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Seeing Ghosts?

I keep seeing human behaviours and emotional states in photographic subjects which I know full well are not human and don’t have such characteristics; trees, rocks, clouds, that sort of thing. In other words, I’ve recently been anthropomorphising images wildly. Obviously, I know I’m merely projecting these human characteristics, and I’ll assert my confidence up-front that it’s not just me sliding into early dementia here: Flickr and the like are awash, judging by the comments, with ‘malevolent‘ weather systems, ‘brooding‘ mountains, ‘dancing‘ streams, and generically ‘moody‘ examples of just about everything. Beyond that, people have historically named features and built folklore around them: the countryside is littered with named rocks and trees, and Scottish mountains often translate as body parts. It’s apparent that people like to see their landscapes in terms of human characters, and the starting point of this article is that I’ve come to think that anthropomorphism helps in appreciating images; but does it help in creating them too, or could it?

I’m not talking about animals and birds….

To define the scope of what I’m musing about here: it’s obvious that shots of animals behaving, or appearing to behave, like humans are engaging, eye-catching and have an emotional impact ñ after all, we can readily project our own emotions onto the subject and thereby feel that we identify and empathise with it, making the image more appealing. As simple examples, think ‘happy dog’ or ‘playful kitten’. Apart from anything else, those projections may well, on some level, be entirely reasonable; the dog may well be happy and the kitten may indeed be feeling playful. But what about landscapes? I’m not taking much risk of argument (I hope!) in asserting that a large rock doesn’t actually feel like a ‘guardian of the cove‘, or whatever! Nonetheless, even for non-sentient objects, does anthropomorphising make landscape images more accessible to the viewer; more alluring? Does an image with which we can create an emotional connection, or whose subject’s motivation we can imagine that we understand, whether consciously or unconsciously, help the image itself, in the sense of making it a better photograph?

Before leaping into whether, and how, this habit we have of seeing things as exhibiting our own characteristics is useful or good, I’d better briefly define the primary rationales for anthropomorphising ‘stuff’. It seems generally held in psychology circles that there are three principle reasons for our doing this:

1. Projecting our own behaviour onto things is an attempt to understand them. Essentially, this is a typically child-like habit which we largely grow out of when we realise that the World really doesn’t quite work that way. This is mostly applied to things which actually look human to some degree, often featuring eyes, ears, arms, etc. Think dog and kitten again.
2. Seeing things as human in order to provide a connection with them, to develop empathy. Consider people ‘sharing‘ a quiet, contemplative moment with their favourite tree. This is more the realm of literature than visual images, though I’ve certainly seen images in which people are supposedly ‘enjoying sitting with the tree / flowers / rock / stream’; the very words ‘sharing‘ and ‘with‘ imply a connection both ways.
3. Attributing motive, intent or emotion to objects as if they were human. This is, I believe, the most interesting in the context of photography, or any other visual art; at least, it’s the one we’re using most obviously when describing images in human terms. Again, think of those ‘angry‘ storms, ‘marching across the landscape’.

So, whilst anthropomorphism is simply attributing human-like characteristics to any non-human objects, I’m writing about landscapes only here. I’m not talking about animal and bird behaviours: I’m considering assigning emotion, intent, motivation, thought and other distinctly human features to various aspects of a landscape image. This does include trees which look like people and mountains with faces, but it applies to weather systems as well: think ‘threatening clouds‘, ‘menacing darkness‘, ‘joyous light‘ and all those other fundamentally human emotions which we project onto landscapes.

What’s the value in seeing trees, rocks and weather as human?

Tim Parkin

Here’s an image by Tim Parkin where the two trees look very much like legs and feet, standing in the water. I see this mainly as an example of the second type of anthropomorphism, but it has elements of all three if you start imagining the body attached to the legs, and perhaps the purpose it has in being there, even where it might be going, in that I see the legs as being braced, ready to move. I’m convinced that this vision of the subject as having near-human purpose makes me engage more with the image.

Conveying emotion is key…

…an oft-quoted, and paraphrased, piece of advice for making effective landscape photographs, and not necessarily one which requires any anthropomorphism whatsoever. It’s perfectly possible to have an emotional response to a scene due to association and memory, but eliciting that sort of reaction in the viewer is, from the perspective of the photographer making the image, pure luck. Whilst I may have an emotional response to a particular view of a particular hill, based on my past association with it, or even to a completely unknown hill which is reminiscent of something, you, as the viewer, may not, so the photographer has no real control over your response.

More interesting, at least in my view and from the standpoint of aiding composition, is the idea that we can use archetypes to deliberately induce an anthropomorphic view of the subject. Those archetypes can be very wide-ranging and depend not only on the subject itself but the way it’s used compositionally. Imagine a large rock on a beach:

• photographed close up on a sunny day, with its bulk dominating the frame and the breaking waves in the background, it might be imagined as an impassive sentinel, casting its gaze out over the sea; keeping watch and confident in its role;
• photographed from above and behind, on a stormy, dark day with waves forming the majority of the scene and the rock shown as small compared to the enormity of the ocean, it could be seen as a beleaguered guardian, apprehensive and about to be overcome by the power of the ocean.

Both those examples, whilst arguably fanciful and exaggerated to make the point, are typical of how we collectively describe features of landscape images. Sometimes it’s subtle and non-specific: ‘moody‘ is rather imprecise, for example. Sometimes it’s very pointed: the image to the right, by Duncan George,

Duncan George

is of an abandoned hide on the Blackwater estuary. Duncan says that it ìlooks out over lonely salt marsh.î Whether or not I’d have seen this image that way without the caption, I don’t know, though I suspect I would, but, having read the caption, I’m unavoidably thrown into imagining myself standing there, not beside the hide but as the hide, surveying the bleakness of the scene ñ and yes, feeling lonely! On one level, and ignoring the technical aspects of colour, texture and detail, this is just an old wooden shed on stilts on a rather banal, flat landscape; adding the emotional overlay and identification with the hide’s situation (or predicament!) gives the image a great deal more impact, engendering a sense of isolation and abandonment. To my eyes, that emotional and situational identification with the hut helps the image a great deal.

Bruce Percy

Another example is the following image, which Bruce Percy has kindly allowed me to use, of Olstind, a mountain on the Lofoten Islands of northern Norway. Bruce describes this mountain, in his ebook on Lofoten, as looking like an old man with a beard, perhaps wrapped in a nice, warm cloak, and talks about how he began to see the mountain as a presence whilst there, one to be engaged with. This anthropomorphic interpretation of the scene illustrates Bruce’s emotional engagement with the composition and with the surrounding landscape, and also conveys more interest in the image to me, as the viewer. It makes my whole experience of studying the photograph more involved and empathetic, both to its creation and to the end result.

Back to naming and labelling then?

In each of the above two examples I drew their anthropomorphic quality from their names or captions initially, though of course I don’t know whether I’d have felt similar emotions had I seen just the images and no accompanying text. It’s obvious that words are not essential, that we as viewers can project human thoughts and emotions onto landscape elements without either being told to do so or told what those projections should be; but perhaps the use of words links the creating artist to the viewer and assists the process of appreciating their art?

Compose with anthropomorphism in mind?

I think visualising and creating compositions with anthropomorphism in mind may be a useful technique in creating the ‘emotional engagement’ so often cited with reference to images of all sorts. And whilst engendering anthropomorphic feelings for the subject in the mind of the viewer is clearly easier with some subjects, and landscape photographs are certainly not amongst that group, it’s undoubtedly possible and potentially a very powerful tool in helping the viewer to engage with the finished image.

Perhaps, however, rather than seeking to deliberately construct an image with the intention of inducing the viewer to attribute emotion to weather, rocks, trees, bodies of water or mountains, it’s most effective to simply allow oneself to see things that way during composition and hope that the resulting image will produce a similar response in people looking at the finished item, as I know Bruce did with his Olstind photograph? Whichever of those two approaches you take, I have written before about the potential benefits of naming and captioning images and I still think it’s useful. If anything, this idea of using a caption or name is reinforced by the idea that we can pass on the anthropomorphic view we had when capturing the image.

At this point in my development as a photographer, all of this is very much just speculation. I’m not remotely suggesting that every image should, or indeed can, use anthropomorphism, either in itself or via associated titles and captions. What I am putting forward is the idea that doing so may well be, surprisingly often, a means of creating that much sought-after ‘emotional engagement’ between the viewers and the resulting image, and that it can therefore be a useful tool in composing images. Anthropomorphising something can

Mike Green

make it seem more understandable and predictable: we ascribe intent or intelligence, even purpose, to the objects in the frame and this helps us in our basic wish to make sense of, and connect emotionally with, an uncertain environment. People’s need to use anthropomorphism to interpret and accept their surroundings is a long-established one, and using that seemingly inherent trait must surely be a useful tool to landscape photographers.

My notes for this piece included whether or not actively treating subjects anthropomorphically is a good or a bad thing, and I’ve failed to think of any way in which it’s bad. So, I’d welcome comments on any of the above, including whether you think this is generally either positive or negative, both from the perspective of the photographer and from that of the viewer.

Oh, and I just remembered that I called by most recent image ‘Talon’, as described in my previous article on being aware of the ‘right kit’ and at the time I wasn’t even thinking consciously about this subject!

Note from the editor: You can see more of Mike Green’s photography at http://www.mikegreenimages.co.uk/

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Mike Green

13 thoughts on “Anthropomorphism in Landscape Photography”

1. I think I understand what you mean by anthropomorphication of landscape. I have two large problems, however:

   1) if I were to play 6 notes on a bassoon, without prior knowledge would you recognise them as depicting the character of a Grandfather? [spoiler]

   I like to think that a photograph, or piece of music, should convey something mostly unambiguously, that most sane viewers or listeners would deduce without recourse to title or programme notes.
   Why would I see the negative-space in Duncan George’s photo as connoting loneliness, if it weren’t for the caption – especially when the tonality is warm?

   This is about *implication*, the trouble with which is its potential for being tenuous or simplistic – if you tell a 6-year-old kid to accompany the sound of a thunderstorm on the piano, they’re going to bang offensively on the bottom couple of octaves and sustain pedal whilst grinning cheesily through a smear of marmalade at you. And if one seeks refinement, does one lose audience comprehension?

   2) Should one strive to find something emotive to say about everything we shoot in the landscape? How does it fit in with other approaches, for example record/documentary or Zen? Should I set aside a flickr set for it as a theme?

   [spoiler] – If you need to read this spoiler, then why did Prokofiev use that motif in _Peter and the Wolf_?

   Reply ↓

2. Thanks for the comments, Tim.

   1) I won’t dispute that lack of ambiguity is sometimes desirable. Equally, I think the reverse is also true: that ambiguity can be positive and provoke interest. Looking at Duncan’s image, I see the simple fact of a solitary ‘viewer’ in an uncluttered environment as evoking a sense of ‘alone’, if not necessarily ‘loneliness’, with it’s negative connotations. My point on that image is more to do with identifying with the hide in some way, and I think that the viewer should interpret whether it’s a positive or negative feeling for themselves. Many emotions genuinely are relatively simplistic, so I have no great problem with that. People have long wanted to identify with their surroundings, and all I’m saying is that photographers may use that fact, both in the creative process and, if they wish, to deliberately convey something to their viewers.

   2) Following from the last point, no, I don’t think I’ve suggested that we should strive to find something emotive in every image. I’m merely saying that it is certainly an aspect of how some people see landscape, and that it can and may be used. Whether to do so or not, either as the viewer or the creator, is most certainly optional, and quite possibly a bad choice for some subjects – but I do think it’s a factor worth considering.

   As the photographer, I might use a caption or name if I actively want the viewer to see my interpretation: perhaps that’s ‘cheating’ in some respects, but again, it’s an option, and I’m simply discussing whether these things are a good idea or not so that I can apply them when it makes sense to do so.

   This piece is very much a ‘musing’ on the usefulness of such an approach to some images, not a prescription for all images. I see it as an additional tool for the creative process, but not one that should, or indeed could, be employed all the time.

   Mike

   Reply ↓

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4. Nice work Mike – this is a great build on the article last week about subject, light and composition as it digs into the viewers reading of an image… I know you’ve been mulling this topic over for a while after you mentioned anthropomorphism in an image of two intertwined trees I have.. what was interesting was how another comment I received wove a story into that image about two lovers from an age ago… I never thought about this stuff that when I took it, but there is a nice retrospective fit and I suppose this is an example of how humans try and understand their world by relating the things in it to human experiences where possible.

   Reply ↓

   • Much appreciated, Nigel.

     I recall that image I think (and shall go looking for it now!) – perhaps that’s because I saw it in that way and hence remembered it more clearly?

     I agree: I think people naturally see aspects of humankind in things and that doing so is an aid to both interpretation and understanding; an intuitive and natural way to strengthen the connection. I’d not specifically thought about the idea of improving memory of images through anthropomorphism, but it’s surely a factor too.

     Mike

     Reply ↓

5. Great article Mike & one which I can identify with. 0ut walking with my wife Linda, she pointed out some rocks which drew her attention, I returned later to take make the image. I think it goes some way to demonstrating what you’re saying:-
   http://www.flickr.com/photos/riverlune/5645877856/in/photostream
   Dave

   Reply ↓

   • Thanks Dave. That rock feature certainly does give the impression of looking out to sea.Judging by your title, that’s very much what you saw too.Very good example I think.

     Mike

     Reply ↓

6. “Scottish mountains often translate as body parts.”

   This is very true, Mike – one of the most common examples being the Gaelic ‘sròn’, which means ‘nose’, and of course ‘cìoch’ (breast).
   It’s not just mountains though; many Gaelic words for body parts are used in naming landscape features. For example, ‘fèith’ (bog stream) means ‘vein’, which is wonderfully apt.

   Thanks for a very interesting article!
   Doug.

   Reply ↓

   • Hi Douglas,
     A friend with whom I used to climb in Scotland had a Gaelic place names dictionary: hours of entertainment reading up on what we were climbing, and some are wonderfully apposite. I’d forgotten ‘fèith’ and that’s certainly an excellent example!

     Thanks and glad you enjoyed the article.

     Mike

     Reply ↓

7. I believe its human nature to connect our emotions to the images we make and see. I also think that fine art tends to require a deeper engagement with these concepts and often places them above the aesthetic. Now I have no problem with either, but I must say that working on an emotional level, I think exploring these subjects will result in some interesting ideas, that may or may not reach the wider target audiences… after all powerful art is the catalyst, not the end product.

   Reply ↓

8. Interesting comment, Jason. I don’t think there are any answers here, as such, simply ‘things to be aware of’. Your last point is very pertinent, and I think that deliberately using these ideas in images has a wide range of potential results, ranging from the audience not understanding at all to the audience understanding too well and possibly trivialising their appreciation of the image as a result, as Tim (spodzone) pointed out.

   There is a balance to be found in there somewhere, but different viewers will respond differently, so it’s effectively impossible to get it ‘right’ for everyone. I actually think that’s a good thing: I like the idea that different viewers will interpret images differently – to each other and to the photographer – and hence appreciate them for different aspects.

   Thanks for that thought.

   Mike

   Reply ↓

9. Mike, thanks for a really stimulating article. I do work quite a bit from instinct and only when looking back do I find that subconsciously I had picked up on some amphropomorphatic element in the image. I guess it may be that recognition that creates some form of connection, at times emotional. The trouble now though is that i’ll consciously be looking for this in my next set of pictures!!!

   Reply ↓

10. Thanks very much, Joe,

    Hmmm….. yes – it’s also occurred to me that doing this sort of thing consciously might not always be a good idea! I certainly don’t want to make too many images which have a dominant ‘looks human or animal’ feature, I’m more interested in the implied emotional impact really. That’s what I was getting at towards the end in saying ‘allow this to happen’, rather than deliberately do it. Certainly, over-doing it could be a bad thing!

    I think if we *allow* ourselves to see things this way – subconsciously in most cases – then it’s more likely that viewers will ‘get’ that emotional involvement – I hope so!

    Mike

    Reply ↓

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