I’ve used it to shoot video.
Once downloaded, captioning and keywording images becomes increasingly important; I’ll also then do a quick “eyeball” edit, starring images I like. I’ll go back later to delete or rank images. I can then create virtual “albums” of my final selections & sequencing.
Beloved: The Project
Tell us more about the new book BELOVÈD that you are working on with Irish poet and translator Gabriel Rosenstock.
One of my initial trips to Ireland was on a photo workshop led by the photographer Ron Rosenstock (not related to Gabriel). Ron had collaborated with Gabriel on their extraordinary book, THE INVISIBLE LIGHT – Ron’s photographs with Gabriel’s haiku. They are a magical combination.
I believe this project really does contribute to our cultural conversation as we process all the emotions experienced during Covid and as we currently ease into re-emergence.
The book became a kind of gold standard for me on how photographs and poems could work together to produce something beyond the sum of their parts, something “other” -- this 3rd thing. (INVISIBLE LIGHT book and posters are available at www.rosenstockandrosenstock.com.
In June of 2020, during the height of covid, as I worked on organising my archive, it occurred to me to email Gabriel; he suggested I send a few black and white landscapes. I sent three images the following week. He replied with three tanka poems – those are the first three pairings in the project, which became BELOVED:)
I believe this project really does contribute to our cultural conversation as we process all the emotions experienced during Covid and as we currently ease into re-emergence.
Our current crisis has caused us all to re-examine our core values: the preciousness of our human relationships, our interconnectedness, and our relationship to our planet. Given the events of the past year, the project speaks to readers in a timely, heartfelt manner now. Each photo-tanka pairing becomes a meditation asking: Who and what do we hold dear? Who and what are we devoted to?
Pyramid of the Moon, Teotihuacan, Mexico
belovèd, i climbed
the Pyramid of the Moon
when i reached the top
i climbed and climbed forever
when will You show me Your facedhreapas, a thaisce
dhreapas Pirimid na Ré
thuas ar an mbarr dom
leanas orm ag dreapadh
cathain a nochtfar do ghnúis
Avenue of the Dead, Teotihuacan, Mexico
where the gods were born
is where You are, belovèd
where the gods will die
some say they're yet to be born
we've only known their shadowáit na ndéithe, a chuid
is ann duitse san áit sin
áit a gcaillfear iad
deirtear nár rugadh fós iad
nach bhfacamar ach a scáil
The project is structured into pairs of black & white landscape photographs of standing stone structures with short tanka poems that Gabriel was inspired to write for them. Did you foresee this method of working or did it emerge from playing with ideas?
Gabriel wrote each 5 line tanka in spontaneous response to each photograph.)
Central to Gabriel’s method is immediacy; each poem is his immediate response to that particular photograph, just as my photographs are my immediate/intuitive response to that particular location.
Central to Gabriel’s method is immediacy; each poem is his immediate response to that particular photograph, just as my photographs are my immediate/intuitive response to that particular location.
In his book HAIKU ENLIGHTENMENT Gabriel speaks of the poem owing “its impact and inspiration to a meditative flash… the moment merges suddenly with perceived phenomena.” So it’s writing as a kind of spiritual practice, embracing that tradition.
Retrospectively mining your archive for a project such as this must have been quite interesting. Was it a collaborative process with Gabriel talking about the images and which worked best or did you pick a portfolio to present to him??
After the initial three images and tanka, I would select and send Gabriel three (occasionally four) images each week, which he would return to me with tanka. Maybe I naturally think in triptychs, but seeing three photographs with tanka each week became a good working method.
How long did it take from conception to completion?
About a year. We began the email collaboration in June 2020; by April 2021 we had 55 images paired with tanka poems, and I began a preliminary book layout.
Mount Vesuvius, Pompeii, Italy
have You heard rumblings
the world erupts, belovèd
and nothing is still
all is flux – Heraclitus
let's listen to the ancientsar chualaís glóraíl
tá an domhan ar tí pléascadh
níl aon ní socair
panta rhei – Heraclitus
tugaimis cluas do na sean
You mention as the project developed, a theme emerged: the human search for the beloved as seen through landscapes that cross space, time and history. Was this a new idea or one you had already considered and once you had recognised this theme, did it change the way you finished the project?
The theme became apparent as I saw the poems -- the word “beloved” created a consistent theme throughout the tanka. Of course, its meaning became more poignant as Covid unfolded all around us, all over the world. Ultimately, we’re all being asked: what is it that we truly value?)
So, BELOVED: PHOTO-TANKA MEDITATIONS became a project about crossing boundaries, both geographic and linguistic. It weaves a story through world cultural history in an accessible way, from a personal point of view. It illuminates a universal human story.
So, BELOVED: PHOTO-TANKA MEDITATIONS became a project about crossing boundaries, both geographic and linguistic. It weaves a story through world cultural history in an accessible way, from a personal point of view. It illuminates a universal human story.
As people yearn to travel again, I hope these pairings of word and image bring these ancient landscapes to life in an accessible way for general interest readers. The project lends itself to being a “field guide” to these historic, iconic sites, presenting them in a unique, deeply personal way.
The initial images I sent Gabriel were standing stones from the Celtic world – Ireland; Cornwall, England; Galicia, Spain. As the theme became apparent, it seemed natural to expand the selection to other archaeological sites I had photographed. Pompeii, Italy; the temples of Greece; the Central American Pyramids of Mexico. So, the theme definitely changed the way we finished the project.
You are an accomplished writer as well, with your poetry collections. How do you feel your poetry affects your work? Do you consider a poetic narrative when creating or editing your pictures?
While a working photographer, I had the separate task of sending out my poetry for publication. I had long been intrigued by the possibilities of combining these two passions - photography and poetry. The interplay between image and text creates a third thing - something more than the sum of its parts. In 2012, I began my web publication A VISION AND A VERSE, a seasonal broadside designed for the web, combining my imagery and my verse. It began as a way of sharing a page out of my creative journal. Each issue became my personal, ongoing exploration of the interplay or fusion between word and image. I always begin with a photograph that can stand on its own, and a poem that can stand on its own. What emerges from the synergy between the two?
Broadsides were once handed out on street corners – so the broadside format seemed natural for me. These “e-broadsides” extend the traditional form to our current electronic street corner – the web. (You can check it out or subscribe for free at www.avisionandaverse.com)
In terms of editing photographs: I think all photographers are telling a story of some kind. Editing is about telling that story. With images, I may be using a more poetic narrative as I did with The Divine Feminine Series – which I see as little self-made myths/stories. Or a photo broadside sets up an interplay between image and word. But it still comes down to story-telling.
Tell me what your favourite two or three photographs from the project are and a little bit about them.
Lanyon Quoit, The Giant’s Table, Cornwall
Lanyon Quoit, The Giant's Table, Cornwall, England
we offer these poems
as a living sacrifice
to the Great Unknown
fill this emptiness, we pray
with the breath of Your presenceofrálaimid duit
ina n-íobairt bheo bheathach
gach dán is amhrán
líon an folús seo anois
impímid ort, le d'anáil
My friend and travelling companion wearing our ever-present rain-cape, which, somehow, turned her into a druid.
it has been raining
for a thousand years
or more, belovèd
rain coming in from the sea
in gentle syllablestá sé ag cur báistí
le míle bliain
nó níos mó, a chumann
fearthainn ón bhfarraige
ina siollaí caoine
It’s said that early Christian monks meditated here; I can well imagine them recognising the landscape as sacred here.
Stonehenge
Stonehenge, England
companions of old
all gone their separate ways
some found wealth and fame
others found obscurity
and one or two found themselvesseanchompánaigh
imithe bealaí éagsúla
maoin rompu nó cáil
a thuilleadh 'mhair san iargúil
corrdhuine d'aimsigh é féin
Well, because it’s Stonehenge!
Pyramids of the Sun and Moon, Teotihuacan, Mexico – climbing those steps creates a kind of bond with the ancient landscape. That process of climbing towards those powerful skies.
Swans at Dromore Woods, Ireland – simply a magical moment when they appeared and sailed by.
You’re currently exploring different media to present the project – perhaps a book or a multi-media experience. Can you tell us more about what you’re exploring and your vision for the project?
Multi-media lends itself to combining the visual and verbal; Gabriel is especially big on multi-media, having recorded his poems and paired them with visuals in short videos and films. Believing that native languages are store-houses of wisdom, multi-media also lends itself well to his bi-lingual poems - performed in both languages, they have a musical quality.
On Landscape creating video content for your subscribers recognises that viewers are open to more immersive, multi-media experiences.
Tanka (like the sonnet) originally meant 'a little song’. We’ve considered having the tanka spoken, chanted or sung, or possibly accompanied by musical instruments.
Having said all that, I have always loved the physicality of books. The book is a physical, tactile object. I see readings, performances, festivals or on-line multi-media outlets supporting, opening up new avenues for the book.
People read or watch in different ways and places now; we’re eager to reach new audiences on new platforms.
Swans at Dromore Wood, Co. Clare, Ireland
paramahansa
say it aloud! now say it
softly in Your heart
once mixed, who can separate
milk from water, belovèdparamahansa
abair os ard é, a chuid
os íseal id’ chroí
má mheasctar bainne is uisce
cé dhealódh óna chéile iad
Ross Abbey, Co Galway, Ireland
sheep and cattle roamed
among the moss-covered skulls
of defeated Gaels
belovèd, what place is this
the Franciscans are long gonecaoirigh is eallach
is caonach ar bhlaoscanna
na nGael bocht cloíte
cén áit é seo, a thaisce
tá na Proinsiasaigh ar lár
What is next for you? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
In many ways, this is an open moment. We’re all still figuring out what’s next. In many ways, the whole world is still on pause. This pause was unbidden and unprecedented. It gave the Earth a brief chance to catch her breath -- and us a chance to contemplate how we can better preserve the wonderful gifts we’ve been given.
Creating work in different media – some visual, some verbal -- has been a hard road at times. Eventually, I realised all my work came from the same creative source. I’m hoping that new projects will provide ways to unify my talents and creative impulses. I recently found this quote from Twyla Tharp:
“Unity. I hope for unity for myself in my endeavours. I hope for unity for this country, for unity globally. UNITY.”
Johan describes nature as a way of life for him, and it’s clear that he is happiest in her company.
The images we’ve chosen for our interview draw very much on his predilection for pattern; even the birds sit within complexities of shape and form. While our emphasis here is on landscape, no such lines are drawn on Johan’s website and I don’t think he sees a boundary between wildlife and landscape photography; it’s all nature and if that brings joy to his heart, that’s good enough reason.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do?
I grew up in Sundsvall, a town along the coast in the northern part of Sweden.
COVID-19 has touched all of our lives in different ways. It has changed how we interact with each other, how we communicate with family and co-workers, how we spend our leisure time, and how we see our future. During the pandemic, I chose to fill my time of social distancing by visiting some of the most remote places I could travel to and be almost completely alone with nature. My approach to photography does not involve contemplating a project, then seeking images that fit the concept. I approach each location with an open mind as to what I will find and what will inspire me. As I review the images, I begin to construct a project. I re-examine each photograph and what story it is telling as a sense of self-reflection. If I see commonality, I will begin to build a project around them. Creating the Blue Period series was no different.
The Blue Period is inspired by Picasso’s artistic works in the period between 1900 and 1904 when he painted essentially monochromatic paintings in shades of blue and blue-green, only occasionally warmed by other colours. Picasso’s works portray a recurring theme of desolation, focused on beggars, street urchins, and the blind. My photos depict elements of less desirable environments with simplistic natural forms as a representation of life. Using the cold monochromatic colour palette, my photos, like Picasso’s, portray depression, sorrow, and angst in their representations of the old and frail.
Joshua Tree Reaching
The first image in which I saw the Blue Period story was “Joshua Tree Reaching.” The tree appears to be trying to stand tall, but the harsh environment has left it weary. There were many days during the pandemic lockdown when I could relate to this tree. As an extrovert, I enjoy being around people constantly and having that taken away from me was difficult and affected my motivation.
The first image in which I saw the Blue Period story was “Joshua Tree Reaching.” The tree appears to be trying to stand tall, but the harsh environment has left it weary. There were many days during the pandemic lockdown when I could relate to this tree.
The next image included in Blue Period is Split Rock. I cannot imagine the force required to split this boulder, and I am inspired by its endurance in continuing to stand even after being broken. I have been told many times that my persistence is something that sets me apart. This boulder is a representation of that tenacious spirit in me and is my favourite image of the series.
As I continued to view the photographs I took during my time in Joshua Tree, I began to think about other photographs I had captured during the pandemic which told the story of years of isolation and abuse. The series began to take shape with images of piles of boulders as a representation of the weight we are bearing, but also inflicting upon the environment. I am again reminded of all the pressure and inconsistent messages we have had to endure, but it all seems so small in comparison to the pressure we put on others and the environment. The pointless arguments over masks and vaccines will be forgotten in a few years’ time, but the lasting effects of depression and environmental degradation we are creating daily will be around for eternity. Images of shifting sand dunes give a sense of time passing and renewal, while the constant stream of waterfalls crashing into rocks below remind me of the constant turbulence we see in the news.
Split Rock
Balancing Act
I also began to see the stories of abandonment in my photographs. Environments of despair from raging wildfires and toxicity. The trees which once brought life to these places stand as skeletons and everlasting reminders of the effects of our actions. Unfortunately, there is no vaccine or temporary lockdown for them. These scenes were a juxtaposition to the city lights and buildings which gleam with life.
I also began to see the stories of abandonment in my photographs. Environments of despair from raging wildfires and toxicity. The trees which once brought life to these places stand as skeletons and everlasting reminders of the effects of our actions.
Any examination of these works leads to the realisation that they are not particularly pleasing, but they do provide a truth that many choose to ignore. I create art, not to be aesthetically pleasing, but to solely convey an idea. Art, especially contemporary art, is the capturing and production of an idea into tangible form. To me, the ability to capture emotion in an image is what separates an artist from a photographer. Especially if you can do it without following the general guidelines of photography, such as shooting only during golden hours. In today’s world, everyone with a camera on the smartphone is a photographer, and the technical capabilities in those devices is astounding. However, art is not made from megapixels and capturing thousands of shots and praying for a good one, nor is it substantiated by the number of “Likes” it receives. Art should tell a compelling story on its own and if it happens to be aesthetically pleasing to someone, I see that as an added bonus. Did you know that Picasso’s Blue Period paintings are some of his most notable works, but at the time of creation were not received very well by the public due to their subjects and mood?
To capture the mood of a scene, I generally carry my camera body and an assortment of wide angle, telephoto, and a macro lens with me, along with my tripod and a set of neutral density filters. I am often asked in the field what I am taking a picture of, and see a look of confusion as my explanation of the scene doesn’t match the face value of it. I have learned to look past what is immediately visible and ask questions like how did this happen, or what will happen next, just as we need to do in our own lives.
Sitting near my camp on the edge of a high mesa, I looked down at the view hundreds of feet below me. Moments earlier, a haboob (sandstorm) formed at the far end of a broad valley, then swept over the valley floor blotting out all details.
I have enjoyed my time capturing these images and in sitting with them to listen to their stories. As I continue to visit new landscapes, I will keep these scenes in mind to appreciate the world we have and the beauty they bring to our lives. I hope you will also view this project as an inspiration to make the world a better place and to create photographs that push your limits of creativity without the worry of acceptance.
It’s 2006 and I’m visiting my dear friend Mark Broadwith, who then lived in the Yorkshire Dales. Mark is trained and licensed by the RPS and he works as a portrait and wedding photographer. He has helped me take the initial steps to become a better photographer and then offered a suggestion that turned out to be life changing: “There’s this guy who owns a gallery in Northallerton, a certain Joe Cornish. You should have a look. And don’t forget there are a few prints exhibited in the café at Barkers as well.”
Seeing a few of Joe’s photographs on the computer screen had already informed me I’d be in for a treat, but nothing really could have prepared me for the experience of seeing and experiencing those beautiful prints in reality. Right there and then I knew that instead of a holiday pastime every time I’m in the UK, landscape photography would be a significant part of my life.
Ever since, I have been visiting the gallery whenever possible, taking a printing masterclass tutored by Joe, and buying a lot of landscape photography books. It’s my main way to enjoy landscape photography. After all, there’s only so many prints one can put on the wall before needing marriage counselling… Still, the thought of acquiring some prints of photographers I admire has never left me. The only problem was which to choose.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolio consisting of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
Of all the seasons summer appears to be the least favoured by landscape photographers, particularly so in woodland. Yes, summer woodland lacks the freshness of spring, the technicolour of autumn, the drama of winter, and (what seems to be the main objection) it’s all very green! Yet, given an overcast, or even drizzly, day to soften the light, summer foliage helps to simplify the background and block out highlights from the sky. You may well find yourself wading through an ocean of bracken, but at least it will hide an untidy forest floor. As for the trees themselves, well surely it’s the time they are the most alive.
Savernake Forest in Wiltshire is undoubtedly my most frequented location for woodland photography – partly because it’s reasonably close to home, but also because I find it so challenging and chaotic, yet so full of possibilities, that I just have to keep going back. The images shown here were all made in a relatively small area of the forest in which oak trees are prevalent. All four images were made over the course of an hour or so on an overcast day at the end of June. (The previous 3-4 hours spent in other regions of the forest were not so fruitful but, no matter, were still an enjoyable part of the day.)
Locked in by government restrictions, snowed in by winter weather, on a recent walk we discovered something quite special just 30 minutes walk from our door.
Tongue Wood is a tiny patch of woodland that lies at the end of a remote dale, guarded by high fells. There’s no footpath to it, or through it, or past it. Dry stone walls and fences encircle it, so humans and sheep and cattle, seldom visit. The woodland is a mix of coniferous and deciduous.
Identifying quite what is limited both by a lack of botanical knowledge and the winter season, but Scots pine, birch and (I suspect) alder and a variety of non-native fir trees grow in the marshy ground. There’s been planting in the past, but in the main Tongue Wood is left to do what woodlands do: seed, grow, fruit, die, fall, rot; a natural cycle enabled by government grants that value its survival above the production of food.
For someone who adores the woods discovering one so close is a real joy and my immediate, instinctive reaction is to reach for my camera and attempt to capture its intrinsic beauty, but - and this is the crux - I find it so frustratingly difficult to photograph woodland that, despite my love, whenever I try I’m left in a state of doubt and despair about my aptitude as a photographer. I’m not alone in this struggle. In his book Landscape Within, UK photographer David Ward wrote that there were three main difficulties with woodland; contrast, chaos and complexity, but searching for uniformity, order and simplicity in a wood is, as Winston Churchill might have countered, a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.
Woodland photography therefore becomes a problem to be solved and not an easy one! Luckily there is hope and strategies and situations that might come to our aid, which brings me back to the present.
Snow! In this context snow is magical, transformational stuff. Much of the chaos and complexity simply disappears under a white blanket; the contrast between woodland floor and canopy suddenly becomes manageable; the structure of the wood becomes emphasised. It might not fully crack the riddle, but it’s a way in! In the end though, and this is immensely difficult for someone who favours a graphical style of photography to accept, if you’re not to be driven mad, or spend hours in Photoshop, or be defeated altogether, the key, for me at least, is to acknowledge that nature doesn’t fit neatly into the viewfinder of a camera and that shooting woodland isn’t a perfect cut and paste exercise of isolation and extraction. That’s not to say you should give up on composition, you have to work doubly hard, but that you may well have to learn to live with, even embrace, nature’s chaos and the twigs, branches and sliced in half trees, that inevitably stray into the frame.
Visiting Arches National Park in southeast Utah was one of the most thrilling moments of my life. It opened my mind to see the world from a different perspective. In 2019, International Dark-Sky Association (IDA) recognized Arches National Park as an International Dark Sky Park for its quality night skies and commitment to protecting natural light. Most of the park's lighting system is night-sky friendly which is a great deal for star gazing and it also helps restore balance in the natural habitat of nocturnal wildlife.
Arches National Park has some of the most spectacular natural sandstone structures and has the capacity for endless creativity. As they say "The beauty of the natural world is best experienced through the guide of natural light from stars and moon". And there is no better place on Earth than Arches National Park to experience the magical unfolding of the astral world.
The series of images in this portfolio were shot at Double Arch, Turret Arch, and Delicate Arch. Delicate against the forces of nature, yet grandiose in appearance. Watching the world through nature's own window was more captivating than my camera's view-finder.
The view through the natural arch, the rise of the Milk way in the darkest hour of the night illuminating the distant sandstone structure, and the beauty of it all is something otherworldly. Radiant and ecstatic! Such a special cosmic perspective where you can gaze at the sky and reach for the star.
The Origin is my photographic project in the south of Chile, I began to photograph in 2018, this distant and extreme land, where mountains, glaciers, forests and rivers intermingle in total harmony. I walk through places, where the grandeur of the landscapes and the purity of each element, give a feeling of such peace and tranquillity, and a confidence that we are not separated from nature, but that we are part of a whole, although on many occasions we have decided to turn our backs on its existence. The photographs are the testimony of my search to re-establish that connection, that love for our unique world.
Be still with yourself
Until the object of your attention
Affirms your presence
~Minor White
Sitting near my camp on the edge of a high mesa, I looked down at the view hundreds of feet below me. Moments earlier, a haboob (sandstorm) formed at the far end of a broad valley, then swept over the valley floor blotting out all details.
Sitting near my camp on the edge of a high mesa, I looked down at the view hundreds of feet below me. Moments earlier, a haboob (sandstorm) formed at the far end of a broad valley, then swept over the valley floor blotting out all details.
It felt like sitting on the shore of an island in the sky, looking out over a sea of floating red sand separating me from other islands I could see in the distance. An unpleasant electronic chirp emanating from my phone jarred me out of a moment of flow, but my annoyance was short-lived. A message from a friend appeared on the screen. He was sitting atop the summit of a remote peak in the Mojave Desert, hundreds of miles away from me, enjoying a hard-won and seldom seen view of the desert. I jokingly responded, “should we be fearing what we may be missing out on?”. I was referring to the unfortunate phenomenon known as FOMO, which has become widely prevalent in the age of so-called-social media.
Such exchanges, few and far between, and only with like-minded friends, are the extent I’m willing to allow mobile technologies into my outdoor experiences. On the occasion that I even have a signal good enough to access the internet, I may check my email messages a couple of times a day to make sure no emergencies require my attention. Otherwise, the gadget stays in my pocket or in my pack and I reserve—diligently and deliberately—my attention for events, sensations, thoughts, and emotions making up my immediate experience. All else can wait until I re-enter the manufactured worlds of humanity.
Making photographs is all about personal decisions like what subject matter you choose to photograph or which of your photographs is good enough for others to see. Along all the paths in the creative process, there are many failures. In fact, failure to create good photographs is an integral part of the process, as is the need to let others see your photographs. Getting your photographs out into the world is an important aspect of creativity and inevitably leads to many comments. From family and friends, these comments are usually good but can be a heartfelt deception. Although meant with the best intentions, these comments are not a true unbiased critique of our work and can lead to an inflated ego. The true test of our photographs perhaps comes from seasoned photographers and from people in the creative arts industries. A direct way for us to assess if our work is good enough is to study the work of experienced master photographers and compare our work to theirs. The importance of studying master photographers cannot be emphasised enough as it is a measuring post as to your progress and increases your knowledge as to what makes a great photograph.
The process of creating photographs can be based on a variety of reasons.
Over the past several years I have had the pleasure of being introduced time and time again to the excellent photographic artwork of Jackson Frishman, as he’s been recommended to me by so many excellent former guests of my podcast, including Sarah Marino & Ron Coscorossa. There are several interesting themes that I’ve been able to piece together over the years regarding Jackson and his work that have always intrigued me and so I strongly believe he is a great subject for this column. For starters, Jackson’s photography very much mirrors his personality – it is understated, quiet, unique, and lastly, tasteful in a time where brazen and flashy landscape photography is in vogue. Jackson’s subdued approach to photography is steady as he’s been on this path for many, many years.
He employs a much quieter style, and he has remained true to this goal as an artist throughout his journey.
Tim’s talked before about having a love/hate relationship with aerial photos – a bit like Marmite for those of you who know what that is (other yeast extracts are probably available). But really as with most landscape photography, once you get over the shock of the new and the novel it comes down to how well it’s done and whether the post-processing enhances the image or detracts from it. Subtle post-processing was one factor in our choice of Featured Photographer for this issue. I forget now if I first noticed Carolyn’s work on the back of a competition or in a ‘top photographers of’ list; the fact is that the work stayed with me. Competitions and lists aren’t guaranteed to be the best place to find subtle work but it does exist and is well worth seeking out. At the time of writing, I’m certainly looking forward to seeing what comes out of the inaugural Natural Landscape Photography Awards.
For me, successful aerial photography needs to show something more than just an elevated viewpoint (though who hasn’t at times wished their tripod would elevate a little?). It helps too if there’s a story to it or from it, and this again is one of Carolyn’s strengths.
Charged
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do?
Like many Canadians, part of my identity has been forged by how my family arrived in the country. My father, who was born in China, first found an opportunity in the United States as a graduate student in the 1960s and, fatefully, decided to visit Canada for the first time for Expo ‘67. Here, he fell in love with the country’s hospitality and landed a position as one of the first professors of mechanical engineering at the University of Ottawa.
I grew up in Ottawa, although we were fortunate to be given many opportunities to travel. We would journey to visit family, as far away as Taiwan, but also in Canada, the United States and Europe.
I grew up in Ottawa, although we were fortunate to be given many opportunities to travel. We would journey to visit family, as far away as Taiwan, but also in Canada, the United States and Europe. My father also took us on a six month sabbatical to Paris when I was in grade school, which allowed me to experience a very different culture and learn to adapt quickly! Consequently, I always felt both rooted in my hometown of Ottawa, but also part of a larger cultural fabric that spanned different geographies.
My own undergraduate studies were in business. I started out my early employment in management consulting and developed my skills in strategy and operations. Later, I furthered my studies and, like my father, I decided to do my graduate studies abroad at the London School of Economics and Political Science with a Masters in International Relations. I am currently the Chief Operating Officer at Royal LePage, which is a national residential real estate franchisor in Canada.
As you may imagine, my love of travel and photography was instilled in me at an early age, through my family’s travels. Whether through visiting family, or travelling with my father for his annual conferences, we were fortunate enough to experience many places, from big cities to grand natural landscapes. It will serve as no surprise that my early photographic forays were more travel and documentary-oriented.
Confluence
Cyclone
Although you’ve had an interest in photography for a while, did anything in particular prompt you to start taking it more seriously? How much time are you able to find for it?
In my thirties, I was an avid road racer. I loved the physicality of the sport and training was a great way to stay fit for outdoor pursuits and relieve the stress of the workday. Racing sometimes comes at a price though, and after a number of crashes and with general wear and tear, one day, for no particular reason and rather unspectacularly, I could no longer sit comfortably on my bike. To this day, I still have some lingering physical issues which limit me to lower intensity activity. So, while the racing door closed, the photography one opened.
As I pondered what to do with my newly free time, I realised that travel and photography were my greatest passions so, now, with more purpose, I sought to develop the capability to do it more skillfully and artistically. Typically, I spend part of my weekend and almost all of my vacation dedicated to photography.
Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you, or driven you forward in your own development as a photographer?
As I began my own journey, I quickly realised that I gravitated to more intimate styles of photography. Part of this discovery came by chance. On an aerial photography trip to Australia, I was having issues with my 50mm lens so I was, in hindsight, luckily forced to use my 85mm one only. Through the abstraction necessary when photographing with that lens in the air, I began to use the landscape almost as a medium, rather than a subject, more so portraying the painterly shapes, lyrical patterns and vibrant colours of nature that are almost unimaginable from the ground. My next aerial trip was to Iceland, where I would fly solo with a pilot for the first time. It was on this trip, where I had complete creative freedom, that I fully embraced my passion for the intimate landscape and further developed my voice as a photographer.
Throughout my journey, I must also credit David Thompson for helping me to accelerate my development. He’s taught me a lot about the importance of composition and processing to realise your artistic vision. As a mentor, he is someone who always provides both the constructive criticism and positive support necessary for a photographer to develop in their own style. I am incredibly grateful to have met him early in my journey.
Finally, the perusal of hundreds of images on a daily basis to discern what I respond to and what I don’t respond to, as well as the critical review of my own images, have both been essential elements of my education as a photographer. In the field, I am responding to what’s in front of me and applying my vision, but how that vision has been developed is also subconsciously influenced by the many images I have previously seen.
In the field, I am responding to what’s in front of me and applying my vision, but how that vision has been developed is also subconsciously influenced by the many images I have previously seen.
Go West
What led you to first go up in the air? Was your first experience of planes or drones, and which do you prefer?
In my first couple of landscape photography workshops, as a small part of the overall trip, I was lucky enough to get up in the air. I was drawn to both the exhilaration of the experience as well as seeing from a new perspective. In my daily life and work, my mind likes to discern patterns from complex sets of information and I also see images in this manner. Being up in the air, where landforms can be abstracted into shapes and patterns, I can more easily apply this skill.
Interestingly, part of this pattern recognition works on both a conscious and subconscious level. In the air, while I still actively compose, I don’t always have as much time to do so, hence I work more quickly, using intuition that draws from my life experiences and references. I think there is a magic to what your mind can do subconsciously and I’m always curious, on review, to see what I have responded to.
More recently, I have also had the chance to work with drones. While it is also a type of aerial photography, much of the visceral experience from an aircraft is not actually present when flying a drone, as your visual experience is intermediated with an iPhone or tablet. Also, given that much of your time and attention is focused on piloting the drone, often with very deliberate movements, the instinctive elements of aerial photography are absent from this experience. While I would typically prefer to fly in an aircraft for the experiential part of aerial photography, I do appreciate that drones give photographers another perspective. A perspective a couple of hundred feet off the ground almost from any angle is quite different to a higher top-down perspective at 1,500 feet from an aeroplane. It’s great to have different tools to realise a different vision.
Heartbeat
Can you give readers an insight into your workflow – the cameras and lenses you most enjoy using, and how you approach processing and editing?
When I am up in the air, I typically have two cameras. My primary setup is a Nikon D850 with a Sigma Art 85mm f1.4. Typically, in the air, 80%+ of my photographs will be taken with this lens. My secondary setup is a Nikon D810 with the Nikon 24-70mm f2.8, which I use when I would like to capture a wider scene, although I have just recently converted that backup setup to a mirrorless camera with the Nikon Z7II.
When I’m in the field, I typically download my images after the day’s photography and have a quick look to ensure the images are sharp, mark my favourites and, if I’ve had trouble photographing well that day, assess what I might change about how I compose the next day.
Once home, as I start to process the work which may be up to 3 - 6 months later, I re-review the full set of images for my favourites, export them as a group, and determine which images might flow nicely together and prioritise the images I will process on that basis.
My workflow can vary from image to image. For some images, I have an immediate sense of how the image should be processed. Others require more experimentation and I will try different techniques and iterations before settling on how to bring that image to life.
My workflow can vary from image to image. For some images, I have an immediate sense of how the image should be processed. Others require more experimentation and I will try different techniques and iterations before settling on how to bring that image to life. Once I figure out the way forward, I get the canvas in order. With aerials, for instance, I may transform an image slightly to get it to a bird’s-eye view if it was shot with a slight angle. Afterwards, there are the more typical contrast adjustments, followed by the removal of any colour casts and finishing with any burning or dodging to give the image additional flow or a greater 3-dimensional effect to help move the viewer’s eye through the image.
Releve
Repose
What reaction do you hope to provoke in viewers? Some of your series titles hint at the tension between wonder and awe (in the sense of fear) and I was interested to hear that it took a gallery submission’s theme to find the language needed for you to feel comfortable in showing your images in the series Sublime Waste?
As I have progressed in my journey as a photographer, I find the images that have the most impact on me are those that provoke an emotional reaction, and perhaps, at their very best, a conversation. I hope my work helps elicit these same responses in viewers.
With abstract photography, as many of the places photographed may not be recognisable, something about the image, whether it’s its shape, colour or intensity, must resonate with the viewer in order to create a connection. They may have a personal connection to the image that is similar to mine or completely different. And, while the viewer’s personal interpretation is critical, I also think framing the image through the use of the title or through accompanying writing can help the viewer navigate their perspective of the image. At times, I like to provide geological information and in other cases, I will mention the visual reference to a well-known symbol or metaphor that has personal meaning to me. Together, I always hope that the image and the writing can provide the context to elicit an emotional response or a conversation.
Sublime Waste Ii
Sublime Waste IV
Sublime Waste Viii
With Sublime Waste specifically, I had been reluctant to photograph altered lands as I wanted to ensure, given my aesthetic, that I was not glorifying mining operations. In addition, I had a desire to have in-depth information to contextualise the various environmental issues in a balanced manner. I knew it would be difficult to do this without access to insiders in the mining industry and amongst environmental activists.
With Sublime Waste specifically, I had been reluctant to photograph altered lands as I wanted to ensure, given my aesthetic, that I was not glorifying mining operations.
As luck would have it, on the day I took the images for Sublime Waste, we were in an area with difficult lighting conditions to photograph a very delicate natural area. Our only alternative was the altered landscape. I had to adapt and give it a try. I sat on these images for a long time until I could wrestle through my concerns. My breakthrough came when I saw an exhibit submission called Seeking the Periphery. The exhibit was looking for images that aren’t typically seen, but rather exist at the margins of our society. This theme highlighted that through city living, we are often removed and disassociated from the means of production, and thus, we can unintentionally ignore the environmental consequences of feeding our consumption. By highlighting this aspect of the human condition, it could invite conversations to generate awareness about our environmental footprint as opposed to requiring answers to the perfect balance between mining, the economy and the environment.
In terms of generating an emotional response and a conversation, I received this comment from a university friend who was a gold mining engineer:
“Carolyn, amazing photo of the tailings dam. It works for me on multiple levels, and probably on some that you didn’t necessarily intend but resonate with me due to my time building tailings dams in the gold mining industry. Never has a photo captured my internal conflict of love of nature against my need/compulsion to build infrastructure.”
My friend later wrote to me that after a failed project, he left his job and began working in more mission-based work, only in renewable energy sources. This image helped him process the emotions he had gone through and this was so incredibly touching to me.
Would you like to choose 2-3 favourite photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about why they are special to you?
In many ways, my favourite photographs were somewhat unexpected images that were directly connected to breakthroughs in my creative process.
Ode to Georgia O’Keeffe
This photo was taken in one of my favourite areas to photograph in Iceland. I really enjoy how the glacial meltwater picks up sediment through its traverse across the country to give the river a luminescent mint green colour. This image is special to me because it transcends the subject matter by evoking, for me, the soft and delicate elements of an abstracted flower or an enveloped figure, providing a sense of care and protection.
Sublime Waste I, Gold Mirage
I have a strong positive association with Gold Mirage as it is the showcase image for my first series of altered landscapes. Despite my aforementioned reluctance to photograph altered landscapes, as we flew over the tailing ponds close to sunset, the light caught the water of this tailing pond and for a brief moment, painted the brown waters a shimmering gold. Given that we were photographing tailing ponds from gold mines, I knew this image would play an important role in sharing the story of the area.
Intimacy
During the pandemic, I have been exploring new avenues of photography locally. In that process, I have developed a genuine enthusiasm for photographing at local botanical gardens and processing for the first time in black and white, possibly as part of my desire to portray a world out of the ordinary. A fellow artist told me that some of my compositions made her think of Robert Mapplethorpe. Intrigued, as I did my research, I focused on his floral still life work and marvelled at the originality and power of his compositions. For my first studio session, I had been struggling with arranging these tough dried leaves but perhaps inspired by Mapplethorpe’s imagery, eventually I was able to produce my favourite studio image made to date. Likely, in these times of social distancing and isolation, the togetherness of these leaves strikes an emotional chord.
Looking at some of the images from Weathering Sands that you exhibited for the Toronto Outdoor Art Fair, I was struck by their textural qualities (Rising, Cyclone) and I wanted to ask if you ordinarily choose to print and present your images to emphasis this?
That’s a great observation!
The textures you see in the series Weathering Sands were very specific to that region of Australia. Either the winds and/or currents were quite strong that day. When I process my images, I respond to what the scene offers. In this case, the texture was a key part of the image. As this was the first time I had so much water texture in the images, the printing process did yield interesting and unexpected results.
I softened the textures in Cyclone but maintained its feeling of turbulence which ended up translating well to print. Rising, on the other hand, when printed actually gave me an uneasy bodily sensation as well as goosebumps. It’s an image that I enjoy from a distance in print, but not close-up. Given this, it’s one that I will showcase in digital form only. Interestingly, it's the only print I’ve ever felt that way about. As much as I enjoy digital work, I typically prefer prints even more. It really is another version of the work. It was a good lesson to learn.
Slash
Do you increasingly find inspiration and draw motivation from areas other than photography?
Throughout my life, I have been drawn to post-impressionist and abstract expressionist painters. For instance, Mark Rothko’s minimalist paintings have always evoked a powerful emotional response in me. I also find Georgia O’Keeffe’s intense abstract floral paintings deeply resonate and I am very drawn to Giorgio Mirandi’s later abstract bottle still lifes.
Recently, I have been fascinated by conceptual artists whose work leaves an indelible impression because of its ambition, scale and monumentality. More essentially, it is work that really makes you think and question what we currently understand.
Two of these artists are James Turrell and Ai Wei Wei. James Turrell fascinates me because, instead of using light to create his art like most painters and photographers do, his medium is actually light itself. With light, since there is no object or image to speak of, his art is about how we see and experience light or, effectively, our perception.
James Turrell fascinates me because, instead of using light to create his art like most painters and photographers do, his medium is actually light itself. With light, since there is no object or image to speak of, his art is about how we see and experience light or, effectively, our perception.
The experiences he creates for viewers are typically built in large-scale buildings, museums and, more recently, he’s transformed an extinct volcano into a naked eye observatory! James Turrell’s work must really be experienced though. This is a short introductory video to his work should you be interested.
Ai Wei Wei first captured my interest from an exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario in 2013. As a political activist and a conceptual artist, he focuses on social critique. In the wake of a massive earthquake in China in 2008 that ultimately killed 90,000 people, he sought to bring attention to, and commemorate, the 5,000 school children who died when the poorly constructed schools collapsed. Straight is the piece that had the most visceral emotional impact for me. Ai Wei Wei recovered the specific rebar from the fallen school buildings and took painstaking efforts to straighten 150 of them. They were laid in multiple rows in a huge rectangular, multi-layered and curving shape. The rusted steel rods depicted the failed practices, the curves denoted the seismic waves of the earthquake itself which ultimately led to the death of the children, for which each steel rod looked like a child laid to rest. The work was confronting and horrifying. It was astonishing how those lifeless steel rods could evoke such a powerful reaction.
We’ve talked about the sublime in On Landscape before. How does the Feminine Sublime differ, or what would you like readers to understand from the term?
The traditional definition of the Sublime started with Edmund Burke in the 18th century and evolved throughout history in European and American schools. In essence, it proposes that nature inspires awe and terror, it occupies a vastness of dramatic scale and, taken together, evokes divinity, the unrepresentable and/or transcendence. In some representations, it alludes to humanity’s need to dominate or conquer their terror. While I do believe that some of these elements are contained within my work, my work doesn’t fully align with this concept.
The Feminine Sublime, on the other hand, focuses more exclusively on the dimension of the unrepresentable or the otherworldly. It doesn’t seek to master, appropriate or dominate the other; rather it takes up a position of respect to nature. When combined with the notion of ecofeminism, it’s a departure from the view of nature in a mechanised world, where its only use is for consumption, but rather to have a coexistence between humanity and nature where we must develop a sustainable relationship.
The Feminine Sublime, on the other hand, focuses more exclusively on the dimension of the unrepresentable or the otherworldly. It doesn’t seek to master, appropriate or dominate the other; rather it takes up a position of respect to nature.
Parched
My imagery, when you essentialise it, shows symbiotic parts of nature where we see the interplay of water, sand, salt and sediment in a very dynamic form, where patterns are formed, dispersed and then regenerated. It illustrates the basic cycles of the landscape in its natural state. As the images are taken from an aerial perspective though, viewers can’t always immediately comprehend or contextualise the work so it can feel otherworldly. It’s always such a surprise and delight to me when viewers realise that what’s photographed is simply water, sand, salt or earth. In that sense, my work is about transforming ordinary elements into beautiful, moving images that give us a sense or a possibility of the otherworldly. It shifts our sense of perception, in a way, of what’s possible.
You’ve said that your discussions and research have helped you to contextualise and present your images. Do you feel that with time they will influence the direction that you head in or the work that you want to make?
The pandemic, world events, and my research will all certainly influence the direction of my work. The pandemic has required that we photograph more locally, but it has also clearly highlighted that local decisions impact the rest of the world. When I started photography, I was influenced by my love of travel and my desire to visit places different from my home country, but I have been growing as a photographer and certainly, after recent experiences, I would like to explore some of the local issues where I live that have a global impact. For instance, closer to home, I would be interested in photographing the impact of the Canadian tar sands on the environment.
Spirit of Kakadu
While we’ve had restrictions on travel, have you managed to find a creative release in or close to home or had an opportunity to develop any new skills?
Yes! At one time, I believe that Toronto was one of the most locked down cities in the world, so, in this second year of the pandemic, after I finished processing my photo archives, I began exploring my local botanical gardens with a macro lens and photographing still lifes in the studio.
While these new pursuits are very different from aerial photography, I have enjoyed how photographing locally has allowed me to see an ecosystem over a period of time and to photograph a plant’s most expressive moment, whereas, for budgetary reasons, my time with an aerial landscape is far more fleeting.
I had originally been unsure how I would be able to find fulfilling photographic experiences without travel, but after a period of self-inquiry, I have found the creative process to be very motivating and rewarding in these new environments.
I have not yet published these photos, but the reaction from my inner circle has been very positive, drawing the connection from my aerial work to these new images. As I branch into new avenues of exploration, I aspire to Mapplethorpe’s approach to photography: “My whole point is to transcend the subject… Go beyond the subject somehow, so that the composition, the lighting, all around, reaches a certain point of perfection. That’s what I’m doing. Whether it’s a cock” (aerial photography for me!) “or a flower, I’m looking at it in the same way… in my own way, with my own eyes.”
While these new pursuits are very different from aerial photography, I have enjoyed how photographing locally has allowed me to see an ecosystem over a period of time and to photograph a plant’s most expressive moment, whereas, for budgetary reasons, my time with an aerial landscape is far more fleeting. And, photographing in the studio has really challenged me creatively as I cannot rely on nature to be my artist. Rather, I must find a subject, craft the composition and light the scene in a manner that resonates. It’s an entirely different kind of creativity!
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?
One thing that I’ve missed quite a bit since I began to focus on photography is regular travel. As a traveller, I enjoy immersing myself in local culture, especially if I have ample time to explore and enjoy the journey. I did my share of backpacking when I was younger, which was a fun and adventurous way of travelling, with less structure and more spontaneous experiences. Here, the emphasis is much more on the journey rather than the image.
Separate from travel, I like to enjoy the arts and culture in the city, including museum-going, watching films, sampling restaurants, as well as taking day trips for hiking or cycling.
Turbulence
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.
Recently, I have really been enjoying Krista McCuish’s photography. Her intimate images of her local landscape as well as her still life images from her cabinet of curiosities have been inspiring. I encourage viewers to look up her work!
Thank you, Carolyn. It’s fascinating to have a glimpse of your new work, and I can certainly see the parallels with the forms and shapes of your aerial abstracts. It will be interesting to see where these go, and perhaps to see the two displayed side by side.
You can enjoy more of the Feminine Sublime on Carolyn’s website. While we were concluding the interview earlier this year I spotted both Sublime Waste and Weathering Sands had done rather well in the 2021 Px3 Awards. You can also connect with Carolyn on Instagram and Facebook.
Krista McCuish’s work continues to develop and her recent studio work has indeed been somewhat sublime. You can read our interview with her here.
I have been travelling to Nairnshire in the Highlands of Scotland for a number of years, usually in late summer. This quiet under-rated and understated area is home to some beautiful and intriguing woodland, some of it ancient. It’s also home to a wonderful beach situated in Nairn, an unspoilt Victorian coastal town. The woodlands seem not to attract a lot of photographers as it’s not one of those ‘honeypot’ locations attracting many and often. This means I can be out in the landscape for hours without encountering another person- which is a real privilege. Another advantage of this area is that there are no swarms of the dreaded seasonal midges invading camera equipment and you! A few bugs of course, but nothing compared to the west coast of Scotland. So instead of jostling tripods and ‘netting up’ (or facing the very itchy consequences), I can photograph in peace undisturbed by folk or midgie menaces.
This quiet under-rated and understated area is home to some beautiful and intriguing woodland, some of it ancient. It’s also home to a wonderful beach situated in Nairn, an unspoilt Victorian coastal town.
There are a number of patches of woodland including Logie woods, woodland near the Ardclach war memorial and around Dulsie Bridge. Often the trees are underpinned with carpets of pink heather which contrasts beautifully with the tones and textures of the trees.
Many of the trees have twisted short structures and have various incongruent shapes. The trees include Scots pine and many birches with some ancient redwoods in places.
The woods in Nairnshire have a wide variety of lichens which really add to the textural quality of shots taken here. They also add luminosity to the photograph as they are pale and very intricate yet light and willowy also.
Anyone who photographs trees knows it is a complex and time consuming business to do well. There is every opportunity to end up with nothing more than a tangled mess of twigs! For me, I find that spending time just looking, and looking and looking again is time well spent. Patterns and textures start to emerge which were not evident at first glance.
Now, in relation to textures, the woods in Nairnshire have a wide variety of lichens which really add to the textural quality of shots taken here. They also add luminosity to the photograph as they are pale and very intricate yet light and willowy also. They grow on so many trees and in some cases take over the tree. Lichens are in themselves fascinating (and well worth taking intimate shots of - but that’s another article ). A lichen is a combination of a fungus and one or more alga(e). The part that you see is the fungus, the alga makes the food for both of them. Different lichens are found on trees, rocks, boulders and come in many different colours which is why Harris lichens were used in the past for dyeing yarn. The variety in Scotland makes Scottish lichens of international importance. Lichens provide a good indication of air quality, thriving where ‘Air is as pure as wine’ as the saying goes. From a photography point of view, lichens enrichen the woodland landscape. They add pattern as well as texture, softening lines and adding detail and variety.
Anyone who regularly visits Scotland knows that the one thing you can rely on is that you can’t rely on the weather! You might be lucky and catch some lovely mists and shafts of light but if not this is where woodland photography scores.
Dull days, with maybe some drizzly rain, lend themselves to woodland shots- they bring out the subtle colours and tones from the trees and a little rain can add a gorgeous shimmer to leaves.
Dull days, with maybe some drizzly rain, lend themselves to woodland shots- they bring out the subtle colours and tones from the trees and a little rain can add a gorgeous shimmer to leaves. Sadly this summer I had no mist and very little rain so I worked with what I had. I chose to process a selection of colour and black and white images, bringing out the pale and dark tonal ranges and hoping to engage the viewer so to focus on the shapes and patterns made by the trees and other flora around. Late summer in Nairnshire provides the photographer with a range of green tones and hues to work with as well as hints of autumn in the golden brackens. Purples and pinks sometimes share a scene also where the heather is still abundant.
The photographs accompanying this article were taken in August 20 and August 21 using my small but very capable Fuji xt3. Some are handheld, others using a tripod. Apertures varied from 2.8 to f11. They do not make big bold statements that attract hundreds of likes on Instagram and the like; rather they tell a telling story of woodland that is left alone to grow and change with the seasons. It’s rarely visited by people and there are certainly no tripod marks. This is not only an advantage for the photographer but also the landscape and the environment. Sometimes I feel that less is more with photography these days, perhaps others do too? Taking these shots, I was engaged by the shapes, hues, tones and the tranquil landscape they exist within. I hope the viewers of these shots experience similar feelings and emotions.
A joint exhibition of landscape photographs by Alistair Young and mixed media art by Sally McDonald, two Isle of Skye artists who have a deep connection and love for the wild landscapes of the northwest Highlands.
Alistair and Sally are neighbours in a small village on the Isle of Skye where the weather is ever present in its many forms. Where the light bursts through storm clouds without warning, sending them running for the camera and brushes to capture the moment.
Sally's mixed media art is canvas on board depicting abstract scenes inspired by the local landscape of Skye. Sally's art can also be seen at her B&B in the village of Heaste on the Isle of Skye, where her husband Rob has been hard at work.
Alistair's photographs are a mixture of images in frames assembled himself with his own hand cut mounts as well as professionally printed images mounted on Dibond, a robust aluminium mount that allows the images to float slightly off the wall. As well as visual art, Alistair will be selling his acclaimed book, The Little Book of Gaiku. Hailed by the mainstream press
as perhaps the world's first collection of Gaelic haiku poems, these evocative poems with English translations complement the accompanying landscape images from across the northwest Highlands.
Exhibition Details
The Steadings Gallery, Workshop 2, The Steadings, Balmacara Square, The Square, Kyle IV40 8DJ.
Discovery is unrepeatable
Being here
All we see creates This presence
in a Living stream of energy-Walter Chappell
In these strange days of covid, Walter Chappell’s Metaflora series seems especially timely. The late photographer referred to this series of equivalent images, as “light in total darkness…”
Considering the isolation that so many of us have been experiencing, for what feels like an eternity, I think a lot of artists are looking deeper within than they may have in the past, and whether consciously or unconsciously, are bringing more of that into their work. Further, I’ve always believed that the true test of great image is if it makes you feel something, and as someone whose only true outlet for stress is making art (aka printing the stress away), I think this series will resonate with those who might struggle with finding a proper outlet to deal with our new normal.
Like Chappell, I myself, am a spiritual printer with eastern leanings, who also dabbles in writing and other mediums. Given that I have spent the bulk of the past 15+ months making experimental, cameraless, gelatin silver prints (as well as utilising flowers, ferns, and occasionally plants, as materials), it almost seemed like fate to be reminded of this gorgeous body of work, via an email announcement from Scheinbaum & Russek1, right as I was narrowing down which image to write about for this end frame article.
This series speaks to me so deeply that rather than just write about a singular image, I opted to address a few of my favourite electron photographs from the series.
As much as I’d love to jump right in and start talking about the prints, one cannot address the topic of equivalent images without at least a brief mention of Minor White (and Alfred Stieglitz). White described his image making process as photographing things “for what they are, and what else they are.” While Stieglitz introduced him to the topic, with his series of Equivalents2, White expanded on it considerably. His work and his teachings centred around the emotive/spiritual quality of photography; Minor embraced and encouraged his students to use the medium, not only as a way of capturing what was immediately visible to the naked eye but also to reveal, what was not.
In 1957, Chappell, having met Minor previously, opted to move to Rochester, in order to do an in-depth study with him. This led to a collaboration on a series of articles they published together in Aperture, and a kinship was formed; while Minor captured the ineffable via infrared film, Chappell did so via electric, cameraless photographs.
Making his electron photographs in complete darkness, Walter found a way to capture a whole new life in these organic materials, essentially electrocuting them, in order to reveal the spirit/light within, as well as exposing the subtleties of some of these materials, that might otherwise be lost in the shadows, or at least be much more subtle, had they been made in a more traditional way.
Rather than getting too technical about his process, which I am still learning about, this musing is more about the spiritual and aesthetic qualities of a few of my favourite cameraless images from this series.
Camera vision operates as an intelligent function between the human eyes and the totality of understanding in a moment of active awareness. No camera is needed for this experience, only the keen sensibility of the human mind.Walter Chappell
Squash Blossom
These visual poems speak to me in different but similar ways. I appreciate the way that they are not only cohesive as a body of work, but also in spirit. The tonality of these images also feels a lot like infrared film (something that I’ve been specialising in for over 20 years; Discovering Minor White’s work while I was still fairly new to fine art photography/analog printing made a huge impact on mine, and basically changed my entire photographic trajectory) - and I’ve always thought of infrared film as a way of turning things inside out, so I really appreciate that quality as well. Further, when I look at these photographs, I can understand how Walter Chappell related his photography to music. Some of the subtleties that come through in his images almost feel like scales, with shadow and light gently melding together in some images, less gently in others, all lit from within in some way. [Unfortunately, I only had digital access to his images at the time of writing this.]
Bleeding Heart is an image that has haunted me for years. From the soft, feathery midtones to the rich shadows, to the gentle auras surrounding them, the tranquil beauty of this kirlian photograph has a layer of depth that I find extremely intriguing. It truly does resemble a bleeding heart, with the various layers of information appearing as arteries or veins (in lower res, the heart seems to have more of a sadness to it, and truly feels like remnants of a broken heart; in slightly higher res, it feels like a broken, yet healing heart).
Squash Blossom, Metaflora 9, might be my favourite image of the series. I’ve seen other versions of the Squash Blossom, but this particular version is what I consider to be, the true definition of equivalence. The what else it can be aspect of this ethereal, cameraless photograph is so significant, that I can’t decide whether it looks more like a hawk flying over a body of water or perhaps lava or if that’s a spider at the bottom, or if it’s a face. From a distance, it also resembles a human, and I’m sure many of you see other things in this print. Looking closer at the highlights and that pattern that was created in parts of them, they could be clouds, they could be land, the possibilities are endless...
Lately, I have become mesmerised with some of the details that come through ever so softly in Begonia Leaf; a glowing skeleton that reveals just a hint of shadow, in just the right places.
Lately, I have become mesmerised with some of the details that come through ever so softly in Begonia Leaf; a glowing skeleton that reveals just a hint of shadow, in just the right places.
This is an image I really hope to see in person/spend some time with at some point. Powerful, yet quiet at the same time, with a depth, that I think gets a bit lost in translation when seen online.
Begonia Leaf
While I find the entire series deeply inspiring, that’s about all the space I have for this end frame article. I encourage those of you who find these digital representations inspiring to try to see the prints in person if you can, or at least get your hands on a copy of one of his books.
I’d like to close with a small request. Revisiting this work has been so inspiring, that I am currently in the process of trying to work out a way to safely use Walter Chappell’s process to make my own electron photographs. If any of you readers can advise on a set up that would be safe/doable in a small home darkroom, I would really appreciate it if you would reach out. Thanks in advance and happy printing!
I was extravagant in the matter of cameras – anything photographic – I had to have the best. But that was to further my work. In most things I have gone along with the plainest – or without.~Edward Weston
Whatever society’s cultural view of photography might be, I for one believe it can be practised as an art…and am fairly confident I’m not alone in that view, especially in the On Landscape community. Given that perspective, how is it that I am obsessed with the nuts and bolts of the process…or in our case, the cameras, lenses, tripods, filters etc? And for the sake of this article especially, the lenses?
My art education taught me to believe that art was all about the ideas, the emotion, the story-telling, the conceptual complexity and depth, the highest aspirations of the human spirit…in fact, anything but the ways and means that make the pictures.
My art education taught me to believe that art was all about the ideas, the emotion, the story-telling, the conceptual complexity and depth, the highest aspirations of the human spirit..
Of all the many things there are to worry about, you might (rightly) feel therefore that the question of which lenses to carry on photographic excursions was definitely not one of them. However, I confess that this is a recurring thought pattern when I am out walking around our local woods or moors.
In Greece, the word “Meteora” means “middle of the sky”, “suspended in the air”, or “in the heavens above”. The area is named this way because of the ancient monasteries built on top of dangerous rock pillars. The buildings’ outer walls often come right to the edge of high cliff walls, which can be thousands of feet high. A basic monastic state was established sometime around the 11th and 12th centuries. Even though at some point there were a total of 24 monasteries, today only 6 monasteries remain.
Meteora is located in central Greece near the town of Kalabaka. Athanasios Koinovitis from Mount Athos, Greece, came to Meteora in the year 1344. He was joined by a group of followers, who were drawn to some local hermit-monks. The monks had already been dwelling in the rocks near Meteora. Inspired by the monks, Koinovitis and his followers also settled there. They ended up building the Great Meteoron Monastery between 1356 and 1372.
Unique and Different
When it comes to photography my passion is nature and landscape scenes.
These structures are so audacious because of how dangerously close they are to thousands of feet of vertical cliff walls.
Normally I am not drawn to capturing buildings and architecture in general. However, with Meteora, it was different for me. The monastery buildings blend so well with the natural environment and they look like they have been there forever. These structures are so audacious because of how dangerously close they are to thousands of feet of vertical cliff walls. In addition, most of them are surrounded by nothing but vertical cliff walls. All of this creates mystery and beauty at the same time.
The Meteora views are so unique and different from anything else. Yes, cliff dwellings exist all over the world, but this is different. These are entire multi-building monasteries with gardens, yards, and plants on top of giant rock monoliths. When you first see a picture of a Meteora monastery your brain needs a moment to register what you are looking at. It gives you an interesting momentary experience of being confused and attracted at the same time. After that initial moment of shock, you find yourself wondering how that building ended up on top of such a hard to get to place.
I was, and still am, very attracted to capturing images of Meteora. The most striking parts for me personally are the uniqueness of the landscape and its beauty. The cliffs are daunting, yet they draw you in. They look like they shouldn’t be there, but yet they are. They also have this ancient feel to them that you just do not see everywhere. The valleys are gorgeous and full of vegetation, which creeps up in between the narrow openings among the tall towers. There are also mountains just a short distance from there, which also provide a magnificent backdrop for photography.
In addition, the 6 monasteries are spread out throughout the terrain, creating a charming community in nature. They fit the landscape perfectly and in a way compliment it as few man-made structures do. The views are spectacular pretty much in all directions and open nature and landscape photography opportunities around every corner.
Finally, Meteora is just full of charm and that is why it draws so many visitors annually. The summer sunsets are gorgeous and the viewing locations are in abundance. In short, all of the above reasons attracted me and created a desire to visit and capture this beauty with my own camera.
The cliffs are daunting, yet they draw you in. They look like they shouldn’t be there, but yet they are. They also have this ancient feel to them that you just do not see everywhere.
My photographic journey to Meteora
I remember seeing my very first photograph of a monastery in Meteora on a screen saver. It triggered my curiosity immediately. It took me some time to learn what that location was, as I initially had no idea. Later on I found out that it was somewhere in Greece, but it looked like a very remote area that was not easy to travel to. I really wanted to go and shoot there but kept telling myself that it will take a lot of effort to travel there.
Having grown up in Bulgaria I regularly go to visit my parents and family. In 2019 I was on one such visit when a childhood friend of mine told me that he had travelled to Meteora not long before that. He shared his experience in detail with me, which just sparked my interest to a new level. Up to that moment, I had not been planning to go to Meteora. However, when I heard this description and found out that it was only a 6 hour drive from my home town in Bulgaria, I just had to go.
Therefore, I embarked on researching the area and all of the specific locations I could shoot from. I read blogs, articles, and anything I could find on the internet, as I wanted to go prepared and with a plan. In addition, I studied the sunrise and sunset light angles, as well as 3D maps on google. Knowing that I would only have about 2 days there I wanted to be prepared and make the most of my time during the visit.
Lo and behold, a few days later I was on my way. Although I had picked several shooting locations I always like to go and see for myself, just in case I missed something in my prior research. Also, I wanted to do some exploring on my own and see if I could find locations and/or angles that others had not captured.
Some of my scouting activities included exploring areas without a trail, climbing on narrow rocks, and staying away from the crowds. It was brutal in the afternoons as the temperature would rise well above 100F.
I went out shooting early in the morning and late in the evening when the light was soft. However, to use my time to the fullest, I went hiking and scouting throughout the day. Some of my scouting activities included exploring areas without a trail, climbing on narrow rocks, and staying away from the crowds. It was brutal in the afternoons as the temperature would rise well above 100F. Furthermore, the humidity was high also. Nevertheless, I kept pushing through the heat in search of the best places, and am glad that I did.
If I get the opportunity to visit Meteora again, I would gladly do so. This small gem in Greece has captured a part of my heart and I would love to capture more of its beauty.
From the waters off Croatia to the mountains of California, Yosemite has found a special place in Franka’s heart. It’s easy to be a little dismissive of ‘honey pot’ locations and photographic icons, but the sheer scale of America’s National Parks mean that, for the regular returnee, there are plenty of quiet places and more intimate views to be found and enjoyed. John Muir wrote in his 1912 book ‘The Yosemite’ that “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike.” Franka has found both beauty to feed her soul, and a way of photographing that she is happy with, which she describes as being somewhere between the detailed and the abstract, and the wider view.
Change Of Seasons, Eastern Sierra
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do?
I grew up in Split – the largest coastal city in Croatia. My family always put great emphasis on education. My grandparents were teachers, my dad was an orthopaedic surgeon, and my mom was an accountant. My sisters and I knew from an early age that we would go to college. Our family was artistic too. My grandfather was a painter and a writer of children’s poetry, while my father played the guitar and drew sketches. My father also collected art. In his younger days he developed his own film and made prints. My parents valued the importance of creativity and the arts. They encouraged their children to be creative. They always made sure that we didn’t neglect the “important” subjects such as math, science, grammar, literature, history, etc. Art, as they saw it, was something to pursue in one’s free time, after homework and extra-curricular activities. They didn’t want to take the chance of us becoming “starving artists".” My sisters and I did what our parents expected us to do. We focused on school. We all earned advanced degrees.
Our family was artistic too. My grandfather was a painter and a writer of children’s poetry, while my father played the guitar and drew sketches. My father also collected art. In his younger days he developed his own film and made prints.
My father owned a 33-foot sailing boat, and we spent our summer vacations cruising the waters around the countless islands off the coast. He transferred his love of nature to me. I developed a deep connection with nature. My life was all about the sea, swimming for hours in the pristine waters of Croatia, exploring the hidden corners of the coastal landscape, sailing and conquering the wind.
How a global pandemic influenced my relationships with the outdoors, my region, my photography and myself during a yearlong forced sabbatical.
When I was very young, I found myself, along with my brothers, traipsing on the banks of anonymous brooks and creeks that fed nearby rivers, first the Hudson, later, after we moved, the Merrimack. These brooks and creeks were part of bottomlands—those river flanking, low-lying areas prone to flooding that lay like limbs akimbo alongside riverbeds. Bottomlands form the connective tissue, shuttling a watershed’s hilltop rains and spring snow melts back to the regathered run of a river. In these bottomlands, our summer play was raucous with our dares and shouts bouncing like the sun shining off the water. We explored shamelessly, trilling for whatever lurked in the water or the reeds or among the low hanging branches of leaning, mud-banked trees. There, frogs and peepers sang the summer into night and moonlight skittered on icy rivulets under winter’s bare branches. And when we moved again, to an urban area where no river ran, I still would find myself ankle deep in concreted streams, scattered with beer cans, tires and the occasional shopping cart, catching crayfish that darted about my bare feet, only to then let them slip from my fingers and swim on. Bottomlands, I discovered, were places where reverie among the thickets and culverts could overtake any need for solace and dank solitude hung hazy and inviting.
The Way In
It comes as no wonder that now, decades later, I find myself living literally on the banks of the Connecticut River in Western Massachusetts’ Pioneer Valley and making its watershed not only my patch but my playground. These days, I can often be found ankle deep in unremarkable brooks and creeks, framing the bounce of light that darts and swims on, slipping from the fingers of my lens.
These days, I can often be found ankle deep in unremarkable brooks and creeks, framing the bounce of light that darts and swims on, slipping from the fingers of my lens.
And it is no wonder, as the following images show, that I am drawn to those same places and those same feelings of solitude and the subtler brilliance of nature found in the humble form of an anonymous bottomland. And when, in the spring of 2020, the outside world shrank away from us, becoming smaller and smaller and farther and farther away, the disease that robbed many of us of our loved ones, our physical and mental health as well as our freedom to roam, took from me my employment. And in the ensuing year, outdoor creative photography loomed very large on my shrunken landscape, at times even eclipsing the strains and stresses of living life during a global pandemic. That is to say, that photography took on an outsized role, consuming hours and hours of otherwise idle time in my stripped bare world of hand sanitiser, masks, social distancing, outright lockdowns, and, like so many others, a loss of livelihood.
One product of this unprecedented year is my short e-folio—Bottomlands: Luminous/anonymous—that forms the basis of this article. Bottomlands was shaped by the pandemic and the strictures it placed on me—not just government restrictions on movement and masking, but the limitations it placed on my psyche, my mental and physical health and, quite frankly, my ability to muster the nerve to get out the door during a pandemic. The pandemic and my loss of employment had placed new boundaries on my photography—that is to say, altered the form within which I created images. For me, the creative photographer must commit to an exploration of the form that bounds their efforts. That is, we must commit unrestrainedly to probing our relationships with our environment and subjects; with our gear, technology and our practices; with place and the places we shoot; with weather and light; and, perhaps most importantly, with ourselves and our work and the process of creation. It was in the crucible of forced economic idleness and a global pandemic that I set about to do these things during my pandemic year.
Light Lifting
Sentinels
In America, lockdowns come in many flavours with varying restrictions from state to state, and in the red states, even from county to county if not street to street. In Massachusetts, while many businesses were shut down, mask mandates were put in place and strict limitations were imposed on the essential businesses that were allowed to remain open, parks, wildlife refuges and sanctuaries and other recreational areas remained open. In fact, people were encouraged by government and local media to visit these areas, practising social distancing while communing with nature—perhaps not surprising in the home state of Thoreau!
In America, lockdowns come in many flavours with varying restrictions from state to state, and in the red states, even from county to county if not street to street. In Massachusetts, while many businesses were shut down, mask mandates were put in place and strict limitations were imposed on the essential businesses that were allowed to remain open, parks, wildlife refuges and sanctuaries and other recreational areas remained open.
And while it was wonderful to see these areas being accessed by many, it shrank my shrinking world even more so, pushing me away from my usual photography spots and into areas even the most lockdown crazed shut-in would drive or walk past. Oddly though, this alleged shrinking of my world was, in actuality, an expansive sprawling out of my photographic universe. I discovered new locations through investigation and plenty of time behind the wheel. It also resulted in a reawakened appreciation for the thickets and culverts of the nearby bottomlands and other off-the-beaten-path places where I could once again find solace and solitude in the form of creative expressive photography.
Looking back, as is often the case, the infiltration of the masked masses to my usual haunts opened up a whole new world not only in the anonymous (and not so anonymous) places where I made these images but other lesser known lands set aside for recreation or as refuges, sanctuaries, land trusts and the like. These include state forests and parks, bird sanctuaries, wildlife sanctuaries and refuges, historic sites and conservation areas situated on public land, public/private cooperatives, land trusts and even outright private land accessible to the public (no right to roam in the States!). The scene in The Way In, for instance, with its horse path among slanted trees and abundant undergrowth, sits on a narrow strip of land between massive potato fields to the west and the Connecticut River to the east. The stooping trees, seeming bowed in reverence to the sustaining river, call to mind the skewed world I was inhabiting at the time. The tangle of undergrowth mirroring the throng of chaotic forces lined up all around me, choking yet mesmerising in their unwavering uniformity. And the path. Narrow and diminishing, thronged on either side, yes, but a gift of hopefulness and comfort. A way in and onward, should you trust it in the face of its pin-point finiteness disappearing in your eye.
I'm Ready For My Close Up
Knee Deep Knee Deep was captured before the pandemic but is included here as an example of the conditions present in the area during spring flooding.
This scene sits in a nameless area, shared by horseback riders, fishermen and amblers about two miles from my doorstep and is part of the Connecticut River Greenway State Park, a series of 8 parks dotting the banks of the river. This bit of the park became a refuge for me during my pandemic year. The location is subject to regular flooding and bounded on one side by industrialised farming and yet, people have chosen to tuck it away for conservation and enjoyment—a hopeful gesture on the banks of a river. When the backlit ferns in Light Lifting filled in the understory a little way up the horse path, that optimism sprung up in me. Though unknown to me, I was months from returning to work and the worst of the pandemic was only hinted at when I made this image.
When the backlit ferns in Light Lifting filled in the understory a little way up the horse path, that optimism sprung up in me. Though unknown to me, I was months from returning to work and the worst of the pandemic was only hinted at when I made this image
The sun glinting over the river, lifted into light the early spring leaves latticing the scene but left tree trunks behind in the shadow as it streamed over the tender, just unfurled ferns. And days before, when I made Sentinels mere steps away, a hopeful sunlight splashed against the bark of these river-banked sentries, standing watch over the still curled tips of the young ferns bathed in the early morning light.
Like most people, my optimism wasn’t unbounded during this difficult time nor was it left alone by complication, self-doubt and wavering. Arched Arrival, for me, captures the overarching complexity of the bottomlands flanking the river and the vagaries that complicate all matters of living and life, including mine. Taken about five miles downriver from the previous images, this setting is much more wild, complicated and knotty, in part due to the fact that flooding here is considerably more regular and severe rendering the landscape a tangle of down-beaten foliage, muddy culverts and impenetrable thickets. But even here, spring snow provides the necessary illusion that matters may not be as complex as they appear and pattern and cohesion can still be found amidst the disorder and confusion of life. The arched tree frames a tableau rendered cognisable by the addition of a single element—snow—calling to mind that, for me, outdoor photography was more often than not, if not the single element, a significant one, rendering for me the chaotic pandemic world into a semi-recognisable place. Many were the time that I was “out and about” with my camera that I almost forgot the strife befalling the world and myself and my family and loved ones—that single element rendered my world a little more normal than it really was.
Arched Arrival
The extensive flooding in this area is the result of the confluence of the Mill River and the Connecticut River. During spring, snowmelt from Vermont and New Hampshire ambles south to the Atlantic down the Connecticut River, raising its banks and flooding the bottomlands flanking it.
Arched Arrival, for me, captures the overarching complexity of the bottomlands flanking the river and the vagaries that complicate all matters of living and life, including mine.
During spring, where these two rivers meet, nearby my arched tree, the waters back up from the smaller Mill River and inundate these low-lying lands, laying down trees and bushes for their blanket of spring snow. This next image, I’m Ready for my Closeup, taken along the Mill River about a mile or so from the arched tree, typifies the resilience in the face of the pattern of nature’s chaos and the cycle that we at once must endure and embrace, a cycle that took on a monumental importance during the pandemic. That cycle here includes the seasonal flooding of the Mill River, as shown here in Knee Deep, a mile or so up the meander of Small River from the last image.
These next images, Eponymous/anonymous 1 to 5, were all captured in a nameless gulley, about four miles north of the horse path and ferns in the morning sun. This channel amounts to not much more than a dank, large trench carved out by the Sugarloaf Brook on its way to the nearby Connecticut River. To me, the ghostly light, scrabbly undergrowth, untended deadfalls and unwitnessed decay and entropy of this gulch are reminiscent of my childhood explorations in the solitude of the muddy bottomlands near where I grew up. This feeling was enhanced by the baseball field rendered dormant by the pandemic that sat next to this undistinguished ravine. Baseball was a huge part of my youth and thoughts of the games unplayed during the pandemic as I ambled around this gulley became a mental tangle of understory and bramble and sweet decay of time passing as I made these images. Not all images I made in these bottomlands evoke melancholy despite the decay evident in them.
For me, Calliphaea, with its single stalk of an unremarkable weed, jutting from rot and reflection evokes a certain hopefulness and optimism, though it lacks the wash of morning light and vibrancy of spring seen elsewhere in these images. Taken in a flooded basin near Cranberry Pond, a glacial pond that became inundated with people trying to escape the confinements of the pandemic. Cranberry Pond is a place where I have explored endlessly with my camera, literally making thousands of exposures in my early days of exploring the form of creative, expressive outdoor photography. The influx of pandemic invaders to my stomping grounds forced me to explore further the region surrounding the pond leading me to making Overreach stood in a dry, rock strewn creek bed south of the pond. The slanting deadfall juxtaposed with juts of shimmering saplings over the once flowing stream evokes the promise that all things will pass even in the face of cyclical want and the ever-present entropy of life. These feelings are present as well in the flooded Mill River’s grasses and cascading bank of foliage back dropping juts of deadwood reclaimed by the muddy waters seen in Subsumed. Abstraction and pooling light set out in Downcast and Ferned Gulley, respectively, round out this collection of images of anonymous bottomlands, the former fractalising a puddle reflected tree, the latter a small bowl of light in a banquet of shadow and murk.
Calliphaea
My forced sabbatical ended, thankfully, in mid spring 2021. All told, I was out of work for 54 weeks. This essay aside, I did not spend all that time in the muck and mire of my local bottomlands. I surveyed the Pioneer Valley voraciously, exploring it and my relationship with creative outdoor photography with a ravenous appetite. I nurtured my reverence for places of beauty if not unique to the Pioneer Valley, exemplified in its parks and refuges, its farms and forests. I discovered new places of exceptional and distinctive beauty, shaped by this area’s unique history and singular geologic past. Places like the Poland Brook Wildlife Refuge, 664 acres of land managed, in part, to improve habitat for woodcocks, the Zoar Gap, a steep valley cut by the Deerfield River in the foothills of the Berkshires and, among many others, Whetstone Wood Wildlife Sanctuary, Massachusetts’ largest nongovernment managed wildlife sanctuary at almost 2,500 acres. I explored waterfalls, lichen covered cliff walls, hilltop orchards, countless farms, forests, fields and furrows. I stood in spring snow, summer downpours, autumn’s robes of gold and red and the frigid poverty of bare winter trees. While I would gladly exchange all that for a world without Covid, there is nothing else I would take in trade.
There is something special about a walk along the beach; The sound of the waves, the patterns in the sand or the smell of the sea air.
Isabel Díez's career as a marine biologist has kept her in constant contact with the shoreline. Her passion for photography was created out of the need as a researcher to document the ecosystems along the coast.
As Isabel says 'The gaze of a scientist and the gaze of a photographer who wants to express emotions through her images are very different.' We talked to Isabel about how her relationship with the coast has developed and evolved with her love of photography.
Tell us about why you love nature photography? How did your passion develop as a child and young adult?
My emotional bond with nature developed long before my passion for photography. I was born in the Basque Country. My parents had a house near the sea and a small boat we used for fishing. I spent hours in the intertidal pools and watching the waves breaking on the shore; the angrier the waves were, the more excited I got. Finally, I went to the Canary Islands to study Oceanography. At the same time, I have loved art since I was a child. I still remember the first oil painting I painted in the kitchen at my home; it was a copy of a lithograph showing a small wooden boat on a beach under a deep blue sky. I continue to paint and also make mosaics with small stones that I collect from the coast. I always depict natural elements.
Photography took a long time to reach my heart. It started as part of my work at the university. I have worked for 30 years as a researcher on issues related to seaweeds and human impact on the functioning of their ecosystems. I wanted to make a field guide to identify the species and raise awareness of the importance of these wonderful and primitive living beings. I didn't know anything about photography, so I bought 4 books on John Shaw's photography technique, a camera, a lens, and lots of Fuji Velvia 50 slides. Something unexpected then happened; I discovered the art of photography was the best way to join my need to be in nature and my need to create.
“Luminous” is a word that best describes Christopher Burkett’s photographs. Burkett is an American landscape photographer and a master of colour and printing. He lives in Oregon with his wife Ruth. I purchased a book of his photographs, Intimations of Paradise, a number of years ago, and have returned to it often for his perception of the natural world and his ability to show an incredible light and beauty that many of us miss.
For much of my career, I was a book designer at the Smithsonian Institution. It was a wonderful job and an extraordinary place to work. One of the books that I designed was about Farm Security photographer Jack Delano and his images of Puerto Rico. The photographs were a series of portraits from the 1940s and from the 1980’s —arranged side by side across each spread. It was an excellent way to show the dramatic changes in Puerto Rico over a 40-year period. All the images in the book were printed as duotones by Stinehour Press, a superb printer of art books, located in Lunenburg, Vermont, at the time. When I went to Vermont for the press check, I was told that Christopher Burkett had trained the staff to scan and print the images but was on a photographic journey with his wife Ruth at the time. I’m sorry that I missed the opportunity to meet him. I recently read that at that time, Christopher and his wife Ruth were on an exhausting, 15,000-mile car trip that had taken them throughout the United States. One article states that as a result of this trip, Burkett’s photographs were more subtle than they had been before. “Prior to that, his photographs have a rugged, Western feel, stemming from the subjects: rock faces, mountains and canyons. If Ansel Adams had shot in colour, this is what the pictures would look like.”1 The experience of being able to photograph in different environments changes the view of the photographer. All destinations have their own feeling, light, and energy — sometimes incredibly soft and gentle; other times rougher, more angular. Every different place creates a unique awareness for the photographer.
I first heard of Eric Bennet after listening to one of Matt Payne’s podcasts. Although the photography was excellent, a notch above the usual in many ways, I thought his work was similar to many other “well-travelled” photographers. It was the images from areas closer to his home that got me more interested though. For each image of a Patagonian Peak, there was a more interesting photograph of the Wind River Range, Wyoming. For each Icelandic aurora, there was an intimate of Uinta, Utah.
I was reminded of Eric’s work when Matt Payne included him in his Portrait of a Photographer series and was prompted to buy his “Spirit of the Wild” ebook from his backpacking trip in the same Wind River Range that I’ve noticed previously. This short book held more interest to me than his previous travels around the world. Instead of cherry-picking locations, many of which I’d seen before, he’d immersed himself in an environment and brought back treasured memories and experiences. For anybody who wants to see what Eric’s work is about, $25 dollars spent on this book will give you your answer and it will entertain and inspire you at the same time.
Instead of cherry-picking locations, many of which I’d seen before, he’d immersed himself in an environment and brought back treasured memories and experiences
Conversations With Nature
Eric has since produced a portfolio book that combines his favourite images from 2016 to 2020, combining the very best images from his travels around the world with many of his more ‘local’ adventures.
This 168 page, 11” by 11” square, hardbound book is exquisitely printed, each image presented full on a page with more than adequate margins. Although a few images are printed full bleed across the stitching, the book opens almost fully flat so they don’t suffer for it.
The print quality is on a par with the best of the books I own (240lpi Agfa Sublima XM, for those geeky printing fans) and from a quick comparison between his online images and the prints, the colour management has been handled well.
A forward by William Neill and an introduction by Alex Noriega preface the main parts of the book. A prologue by Eric first summarises his goals with the book and describe the way it is broken into four sections where he hopes you will experience the diversity of landscape he has visited and come to value them as he does.
Each section, Forest, Deserts, Mountains and Canyons, is introduced by a very well written essay describing what Eric finds special about each environment, from the “Wood Wide Web” of the Forest’s mycelium powered roots to a brief history of our loss of Glen Canyon to Lake Powell.
Forest
You can very quickly see that Eric has an affinity for the forest environment, especially for the small details. The range of subjects within cover everything from the epic, mountainous larch forests of Washington, through intimate vignettes of Utah aspens; stunning leaf litter through the seasons and subtly lit bark details. It’s Eric’s photographs of marsh oil and leaves that really captured my attention though and one of these was an excellent choice for the cover of the book. My favourite image, though, was the ghost imprint of two leaves in the marsh oil.
You can very quickly see that Eric has an affinity for the forest environment, especially for the small details.
Deserts
The peaceful solitude of the desert environment has called to many artists and writers. Those without experience of the environment may just think of deserts as homogenous sand dunes but the truth is that they are a constantly changing geological wonder where wind and water slowly sculpt wondrous patterns and structures, and hidden biology survives despite ever more extreme conditions. Eric’s eye for composition and form bring the patterns of the desert to life
Mountains
Having visited Patagonia, Iceland and the Dolomites, Eric isn’t short of epic mountain photographs. However, as mentioned previously, it’s the mountains of Wyoming and Utah that I want to see more of and hope Eric spends more time around in the future. I don't know if it's my unfamiliarity with the subject matter that is getting my interest piqued or, more probably, it's the gentle way that Eric has with compositions in these areas, respectfully capturing the essence of the locations without hyperbole or exaggeration. It's obvious to me that the connection here is more of a resident than a visitor, if that is possible in such wild places.
Canyons
The canyon environment isn’t uniquely American but this section is the only one where all the photographs are from Eric’s home country. Although there are the occasional cliche slot canyon photographs, they are well done and I’m happy to say, aren’t all shades of Peter Lik red and orange. Canyons are more than just these narrow sandstone slots though. When the canyons get wider and rivers flow more often, the terraces of trees and fringes of plants bring the environment to life, and the open and bounced light make for a creative photographers paradise.
Conversations with Nature is less immersive than the Spirit of the Wild ebook, as is expected comparing a single trip report with the highlights of half a decade of photography, but as a foundation and milestone to publicly state “this is where I’ve been and this is what I’ve experienced and learned along the way” it puts a solid first foot forward for what will hopefully be a very interesting journey.
Sadly, the cost of postage to get the book sent from the US to Europe is actually more than the cost of the book (£44 for the book, £47 for delivery). However, because I would like a copy myself (I currently have Alex Nail’s copy) I’d be happy to put in a group order which, if we manage to get five people ordering, would reduce the postage to £18. They would all have to be posted to a UK address but we can either sort out a pick-up point somehow or pay the extra for the final UK leg. If you want to order directly, you can do so on Eric's website.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolio consisting of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
The structure of natural Ice is changing and is rarely the same from day today. It is a product of atmospheric conditions such as temperature, rain, snowfall and the flow of water. Its presence when discovered is like a temporary jewel, fragile yet beautiful. Photographing in the winter also has a feel of purity.
Snow and ice simplify landscapes, yet they create subtle and exquisite nuances when combined with the lower light levels. As snow blankets the landscape, ice forms on rivers, lakes, puddles, and the edges of rocks, its temporary presence a challenge to capture. Each photograph made of ice reflects a moment in time and a unique sculpture of elegance. These jewels of the winter have always resonated strongly with me and this series of photographs represents somewhat of an obsession over the years.
With Surrey Landscapes, I wanted to challenge the perception that this county in southeast England is over-developed commuter belt with few distinctive qualities compared to some of the more glamourous counties. Whilst it boasts panoramic outlooks from the Chalk and Greensand ridges, extensive areas of heath, farm and woodland and several waterways, the scenic highlights can also be both subtle and transient in nature. With a quarter of the landscape covered in trees, the county does not give up its secrets readily.
For those willing to explore a bit further there are many stunning areas that really shine through the changing moods of the seasons. This selection of images, taken from my Surrey Landscapes book, shows that the county has much to offer anyone who enjoys the countryside and nature.
Waters have always been one of my favourite elements to shoot. The feeling of being around calm relaxing waters is special to me, since I live in London there is the ever-present bustling, perhaps this is what makes the outdoors all that more alluring to me.
This black and white collection came together from the Lake District and the South Coast of England. On the days I was there, it was windy, rainy, stormy and generally unpleasant, but I still enjoyed being out there nonetheless. Shooting in such weather makes you look at things differently, lines and textures took the most importance, so finding these shots helped me find another perspective at looking at circumstances. Taking these soft and neutral waters shots during the Covid-19 pandemic eased my mind by meditating on their beauty - the airy texture of mist and water melts into the sky and calmed my spirit as I gaze into these images.
While taking these photos, I imagined them in greyscale, reflective of the mood there. From the tranquillity and the peace of mind it gave me, the weather forced me to look beyond and in a newfound way that made me see more. What that’s taught me is that in photography (a lot of the time) less is more.
I hope to take the viewers on a journey- an introspective restful space of tranquillity and peace. The calming soft waters and compositions invite you into the images where the misty textures of the atmosphere soothe your soul and spirit as this tranquil space did for me.
Unlike other National Parks in northern England and Wales, my local patch the Peak District isn’t famed for its dramatic waterfalls. So we must make do. But there is drama to be found in even the smallest of tumbles. Light, curve, reflections; in detail and in their simplicity, there’s more than enough to make an image worth a second glance! Excluding the surroundings, getting in close, can reveal a landscape that might otherwise be passed by unnoticed. Just a few steps either way can make all the difference too; the play of light on the water surface, the interplay of curves and eddies, a reflected landscape to add colour and depth. Thanks to Carol Gregory for the portrait image!
To be truly free one must take on the basic conditions as they are—painful, impermanent, open, imperfect—and then be grateful for impermanence and the freedom it grants us. Gary Snyder
A young photographer wrote to me recently asking if I would consider filming some of my outdoor work and making the videos available publicly. He also inquired about any advice I might have for people aspiring to become professional landscape photographers. As I considered my response, at first it seemed obvious to me that making videos was not something I wanted to do since it would be at odds with my reclusive personality and with the way I photograph. I recognised also that in the minds of many, “landscape photographer” is a profession largely like other professions, with well-established career paths, prescribed milestones, reliable revenue streams, and daily routines. For me, that was never the case. Photography for me has always been, before anything else, something I pursued intending to enrich my life, independent of how I earned a living.
For me, that was never the case. Photography for me has always been, before anything else, something I pursued intending to enrich my life, independent of how I earned a living.
It is by sheer coincidence that photography has become my profession.
Tim and I both spotted James at the same time when he shared a portfolio of work on Twitter during summer 2021; it was a little surprising to learn he’d only been making images since 2018. On his website, calm landscapes and comforting skies sit in contrast to the chaos and disharmony of woodland. On his Instagram feed, this man of science reveals a love of words and writing; here he talks about finding his voice, images that whisper, and the impact this is having on his life. It is clear he has found his passion.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do as a career?
I have always been excited by our natural world, overly-excited if you ask some of my friends. This most likely stems from a young age, where I would be obsessed with science and nature documentaries. As an only child, these were often some of my best friends.
It was actually while watching an episode of Horizon on the BBC as a teenager that I discovered I had synaesthesia, specifically where I see time (dates, months, years) as having a particular location in space, a particular colour and, weirdly, an emotion attached to them. I also see numbers and letters as colours too. Whether this has any influence on my photography, I don’t know. I do find certain colours and combinations of colours to be very difficult to like, maybe this is linked. So, perhaps my brain is wired for creativity, perhaps it isn’t. Either way, I know I find the pursuit of landscape photography to be both mentally stimulating and emotional.
It was in my teenage years that I truly fell in love with the outdoors, specifically during my Duke of Edinburgh award where a group of unsuspecting 14 year olds were told to plan a route, bring food, and were subsequently deposited in the middle of the Lake District National Park to fend for themselves. One of the best experiences of my life, and I did this all the way to the Gold Award (a 50 mile expedition). Back in the early 2000s, the Lake District wasn’t as busy as it is these days. We would often be walking through the fells for hours or days without seeing another soul. It is during these times that I first tasted independence and fell deeply in love with the landscape.
Also, my grandfather used to be a Peak District National Park ranger, so always had a similar intrepid outlook and I would go on frequent woodland wanders with him as a child, growing a love for the outdoors.
My interest in the natural world continued to flourish when at 18 I was lucky enough to go on a 6th form trip to Malaysia where we learned how to SCUBA dive, about coral and general marine conservation, thus beginning a life-long love of diving and an obsession with the seas and oceans.
Inevitably, these interests led me to study earth sciences at university, focussing on sedimentary geology, geophysics, hydrogeology and hydrogeochemistry, fulfilling a desire to understand the landscape I loved being in so much. I have wonderful memories of international field trips studying the volcanology of Tenerife, hiking up Mount Mulanje in Malawi and creating geological maps of areas of both Malta and the Peak District National Park. I was getting to know the landscape I would subsequently end up photographing - I just regret not owning a camera at the time!
Serendipity: An unplanned fortunate discovery. The first noted use of "serendipity" in the English language was by Horace Walpole on 28 January 1754. In a letter he wrote to his friend Horace Mann, Walpole explained an unexpected discovery he had made by reference to a Persian fairy tale, The Three Princes of Serendip. The princes, he told his correspondent, were "always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of." The name comes from Serendip, an old name for Sri Lanka (Ceylon)1
Landscape photography is often a result of good planning, helped by online tools such as PhotoPills and 3D Google Earth (and just occasionally, perhaps, by pictures taken by others and posted on Instagram or seen in books, though we might be reluctant to admit that…). It is now possible to know where to go to get a promising viewpoint with the sun or moon or Milky Way in just the right position for that key shot. The online weather forecast might also help in knowing what conditions to expect, and whether there might be clouds to light up in the sky as the sun comes up (or goes down), an inversion that will produce a layer of cloud in the valley bottoms, or a clear sky with a new moon to reveal the Milky Way. And all before leaving home.
But we also all know that such planning does not always work out. The sun goes behind a cloud on the horizon just as it looks set to light up those clouds; the weather forecast got it completely wrong; there are too many aeroplane contrails crisscrossing the sky or the sky is totally clear and does not provide any interest; or you arrive to find that there are already 50 photographers taking all the best places, lined up tripod to tripod. I still remember being really shocked the first (and last) time that happened to me, 25 years ago now before sunrise at Mesa Arch2.
But we also all know that such planning does not always work out. The sun goes behind a cloud on the horizon just as it looks set to light up those clouds; the weather forecast got it completely wrong; there are too many aeroplane contrails crisscrossing the sky or the sky is totally clear and does not provide any interest
It was still dark, for goodness sakes! And when the sun did rise, one photographer wanted to have a photo with someone running and jumping on the arch (several times) just at the moment of best light for all the other photographers there! Today tripod to tripod lines happen in more and more places (or did pre-Covid, but surely will again post-Covid). Hence the exhortation these days to avoid geolocating interesting new locations, particularly those that would be vulnerable to many visitors3. Not all Instagram posts and “influencers” respect such good advice, of course.
When things work out, the planning can be highly satisfying, especially if the research involved has revealed some new location that will be worth going back to again and again. But this article is about another approach that allows for the uncertain, the unpredicted, the unexpected, the serendipitous. It is an approach that, for me, was partly instigated by that experience at Mesa Arch. It has some advantages in that the resulting images may be found anywhere and are unlikely to have been seen or posted by others. Even more important, however, is the nature of the process required, the way that the search for the unpredicted requires concentration on the possibilities wherever you are. I would suggest that a fine example of embracing the uncertain is Mark Littlejohn’s winning LPOTY photograph “A beginning and an end, Glencoe” from 2014 (still my favourite of all the LPOTY winners)4. This was a serendipitous opportunity, but clearly, Mark had to be primed and ready to see the potential for such an arresting image. I have also driven through Glencoe when the weather has been down, the light was poor, and the waterfalls were streaming off the hillside. In my case, I was concentrating so much on driving through the lashing rain that any thoughts of possibilities were only a vague feeling that I might be missing something interestingly hydrological!
But I do have some personal examples of unanticipated images. One that was quite important to me is from Yosemite. With an interest in the history of landscape photography, I have been fortunate enough to visit Yosemite several times (though on the last occasion in a December when I had hoped that there might be some snow, the downside of the uncertain raised its head in that we could not get into the park because of snowstorms and drifts). I have some nice shots from earlier visits, though to my regret I have never been able to stay long enough to walk up into the backcountry of the Sierras, where perhaps my favourite image by Ansel Adams was taken5. There is an element of serendipity in that photograph, too. The snow patch at the base of the cliffs, and the way the scree is revealed, as he passed on that day in 1932, are all important to the image.
Ansel Adams Frozen Lake
Those “nice” shots of mine do not begin to compare to some of the classic landscape photographs of Yosemite, not only by Ansel Adams, but also by Carleton Watkins, Charlie Cramer, John Sexton, and many others6. That can, of course, provoke disappointment when the results are not quite as interesting as we had hoped during the limited time that we could be there (more so if that arises after we have had to wait until a film is developed and printed after leaving a location). The result is that the Yosemite shot that I am most happy with was a result of looking a little more closely, and a little differently, on a trip one autumn after the first frosts had started to turn the colours of the vegetation. It is lacking a little in grandeur, perhaps, but evokes some of the granitic essence of being above the valley.
The result is that the Yosemite shot that I am most happy with was a result of looking a little more closely, and a little differently, on a trip one autumn after the first frosts had started to turn the colours of the vegetation.
Yosemite, California, 2002
Uncertainty is much discussed in science and philosophy. Various types of uncertainty are distinguished, from ontological uncertainties (does something exist?) to epistemic uncertainties (arising from a lack of knowledge7) to aleatory uncertainties (appearing as if randomly variable8). We might encounter all of these in our photographic lives, though we generally do not have to worry too much about the first if we are prepared to accept that we exist and that the landscapes we are interested in photographing also exist (at least in the Matrix!!). Epistemic and aleatory uncertainties are often handled these days by the use of Bayesian methods9. Bayes equation is a way of combining prior beliefs in possible outcomes with evidence for those outcomes expressed as some form of likelihood measure. We can draw a qualitative analogy with Bayes when combining the planning that gives rise to our prior expectations, with the uncertainties of actually arriving in a place and updating our expectations on the basis of the evidence we find at the time. Bayes methods are often used adaptively for evaluating risks in such a way, but a fundamental issue is how we formulate our (subjective in this case) likelihoods for potential images as outcomes.
Uncertainty is much discussed in science and philosophy. Various types of uncertainty are distinguished, from ontological uncertainties (does something exist?) to epistemic uncertainties (arising from a lack of knowledge) to aleatory uncertainties (appearing as if randomly variable).
This will be critically affected by our past experience and, in respect of photographs, the way we train our eye (as clearly was the case of Frozen Lake and Cliffs and Mark Littlejohn’s Glencoe image). There will always be uncertainty relative to our prior expectations, the question is how do we react in embracing that uncertainty to reveal possibilities? Are we just disappointed and give up if our prior expectations are not met, or do we update to consider other possibilities? With the right mindset, there can be real pleasure in doing the latter.
The pleasure is in the process because as photographers we can search to make selections of both framing and camera controls to create what we hope might be interesting. It is all about of having the facility with a camera to make choices and selections from all the potential compositions that are encountered. And even if the prior expectation of the grand landscape might not prove to be a suitable composition at a particular place and time, there will certainly be points of detail that might be worth hunting for (as with my Yosemite image) thereby overcoming any potential disappointments relative to our prior expectations. The process then involves looking more intently.
Observing in such a way can also carry over to times when you are not carrying a camera (in the unlikely event that might happen, of course). Dorothea Lange has been cited in various previous articles in On Landscape but her best-known quotation seems particularly apt here:
The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera
Dorothea Lange had more to say about planning, uncertainty and the search for images.
To know ahead of time what you're looking for means you're then only photographing your own preconceptions, which is very limiting, and often false.
The best way to go into an unknown territory is to go in ignorant, ignorant as possible, with your mind wide open, as wide open as possible and not having to meet anyone else's requirement but your own.
Photographers stop photographing a subject too soon before they have exhausted the possibilities.
There are also comments from other photographers about embracing the uncertain and being open to the possibilities:
One thing I’ve learned over the years is that, no matter my location, plans or expectations, I ALWAYS find subjects in nature that thrill me and inspire me to photograph!William Neill
When you are looking to find photographs... open up your mind and be still with yourself. The photographs will find you.Paul Caponigro
Sometimes the most interesting visual phenomena occur when you least expect it. Other times, you think you’re getting something amazing and the photographs turn out to be boring and predictable. So I think that’s why, a long time ago, I consciously tried to let go of artist’s angst, and instead just hope for the best and enjoy it. I love the journey as much as the destination. If I wasn’t a photographer, I’d still be a traveller.Michael Kenna
In thinking about this subject within my own personal experience, I was drawn to some examples that come from a spell I spent in Sweden.
My search for the unexpected resulted in a number of images that I still find satisfying (to me at least). At this time, I was using a Mamiya 6MF medium format (6x6) film camera. All of the images presented here were taken with the Mamiya.
I was based in Uppsala but was able to take some time to travel around the country. Much of Sweden, as many of you will know, is relatively flat and forested. There are many areas where you cannot see the landscape for the trees, so to speak. And when I did get towards the mountains and national parks close to the border with Norway, there was low cloud, rain and hail (it was midsummer, as I had planned, but the weather at these latitudes too can be rather uncertain and it was not the best midsummer in the north of Sweden in 2007).
So again, my eye was attracted by points of detail in the landscape, at the wonderful mosses and lichens and flowers and boulders that can be found almost everywhere but which requires that focused serendipitous search for the framing of an image that works. My search for the unexpected resulted in a number of images that I still find satisfying (to me at least). At this time, I was using a Mamiya 6MF medium format (6x6) film camera. All of the images presented here were taken with the Mamiya. Some other water pictures taken in Sweden at the same time, including on that Midsummer trip to the north, can be found in the recent book “The Still Dynamic”10. These images are examples where to quote Dorothea Lange again:
While there is perhaps a province in which the photograph can tell us nothing more than what we see with our own eyes, there is another in which it proves to us how little our eyes permit us to see.
We have to deal with uncertainty and risk in many aspects of life. We do so more or less successfully, depending on how we are able to manage our prior expectations and our vulnerability to the unexpected (especially in an age of Covid). In photography, we can at least embrace the process of actively looking for the unexpected. That will give opportunities to expand the range of possibilities that our eyes permit us to see. It can also provide the additional satisfaction of then being able to study the detail in the still image, detail that might otherwise be overlooked. It is a process that is, perhaps, best viewed as a type of lifelong learning; developing the ability to be able to discover a subject to thrill wherever we might be, and to enjoy the journey as much as the final destination of the images that result.
Moss on Rock with Shadows, Hågaskog, Uppsala, Sweden, 2007
It was reading Tim’s interview with G. Dan Mitchell in On Landscape Issue No. 228 (https://www.onlandscape.co.uk/2021/04/g-dan-mitchell/) who did get to the lake that prompted this article. I still have a framed reproduction print of Frozen Lake and Cliffs, Sierra Nevada, 1932, on the wall. The story of the image can be found at https://www.anseladams.com/frozen-lake-and-cliffs-sierra-nevada/ . I will have to be satisfied with a reproduction print; reported prices for a silver gelatin print at auction are the same order as a Fuji GFX100S/Hasselblad 907X and lens.
These are named after the Reverend Thomas Bayes (1701-1761), a Fellow of the Royal Society (though he never published much in his lifetime). His paper "An Essay towards solving a Problem in the Doctrine of Chances” was discovered amongst his effects after his death by his friend Richard Price who arranged for it to be read at the Royal Society. The paper appeared in the Transactions of the Royal Society in 1763. The paper presents a particular case of combining prior odds of a particular outcome with degrees of evidence for that outcome. A more general probability formulation of Bayes equation was developed independently by Jean-Pierre Laplace in France in 1774.
“The Still Dynamic” was published by the Mallerstang Magic Press in a limited edition of 100 signed copies that have now almost sold out. A PDF version of the book can be downloaded from https://www.mallerstangmagic.co.uk for £10, all of which will be donated to the charity WaterAid. Paul Kenny has provided a Foreword. The book includes two serendipitous images taken with a small Olympus TG-5 near Ballachulish while on a Large Format workshop with Tim Parkin and Richard Childs (ironic that!!).
One early September morning I open the tent and look out, finding myself surrounded by high mountains in the clear dawn light. Nothing can make me go back to my sleeping bag. Time to go to work! I get dressed and head for the bottom of the valley and its strong red, yellow and orange autumn colours. My grown-up son, who doesn’t see the point of early morning photography, is still sleeping in the tent. I should have gotten up earlier! I walk towards the little river at the bottom of the valley and manage to find some classic compositions framed by burning colours and water in the foreground and high mountains in the background. Quite all right to me! But it isn't exactly what I am looking for, so I set off further into the valley. And here I find my motif: forms shaped by the glacier thousands of years ago. In the rainy, black and polished flat rocks the sun sparkles against the light. Perfect for black and white pictures. Sometime later I am back at our tent, finding that my son has left for the mountain lodge. Time for breakfast!
We spent a week in the Kebnekaise mountains. Here you'll find Sweden's highest and most well-known peak, Giebmegáisi. When people in the early twentieth century realised that this was the highest mountain in the country, tourists started finding their way to the area. An alpine style hut was built, making it a centre for Swedish mountaineers and hikers.
The aim of many Giebmegáisi visitors is to climb the highest peak, the South Summit, today 2097 m above sea level. Being a glacier it varies in height and as a result of global warming it has shrunk so much that it might soon be replaced by the North Summit as number one in height.
Today the hut has been extended to a comfortable lodge, including a big restaurant, shop, sauna, and accommodation wings with rooms and dormitories. In the summertime, during the height of the season, you´ll find hundreds of tents around the main building and all 350 beds occupied, despite the nearest road being some 19 km away.
The aim of many Giebmegáisi visitors is to climb the highest peak, the South Summit, today 2097 m above sea level. Being a glacier it varies in height and as a result of global warming it has shrunk so much that it might soon be replaced by the North Summit as number one in height. There are several suitable routes up to the South Summit but the Western route is the most common. It is a long and physically demanding route passing rocky, variable and steep terrain, offering an ascent of up to about 1 800 m, but without technical sections. There are also guided tours along the Eastern route, which is shorter but much steeper, crossing the Björling Glacier with a Via Ferrata climb to the summit.
My son and I have been to the area many times before and climbing the summit is not our main goal this time. But a windless bluebird morning makes us change our plans and after a long breakfast, we start hiking along the Eastern route. We didn’t bring our harnesses but having climbed the route several times before we feel comfortable without them. Not to recommend for anyone without alpine skills! A thin layer of verglas ice makes our top out more thrilling than necessary and we decide then and there not to take the same route down.
After the climbing, we hike a few hundred meters over scree before the snow clad summit appears. We put on our crampons to climb the glacier and are greeted by sunshine and a fantastic view. Finding yourself at such an altitude is always a nice feeling on a clear and still day, but, alas, the number of remarkable pictures is small.
In the area, there are several other mountains more than 2 000 m high, and one of them, Gaskkasčohkka, has been on our mind for a long time. To get there, we hike out to Tarfala, a narrow mountain valley overlooking four 2 000 m peaks embedded in Sweden’s largest glaciers. A truly wild and spectacular place. At the very bottom of the valley, there is a simple mountain refuge where we spend the night.
We wake up early the next morning and prepare for a long day. The weather is not good, but we have plenty of time and the route is not difficult. After a short hike, we put on our crampons and follow the edge of the South Gaskkasčohkka Glacier up towards a narrow ridge where we are met by a stunning view over the North Gaskkasčohkka Glacier covered with a thick layer of fresh snow.
After a short hike, we put on our crampons and follow the edge of the South Gaskkasčohkka Glacier up towards a narrow ridge where we are met by a stunning view over the North Gaskkasčohkka Glacier covered with a thick layer of fresh snow.
The weather gets worse and worse but the route towards the summit is easy to find as it follows the ridge. A short passage of scrambling over rocks with a thin layer of snow and verglas is the last obstacle before reaching the large top plateau. Total whiteout! We turn around and see nothing but our own footprints in the newly-fallen snow. The altimeter indicates an altitude of 2 006 m, but the pressure changes during the night make the margin of error too big for us to estimate the correct position using the contour map. We decide that we got close enough to the summit and head back down. A few hours later, as we reach the refuge we look up and see the skies clearing. If we had only started a couple of hours later we would have had amazing views from the summit!
The day after we try to reach a mountain ridge with a name that fires our imagination – the Dragon's Ridge. The route to the ridge follows a steep snowfield on the edge of the crevasse filled Kebnepakte Glacier. To an outsider, this is a dangerous place. We carefully kick steps in the soft snow, trying not to look down at the deep crevasses below us. Once up in the pass we are in a different world. A thin layer of ice and snow covers the scree and on our right hand side, the high walls of Gaskkasbákti looms over us like a terrible black fortress. We slowly continue in the difficult terrain towards the ridge, but as we reach the glacier leading up to it we decide to bail. The weather is poor, and fresh snow covers the glacier, making a crossing without a rope too dangerous. But it is beautiful and I rejoice. I have taken exactly the kind of pictures I had hoped for – pictures that capture the mystery and beauty of Giebmigaisi.
My photography on the trip
Some of these images from Kebnekaise have been done quickly during hiking, others are created during a longer process. It all depends on what there was time for. When hiking with a buddy you can’t really do as you like. But by nature, I am very mobile and rather look for the motives than wait for them. I also take a lot of pictures when I'm out. The camera is my sketchbook and I constantly try to find something I am happy with. When I do, I often go further and further into the composition. I watch, simplify, and evaluate. From a day trip, I am usually happy with 4-5 pictures. I use the LCD screen almost exclusively when shooting. It is set to black and white, and it is almost a necessity for me today. Mostly because it’s easier when it’s dark.
Photographically, I am interested in telling something about life. I used to be a commercial landscape photographer that had to take photos that I could sell. But as an amateur, I can do what I want. Without chasing ‘likes’ on social media or income. So that is why nowadays I try to say something about the darkness and the light in my life. About longing and sorrow. About mystery and the spiritual side of mankind.
Nowadays I try to say something about the darkness and the light in my life. About longing and sorrow. About mystery and the spiritual side of mankind.
Therefore, I have chosen to work mostly in monochrome because I think it gives the viewer a greater opportunity for interpretation. Monochrome images are in a way not completely finished. You can see your own colours and the photos are recreated in the viewer's mind. That's why it does not matter so much to me today where I photograph. It is possible to create pictures behind my house if I would like to but going away to interesting places gives an extra dimension.
Technically I prefer to work with wide angles, it gives a stronger sense of presence in the images, unlike telephoto lenses that can be flat. For me, the composition is important. Each image must have its own supporting idea. Preferably with a simplified expression of balancing lines and surfaces. In a mountain environment, great demands are placed on the photographer. The distances are great, and it is often difficult to move around as you like in the landscape. The weather can ruin everything, and the equipment takes a beating. It is also problematic to do solo trips in a roadless country. In the Swedish mountains, there is no coverage for telephones and there is a long way between trails and cottages. Despite that, there is probably no better experience than to be able to hike freely over the mountains without any particular goal other than photographing.
When my friend Alex Nail (whom I regard to be one of the best judges of landscape photography) recommended the work of Luke Tscharke (pronounced Sharkey), I immediately looked at the work with gusto. What I found when I perused Luke’s website was a finely curated set of images from an often-underrepresented part of our world, Australia. I of course had heard of Luke’s work before since he has won quite a few awards over the years with his fine images; however, I have not spent a great deal of time digging deep into his galleries to give his work the justice it deserves. Naturally, having never been to Australia myself, I found myself really intrigued by the variety of scenes, compositions, and climates that Luke has been able to photograph there.
‘Your own photos are never enough.’ Robert Adams’ observation (from his book Why People Photograph) has adorned my profile page on Flickr since I joined in 2006. Community is important for a variety of reasons. Since the death of my wife at the end of 2015 I have spent a lot of time in the woods, often exploring the quite dense woodlands within the suburbs of north Leeds. I know I want to be among the trees. I know that carrying my camera enhances and intensifies the experience. When I am surrounded by the trees I know what I am doing. When I consider the many, many photos I have brought home I sometimes wonder what is the point.
One reason I keep checking the Flickr app (and website) is to see the photos posted by Manfred Geyer. He posts regularly and takes good photos in a variety of genre. But what I welcome most of all are his photos of wild, disorganised foliage.
Manfred’s photos of wild, often bare bush or chaotic, layered foliage always strike me as fresh, stimulating. Week after week, photo after photo I am quietly amazed that Manfred has produced photos I find so satisfying out of the most unpromising material.
I think there is quite a subtle and profound process of experimentation going on in Manfred’s photos of foliage and wild bush. I think he probably started out with an intuitive grasp of tone, pattern and a love of being surrounded by natural growth. The formal and structural experimentation that governs Stephen Shore’s urban photography is probably a model for Manfred in his photos of towns, villages and houses. Lee Friedlander is, perhaps, a more immediate model for Manfred’s nature photographs. Perhaps, like me, he’s been excited by the almost chaotic drip paintings of Jackson Pollock.
Every few days I see new and intriguing photos of nature by Manfred Geyer on my social media feed. Every so often I am stopped in my tracks. Something in that stream of photos takes my breath away and makes me exclaim ‘why didn’t I think of that?!’
That was my reaction when I first saw one of Manfred’s beautiful triptychs.
Water and Fire succeed
The Town, the pasture and the weed.
Little Gidding, from the Four Quartets, TS Eliot.
It certainly won’t have been missed by most On Landscape readers that this summer in the northern hemisphere has brought yet another round of terrifying climate extremes. Admittedly, with the climate crisis a firmly established item in the news agenda, we should always treat hyped-up headlines with caution. But the floods in central Europe, heatwaves in the Mediterranean, and (especially) in Canada and the American West Coast, and continuing wildfires in northern Siberia, the Amazon and elsewhere are clear symptoms of rising global temperatures. That these rising temperatures are anthropogenically caused is no longer a matter of debate among scientists.
It certainly won’t have been missed by most On Landscape readers that this summer in the northern hemisphere has brought yet another round of terrifying climate extremes.
Local knowledge brought me back to this oak tree in a thick fog. No other lighting could simplify the dynamic yet complex forms sufficiently for it to work.
It seems inevitable that this is leading many to feel anxious and even a sense of despair at our apparent inability to do anything to help. I’ve had many worrying conversations which often end with the response (paraphrased), “Why should I do anything when China/India/Russia (name your preferred-industrial-superstate-of-choice) are still building coal-fired power stations…what’s the point?” Apathy, disconnect and a defeatist sense of impotence worries me almost as much as the climate crisis itself.
In part one of this article, Max wrote about the idea and construction of his oak wood camera. In this second article, Max writes about the technical notes, field testing and further modifications.
Fame
The scent of blossom drifted through the iron gate. No one stirred in the twilight forest but between shadowed boughs shone the heady colours of the painted bushes. With miraculous luck, the snows of yester month had delayed the blossom more than ever before seen and at the beginning of May, many of the azaleas were still in bud.
With trepidation and internal bemusement, I set up the oaken camera amid the oaks and got to work. I spent a lot of time focusing and at times felt like nothing was really that close to being in focus. Keen to test every possible configuration I swapped medium and large format lenses frequently and applied camera movements galore. By around 7am the annual swarm of visitors began to pour in from every direction and the Mamiya lens mount was detaching itself from the lens board, adding droop to the residual tilt I couldn’t seem to rid myself of. Photographers began to gather, whispering, peering and speculating. I explained, demonstrated, justified and at times business carded to the crowds, using all the restraint I could manage not to mock the smart phoneys who follow the blossom-lined paths staring at nothing but the end of a selfie stick. I chatted with a busy dad enjoying an hour of freedom, a group of enthusiastic German tourists and had a lengthy discussion with one of the camera operators from 2001, A Space Odyssey. Solitary reflection ceded to lively socialising, of which like many of us I’ve been recently deprived.
I went home and took everything apart. I reattached the lens mount in a more favourable position, reset the rack and pinion mechanism, adjusted the shape of the front and rear standards in a vice and loaded the images, unsure whether I wanted to look at them or just get back out photographing.
Miniskirt
I found myself with little patience for looking through the images. The weather hadn’t been the best and I knew the poorly adjusted components had prevented me obtaining sharp focus in many of the images. I noticed that the skies were dustier than ever, making me wonder whether the exposed sensor was a serious problem in the design. I could redesign the back to incorporate a baffle protecting the sensor at one end of its travel, but also looked at the velvet bellows as a source of dust and contamination. Back to ransacking but this time in a charity shop, I finally found a black, fake leather miniskirt that was not only completely opaque (to the benefit of its intended user I’m sure) but fairly flexible. The inside was lined with thin matt fabric that didn’t look as much of a dust trap as the velvet, and the outside would look as good on a smart photographic tool as it would on a woman’s waist. As a proud Londoner who once entered a portrait of myself dressed as a woman in a grumpy old man camera club competition (“it’s something we’d never, ever do”) I bought the skirt with easy nonchalance.
The new bag bellows did look smarter but seemed a little stiff. With the medium format lenses, there was no problem but I wondered whether I’d be able to rack the front standard out far enough for the Schneider 90mm, or whether using rise would pull the bellows off the frame. I set my alarm for 4am again.
The Best camera
Morning In The Glade, Near Thomson's Pond
This time the overhauled camera met Isabella on one of her good air days, sunbeams pouring through the mist and every leaf and petal glistening with drops of overnight rain. Could I respond to this display of fleeting wonder with the heavy and as yet unproven camera? The desire to capture nature’s gift of light before forever lost can weigh heavily on the artist who unexpectedly gets what they want.
Awakened and focused thanks to my flask of espresso, I began to tackle my challenges with new confidence, knowing that if I could just master the idiosyncrasies of the controls, I would achieve results of unheard-of polish and refinement. I did have exactly the same back and the same lenses mounted on the same tripod as before, but now with the large influx of oak and brass between these elements, I had the true large format experience and the complete toolkit of controls I’d missed for so long. Scenes I would have struggled with using any other camera now became straightforward, more than anything because of the flexibility of having all the necessary movements (especially swing) available on a large mechanical scale and the means to study the entire field of view at once. Focusing and setting these movements on a small ground glass was easier than I’d imagined thanks to the large maximum apertures of the medium format lenses – all f/2.8 in fact, yielding very bright images with thin and precise focal planes, and being of modest angles of view, corner drop-off was minimal.
Pink And Purple Path
I’m currently reviewing the images from the first few trips – weeks later as the challenge of merging 8 or more 42MP frames is enough to break my computer. I still can’t quite believe what’s been born of a place so far removed from the pristine, high-tech factories of Japan, but now have the evidence that it seems to have worked – 150MP resolution, extensive movements, and as for the threat of flare, something yet more amazing – there is none to be seen at all, in any image. Scenes that would have lost contrast in my old Mirex adapter from unused parts of the image circle (despite careful shading with one hand) are now rendered in noticeably richer colours and tones, showing that my miraculously cheap and effective Mamiya lenses are even better than I thought. And finally, let it not be forgotten that as I, like you, aspire more to be an artist and naturalist than a camera enthusiast (or reviewer), the greatest reward is in the instrument responding to the performer in the most natural and unobtrusive way.
Sunlight And Mist, Central Stream
Technical Notes and Further Field Experience
For anyone still following this (and as you can’t buy this in a shop I do wonder whether anyone is) here are the basic specifications of the Rush Oak field camera:
Formats
Area covered by shifted sensor in two alternative patterns): 6x4.8cm=5x4, 80x36mm=6x12
Resolution
140MP for 5x4 ratio, 138MP for single row panoramic, potentially 150MP+ for double panoramic row, though not much used due to aspect ratio.
Back
Sony A7RII mounted on sliding plate assembly. The entire assembly, therefore, benefits from image stabilisation and live view focusing.
Lenses
Any medium format SLR lenses potentially compatible via commercially-made adaptors for Mamiya 645. Currently using Mamiya 55mm f/2.8N, Bronica 80mm f/2.8 PS, Mamiya 150mm f/2.8 A and on a separate lens board, Schneider 90mm f/5.6 Super Angulon. Large format lenses probably focusable to 180mm but current bag bellows considerably shorter to favour the medium format lenses’ close focus position.
In practice, I’ve found the medium format lenses to generally outperform the one large format lens I’ve been able to try, but I’m keen to carry on experimenting. The 90mm Schneider is designed to cover a large image circle, perhaps at the expense of the central region I’m using. Other LF lenses may present greater benefits if central sharpness matches that of medium format equivalents. All three medium format lenses were extensively used on a Mirex tilt/shift adapter, and now moved to the Rush camera they show the following improvements:
55mm N
Still capable of the largest shift before vignetting but now with improved colour and much lower incidence of veiling flare. Compact size and lightweight works very well on the camera and with a wide aperture is far easier to focus than an equivalent wide angle on 5x4. I only paid £60 for this lens and it’s a miracle.
Quiet Sunset, Late May, Brockwell Park
80mm PS
Still the sharpest lens I regularly use but now covers a wider useable field (internal baffles caused vignetting on Mirex adapter with any vertical shift) and has improved colour rendition. Easier to mount and swap with other lenses in the field compared to the 90mm Schneider as no extension of the camera is required.
Azaleas And Bluebells, Acer Glade
150mm f/2.8 A
Just about covers the 5x4 field without use of rise, whereas with the Mirex adapter was far more restricted. Extremely sharp and high contrast when wider apertures are possible, though for a lot of images they’re not. A bit on the heavy side so a challenge to keep the front standard tilt-free. Not as extensively tested in the field but awaiting its moment – perhaps for macro use as well as more conventional landscapes.
Arching Oak And Sunlit Azaleas
Wilderness test
Richmond Park is typical of the kind of environment I usually work in – a bit muddy but never too far from a path. At the end of May I took the camera to mid-Wales to visit some of the wilder spots I’ve photographed in recent years. These included the large, dramatic Elan Valley, and the beautiful hidden woodland waterfall known as Water-Break-Its-Neck at Coed Cwningar, Powys.
View To Hay Bluff, Bradnor Hill
Water Break Its Neck, Early Summer
I also photographed distant border vistas from England’s highest golf course, Bradnor Hill. I didn’t have any concerns about how the camera would stand up to these environments, but it was useful to test it on some very different topography. It was also a welcome return to some old favourite locations, to be transformed I hoped not just by the new tool but by recent studies in atmospheric optics that have opened my eyes to new possibilities.
Sunrise And Hill Fog, Coed Cwningar
I’m still processing the images (bear in mind that I can’t see them until each one has been merged from its constituent frames in Lightroom) but everything seems to have worked well. In the field, the camera was as satisfying to use as it was in London, but it was nice to be able to try the “running up a rocky mountain” challenge with it on the tripod, which is a realistic test of vibration resistance. I aim to be in place calmly making my images as the sun rises, but in reality, sometimes sense an incredible wonder of nature unfolding somewhere quite different and have to resort to the laden sprint. In this case, the potential for some scintillating atmospheric optics led me to mount said mountain in record time, tearing through woodland, moorland and eventually some remote and probably private clear-felled upland plantation, to be greeted by the best fogbow I’ve yet seen.
I should also note that given a very limited window to make a photograph in short-lived conditions the camera can still function without ground glass viewing in the same way as the old tilt-shift adapter. As I still use the separate viewfinder in the field for rough composition (with new masks to account for the changes in format), I can quickly identify the centre point and position this in the Sony’s EVF with the backslider also centred. I try not to do this as it goes against the whole ethos of large format photography, but there have been occasions already where it was this or nothing at all. There have also been times when I’ve simply moved from 5x4 to panoramic format without reframing with the ground glass. Any need to add vertical shift to such a panorama in an already established setup can be achieved using the vertical movement on the back, which has the advantage of not affecting focus or moving tilt in any way.
Mossy Canyon, Coed Cwningar
At the canyon waterfall, I felt like a real nature photographer, boots in the river, icy water washing the mountain mud off battered tripod feet and above me a moss-festooned wonderland reminiscent of temperate rainforest.
Clearing Fog, Craig Goch
In the Elan Valley, I watched fog rise and fall in the early summer dawn, alone on a craggy summit far from the land of Isabella. Maybe I needed a camera made from an old rowan tree? Then later in the day, I found a beautiful bluebell wood where I ended up on my knees, tilting to extremes to photograph a lustrous fallen birch trunk. Absorbed in my equally-prostrate focal plane I failed to notice a large lizard that had emerged from under the bark. The calm and quiet work of a large format photographer was no disturbance to wildlife and it remained for the whole experience.
Fallen Birch And Lizard
Fallen Birch And Lizard, Detail
“What didn’t work?” is what the camera reviewers always ask. What didn’t quite perform up to professional standards was my black t-shirt focusing cloth, which is infuriating. Dry and still it’s a simple and practical solution, but in a breeze it continually glues itself to my face or flips off the camera, or turns itself inside-out. Any recommendations for improved focusing t-shirts would be welcome. I did make a better one for my 5x4 camera but reluctant to admit that I don’t use it anymore (I’ve still got boxes of mouldy film and loaded dark slides) I don’t like to plunder that camera bag too much.
Late refinements
Finally, in summer 2021, I replaced the plastic chopping board back with a more polished oak one. It features a newly-ground glass and fresh Fresnel screen and has provision to adjust the precise distance from the rear standard. There are slot-in masks for 5x4 and panoramic fields of view, which unlike the old version won’t fall out when shaken violently.
The Orchard
I once built a telescope to do some astronomy, but feeling I could improve on the first one I built another one, and then another one, and then some years later again rekindling my former love of astronomy thought I could use another telescope or two, and I still had some spare lenses lying around. Likewise with the microscope, the electrostatic generator and now the view camera. At my family home near Wales (long out-of-bounds after the last two years) I revisited an old stock of hardwoods and thought about how much more I enjoyed working with some of them than I do with oak. The oak camera is far from perfect, with potential for improvements throughout its component parts. The sliding back could be more solidly built with an all-metal construction, allowing for a means to cover the sensor at one end of its travel, and with a minor adjustment of dimensions could also accommodate an even larger format.
The brass standards are just about aligned well enough to work, but with precision in mind, I’d like to redesign them in stainless steel and incorporate clearer stops at neutral positions of shift and swing.
The baseboard was designed to accommodate the draw of 180mm LF lenses and so had to extend far more than required by the MF ones I’ve mostly ended up using. If I decided to use these exclusively, I could design a much shorter, lighter and more compact baseboard, and with all the lenses sitting at the same distance there would be no need for a rack and pinion focusing mechanism – the lenses’ own screw would suffice, or I could incorporate a small amount of geared movement to allow for macro work. I could also dispense with the removable lens board and fit the Mamiya mount directly into a smaller front standard.
I found some good pieces of pear, a beautiful hard, fine-grained wood and also picked up some boxwood for smaller precise parts. Just in case I felt like adding black handles to the sliding back, I chose some pieces of ebony once plundered from a musical instrument supplier’s reject shed. I still like the idea of the camera being made of British trees though so will keep to these for the main body of the camera. I visited a beautiful private orchard during my stay and it occurred to me that this could be a theme for the new, refined camera – all the woods would be from fruit trees. I have some pieces of apple for additional reddish colour inlay, and even the ebony, while not exactly a British wood, is I understand from a tree in the Persimmon family.
I’m sure this will all take some time to materialise, but I feel it’s become a certainty rather than a dream. No inventor would be satisfied at leaving a concept half-explored and when the invention is also a tool of your trade, the incentive is even higher. Will anyone read the review though?
This is a photographic project, which I started during the first lockdown of March 2020. It is a collection of images, born out of the restrictions placed upon us all during those first strange, abnormal changes to our daily lives.
As landscape photographers we were no longer able to return to our usual locations to capture that elusive light and morning mist, we weren’t able to capture cloud covered mountain ranges or those life affirming coastal sunsets. Chasing the light, as we all do, was no longer an option. Unless that light was within the daily allowance of an hours exercise which had started and ended at our front doors, highly unlikely for the majority of us.
Just four weeks prior to the nationwide lockdown I‘d moved to Beaumaris, a small seaside village on the Isle of Anglesey. As a landscape photographer, I was excited to have moved to a new area. With such all year round fantastic light, I’d had plans of exploring the surrounding locations, especially the photographers hotspot of Penmon Point, a lighthouse at the North East tip of the island.
Instead, my only option was to slowly explore the area during my daily exercise, of course always taking my camera with me. And this is where the project began.
On one of the daily walks with my partner, we ventured to the outskirts of Beaumaris. The weather was grey and overcast, the kind of weather we all dread as a landscape photographer. Still, I took my camera with me ‘just in case’, as I always do. We reached a small clifftop, overlooking the water towards the North Wales coast, with slightly overgrown grass and a lone bench. We sat on the bench, taking in the view.
And this is the cliche ‘light bulb’ moment.
It didn’t matter the weather was poor. The bitter cold wind in our faces is an accepted part of living by the coast. But sitting there, it felt incredibly calm and peaceful.
The expectation of landscape photography is to have the best light, the perfect leading line through the image, the immaculate reflection in the still water of a lake, the list of ‘conditions’ required for a landscape goes on.
As landscape photographers we need patience, we need to sit down and wait for the light (which may or may not appear), we need to take time to perfect the composition. This is the aspect of photography I love, being forced to take the time to slow down, retract from our day to day lives and focus on the image.
But this all takes time.
As landscape photographers we need patience, we need to sit down and wait for the light (which may or may not appear), we need to take time to perfect the composition. This is the aspect of photography I love, being forced to take the time to slow down, retract from our day to day lives and focus on the image.
However, my ‘light bulb’ moment got me thinking that we shouldn’t always need to wait for the ‘perfect conditions’. In fact, the ‘perfect conditions’ of an image can often lead to an unrealistic view of a location.
So in stark contrast to the norm of landscape photography, in these images I haven’t waited around for the best light or weather conditions and the compositions are very simple.
My intention is to document the solitude and quite often the beauty of the view which the bench provides at that particular moment in time.
Where possible I've excluded any people in the photographs, in order for the viewer to be able to imagine themselves sat on the bench, deep in their own thoughts or in some cases being witness to some dramatic cloud formations.
I continued to photograph any bench I came across. The relaxation of restrictions in the Summer of 2020 meant I was able to travel further along the North Wales coast and discover more benches and their views. It became apparent that with all the benches which I’ve photographed, there have been seldom any duplicates. All have different designs, different views and different purposes.
There are benches found at rural beaches, flooded landmarks, seemingly random grass covered crossroads, views towards snow covered mountains, town centre allotments, the list is seventy strong (and growing) so I won’t bore you with you them all!
But the common denominator is that they are there to serve a general purpose. They’ve been put in that particular place to provide somewhere for us to sit, for us to take in the view.
And this is the aim of my project. I want the landscape, in which the benches are found, to be viewed as if you were sat on the bench yourself.
If I’ve sat on the bench and it’s been pouring down with rain, I'm afraid that’s the view you’ll get in the photo!
But the common denominator is that they are there to serve a general purpose. They’ve been put in that particular place to provide somewhere for us to sit, for us to take in the view.
My project is ongoing, I can’t see there being an end to my obsession with benches and their locations. Even more so now that we are all in a position to be able to travel.
My project has been exhibited at Found Gallery in Brecon, Wales during May/June of this year. It has also had a feature in this issue six of Offline Journal.
I hope you all enjoy the images and if you’d like to see more of my project my website has an extended section with more benches and locations.
It’s easy for the eye to be caught by the fruits of travel, but it’s especially rewarding to find a body of work that is the result of someone engaging at length with their local landscapes. While you can find both on Gheorghe Popa’s website, we especially wanted to interview him on account of his images of Romania’s Cuejdel and Geamăna lakes. These have brought him notice and recognition in a number of international competitions. By turn, these celebrate nature’s own reshaping of the land and highlight the damage that man can cause.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, your education and early interests, and what that led you to do?
My name is Gheorghe Popa and I was born in Aiud, a small town in Transylvania, at the foot of the Apuseni Mountains. I studied pharmacy in Cluj-Napoca, the largest town in Transylvania.
My first encounter with photography was in middle school when I entered a photo club in Aiud; I think I was in the 5th or 6th grade. Here I learned everything there is to know about a photo camera, about developing a film, and about printing. I still recall being mesmerised by the camera obscura. In those days, photography was expensive in Romania, and films or even quality photo cameras were hard to find but, fortunately, the photo club had enough photo cameras to lay the foundations of photography. Things started changing in college when digital photo cameras started to pop up. I bought my first digital photo camera in college after working an entire summer; I practically invested all the money I earned that summer on a SLR-like 4mp Fuji camera.
I have been fond of photography and film since I was a child, so I don’t recall a specific time when I said to myself I wanted to become a photographer. Fortunately, I spent the majority of my childhood in nature where I was able to enjoy its wonders, so half-jokingly I can say I have always considered myself a photographer.
In January 2019, whilst on an otherwise highly enjoyable photography trip in the Canadian Rockies, I had the misfortune to break my right arm rather badly.
I was with a small group of friends exploring the stunning scenery of lakes and mountains in and around Banff National Park in Alberta, Canada. On the second day of our visit, we drove north from our base at Lake Louise, up the Icefields Parkway, past the Saskatchewan Crossing and east along the David Thompson Highway, through the beautiful Kootenay Plains to the jewel that is Abraham Lake.
Abraham Lake is in fact man-made. It is 20 miles long (32km) and over 2 miles (3.3km) wide at its maximum. It was created by the building of a dam in 1972, thereby flooding the rich plains there. The presence of the organic matter from the submerged plains leads to the production of methane bubbles. During winter the bubbles continue to rise as the lake slowly freezes over, deeper and deeper, resulting in columns of bubbles trapped in the crystal clear blue water. The ice becomes very deep and it is possible to walk out over the ice.
The lake is a few hours’ drive from any significant settlement. Surrounded by dramatic mountains, with no sign of humanity, it has an epic feel. It is a rather unnerving experience being a hundred yards or more out on the ice, in the middle of nowhere, far from the safe refuge of the shore, with the thick ice creaking occasionally beneath you. The ice is so clear, you can see many feet down into it. This adds to the strange floating sensation you feel. The ice isn’t flat at the lake edges, due to the underlying water level varying. I was cautiously exploring a new area of the ice, when I was caught out by the sloping ice slab surface and slipped, breaking my right upper arm.
Abraham Lake is in fact man-made. It is 20 miles long (32km) and over 2 miles (3.3km) wide at its maximum. It was created by the building of a dam in 1972, thereby flooding the rich plains there. The presence of the organic matter from the submerged plains leads to the production of methane bubbles.
Abraham Lake in winter, with Mt Michener. Taken one handed
It was several hours of very painful driving to the nearest hospital. As it had been -17 degrees C outside, I was wearing five layers of thick clothing. Peeling them off, so I could be x-rayed, was excruciatingly painful. Away from photography, I work for the NHS as a GP in my spare time. To my horror when I was shown the x-ray, it appeared to indicate that I had some form of bone cancer - probably spread from elsewhere in my body. The local ER doctors patched me up and advised urgent further investigation once back in the UK.
Whilst I did battle with my airline’s medical line to arrange an early return to the UK, I decided to make the best of the situation. I was in an amazing part of the world at a wonderful time of year. I ended up unable to change my return flight date, so I decided to push myself to carry on with photography as best I could.
I found myself forced to change my approach to photography. Being very right-handed was a problem. For the remainder of the trip, with patience, determination and a lot of help from some wonderful friends, it was surprising how much I could manage - albeit from the side of the road. Putting up a tripod with one arm is near impossible, so it was great to have help.
Trees on the Kootenay Plains, Alberta
Having a geared tripod head was a godsend! The great advantage is that the camera, once mounted, is stable at all times. I could adjust the three planes of rotation one at a time, with no risk of the camera slipping. Though I couldn't stray from the road or path, it was a great relief still to be able to shoot at all.
I found myself with a protracted period of time off work and immensely disabled with my right arm strapped up in a brace/sling contraption. The arm was prone to stabs of painful clunking due to the broken bones changing position when I moved.
The last shot from the trip: A Blizzard blows over the Vermillion Lakes, near Banff.
Back Home
I eventually saw a specialist in the UK and was told that the ‘cancer’ was more likely a very rare but benign bone growth. This lightened my mood considerably, though it was another 6 months before I was given the final all clear. I found myself with a protracted period of time off work and immensely disabled with my right arm strapped up in a brace/sling contraption. The arm was prone to stabs of painful clunking due to the broken bones changing position when I moved.
I had a point of realisation that I never seem to have the time I would like to explore my photography, and with my innate stubbornness, I was determined to use the time well. Away from my helpers, things got complicated. I could not drive. I could not dare walk on uneven ground, I could not carry more than one camera with one lens and certainly not a tripod!
Operating a DSLR with one arm is tricky but not impossible. I often had to hold the camera strap in my teeth, in order to free up my one usable hand so I could change a setting. I found that I could cradle the camera in my left hand from underneath and hold it up against my face for stability. I could then press the shutter by reaching round with my middle finger.
Having a big, heavy DSLR camera didn't help much and camera shake was obviously even more of a potential issue than normal. This made my choice of only shooting infrared easy, as my IR-converted Nikon D700 has a relatively high base ISO of 200. Further raising the ISO for mono infrared shots didn’t seem too much of an issue, as I, along with many other people feel that grain/noise looks more 'natural' in mono. I found that ISO levels of 400 or 800, combined with my Nikon’s ‘VR’ image stabilisation system, enabled fast enough shutter speeds to avoid camera shake. So my usable kit of choice was my infrared converted D700 and a 24-120mm lens.
The clay pit seen from the safety of the footpath
Stability issues meant that I could only shoot standing. I dared not kneel for fear of toppling over or being unable to get up without causing severe pain. I was unable to adjust the focal length of my zoom whilst holding the camera up to my eye. A trial and error approach was needed - I had to lower the camera, adjust the focal length by guess work, check the view and re-adjust until happy. This made precise framing of my shots very tricky and was frustrating when the light was fleeting. I would shoot multiple frames in the hope of capturing at least one decent composition.
Staying Local
I live in a tiny, medieval village in a very rural part of Suffolk. In the days before smartphones and satnav, my area had been described as the ‘Bermuda triangle of lost motorists’. The countryside around the village is an unspoiled, quintessentially English landscape of gently rolling low hills, verdant pastures, rivers and water meadows with small patches of woodland. At one end of the village, there is an abandoned clay pit that dates back many centuries. The clay from it was used to build the timber-framed medieval houses that still form the majority of the village.
I live in a tiny, medieval village in a very rural part of Suffolk. In the days before smartphones and satnav, my area had been described as the ‘Bermuda triangle of lost motorists’.
Tightly packed, slender trees reach towards the light.
My favourite landscape subject has always been the coast. I tend to shoot very low and quite wide (24mm typically), aiming for really quite simple images, often with slightly prolonged shutter speeds to smooth water and further simplify the scene. In terms of composition the copses, water meadows (and the clay pit in particular) near me were a challenging proposition to capture well. I decided to concentrate on the clay pit area, an extremely complex environment, with a mix of uneven ground, very mixed foliage, loads of giant creepers and ivy, and a lot of dead and fallen trees, logs and branches - all in a giant tangle! Compared to the clean, geometrically simple, carefully considered coastal work that I was used to, this was very different.
By chance, however, this was the sort of more challenging work I had been intending to head towards - moving away from mainly coastal, wide angle, tilt-shift lens work, towards monochrome work at longer focal lengths - trying to make sense of the much more complex inland environments. I had become aware that my work was perhaps too ‘samey’ and too restricted in scope. I needed to broaden my horizons and push myself to try other settings.
The transition to monochrome work was part of this. I understood that forcing myself to work in monochrome would help me develop artistically, to look more carefully at the tones and tonal relationships in what I was shooting. I had experimented with Infrared film in the mid-1980s and I had started using an infrared-converted DSLR camera about 18 months before my injury.
This approach to my photographic development had come at the suggestion of Paul Gallagher, who is well known to On Landscape.
Complexity
Paul termed this approach as ‘embracing complexity’, which sums it up nicely. How does one go about coping with the chaotic scene most normal woodland presents? One needs to, in some way, distil down the scene and present it in some coherent manner, conveying the essence or spirit of the place. Like the title of the film ‘Dr Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb’ one needs to come to terms with or ‘embrace’ the complexity and work with it rather than become overwhelmed by it.
Adapting To Change
Circumstances had forced this change upon me, as my local area was my only available subject. To start dealing with all this complexity, I found that using longer focal lengths certainly helped. Separation is perhaps one key element of this, with the resulting shallower depth of field and tighter, restricted angle of view assisting.
Circumstances had forced this change upon me, as my local area was my only available subject. To start dealing with all this complexity, I found that using longer focal lengths certainly helped.
Concentrating on details. Ivy stems winding around an oak tree.
I experimented with cropping the composition down to smaller areas, to concentrate on repeating patterns or simpler geometry (e.g. a line of parallel branches or saplings) - separating them from the wider complex setting by removing distractions from the scene. I have learned that paying close attention to the relationships of different elements is important. Finding these compositions in such an intensely crowded environment is hard. Many shots that appeared ‘balanced’ in the visible light of the viewfinder, proved not so when reviewing the infrared raw file later at home. This is because the areas that are darker or lighter to the naked eye may not show the same differences in tone in the infrared part of the spectrum. Some early attempts just had too many compositional elements to work well.
Sometimes taking a step to one side or dropping a little lower can improve the geometric alignment/relationship or two trees or overlapping branches.
Interwoven ball of vines, supporting itself.
I started using wider apertures combined with longer focal lengths to help with ‘focal separation’ - helping distracting elements melt away into a blur and simplify the image taken. Some initial shots had too little depth of field, with the main ‘subject’ of the image not sufficiently in focus, other images had too much depth of field, yielding a view that was too busy and detailed.
Similarly, I took care to employ ‘tonal separation’,
such as using a darker backdrop behind a paler subject (e.g. birch tree trunk in front of darker conifer trees), finding that this helped to clarify the composition and add depth. Often a small adjustment in position to one side would give the subject a darker or plainer backdrop.
Progress
At the start my options were limited. The clay pit had been used over centuries and has several different excavated areas with multiple different levels and some very steep drops. Even the flatter areas away from the footpath are carpeted in ground ivy and a tangle of vines and roots. Sections had huge masses of thick tangled vines, tied into bizarre knots.
Venturing in. A curtain of vines, deep in my local clay pit.
At first, I did not dare wander from the single narrow footpath that runs through the area, peering through at possible subjects that were initially far too dangerous to access. In due course, I tentatively tried to venture off the path into the dense body of the clay pit. Creeping cautiously around, always looking for something to grab to steady myself and closing my eyes at times to avoid scratches, I pushed my way through the heavy growth, trying to find the easiest path but frequently having to retreat. I had the benefit of starting this exploration in February when at least the foliage was relatively bare. I built up a good memory of what routes worked and which didn’t. I found groups of trees and strange clusters of vines that had previously been invisible to me, opening up more and more options for subjects and compositions.
At first, I did not dare wander from the single narrow footpath that runs through the area, peering through at possible subjects that were initially far too dangerous to access. In due course, I tentatively tried to venture off the path into the dense body of the clay pit.
Getting lower and closer into the ‘jungle’
Given my time off work, I had the luxury of being able to return time and again, often revisiting and revising previous compositions I had tried. Over my slow weeks of recovery, I took myself to the clay pit several times each week, each time exploring a little more, refining my efforts with each new visit, further distilling down my interpretation of the local environment.
As my arm began to heal, the instability of the fracture eased off and the fear of inadvertently triggering a painful clunk in the arm faded. My stability and more importantly my confidence improved and I was able to crouch down if necessary.
Tangled complexity. The vines are up to 3” thick in places.
These local spots are very far from being classic honey-pot locations. I had to try harder to achieve images that might prove initially pleasing but also stand the test of time and retain their value to me later. What was once an area that seemed physically repellent to me, became one of familiarity that tempted me back. Something that I had known about for many years and never considered worthy of photographic study became a place I know I will return to and discover more of in the coming years.
My photography has changed. Having been forced to work more slowly, I am more used to a slower, more considered approach to my image-making. I have got into the habit of walking more slowly, of pausing frequently, taking time to look properly and ‘see’ my surroundings. I am happy to sit for a few minutes or lean against a tree and tune in to my environment. I have continued to make a lot more monochrome images (digital and film). My style has changed. I love taking time to spot little features or relationships that might have gone unnoticed in the past. I also think I shoot fewer ‘bad’ photos!
Trees on the Kootenay Plains, Alberta
Interwoven ball of vines, supporting itself.
Venturing in. A curtain of vines, deep in my local clay pit.
The clay pit seen from the safety of the footpath
Concentrating on details. Ivy stems winding around an oak tree.
Tightly packed, slender trees reach towards the light.
Complexity
Getting lower and closer into the ‘jungle’
Tangled complexity. The vines are up to 3” thick in places.
The last shot from the trip: A Blizzard blows over the Vermillion Lakes, near Banff.
Abraham Lake in winter, with Mt Michener. Taken one handed
Each time I read one of the many wonderful End Frame articles I ask myself which image I would choose for this. I don't really have any absolute favourite photographs. I like many different photographers and styles for different reasons. Yet there are some single images that stick with me for a longer time, that I think of again and again, and sometimes I'm not quite certain why that is. Thus, I decided to pick one of these images and try to analyse the attraction and put it down in words.
The title of the photograph is Twin Oaks and the photographer is Wynn Bullock. More about him can also be found in Tim Parkin's article about the book 'The Enchanted Landscape' in edition 20. The image was made in 1956 in Jolon Valley, California, although this is one of those pictures where the time and place are entirely irrelevant. The photograph is framed by two very old oak trees, as the title suggests. However, these two trees do not seem to be the immediate subject to me. They are only partly visible and mostly kept in shadow. Not much detail of their bark and leaves is visible, but I have to admit this may be different from the original print. Between them in the background is a light area that draws the attention of the eye first. There is some shimmering texture, but nothing recognisable. Next, the dome like form of the top of another tree or bush meets the eye. It's the first surprise of the image because that incomplete shape is unexpected in that place. It suggests a drop in height behind the oaks, something unknown that might be discovered later. But its main function is to propel the gaze back to the foreground for now.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolio consisting of four images related in some way.
Submit Your 4x4 Portfolio
Interested in submitting your work? We're on the lookout for new portfolios for the next few issues, so please do get in touch!
During the week, I spend my evenings monitoring the weather and doing an online recce on different possible spots. It is clearly sunset season: all the social media sites are saturated ! Instead of putting me off, I took it as a challenge: capturing the sunset in a way that could not be done with a smartphone. What better way to push the creativity and techniques (still very much a learning curve for me).
We had a first attempt on the Saturday evening but the sky stubbornly refused to opened up. Sunday was my last chance as the weather forecast was very dull for the next week...
I decided to leave early enough to take full advantage of the golden hours in Brightlingsea, only a few miles away. I knew that it is very often used by local photographers. Trying to avoid taking the same photo as everyone else was adding to the challenge...
The temperature dropped quickly but I didn't feel it, too busy taking in the scenery and planning the next click. Pushing the f-stop for the sun-star, using the ND filter, getting low, high, left, right... My photoshoot turned almost into a PE session!
The sun was at the rendezvous, setting the sky on fire. That evening, everything seemed to get together. Making a choice between the shots during the post-processing was difficult.
All four photographs give a different view of the same sunset.
This set of images were taken whilst walking around the closed ski resort of Campocatino in Central Italy, on the day before Italy put in further lockdown restrictions for the Christmas holidays 2020. The weather and stillness of the empty resort created an atmosphere and strong emotional response in me that inspired me to write the following poem.
When The Inclement Times Refrain
Someone had parked a caravan by the path for trekkers, in the time of blue skies; of travel brochures.
But today was cold, the air an icy mist, raw with ethereal light. How often I wondered,
did the path become impassable? Have lives become unbearable lost in this harsh white cloak?
In the snow gone blue with cold tyre tracks and footsteps whisper their frosty signs of lonely exploration.
Are the hotels full of ghosts? The rooms filled with the smell of lockdown stillness, of icy spectres and pre-covid hugs.
Had I a window, a portal to christmases past to the joy and laughter, of skiing and clowning companions exhilarated, on ambitious pistes.
But on the raw bleak path, only the caravan freezing promotes the optimism of blue skies and kind when groups of friends will meet,
For the past 18 months, I have been walking and photographing our local trails in Bridgewater, Nova Scotia, Canada and call my project Trailings (read her full article here). Trailings are defined as "to mark out, to track, to tread down or make a path through grass or the like". I leave no evidence on the trails I have tread. Instead, the trailings of my walks leave a path through my mind, opening it up to possibilities, creativity, and positivity.
Walking with my camera is my therapy, used as a means of processing and overcoming life's challenges. I use my camera as a tool, and I tell stories through pictures. By observing small details in the world around me, my mind empties of its problems.
I will be exhibiting this project in April 2021, and these four images are part of that exhibit. A solitary leaf plays the lead in these photographs. Put together, they tell different stories...pictorialising the day to day struggles all of us face throughout our lives.
Suspended Animation A sudden drop in temperature froze these leaves and grasses in place....a moment in time suspended. All of us face times like this in our lives. Tragedy strikes when we least expect it, and we are overcome, our lives suspended for a time while we process and find the strength to carry on.
Last Teardrop My biggest hope for my photographs is that they evoke an emotion. Some people prefer to view happy images. But life isn't always happy, is it? I created this image in recognition that not all days are happy days. Standing in the cold December rain, I spotted a lone leaf. I waited, and waited until finally a large drop formed on the branch and I took my photo. I captured the feeling I wanted to convey, and that is true happiness for this photographer.
Balancing Act A simple minimalist photograph...or is it? Defined by a few pine needles, a sole leaf and a solid rock background, in my view, this is a metaphor for life.
Last One Standing A solitary leaf can tell many different stories. This leaf evokes a totally different feeling for me than Last Teardrop (opposite page). In contrast to the seed pods that were hanging down and looking dejected and forlorn, the one remaining leaf was pointed straight up, seemingly standing proud in its achievement. The golden glow of the lone leaf stood out in the otherwise gloomy scene.
