The sky offers an infinitely and continually varied landscape (ok, skyscape) delivered to me wherever I happen to be, at home or away, on every single day of the year. All I have to do is keep my eyes open and take my camera outside whenever something of interest presents itself.
Three of these four skies were taken from within my garden whilst the fourth was taken about 200 yards away to obtain an unobstructed view. Whilst the sky is often unexciting, sufficiently often it offers the most compelling material for photographs.
The cloud pair photograph is, surprisingly, exactly as they appeared in the frame - travelling in tandem. Whilst skies are, of course, in colour I prefer to present at least some of my skies in monochrome, particularly where there is strong shape or texture in the clouds.
Winter is a special time to visit Yellowstone National Park. The weather can be brutally cold and snowy, markedly reducing the number of visitors. This, in turn, leads to a special solitude. It is easy to understand why only the strong survive- both flora and fauna. The fumaroles and other geothermal features can create a minimalist landscape. I am continually drawn to try and capture this battle to survive.
What started off as a 3rd year University project in 2015 has now become a passion.
For my 3rd-year dissertation piece I started off with photographing the occasional pillbox and bunker in Norfolk, as my theme developed I found I was driving over 500 miles over 2 nights around East Anglia to document all the WW2 structures that I find interesting in both location and appearance. I photograph them during the night and dusk or dawn so I get to see these structures at a time you would not normally visit.
It is my way of saying thank you to all those men and women who looked over us and were prepared to be on the front line had an invasion of Great Britain happened all those years ago.
It is now over 70 years since the end of the war so to I pay tribute in my own way I have started to mark out and plan long weekends away to enable shooting the whole of the UK coastline to document all the different types of defences, whether they be pillbox, bunkers, airfields, Navy ports or old army barracks.
During the colder months, I find myself wondering on the shore staring at the horizon line and inevitably my mind wonders back to that summer day of 2001.
It was a dark and rough day but we were trying to make the best out of it, little did we know that it would have been one of the hardest days of our lives.
My mind still takes me back to that day and I ask myself what my uncle must’ve thought in that precise moment and how hard it must’ve been for him.
Through the years I have forgotten most memories of my uncle, the way he behaved around us or even the way he looked and I blame myself for that.
I blame myself especially because I remember every small detail regarding that day and it still plays in my head to this day, like a silent movie in slow motion.
I use photography as a medium for self-expression and as a way to channel and confront my emotions and deal with my inner struggles.
Photography for me is a window through which people can take a peak on the difficulties that are presented to me every day.
My goal is to unravel my unexplored inner world through the camera, to unearth the images hidden in the dormant parts of my brain, to understand and decipher the emotions which hold me back in my day to day life.
The images were taken both in the UK, where I am based now, and Italy, where my family live.
I rule the ocean. I touched the shore. The roar of it all overpowers Every word, every shout, every memory.
I hear the ocean. I heard the shore. When it screams it takes after, The words I've heard before.
I talk to the ocean. I speak to the shore. When it comes close I feel a fear I've never felt. When it comes close it takes me.
I've been consumed by the ocean. I've been eaten by the shore. As it talks back to me, I know I cannot be scared anymore.
Spending time in the hills in Scotland inevitably gets you looking at outdoor websites and I've been impressed with a few of the photographers I've seen producing work celebrating people enjoying the landscape. We wanted to find out a little bit more about these people who work at the sharp end of the landscape. Nadir Khan is one of these photographers and may be no stranger to our readers as he's had some previous successes in the Landscape Photographer of the Year competition. Nadir also has a book out called "Extreme Scotland", which is reviewed elsewhere in this issue.
Can you tell me a little about your education, childhood passions, early exposure to photography etc?
I grew up in a small industrial town called Wishaw, in Scotland. I was into art, drawing, painting and music. I lived next to a forest so we would be out playing in the forest most of the time as kids. My dad was into photography so most weekends we’d be out and about around lochs waiting for sunset
What are you most proud of in your photography?
I’m pretty happy with the book Extreme Scotland, it was a 6-year project that I had actually given up on a few years ago or put onto a very back burner so to actually have that done and out there is satisfying and also quite a relief.
I’m pretty happy with the book Extreme Scotland, it was a 6-year project that I had actually given up on a few years ago or put onto a very back burner so to actually have that done and out there is satisfying and also quite a relief.
We as landscape photographers have all experienced the vast amount of patience that our beloved genre demands. From finding the perfect spot and special light to dealing with some really harsh weather conditions. This last variable is always there because we find clear and crisp skies too dull for our taste, and on the other hand, we consider heavy clouds in the sky a more pleasant scenario. This comes with something that could be seen as a problem or as a creative element depending on the concept behind your photographs, and these are drops.
Obviously, not every landscape shot is well suited for having water droplets on the lens-front, and today I want to share my personal opinion on this feature – or artefact. For me, there are two types of general landscape approaches: the distant and the immersed one. Distant landscape photography for me is like a perfect portrait of a natural venue in front of our eyes and is perhaps the best way to go in many cases.
Then there is a more holistic approach that I personally define as the immersed approach in landscape photography, where close elements (like water and foreground) are also integrated parts of the frame.
Then there is a more holistic approach that I personally define as the immersed approach in landscape photography, where close elements (like water and foreground) are also integrated parts of the frame. In recent years I have started to get closer to the landscapes I photograph. Finding the distance-sweet-spot has been quite a challenge indeed.
In this rapidly changing world of our there is a real need to free the teaching of photography from the long-standing dogmas which tend to restrict rather than encourage growth. The serious photographer today should constantly be seeking new ways of commenting on a world that is newly understood. Constant creativity and innovation are essential to combat visual mediocrity. The photographic educator should appeal to the students of serious photography to challenge continually both their medium and themselves. ~Jerry Uelsmann
Among the more popular topics of research in recent years, especially among neuroscientists, is the nature of creativity. It may seem obvious that before any study of creativity can take place, scientists need a strict definition for it, in terms conducive to empirical observation and measurement; but defining creativity has become a topic of some contention. Some earlier definitions measure creativity using two criteria—novelty (in some texts referred to as, originality), and usefulness (in some texts referred to as, value, or effectiveness). More recent definitions add a third criterion—surprise (referring to a measure of how unexpected a creative idea is, or how little was known about it in advance).
If asked to list the reasons why we love landscape photography, there are many possible answers – beauty, fresh air, an excuse to visit wonderful places, and so on. But there’s one reason you may not have thought of – indeed, may not even know about – and that is that we are biologically drawn towards fractal patterns in nature.
A fractal is a complex pattern that repeats itself indefinitely over different scales – one example would be the branches on a tree, where the basic branching pattern is repeated on a smaller and smaller scale towards the top of the tree. The repetition isn’t necessarily exact. Fractals can be created in two ways: the first is mathematically generated and the repeating pattern is identical, albeit on different scales. But what concerns us here are the latter - the natural fractals found in the landscape which tend to be more random and differ in detail while still holding this mathematical relationship.
A fractal is a complex pattern that repeats itself indefinitely over different scales – one example would be the branches on a tree, where the basic branching pattern is repeated on a smaller and smaller scale towards the top of the tree. The repetition isn’t necessarily exact.
In a career spanning thirty-five years, Colin Prior photographs capture sublime moments of light and land, which are the result of meticulous planning and preparation and often take years to achieve. Prior is a photographer who seeks out patterns in the landscape and the hidden links between reality and the imagination. He has produced seven books that include, The World’s Wild Places and Living Tribes, which were published internationally and is working on a long-term assignment in Pakistan’s Karakoram Mountains.
His current project, Fragile is an exploration into the habitats of wild birds and their vulnerability to change. Colin was recently the subject of two BBC documentaries entitled Mountain Man.
The Journey so Far
Colin Prior is known worldwide for his panoramic images of the majestic mountains of Scotland. Joe Cornish talked with Colin about the experiences making these images and about the other projects that have captivated him since.
When Iain Sarjeant got in touch about Amanda's book 'A Fluid Landscape', I was intrigued by the title as it describes the unique landscape of the Somerset Levels. In recent years this land, damaged by drainage, agriculture and intense peat extraction has, through various means been returned to marsh. We talked to Amanda to find out more about her passion for this particular landscape.
What sparked your passion for photography?
I was given an Olympus OM10 for my 18th birthday and that is where the passion for photography began! I should add too, that in 1984 I saw the Josef Koudelka exhibition at the Hayward Gallery, and I was captivated by the magical and ethereal quality of the Gypsies series and the power of photography to communicate a story with such emotion, passion and power.
You studied photography at West Surrey College of Art and Design and have an MA in Photography from London College of Communication. How did these experiences shape your photography?
As an undergraduate student in the early 80’s, I was very much influenced by the documentary photography of that time (and earlier) and we were fortunate to have photographers such as Martin Parr, Paul Graham and Peter Fraser teaching on the course, which had a strong documentary focus. Through the early 80’s, ideas about what constituted documentary photography were becoming looser and expanding, from a traditional b/w journalistic approach, towards an approach that could be more subjective and more evidently a personal response. After I graduated, I worked as a documentary photographer for a good few years, on personal projects as well as commissions from organisations such as Impressions Gallery in York and Stockport Museums and Galleries on a major residency. The residency led me into teaching, and after a number of years of working in photography education, I signed up for the MA Photography at LCC. It was on my MA that I first started working in colour and investigating other visual approaches to exploring and questioning the world around me. Work and other commitments meant that travelling far and wide to make projects became impractical and I turned my attention to making work ‘close to home’ exploring with my camera the every day or the overlooked, in the places and people around me.
Why did you choose landscape photography as opposed to other genres such as portrait, still, documentary etc?
I have worked in other genres, in particular still life and portraiture, but at this point in time I have become very interested in our relationship with the land, how it has been consistently bent to our service, how we constantly strive to control it, through farming, industry, horticulture, gardening … and the impact that these interventions have on our understanding of landscape and wilderness. Photographing in the landscape is my way of observing and exploring this relationship.
Tell us a bit about the project 'A Fluid Landscape’. Where did it all start? How did it evolve?
Following the floods in Somerset during the winter of 2014, I drove down to Somerset to see for myself; out of curiosity and a kind of nebulous idea about photographing the effects of the floods. Travelling around the area was difficult, many roads were closed and villages inaccessible. I spent the day stopping here and there, making some photographs. Weeks passed, the waters receded, the story dropped away, and I was occupied with other work. Looking back, this was the start of the project, a loose idea that led to a burgeoning fascination with this particular landscape.
You seem quite connected to the marshlands of the Somerset Levels. How did you go about researching the locations you've included in the book?
Later, in the winter of 2016/17 I was listening to Costing the Earth on Radio 4 (a source of much of my research!). Someone was describing how the ancient people of Somerset adapted to living and surviving in flooded landscapes, the kind of conditions that we now see as threatening and disruptive. They were also describing an area of newly created saltmarsh on the Steart peninsula, recently reclaimed from farmland by making a breach in the sea wall and allowing the sea to flood a large area at high tide. This controlled flooding would provide a buffer to flooding further upstream and create new salt marsh habitat. I was intrigued and so set out to explore this newly created landscape for myself.
They were also describing an area of newly created saltmarsh on the Steart peninsula, recently reclaimed from farmland by making a breach in the sea wall and allowing the sea to flood a large area at high tide. This controlled flooding would provide a buffer to flooding further upstream and create new salt marsh habitat.
I made many trips to Steart Marshes, through changing seasons and at different states of the tide, and I also began to research other areas of the levels such as Shapwick Heath and Westhay Moor. The unique landscape of the Somerset Levels is directly related to the people who sought to settle the land, by controlling the water levels to benefit from the fertile pasture the silty water left behind, and to gain access to the rich seams of peat. In recent years this land, damaged by drainage, agriculture and intense peat extraction, has through various means been returned to marsh, creating a ‘new’ ancient landscape of water filled rhynes, damp fens, wet fern woodland, salt marsh and open water fringed with reed beds. This was a landscape I was fascinated to explore and photograph and returned to again and again
What came first the idea for the book or the photography project?
The photography project came first, photography is for me a way of engaging with and exploring the world around me and so my first instinct is always to get out there and observe, without any preconceived ideas about the outcome.
The series 'A Fluid Landscape' was shortlisted for the Landscape category of the 2018 Sony World Photography Awards. What did this mean to you and how did it shape the rest of the project and book?
By the Christmas of 2017, I had made many trips to the marshes and made many photographs of the landscape. I hadn’t shown the work anywhere but decided to enter a small selection to the Sony World Photography Awards in the Landscape category, and I was shortlisted! On the day of the announcement, I was contacted by Iain Sarjeant at Another Place Press, to say he would be very interested in publishing the project as a book. I carried on making work for the project, but I now had the focus of the book which led me to focus on other areas of the marsh, such as the woodland. From March 2018 onwards I worked with Iain on the planning and design of the book. Working with someone else to create an outcome for the work in book form has been a valuable and insightful process, and I have learnt a huge amount about editing, sequencing, listening and sitting with the work and the process.
The images tell a story of the reclaimed marshlands of the Somerset Levels. What visual (and non-visual) narrative did you want to leave the reader with when you were working on this project?
Alongside Steart Marshes, I also began exploring other newly created marsh habitats on the levels; former peat worked areas such as Shapwick Heath and Westhay Moor. By photographing these landscapes, I wanted to tell the story of these newly created places, highlighting their uncommon beauty and paying attention to the environmental changes that are easily overlooked. I hope the work shows the dynamic nature of these landscapes, the change in flora and fauna colonisation, and the impact the creation (or re-creation) of these environments and habitats has on the landscape. I also sought to reveal the stark beauty of the saltmarsh, heaths and moors of the levels
Sequencing is obviously important - how did you manage the flow of the images and visual narrative?
The sequence was arrived at through a fairly organic process, I was very close to the work and somewhat overwhelmed by the quantity of images I had. I would say too that photographers are not always the best editors of their own work and I am always interested in how others see and respond to the work. I sent Iain a large edit of the work, and he came back to me with a tighter edit and a rough idea about the sequence. This contained a few surprises, and also a fresh way of looking at and organising the images. We went to and fro for a while with some other ideas and changes to the sequence and this was a very positive process. Gradually the book took shape and started to feel coherent.
How did you decide on the format of the book and binding e.g. size and paper, print type?
Another Place Press has a clear ethos which Iain was completely upfront about at the outset. His aim is to share exciting photography projects which explore our relationship with ‘place’ and importantly, to make them affordable and accessible to a much larger audience.
Another Place Press has a clear ethos which Iain was completely upfront about at the outset. His aim is to share exciting photography projects which explore our relationship with ‘place’ and importantly, to make them affordable and accessible to a much larger audience.
To this end, the books are small and usually in a print run of around 150 - 300 copies and sell for between £10 - £16. The intention is that they make up for their small size by being beautiful little objects, each carefully designed and printed on top quality paper stock. So, there are a set of ‘limitations’ already in place in terms of size and type of binding and print type. We did think carefully about the paper stock, mindful that some of the dark images may not print well on uncoated stock, and we were able to include the endpapers as part of the design and within the budget which I think gives the design an added impact
Tell me what your favourite two or three photographs from the book are and a little bit about them.
Certain images from the marshes stick with me, the hawthorn hedge in flower (AFL-5297), once a field margin, is now mingled with common reed, encroaching from the newly formed reedbeds. Photographed in February 2017, I really wanted to make some more images of the reeds and Hawthorn this spring. Spring was late, as I drove to work each day, I was looking out for signs that the hawthorn was about to flower. It was April before the blossom began to break and I headed down to Steart, knowing the place where the hedge and the reeds formed this beautiful, wavelike structure. As I approached the marshes, I could see that the hedges had been recently flail cut, there would be no blossom, and the shape of the hedge would be changed forever, reminding me that a photograph is always a moment in time.
Having arrived at Steart to find that the hedges I had intended to photograph had been cleared away by a flail cutter, I was a little confounded. The April sunlight was strong and harsh and it felt like a wasted trip. I began to walk along the hedgerows; recent heavy rain had filled the ditches and the bright sun cast shadows of the hedge across the water. This reminded me, stay attuned to what is there in the moment, put aside your preconceptions and desire to make a certain image and stay open to what presents itself. One of the photographs taken that morning has become another favourite and was included as a small print for those who pre ordered the book. (AFL-8021)
My working method is to spend time in an environment and to become attuned to what is there; this can take many visits, moving through what is surface, what is obvious and starting to notice what may not be immediately ‘visible’. The weather, the season, the state of the tide all have a big impact on how these landscapes look and feel, on the colours, the light, the amount of vegetation.
My working method is to spend time in an environment and to become attuned to what is there; this can take many visits, moving through what is surface, what is obvious and starting to notice what may not be immediately ‘visible’.
I started by looking out, across the landscape, but as I returned, again and again, I began to look inwards, at the interior; at plants washed with muddy tidal waters, (AFL-002) into drainage ditches buzzing with insect and plant life and through the complex tangles of branches, brambles and reeds that obscured my view at every turn.
Could you tell us a little about the cameras and lenses you typically take on a trip and how their choice affects your photography?
Starting out in photography in the ‘80’s, I grew up on analogue photography, only getting my first digital camera in 2006. I shot on medium format film for many years (Mamiya C220 and then a Mamiya 7). In 2014 I shot my very first project using a digital SLR (Canon 5D), and interestingly many people think this work was shot on film. I think this is to do with the subtle colour palette and the considered compositions, which probably carried over from all the years of only having 10 shots on a roll of 120! To make ‘A Fluid Landscape’ I used a Sony A7r with a 24 - 70 Zeiss lens and from time to time a tripod, I like to keep it simple, preferring to concentrate on the environment, the light and the image making, rather than the kit.
What sort of post processing do you undertake on your pictures? Give me an idea of your workflow.
I shoot RAW files and process everything in Lightroom. I just make basic adjustment to Levels, colour balance and I crop everything to a ratio of 5 x 7 as I find this format more visually pleasing to compose within. I then export to Photoshop for sharpening and possible further tweaks to contrast levels and colour balance, and that’s about it really! I always make small prints of everything I am interested in and have them up on the wall so that I can see at a glance how the ideas are working and how images work together to start to tell the story. This also helps me to understand elements that might be missing from the story and informs ideas for my next time out making photos.
What is next for you? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
I am looking to make an exhibition of the ‘Fluid Landscape’ series, and I am currently researching possible partners and venues for a future exhibition of the series.
Alongside this I have recently moved to an area that was once a centre for the woollen and weaving industry in Gloucestershire. I am currently researching and planning a project that will trace the evidence of this industry in the present-day landscape, and I have started researching, walking and exploring, using the digital camera to record some initial ideas which I will share on Instagram (@amharmanphoto). I am yearning to return to shooting film and dusting off the Mamiya 7, so after I have worked through my ideas and the way I would like to approach this project I will start making this work using the Mamiya 7.
Charlotte's request to write a piece for the End Frame section of OnLandscape was a true surprise and an honour. My favourite landscape photo. Difficult question. In the end frame section, it is not just about an image that appeals to you, I think it is even more about a photographer that inspires you. So the first question is: which photographer inspires me most? I can name many photos that inspire me. There are also various photographers that I admire. Colin Prior with his calm and yet strong landscape images. He knows how to capture the power of mountains and water in an excellent way. I am also a great admirer of the work of Joe Cornish. His photos are masterpieces of composition.
My choice
For the End Frame, however, I want to put a completely different photographer in the spotlight. Someone who is less known for his landscapes, but especially for his beautiful pictures of wildlife, which usually feel as an encounter between the animal and the photographer. However, his landscape photos are also beautiful. His portfolio contains photos from all over the world. As a true Scotland fan, the pictures he took in Scotland appeal to me the most. It was difficult to choose a single photo as a favourite. But the rules for this End frame are clear: choose one favourite photograph.
I have chosen an image that can be seen on Peter Cairns’ website under the heading "Conservation Communication" and also in the book "Scotland a rewilding journey" (pages 202-203). For me, this photo symbolizes the message that Peter Cairns wants to convey with his book and his lectures (more on this later): Nature in Scotland is still beautiful, but has been considerably stripped down. A large part of the ancient pine forest has disappeared. Only a small percentage of trees remain, in other words, the forest is only a shadow of what it once was. But there is hope on the horizon. If we intervene now and give nature the chance to fight its way back, then there is a future for nature, for us and for a world in which man and nature live in harmony with each other.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios 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!
Aldous Huxley once said "My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing" and if that walk also involves my XPAN and microphones then it is the only church I belong to.
At the end of a family road trip around California and surrounding National Parks, we spent a couple of days at the Grand Canyon. On the last day, we got up at 4:30 am to watch the sunrise from Yavapai Point, and then hiked part of the South Kaibab Trail, descending as far as Cedar Ridge via the aptly titled ‘ooh-aah point’.
Wildfires on the North Rim meant that smoke was flowing down into the canyon which was picked out by the rays from the rising sun, and the final image shows how it was filling vast swathes of the area. Beautiful to see, but a sobering sight.
We made it back to the hotel in time to pack up, shower and check-out by 11am!
Previous to taking these shots I had been stuck in a creative rut and struggled to get motivated to take any aerial shots. So during the snowy weather in January I decided that I would take my drone and shoot the iconic power stations of Ironbridge. The stations built in 1929 stand near the Ironbridge Gorge World Heritage Site, where the Industrial Revolution began.
It was very challenging driving to the location at 5am in the ice and snow but I think it was totally worth it. Due to the amazing weather the disused power stations started to steam when the heat of the sun hit the icy power-station creating the smokey look in some of the shots. The iconic power-station will sadly be knocked down in the spring of 2019 and this is more than likely the last set of photographs of the power stations in the snow.
The issue of sharpness and filters comes up regularly in forums and the general consensus seems to be that any filter affects sharpness a bit and poorer glass filters can be worse. If you’re using resin filters you might as well just smear your lenses with vaseline though!
As usual, the armchair experts can’t be completely right as there are enough people out there with 50mp+ cameras that are still using Lee grads and I don't hear them complaining. The only way to know for sure is to test things though. And being as I love testing things so much** I immediately lined up my vast array of ND graduated filters and a resolution target***
Sharpness
First things first though, how do I go about testing for sharpness? I figured I wanted to do some real world testing with various lenses and I ended up using my Canon 100-400mm plus my Sigma Art 24mm and 50mm lenses on an A7R3 using various apertures.
But first I wanted to try something that would really show up any differences first. I used my Canon 100-400mm lens at 400mm, placed each filter at a 30 degree angle to the front of the lens and took a photograph through the clear part of each ND. I also used pixelshift, Sony’s ability to microshift the sensor to create a sharper image with no moire. (the 30 degree test is contrived in order to make light rays pass through the glass or resin at an angle other than 90 degrees).
This demonstrated two things very clearly. Every glass filter passed the test with flying colours (which is why I don't list them all). The resin filters were all soft to some degree, but the Lee was by far the best of these, closely followed by ProGrey and 84.5 and then the SRB. The Cokin and Zomei were dreadful, so bad I had to repeat checking things a few times. See the results of these above. Now I’m not sure this matches any real-world shooting scenarios but I wanted an indicative test to see if differences could be seen. So now we know what sort of thing we’re looking for!
Minimalism in art is not to everybody’s taste but has quite a long history in landscape photography, arguably starting with Stieglitz’s “Equivalents”: images of clouds that he intended to evoke an emotional response in the viewer in a similar way to a piece of music1. These were minimalist in concept rather than execution but were taken in the same period (starting in 1922) as the extreme minimalism that was introduced into art by the White on White canvas of Kasimir Malevich (1918) following on from his black square on white ground of 1915.
In fact Malevich was not the first to produce monochrome paintings – others like Paul Bilhaud and Alphonse Allais had done so in the late 19th Century but with explanatory titles (such as the "Combat de Nègres dans un tunnel" of Bilhaud, or "Récolte de la tomate par des cardinaux apoplectiques au bord de la Mer Rouge" of Allais). In the case of Malevich, he did not consider himself as a minimalist but as a suprematist2. Suprematism was both anti-materialist and anti-utilitarian, with the aim of expressing "the supremacy of pure artistic feeling", such that the depiction of any real objects or landscape was held to be unnecessary.
Alfred Stieglitz, Equivalent, 1927
Minimalism is more usually applied to the later movement of artists starting in the 1950s. One of those artists was Yves Klein3 (though he also spanned new realism, conceptual art, performance art and photography).
Minimalism is more usually applied to the later movement of artists starting in the 1950s. One of those artists was Yves Klein (though he also spanned new realism, conceptual art, performance art and photography).
He produced a series of monochrome canvases starting in 1949, most notably those in IKB (International Klein Blue) (see below). In the late 1950s artists such as Frank Stella with his series of Black Paintings and later Donald Judd, Dan Flavin, Carl Andre, Sol LeWitt and Robert Morris were labelled as minimalists. They did make use of everyday materials and objects in their art (most famously the piles of bricks of Carl Andre, which coincidently were also given titles as Equivalents4) but they sought to reduce art to its most fundamental expression; “to engage the viewer in an immediate, direct and unmediated experience... it [minimalism] proposed a new way of looking at the world.”5
For this issue, we have something a little different. Nick Stone describes his website, Invisible Works, as a series of fragmentary blogs and pieces about history, heritage and our place in the landscape. His photographs are supported by and integral with his writing about the traces that the landscape carries of our influence and interference - often things that we overlook, simply don’t see or choose to ignore. In some cases there is poignancy to these, to the events and places that we have forgotten, or to the lives lost: Nick has spent the last six years investigating the scars and memories left by the Great War, culminating in the exhibition ‘Vanishing Points’. Wandering online, and off, is an important part of what Nick does, and what he finds.
Grim's Pound, Dartmoor
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 was born in London to elderly parents, both in their fifties. We moved to a council estate in Norwich when I was two. We lived there for a few years then moved to North Norfolk. I grew up in a typical country market town; they are by turns both intriguing places and pressure cookers with little to do when you’re young. But the countryside is on your doorstep. As you grow up you become aware of not just the nature, but the underlying history and the folktales that inhabit it, both the light and the dark. I left and moved back to Norwich in my teens to go to art college, the focus of which was either painting or photography. Naturally enough I ended up doing neither and became a graphic designer, but composition and an aesthete is in your head, it’s part and parcel of most of the things I do.
My objective is not so much to portray a literal representation, but rather depict my feelings evoked by the landscape
Fotospeed's Vince Cater asks their ambassador Valda Bailey how art has inspired her journey to abstract photography, her love of working in a non-prescriptive way, and the joys of a printed image.
On her first steps into photography
I first became intrigued by the creative possibilities of photography when I was about 12 – back in the days of film. My Dad and I went off to night school and learned about the technical side of photography and how to develop and print our own film. There quickly followed an ad-hoc set-up in the downstairs loo with enlargers, developing trays, and the usual assortment of noxious chemicals. I spent several years experimenting and enjoying the myriad creative options that were open to me in the darkroom.
On her inspiration from art
I came to photography after years of painting and have found a way of shooting that enables me to do with my camera what I struggled to do with my paintbrush.
My objective is not so much to portray a literal representation, but rather depict my feelings evoked by the landscape. I try to find something extraordinary in the mundane.
I am largely motivated by colour and form, and the tension and dynamism that these components can bring to an image, and I have found a way of working using multiple exposures and intentional camera movement which helps me simplify the detail in a scene. My objective is not so much to portray a literal representation, but rather depict my feelings evoked by the landscape. I try to find something extraordinary in the mundane.
On the creative journey into abstract
When I discovered that it really was ok to produce a blurred image, to move the camera around while shooting, and allow my photography to be something other than a direct representation of what I saw through my viewfinder, it was revelatory. I spent a lot of time trying to understand how the camera operates when combining images and far too long deliberately repeating objects across the frame for no good reason other than the fact that I could. Slowly, I found myself moving away from representation and towards abstraction. I think this approach resonates with me because it allows me to use my imagination in ways I never dreamt possible – or indeed permissible.
On her favourite subject matter
One of the revelatory aspects of shooting the way I do was the realisation that I can make an image anywhere. Sitting at the dinner table with an iPhone, travelling on the train, walking the dog – it really doesn’t matter. What I do need, however, is time. It’s not a prescriptive way of shooting, and while I am happy to make images just for their own sake, I would much rather concentrate on putting a series together that is about something other than where my camera is focused. Deciding what you want to say about any given subject, view, or situation is something that takes time. I am far more interested in intimate detail than wide, expansive views. I do most of my shooting with a 70-300mm lens which allows me to isolate small areas.
On choosing the perfect location
The way I shoot has changed enormously, as the time I have available to me for my own shooting has become vanishingly small. As a result, I have had to adapt. I shoot wherever I am rather than going out to find a location.
The way I shoot has changed enormously, as the time I have available to me for my own shooting has become vanishingly small. As a result, I have had to adapt. I shoot wherever I am rather than going out to find a location. Doug Chinnery and I get to travel to all sorts of fabulous places for our workshops, so I’m pretty lucky in that respect. There is no formula for choosing a location for a workshop – we try to avoid the obvious and seek out places with an interesting connection to the arts if we can.
On working in a non-prescriptive way
When shooting, I don’t go out with any preconceptions whatsoever. I don’t feel comfortable working that way. I don’t wait for the perfect light, or the high tide, or the day the autumn colours are at their most vibrant. I would rather work with what I have. It is not until I start shooting and can see how the light is working and the shapes are coming together that I start to find a way forward. It is a way of shooting that is not prescriptive in any way – it rewards a curiosity and a desire to experiment. Each decision I make as I shoot through the sequence is predicated on the result of the last decision I made. A bit like a painter, I guess. When shooting with multiple exposure, photography becomes more of an additive process.
On the advice, she would give to other photographers exploring abstract
Experiment. Research the techniques that will enable you to make the images that interest you, make sure you have the equipment capable of achieving what you want to achieve, then go out and play! Don’t be afraid of failures, there will be plenty. I will often shoot hundreds of images at a given location, working towards refining the ideas that are appearing on the back of the camera in order so that I might get 6 or 9 images to go in a gallery on my website.
The way I shoot is controllable to a certain degree, but still has a great deal of unpredictability about it and it is this aspect that is both challenging and rewarding. There are seemingly limitless combinations of settings which can be employed – my camera will combine up to 9 images into one file. This, together with variations of shutter speeds, white balance settings, lenses, exposure values etc. gives me an endlessly fascinating array of options as to how I approach my work.
For, me it can be about creating a pleasing balance and rhythm within the frame. It can be about creating tension, pattern, emotion, or a combination of these elements and many more.
From my experience, abstraction is much harder to get right than representation. For, me it can be about creating a pleasing balance and rhythm within the frame. It can be about creating tension, pattern, emotion, or a combination of these elements and many more. I have found that it is only by engaging myself more and more with the visual arts that I have been able to begin to define my own goals which change and evolve all the time.
On the importance of the printed image
In this digital age, it is so easy for our work to be little more than a series of ones and zeroes on a dusty old hard drive. The art of printing is certainly not without its challenges but it is enormously rewarding. I now have my own 44” large format printer which fills me with joy every time I use it. I tend to reach for Fotospeed’s Cotton Etching 305 paper as it provides me with the ability to render rich blacks and strong contrasts with fine detail which is not always easy with matte papers. Obviously, you don’t have to dive in the deep end with a printer this size, but I would heartily recommend spending a little time and money learning about the joys to be had in printing one’s own work.
Valda Bailey’s paper of choice is Fotospeed’s Cotton Etching 305, developed in conjunction with friend and teaching partner, Doug Chinnery. Cotton Etching 305 is available at www.fotospeed.com.
Do we have a Voice? And does being an outdoor photographer inevitably lead to environmentalism? And if so, what if anything are our responsibilities?
I had better begin with a declaration. I am an environmentalist and have been all my adult life. But – regrettably – not in an activist sense. Yes, I’ve been on a couple of marches, and occasionally written to my MP. But compared with friends and contemporaries who have dedicated their lives fighting for the causes of wildlife and the environment, my active contribution has been minimal.
Claiming no moral authority, and with only a superficial scientific understanding of the issues, I have contented myself with minimising my environmental impact in daily life. I willingly admit to being led by my partner Jenny who has pioneered most of our pro-environmental behaviour. It is she who organised thermal water panels and photovoltaics on our roof, the water butts and grey water for gardening. It is she who grows enough food (organically) in that garden to feed us for six months of the year. And it is she who makes sure we wear thermal underwear, hats and gloves in the house during winter, and only use the central heating when we have guests. Jen is the committed vegetarian, I am the reluctant follower. Jen has always aimed to tread lightly on the earth, and it has been my good fortune to live with someone who has helped me stay close to values which would otherwise be a distant aspiration only.
Claiming no moral authority, and with only a superficial scientific understanding of the issues, I have contented myself with minimising my environmental impact in daily life.
Beluga charnel, Bourbonhamna This haunting place in Svalbard is scattered with hundreds of thousands of whale bones, tragic remains of the now almost-passed whaling industry. Largely confined to Arctic and Antarctic waters, and so out of sight from public gaze, the slaughter of whales continued unchecked until 1985.
However, this relatively virtuous home life is spoiled by work. To earn a living, travel remains unavoidable, along with its inevitable carbon footprint. There might be as many as a dozen flights a year (some intercontinental); and often upward of 20,000 miles of driving, in a diesel car, since like so many we were convinced by the lower CO2 argument to buy diesel back in the late 2000s.
Travel has taught me about places and habitats; has been an illuminating, life-enriching experience. Creatively, in addition to all the amazing sights, travel brings journey time when, in planes and trains especially, there is time to anticipate, reflect, imagine and dream.
The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page. ~St Augustine
I used to be reasonably secure that at least some of my travel was justified. Travel has taught me about places and habitats; has been an illuminating, life-enriching experience. Creatively, in addition to all the amazing sights, travel brings journey time when, in planes and trains especially, there is time to anticipate, reflect, imagine and dream. I have contributed a little bit to local economies and developed an understanding of, empathy for, and solidarity with people in other parts of the world. I have made a living doing something I love, and when the children lived at home, still managed to feed my young family.
In contrast to hardcore photojournalists (who I greatly admire), I believed that as well as images of pollution, disaster and suffering it was essential to make pictures that conveyed beauty and inspiration; that gave meaning to what we might lose if we failed to protect our planetary home. If our job as photographers was to tell stories from the front line, I felt adapted to telling the stories of what seemed right, that lifted the spirits. My professional work for the National Trust, Woodland Trust and Wildlife Trusts helped me feel I was part of a positive environmental message, of care, and hope.
Buachaille Etive Mor, winter While some winters can still produce impressive snowfalls in the UK, everyone of a certain age remembers the winters of childhood as colder, and records bear this out. The trend to milder temperatures travels in a bumpy, unpredictable fashion, but the underlying direction is upward, corroborating theoretical modelling with increased atmospheric carbon concentrations. Fortunately, Scotland is still beautiful in almost all conditions. This image was made in January this year.
Underneath the particular image in question, the particular short story or musical composition, we're looking for a source of hope. ~ Barry Lopez
Paradise Lost
That industrialising resource exploitation (mining, fishing, farming etc), felling virgin forest and unchecked urban sprawl degrades, devastates and pollutes ecosystems has been known almost since it began. These threats did not originate in the 21st century, and many of them precede the 20th, forged in the crucible of the industrial revolution. In the arts, late-18th and early-19th century Romanticism was in large part a reaction against industrialisation. Yet in a century brutalised and distracted by World Wars, 20th century Modernism embraced and celebrated the advances of modernity, technology and urbanisation.
However, the confidence that Modernism had in technological progress has dissolved in the last few decades, increasingly replaced by fear and alarm at the destruction that this progress is inflicting on the world.
Many writers and thinkers have highlighted our negligence and unsustainable exploitation of resources for many decades, Aldo Leopold, Rachel Carson and James Lovelock all spring to mind. It was James Lovelock’s Gaia Theory, which I read as a student in the late-1970s that shaped my perspective on our developing environmental crisis. Especially with regard to climate change.
Caledonian pines, Glen Affric If protected from hungry deer, seedlings become saplings become trees, and it’s almost impossible not to see the recovery of a forest as a hopeful sign. Ultimately, large ruminants are also part of our world, a key component in earth’s evolution, and in all probability companions to our ancestors as they occupied post-Ice Age Britain. Therefore it’s likely that landscape was not all closed-canopy forest, but included a range of other habitats, including marsh, grazed meadows, heath, open moor and relatively bare mountains, a diversity that can still be found in Alaska and other northern hemisphere wilderness.
The confidence that Modernism had in technological progress has dissolved in the last few decades, increasingly replaced by fear and alarm at the destruction that this progress is inflicting on the world.
Caledonian pine, River Affric Scotland is becoming a world leader in rewilding, and habitat rejuvenation. Its wildland is already wonderfully rich in biodiversity compared with the impoverished state of many parts of our British Isles, although the unbalanced, top-predator-free imbalance remains. Places being carefully managed for the future are silver linings of hope.
In 1993 Jenny and I moved to North Yorkshire. Jen, in particular, did not want to bring up our young children in the polluted air of London. The first consideration when looking for a house was that we didn’t want a low, coastal location (due to melting ice caps and rising sea levels); and we wanted a home that wasn’t built on a flood plain. We might have been a bit too far ahead of our time for the former worry, but the latter has proved prescient. The point is, climate change was already common knowledge, part of our conversation. We knew it was coming.
In the last years and months, the amount of new data coming forward on the destruction of the eco-system fabric which maintains the web of life across the planet has gained pace. Coral reef bleaching and decay. Insect population collapse. Many species reaching the brink of viability. Mostly these crises are the result of habitat loss and climate change. Whether motivated by survival, consumption, development or pure greed, these crises are anthropogenically caused.
Stepping back from the apocalyptic brink for a moment, there are also positive stories. Following the IWC’s 1982 commercial whaling moratorium, some whale populations are rebounding from the near-extinction to which they were subjected. We tackled the hole in the ozone layer (with the Montreal Protocol) and that situation is now greatly improved. The Antarctic Treaty protects Antarctica from any commercial or industrial resource exploitation, especially for fossil fuels. These examples show that with goodwill, people can work together, internationally, for the common good. In the UK, otter numbers are increasing in rivers from which they had once disappeared, and beavers are slowly being re-introduced.
But the hopeful stories are, currently, hugely outweighed by the gloomy ones.
Deer, Gribdale woods, winter This is a mature plantation above our village in North Yorkshire. It was a thrill to see this roe deer, as the numbers are fairly small and transient in the area. Since the picture was taken almost all the trees have been felled, and although this is the inevitable destiny of plantation trees I was surprised to find how much I miss them, even the non-native sitka spruce.
The term, Shifting Baseline Syndrome, goes a long way to explaining how we normalise whatever we see around us, and so in a world depleted of vast numbers of mighty creatures, we see our impoverished landscapes as normal. Once, humans were but one of many animals who shared this planet, in some form of reasonably dynamic balance. Natural catastrophes and cycles would occur, including climatic ones such as Ice Ages, and life re-formed around niches that were sometimes radically altered to what had been before. But never was the catastrophe a direct result of one willful species.
Farmers frequently pronounce themselves the guardians of our cherished land, the ones who protect and enhance its beauty. There is no merit in blaming farmers for the industrialisation of agriculture brought about by the post-war drive for ever-cheaper food (at any environmental cost). Their practice simply reflected the political, technological and cultural imperatives that prevailed then. Yet this perspective strikes me as a perfect example of shifting baseline syndrome. To our generations landscape still appears beautiful, electricity pylons, motorways and so on notwithstanding; it’s what we know, and represents open space, a superficial appearance of nature, and a welcome relief from the crushing ugliness of so much of our urban environment. But to believe that the modern agricultural landscape of much of the UK is somehow a rural idyll maintained by the benign offices of 21st century farming sets the bar of expectation and beauty extraordinarily low. Especially if we use bio-diversity as a measure.
Farmers frequently pronounce themselves the guardians of our cherished land, the ones who protect and enhance its beauty. There is no merit in blaming farmers for the industrialisation of agriculture brought about by the post-war drive for ever-cheaper food (at any environmental cost).
In Sapiens, Yuval Noah Harari points out that across planet Earth the domestic animals we breed for meat (and other services), cows, pigs, sheep and chickens predominantly, weigh around 700 million tons. ALL other large animals (from porcupines and penguins to elephants, walruses and whales) living in the wild weigh less than 100 million tons. It’s important to point out that this figure does not include small animals, insects, bacteria, plants, trees etc which make up a much larger proportion of the earth’s biomass. Nevertheless, that our domestic animal stocks outnumber similarly-sized wild ones by a factor of at least 7x is a shock, particularly when you consider that not so long ago those proportions would have been reversed.
Dewdrop galaxy Fortunately, as outdoor photographers we don’t have to travel halfway around the world to enjoy our photography. This picture was made about a mile outside our village one winter morning. A macro lens encourages us to look closer, opening new worlds of visual delight in nature.
Easby Moor view, winter I have stood here countless times, admiring the view as it is on a favourite local walk. The dark flanks of the crags make it a tricky aesthetic puzzle, but the snow solved that problem one day this January. It is the only significant snow day we have had in our area this winter.
While they may disrupt the recovery of woodland in Scotland, spotting a deer in an English forest is quite a thrill. But imagine how many more of them there would have been 500 years ago, not to mention any number of other animals who would have made that forest home. Since then we eliminated top predators (bear, wolf, lynx) in the British Isles, and to manage the numbers of wild ruminants that remain (deer primarily) we have to hunt them, substituting natural predation. We also wage war on remaining wild creatures, seeking to exterminate those with which we have a long-held enmity (rats, mice, foxes) and blaming the badger for infecting cows with bovine TB. Lacking serious predators to control them there are still plenty of rabbits and grey squirrels, but bird numbers throughout our islands are in a long term pattern of decline. And this in a country of committed bird-watchers and wildlife enthusiasts.
Some older folk recall woods and countryside rich in bird-song, and the butterfly-filled meadows of their childhoods. And winters where the snow lay so deep they had to walk along the tops of hedges beside the road to get to school! Admittedly, weather is weather, and we certainly still get cold snaps. But the temperature trend is relentlessly upwards, and those of us who have been photographing the outdoors for decades can feel and see those changes.
As I write this, we have just experienced the warmest February in the UK since records began. Meanwhile, in Canada and the US, they have had the opposite manifestation of extreme weather; as the global system gains energy with heat, a powerful polar vortex has plunged into the Midwestern States, bringing winter storms.
As I write this, we have just experienced the warmest February in the UK since records began. Meanwhile, in Canada and the US, they have had the opposite manifestation of extreme weather; as the global system gains energy with heat, a powerful polar vortex has plunged into the Midwestern States, bringing winter storms. Drought and more Californian wildfires this summer would surprise no-one.
For me personally, encounters with true wilderness are the highlight of my life, certainly as a photographer and story-teller. These experiences are often restorative, redemptive and fill me with hope. It’s funny how often that many people I travel with, especially to the polar regions, come to see wilderness as the Real World. To bear witness to mighty (and microscopic) animals moving around on land and in the ocean, still acting out the immutable rhythms, patterns and laws of life according to the choreography of evolution is majestic, and life changing.
The thought that we are exterminating the extraordinary beauty and deeper reality of the wild world is a dagger to the heart. Yet compared with rising sea-levels, floods, drought, famine, displacement and the suffering that will follow, aesthetic and inspirational decline may be the least of our worries.
We’re All Doomed. ~ Private Fraser, Dad’s Army
The Moral Maze
There are arguments that as our technology develops, once we trash planet Earth we can simply board spacecraft and ride off in search of planetary pastures new. Inconveniently, reality suggests otherwise. Perhaps this 2001 A Space Odyssey-style fantasy has finally bitten the dust for I’ve not heard it expressed in a while. Pioneering astrophysics has now revealed the certainty that many stars have planetary systems, yet it is also true that in the foreseeable future there is no planet B.
Humpback whale tail, Chukotka East of Siberia, Chukotka is the true Russian Far East. Just south of the Arctic circle this part resembles Scotland in its landforms, but with virtually no people. It’s no great surprise to discover sizeable schools of humpback whale here in the summer, a species which has thrived since the Whaling Moratorium of 1985. Watching humpbacks is an extraordinary thrill; their breaching behaviour being one of the wonders of nature.
For Jen and I, those afore-mentioned young children are now young adults, a journalist and a scientist. Their insight, courage and wisdom has forced me to reconsider many of my previously-held beliefs, although on environmental matters we are as one. But parents or not, as eyewitnesses to the world around us we photographers have an opportunity, maybe even a responsibility, to say it as it is.
Following the lead of teenage Swedish Climate Change activist, Greta Thunberg, children around the world have taken time off their lessons to protest the lack of action on climate change. They have been widely chastised by adults and politicians, especially in the UK. I heard one middle-aged gentleman on a radio phone-in saying ‘Save us from the sanctimonious opinions of children’. Funny how young people are constantly under attack for being politically apathetic, and then the moment they actually get out and do something they are criticised for being sanctimonious.
In short, why would children NOT care about their future? Should we really expect them to stick their heads in the sand and carry on, business as usual, as we have done? Our hypocrisy is surpassed only by our complacency. On their own children may not change the world. But in a few years, they will no longer be children and the awareness and concern they are developing now suggest there is hope that they will accelerate change in a way that our generation has not. I may be too optimistic but I find their passion and commitment an inspiration.
On their own children may not change the world. But in a few years, they will no longer be children and the awareness and concern they are developing now suggest there is hope that they will accelerate change in a way that our generation has not.
Growing up in Ladakh As I set up my tripod and Hasselblad in this mountain village some years ago, these youngsters came to inspect their strange European visitor (me) and insisted on having their portraits taken. How could I refuse? The road is a new arrival and will inevitably lead to changes in their traditional way of life. The march of progress is not all benign, but should at least mean better medical services and hopefully a healthier old age.
Call to Arms
In the past I’d never be one to stick my head above the parapet, and basically, I am still that person. I’d love to hide behind my work, believe that the search for meaning and beauty is enough, and hope that people who enjoy my pictures draw their own conclusions that the natural world, the wild world really does matter. Maybe as a young photographer, I wasn’t angry enough to play the activist role. But I am angry now…with myself for my foot-dragging, and with our species-wide willingness to ignore scientific evidence.
Times have changed, and to say and do nothing feels amoral, borderline unethical even. Especially as I will likely continue to travel, to photograph in places and habitats that inspire me. If I do that then I must strive to be less of the problem, more of the solution (whatever that might be). I have seriously considered NOT travelling at all, but that seems a decision to become a spectator only, or hermit.
But I must scrutinise my travels more critically, cut back where possible (especially on flights), use the train whenever practical, do carbon offset mitigation (eg tree-planting), and although we will keep the car going as long as we possibly can, when forced to change it will be electric. There’s no shortage of photographic opportunity in the garden; I have advocated focussing on my/your local landscapes in the past, for environmental and creative reasons, and I should follow my own advice more closely.
Newton Wood, mist Working and walking locally I am familiar with almost every part of our local woods. Yet when the mist arrives it still leads to surprising transformations. Such conditions are a reminder to make images about something, and not just of something.
What about the photographic process itself? Although willing to try I doubt I can use much less electricity, but I do print and printing has its consumables of paper and ink.
If any of this resonates for you, if you want to share your ideas or suggestions, or feel you could write or contribute a piece on what we as a community can do collectively to help the causes of landscape, ecosystems and the wild world then please do contact Tim, who is keen to spotlight what has become the issue of our time.
Encouraging our suppliers, manufacturers and retailers to be more environmentally-friendly in their business could make a difference, and I/we can start this by supporting those who already put that high on their agenda, and encouraging others to do so. In any case, if they don’t do it now, the law will likely oblige them in the future. We could even change our cameras less often…the carbon footprint of a single image sensor is frighteningly high.
We should probably also be rocking the foundations of the ivory towers in which our politicians seem to live until they hear loud and clear that the environment matters to us, and can see that our votes may be won with ecological policies. Secondly, if we have any money invested, think hard about where (it is invested) and whether it could be somewhere better for our planetary future. It might even perform better in the long run too because the young people who will be leading the world soon are going to favour those industries which are sustainable.
I may be the only person having these thoughts. But I doubt it. If any of this resonates for you, if you want to share your ideas or suggestions, or feel you could write or contribute a piece on what we as a community can do collectively to help the causes of landscape, ecosystems and the wild world then please do contact Tim (via the contact page), who is keen to spotlight what has become the issue of our time. And how we might use our photography to best highlight the importance of nature, with joy, irony, anger, sadness or humour…whatever that voice may be.
A world with wilderness depleted or devastated, and without hope would be a terrible legacy to leave our grand-children. Clearly alone none of us can do very much. But if we were able to co-ordinate our efforts and ideas then we might have a better chance of making some difference.
On thin ice, Wrangel Island Being out in a small boat on the Arctic Ocean is a special travel experience, and to be able to walk on that ocean, on its sea ice, even more so. Sea Ice (pack ice) is in a state of long term decline, a trend scientists have charted for decades. As it reduces so it opens up possibilities for shipping, leading to disturbance and danger for the animals that live here. Mineral exploitation also becomes more likely, an enormous and inevitable pollution hazard. The decay of sea ice also means loss of albedo effect, so instead of being reflected by the whiteness of the ice, more sunlight is absorbed by dark open ocean water, accelerating the warming trend.
Polar bear in trouble, Wrangel island Even polar bears get old and when they do they lose strength, hunting ability and eventually weaken and die. Here is an old bear probably in its last summer. It’s now probably too weak to make another kill and would only recover if it found carrion. Its individual predicament cannot be linked to climate change. Nevertheless, as the sea ice which is their primary hunting ground diminishes, so polar bears will find survival increasingly difficult.
Polar bear on sea ice, Wrangel island Patrolling the vast expanses of Arctic sea ice, a polar bear’s adaptation to this niche in the ecosystem is miraculous. To see them in their natural habitat, going about their lives as they have for hundreds of thousands of years puts ours into perspective.
The Third World War has already begun. Not on battlefields, or in the tactical plans of the military establishment. Rather it’s a political war of ideas and beliefs, for sustainable change against business-as-usual inertia, that will be waged perhaps for decades…unless and until we can secure wide-ranging international legally-enforced action to bear down on climate change and ecological destruction. Paris was a good start, but so much more needs doing, and doing much more quickly. Will it mean lifestyle changes? Yes, but a return to hunter-gathering is not a realistic direction; we will have to supercharge the development of new and sustainable technologies perhaps including carbon capture, enact a new revolution in food production, and reconsider the wisdom of an eternally consumption-based vision for economies.
Live simply, that others may simply live.~ Mahatma Gandi
In Gandhi's time, this advice addressed the burning inequalities that ran through human societies, and the economic gulf between the developed and developing worlds. Perhaps in our time, it is the animals and ecosystems of the wild world who are the “others”; we may not easily see it, but their future survival and prosperity is inextricably linked with our own.
Apathy, resignation and a feeling of impotence may be understandable. It’s so easy to believe and say that our individual lives, decisions, behaviour are insignificant, and make no difference in the grand scheme of things…who can argue with that? But that’s like saying we don’t matter and have no responsibility. It’s vital that we do not become despondent, and instead feel galvanised to rise to the challenges that lie ahead. As eyewitnesses to, and beneficiaries of, nature’s beauty and inspiration it would be good if we can play our part to defend it.
And it is by looking to one another, by attending to the responsibilities of maintaining good relations in whatever we do, that communities turn a gathering darkness into light. ~ Barry Lopez
Beluga charnel, Bourbonhamna
This haunting place in Svalbard is scattered with hundreds of thousands of whale bones, tragic remains of the now almost-passed whaling industry. Largely confined to Arctic and Antarctic waters, and so out of sight from public gaze, the slaughter of whales continued unchecked until 1985.
Caledonian pines, Glen Affric
If protected from hungry deer, seedlings become saplings become trees, and it’s almost impossible not to see the recovery of forest as a hopeful sign. Ultimately, large ruminants are also part of our world, a key component in earth’s evolution, and in all probability companions to our ancestors as they occupied post-Ice Age Britain. Therefore it’s likely that landscape was not all closed-canopy forest, but included a range of other habitats, including marsh, grazed meadows, heath, open moor and relatively bare mountains, a diversity that can still be found in Alaska and other northern hemisphere wilderness.
Caledonian pine, River Affric
Scotland is becoming a world leader in rewilding, and habitat rejuvenation. Its wild land is already wonderfully rich in biodiversity compared with the impoverished state of many parts of our British Isles, although the unbalanced, top-predator-free imbalance remains. Places being carefully managed for the future are silver linings of hope.
Easby Moor view, winter
I have stood here countless times, admiring the view as it is on a favourite local walk. The dark flanks of the crags make it a tricky aesthetic puzzle, but the snow solved that problem one day this January. It is the only significant snow day we have had in our area this winter.
Buachaille Etive Mor, winter
While some winters can still produce impressive snowfalls in the UK, everyone of a certain age remembers the winters of childhood as colder, and records bear this out. The trend to milder temperatures travels in a bumpy, unpredictable fashion, but the underlying direction is upward, corroborating theoretical modelling with increased atmospheric carbon concentrations.
Fortunately, Scotland is still beautiful in almost all conditions. This images was made in January this year.
Polar bear in trouble, Wrangel island
Even polar bears get old and when they do they lose strength, hunting ability and eventually weaken and die. Here is an old bear probably in its last summer. It’s now probably too weak to make another kill and would only recover if it found carrion. Its individual predicament cannot be linked to climate change. Nevertheless, as the sea ice which is their primary hunting ground diminishes, so polar bears will find survival increasingly difficult.
On thin ice, Wrangel Island
Being out in a small boat on the Arctic Ocean is a special travel experience, and to be able to walk on that ocean, on its sea ice, even more so. Sea Ice (pack ice) is in a state of long term decline, a trend scientists have charted for decades. As it reduces so it opens up possibilities for shipping, leading to disturbance and danger for the animals that live here. Mineral exploitation also becomes more likely, an enormous and inevitable pollution hazard. The decay of sea ice also means loss of albedo effect, so instead of being reflected by the whiteness of the ice, more sunlight is absorbed by dark open ocean water, accelerating the warming trend.
Newton Wood, mist
Working and walking locally I am familiar with almost every part of our local woods. Yet when the mist arrives it still leads to surprising transformations. Such conditions are a reminder to make images about something, and not just of something.
Deer, Gribdale woods, winter
This is a mature plantation above our village in North Yorkshire. It was a thrill to see this roe deer, as the numbers are fairly small and transient in the area. Since the picture was taken almost all the trees have been felled, and although this is the inevitable destiny of plantation trees I was surprised to find how much I miss them, even the non-native sitka spruce.
Polar bear on sea ice, Wrangel island
Patrolling the vast expanses of Arctic sea ice, a polar bear’s adaptation to this niche in the ecosystem is miraculous. To see them in their natural habitat, going about their lives as they have for hundreds of thousands of years puts ours into perspective.
Dewdrop galaxy
Fortunately as outdoor photographers we don’t have to travel half way around the world to enjoy our photography. This picture was made about a mile outside our village one winter morning. A macro lens encourages us to look closer, opening new worlds of visual delight in nature.
Growing up in Ladakh
As I set up my tripod and Hasselblad in this mountain village some years ago, these youngsters came to inspect their strange European visitor (me), and insisted on having their portraits taken. How could I refuse? The road is a new arrival and will inevitably lead to changes in their traditional way of life. The march of progress is not all benign, but should at least mean better medical services and hopefully a healthier old age.
Walrus colony, Wrangel Island
Walrus remain in the Arctic, but their numbers are low and fragmented relative to their pre-human hunting population. As a keystone species their survival is symbolic of the state of the Arctic currently. Humans apart, their only predators are killer whale and polar bear, and they stay safe in concentrated family groups..
Rumps Peninsula, summer
The National Trust protects this wonderful landscape in Cornwall from any kind of exploitation, an asset for now and future generations. I have been lucky enough to have known it since childhood, and still get a deep feeling that all is right with the world whenever I walk out here. However, in the grand scheme of things such a sanguine mind-set is an illusion.
Strath Conon clear cut wood.
Modern woodland management often seems contradictory. We can see here the foresters have left native birch standing, as well as leaving woody brash in situ, a useful starting point for habitat recovery in the years to come. Nevertheless, the effect of clear-cut is devastating, and can provoke comparisons with World War One battlefield landscapes.
Travelling to the Italian Dolomites was filled with excitement and apprehension. This was to be my first big climbing trip. I had only been climbing for a year up to this point. Climbing had redirected my life onto an unplanned road, defining it and enhancing it into one big adventure. It was from climbing that I discovered a whole new world, a vertical world and with that a passion for photography. I enjoyed capturing my climbs, seizing time in an image to display the breathtaking exposure and scenes from high up in the mountains.
We arrived in the Italian Dolomites on September 15th 2018. We were welcomed by the rich deep blue skies characteristic of most European autumns. The Dolomites were by no doubt awe inspiring. Towering peaks chiselled out from the earth’s crust shot out from the lush green valleys. These unique geological features dominated the landscape. I looked at each cliff face as we drove down the winding passes, picking out potential climbing venues.
On our third day, we sat on a plateau eating half melted waffles and sipping lukewarm water whilst gaping up at nature's masterpiece before us. I took out my camera to get some shots of the views, playing around a little using different angles. This day was our easy day, deciding to take a break from pure rock climbing to tackle a fairly easy scramble, Via Ferrata. We wanted to bag another summit, to see the breathtaking views that often come with any peak, like a package deal. I craned my neck to make out a route up our next objective, a mountain shaped like a pinhead, pointing up as if it was trying to poke a hole in the sky. Leading up to the summit was hundreds of metres of a sheer, steep and barren cliff face. Apparently, there was a defined scramble line up there, aided by sections of Via Ferrata.
Up We Go
I had my doubts, but despite them, there was a route. We geared up and were soon scrambling over exposed drops offs. It was fun, zig zagging up rock gullies, half scrambling and half dangling from ladder rungs. As we came close towards the summit, we took a break to catch our breath and appreciate the surrounding landscape. I was excited to reach the summit so I could take some more photos. However, there was a smaller peak in front of our objective peak, which we would somehow have to get around, or over. To get around, we could make out a slightly flattened route engraved into the mountainside. It wasn't really a path but we couldn't seem to find an alternative way. This seemed our best bet. I started off, trying my best to lean into the mountain as much as possible. Any misstep would lead to a long fall into mountain rubble.
As we came close towards the summit, we took a break to catch our breath and appreciate the surrounding landscape.
As I walked on, my partner Jamie called out to me. I turned. As I turned, I was shocked to see him and his brother, Daniel, crawling up the rocky slope. They were not going around the first peak, which I perceived to be the easiest and safest way. No, they were scrambling up it. What were they doing?
Jumping to Safety
It seemed they were going to reach our objective second peak, by summiting and going over the first. Maybe they had decided this was the better way after all. I didn’t particularly want to follow. The slope was horribly angled, like a slide that would throw you out towards the drop below. It seemed rather threatening to me. I knew, to Jamie and Daniel, who were more experienced, the slope was nothing. Jamie called to me saying to go around if I didn't want to follow. But I didn't want to be the only one in the group not to follow. Maybe I was a ‘’wimp’’? I needed to confront my fears, move past it, right? I kept repeating this as I nervously stepped up onto the slope to follow them upwards. On hindsight, this was a mistake.
I scrambled up, poking each rock before transferring my weight on that arm or foot. Some rocks were loose, adding a bit of Russian roulette with each one I tested. I looked up and saw my partner dancing towards the summit. Effortlessly moving between the boulders. I couldn't move that quick and definitely looked less elegant.
Up, up, up I scrambled…
Until bam!
It all happened in an instant. No thought was fully processed in my mind. As I was crawling up the mountainside, eyes set down to the floor picking out the next hand/foothold, I heard a shriek from Daniel.
‘ROCK!’
At that moment, hearing that one word, or from simply detecting a shrill of panic, my eyes snapped upwards to see a huge boulder pounding from the summit down towards me. It was going to hit me and knock me off the mountain. The boulder, the size of a TV set, bounced and flew up into the air, before crashing down and bouncing up again to fly up in the air once more. With one breath, I jumped. I jumped to the left, away from the boulder’s line. I didn’t think about jumping, my body just moved. In an instantaneous second my whole body coordinated itself to move the hell out the way of that boulder.
Unfortunately, though, my right hand wasn't quick enough.
I screamed.
I screamed again, and again, and again, and again.
I fell to the floor and scrunched my body up, my knees up to my chin, protecting my hand in a ball of me. I just screamed. I wasn't even in pain, I couldn't feel anything. I wasn't even trying to scream or processing that I was doing it. I guess I was screaming because I was desperate for someone to help me. My curled-up body rocked in shock. I didn't want to look at my hand. From it, a stream of blood was trickling down my leg. My mind was racing, waiting to feel any pain so that I could assess the extent of my injuries.
I guess I was screaming because I was desperate for someone to help me. My curled-up body rocked in shock. I didn't want to look at my hand. From it, a stream of blood was trickling down my leg. My mind was racing, waiting to feel any pain so that I could assess the extent of my injuries.
My partner hurried down from above.
‘Jane? Jane? What’s hurt, can you tell me what hurts’?
He started feeling underneath my helmet, my arms and legs to see if there were any other injuries in addition to my clearly injured hand.
‘Let’s see your hand’. My partner urged me to uncurl it from its protective ball I had created with my arms and scrunched up legs. I didn't want to move it or see it. I knew I had to though. After a long pause, I moved my arm outwards so Jamie could have a look. He frantically pulled out bandages from his medic kit, unravelling a long white bandage. Jamie gently held my wrist to wrap the bandage around my hand. I tried very hard to keep my head turned away, but I unwillingly caught a glimpse of the whites of bone. I wrenched. I didn't want to see anymore.
‘You will be okay, don’t worry’ Jamie repeated as I whimpered on.
Jamie then pulled out a climbing sling. Being a loop of material, the sling was pulled over my head and my arm then placed through. The sling acted as support and raised my arm to prevent inflammation.
‘We need to move’ Jamie stated. ‘Can you walk, just a bit to the summit?’
I nodded in agreement. I did need to move from this precarious position. With the help of Jamie and Daniel, I slowly made my way up to the first summit where I sat down to try to gather my thoughts and comprehend my situation. I was passed sweets to keep my blood sugar up, and jackets were tied around me to stop my body temperature dropping too much with shock. My group talked about how to get down.
The Downclimb
‘We could call the mountain rescue?’ exclaimed Jamie.
I looked up, ‘for a hand injury, seems a bit over the top’ I mumbled. My hand was starting to hurt now, I could feel a throbbing moving from my fingertips up my arm. But it was just a hand injury, which to me didn't justify a helicopter. We all agreed to try and get me down off the mountain ourselves. My partner tied another sling around my waist, to act like a lead which he would hold to help steady me as I attempted to climb down the mountain.
We started downclimbing. I moved extremely slowly down from the peak, mainly scraping over the rocky terrain on my bum. The slope became steeper towards some via ferrata ladders. I would have to climb down the ladders with one hand. The pain was really getting bad. It felt like someone was whacking my fingers with a hammer. Boom. Boom. Boom. The throb vibrated up my nerves, pulsating through my whole arm. My stomach churned, a twisting nausea from within. I shivered. I just wanted to go home. The thought of having to climb down this mountain on ladders with steep drops and one hand made me feel overwhelmed. Tears shot out from my eyes, down my cheeks. I didn't want to. I didn't want to walk anymore.
But I had to, and I did. I lost balance a few times. Whenever I tipped a little too far to the left or right, I instinctively tried to grab the ladders with my bad hand. This sent a jolt of pain shooting through my body, ending in a pathetic weep. I felt pathetic. I kept telling myself to pull myself together. It was just my hand.
Minutes soon slid into hours of down climbing. The sun was creeping lower and lower in the sky, and I was getting slower and slower. I kept stopping to sit every five minutes, to regather energy and stop myself from being sick. ‘We are taking too long, we are not going to get down before nightfall’, Jamie said whilst looking at his watch. We need to call mountain rescue. He looked at me, concern written across his face. I disagreed. How annoyed would the mountain rescue crew be when they discover it was just a hand injury. I wasn't bad. I was just being weak.
I didn't have the energy to argue though and let Jamie ring the rescue services.
This on hindsight was a very good decision...
Life's Lesson
I have always known that there were inherent dangers in mountainous environments. Avalanches, landslides, storms, falling from great heights and even flooding (Mountain Partnership, 2015) are to name a few. But I never thought anything would ever happen to me. Naive logic, I guess. I even contemplated not buying insurance before my trip due to the expense, thinking what were the chances? I did, and I will never contemplate not doing so again. Although my accident was not fatal, it could have been a lot worse, which I try not to think about too much. I like to look back on the event as it unfolded, to acknowledge each mistake and its potential bitter consequences, marking each as a ‘lemon’.
Avalanches, landslides, storms, falling from great heights and even flooding (Mountain Partnership, 2015) are to name a few. But I never thought anything would ever happen to me. Naive logic, I guess. I even contemplated not buying insurance before my trip due to the expense, thinking what were the chances?
Lemon one. We all had let our guards down. We all labelled the day as ‘easy’ compared to our previous days’ climbing. This peak consisted of a relatively simple scramble with some Via Ferrata support. However, the dangers were still there. We didn't perceive them highly enough, and as a result did not act in caution when we needed to, potentially taking unnecessary risks.
Lemon two. I succumbed to peer pressure. I followed Jamie and Daniel up the first summit when I preferred to walk around. Going up the slope to the first summit didn't feel right to me and I should have trusted my gut.
Lemon three. Rockfall is a prevalent danger in the mountains and can be fatal. From 1951 to 2006 in the US alone, 46.4% of mountain deaths were due to falling rocks or slipping on rocks (Steph Abegg, 2018). We should have been wary, especially when moving up the steep rocky slope to the first summit. Shouting ‘below’ makes others aware of any falling rock. Daniel shouted which saved my life by giving me time to react and move out of the way of the falling boulder. To try and prevent a rock fall yourself, tap any precarious looking rock before transferring your weight to make sure it isn't loose.
Lemon four. We nearly let a manageable situation become unmanageable. We should have called mountain rescue as soon as the accident had occurred. It wasn't a serious situation at the time, but down climbing into the night as the pain in my hand was becoming worse, and I was slowly deteriorating with shock, was making the situation less manageable. Most injuries on a mountain are justifiable reasons to call the mountain rescue service. If you are ever unsure, then calling the rescue services and describing the situation enables experts to assess the best cause of action (Scottish Mountain Rescue, 2019).
I am happy to say that my camera stayed intact and I am now recovering. I am having intensive physiotherapy to get my hand movement back. Although I am not recovered enough to go back to climbing rocks, I am enjoying running, walking and taking photos in the mountains once more.
When I read about Paul's project about photographing the navigational markers around the coastline of the UK, it sparked my interest. These markers are paramount for seafarers as they guide boats of all sizes into port. I became aware of them when I did a lot of yacht sailing on the south coast of the UK, but to most people, they would miss their significance and walk past them on the beaches and rocky shorelines. So what was it about these markers that drew Paul to travel around the coastline documenting them?
What sparked your passion for photography?
I was always into Art and Graphics whilst I was at school rather than academic subjects. I went on to study Art and Graphics for my A Levels; in my second year, I took up photography and really enjoyed it. However, I still applied for a graphics course at degree level and not photography. About two weeks before I was due to start the course, I decided I wanted to change and study photography and therefore take it to a more serious level.
You studied photography at Newcastle Art & Design College in 1999. Why did you choose to photograph the land as opposed to other subjects/genres?
Throughout the course, we studied many different genres of photography. This gave me an idea of what I liked and didn’t like.
No major deep-rooted reasons I don’t think why I chose landscape photography. I love being by the coast, I was brought up by the coast. I’m at my happiest being by the sea/coast, I’m also very happy being alone and in my own company so I think it was just a natural direction for me to combine them both.
Who inspires you the most both at the start of your photography and now? What books stimulated your interest in photography and drove you forward, directly or indirectly, as you developed?
This is a tough question and one I get asked a lot. If I had to pick one, I’d say Joel Sternfeld. I love both his landscapes and portraits. But there are many photographers and artists who inspire and influence me.
Tell us a bit about the project 'Navigate’. Where did it all start? What's your personal interest in this subject?
It all started while I was shooting a couple of other personal projects; Moonlight and -18 Degrees. These are all shot at full moon, in the middle of the night and the exposures can last up to 3 hours per image. It was at one location, in particular,
I arrived early, while the sun was just going down. I was sat in the car and this object caught my attention, a marker. I had time to kill so I went for a wander and walked down to the rocks/jetty and up to the marker. It had a strange and wonderful presence and atmosphere. As the tide was coming in and splashing up against the marker, the marker stood strong. Going nowhere. I then noticed others down the coastline, they were all different, but the same. They all almost had their own personalities but more importantly, served a very important purpose. It highlighted to me how we are just a small island. Vulnerable. With everything that was starting politically, I felt the need to document these posts and make them into a body of work in their own right.
How did the project evolve? Did you have to refine the vision of what you wanted to achieve?
The project grew and evolved as I starting shooting. I decided I wanted to shoot all around the UK and not just in one location. The distances got further, the travelling greater. Very early on I set myself a few rules; the same camera, same lens, same film, one sheet of film at each location.
How did you go about researching where they were and the locations? Were they all documented or did you have to do a lot of in-depth analysis to get the information? How did you decide which ones to include?
I researched just by foot really. Went to a location and walked for miles to see if I could find any. As I starting shooting them people would tell me of ones they knew of so sometimes they’d point me in the right direction. People have also said they are marked on maps but part of the appeal is just getting out and searching for them.
Tell us about carrying out the project. How long did it take and how did you decide in which sequence you chose to visit the locations?
It started in 2016 and I haven’t really put a stop to it, in theory, it’s still ongoing. I’ll continue shooting them as I find them, add to the collection and body of work. The beauty of all my projects is I can dip in and out of them and keep building the collection.
Were there any of the markers that you found particularly challenging to photograph or were in interesting locations?
The challenging part for all these shots was making sure a few things fell into place. The light and weather needed to be right firstly. I only shoot in a certain light, the tide needed to be at the correct point/level so I think this was the most challenging part and the part I couldn't control.
You mention painters in your artist’s statement; John Constable, Paul Signac, Edward Hopper and Winslow Homer. Did these paintings influence your aesthetic or narrative choices?
They do and did. I tend to look at painters for influence/inspiration. I find I prefer to draw inspiration from painters rather than looking at photographers and I don’t really watch many films. The painters referenced have a sense of calmness and silence that appeals to me. I try to incorporate this into my photographs.
You say in the narrative about the project "the sea– feral and primordial– and the markers– rigid and manmade– exist for just a moment in equilibrium. The form and composition of the Navigate photographs mirror my own experience making them." You chose to photograph the markers at sunset and left a lot of the composition to chance. How did you find this approach?
While I didn’t want these pictures to be about the sunset as such, often the last hour of the day is the best light of the day. With the long exposure and the movement with the sea and cloud, you never knew fully what you were going to capture and this is what appeals to me. In this digital age where everyone wants to see everything instantly, this is the total opposite. They are shot on large format film, no polaroid so I never know 100% what I have captured until I’m back in London and processed the film. The approach is stripped back, minimal and considered. You have to shoot with your instinct.
In the exhibition information, you write "Recalling Britain's identity as an island nation and co-incidentally beginning in 2016 when the country voted to leave the European Union. How much did this influence your project of documenting the markers and the importance of them on our coastline?
It was co-incidental. I didn’t initially set out to shoot this project because of what was going on politically. However, it did highlight to me that we are just this small island, surrounded by vast amounts of water which makes us very vulnerable. The navigation posts are such simple structures yet from a sailor's/seafarer's point of view they are so important. Because of what was going on politically it made me want to travel around and shoot around the country not just at one location.
You used a large format camera for this project. What made you choose this and did you make any special choices in camera, lenses and film?
I shoot all my personal work on 5x4 film. I don’t feel I have any connection with a digital camera and the slow, calm considered approach adds and helps my photographic style and approach.
What is next for you? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
I have a couple of other projects that I’ve nearly completed but not shown yet. So, they will be out next and I'll put the images and information up on my website soon (www.paulthompsonstudio.com). In terms of where my subject and style are going, I don’t really overthink it or make any considered choices.
Exhibition
The exhibition of the project Navigate by Paul Thompson is open at Wren London, 21 March to 17 May.
Nicholas J R White is a commercial and fine art photographer based in the UK. His personal work examines our relationship with the landscape and the ways in which we interact with our natural spaces. In 2017, Nicholas was named as a winner in the Lens Culture Emerging Talent Awards and was awarded the Royal Photographic Society Environmental Bursary in association with the Photographic Angle.
His debut monograph, Black Dots, (read our interview here) exploring bothy culture across the UK was released in January 2017 by Another Place Press.
Through his series, Black Dots, an exploration of mountain bothies and bothy culture across the United Kingdom and his current work in progress, 'Carpathia', documenting the formation of a European Wilderness Reserve in the Southern Carpathian Mountains of Romania (read article on Diaries from Romania), Nicholas discussed how he undertakes such projects and how he communicates narrative through a combination of landscape and portrait elements.
I was honoured to be asked by Charlotte to write an end frame of a picture that influenced my path as a photographer. When I started out taking snaps with my camera, because that’s what they were, the camera up to my eye, snap, no thought of composition, use of light etc., I realised I needed to study. I would go out and shoot colourful sunrises and sunsets but I wasn’t happy with that. I needed more, I needed to study other photographers’ work. I would buy magazines and read internet articles and watch You Tube to learn composition, use of light, filters and so on.
I saw an article in Amateur Photographer that an exhibition was going to be held at the Brindley in Runcorn, of a photographer from Widnes who was Michael Kenna. Living about 8 miles from Runcorn I went to the exhibition and I was awestruck by his work; the minimalist approach of making less look more, the use of negative space, simplicity of the images, the zen feeling that the images communicated. The techniques that Kenna uses of long exposure, from minutes to hours of exposure had my mind in a whirl of how beautiful his work was crafted. On my way out of the exhibition, I purchased two of his books which was the start of my collection of all Michael Kenna’s books.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios 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!
Many landscape photographers, myself included, often try to exclude man-made structures from our images, notwithstanding that the wider landscape itself may be the result of long-term human intervention. However, in this set of images, my focus was with the opposite intention.
A visit to the Norfolk Broads at the end of February coincided with a spell of misty, frosty mornings and blue skies during the daytime. It wasn’t at all the sort of weather I’d anticipated, but perhaps even more attractive than I’d expected. Jon Gibbs showed me some locations that looked well at sunrise as the dawn light picked out windpumps (not windmills) rising out of the mist and catching first light.
To me, they had a rather spectral ‘H G Wells – War of the Worlds’ appearance, suggestive of Martian machines striding through the Broads. And that was before we went to the pub! East Anglia is often a neglected location for landscape photography compared to the usual places seen in photo magazines, but for me, the Suffolk and Norfolk coasts never disappoint.
Puzzlewood is located in the beautiful and historic Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire.
The geological features on show at Puzzlewood are known as scowles. Scowles originated through the erosion of natural cave systems formed in the carboniferous limestone many millions of years ago. Uplift and erosion caused the cave system to become exposed at the surface. This was then exploited by Iron Age settlers through to Roman times for the extraction of iron ore. It is usually impossible to date open cast extraction precisely, although ores with a chemical signature consistent with those from the Forest of Dean were certainly used to make tools and weapons in the late prehistoric period.
J.R.R Tolkien was a frequent visitor to the Forest of Dean. Puzzlewood was the inspiration for the forests of Middle-earth in The Lord of the Rings, such as the Old Forest, Mirkwood, Fangorn or Lothlórien.
When The Lord of the Rings was named Britain's favourite book in the "Big Read", Puzzlewood was used by Ray Mears to champion Tolkien's work. Harry Potter author J. K. Rowling has also visited Puzzlewood. The Forbidden Forest within the series bears some similarities to the geography of the area.
Puzzlewood has been used as a location in a number of films and TV series, including Harry Potter, King Arthur. Star Wars, Doctor Who etc.
I was drawn to Puzzle wood by the almost mystical, brooding landscape that has remained largely unchanged over the centuries. The challenge as a photographer is to make sense of the chaos. I chose to work in B&W as I think it adds to the “un-worldliness” of the location.
Through photography, I have discovered a bond between myself and nature that is almost harmonious. I find when my solitude is absolute, not only am I able to connect with my surroundings better, but I feel I have a greater chance of encapsulating the moment in a photograph. That's why I choose to shoot locally a lot of the time, which is one of a few things that these 4 photos have in common. I live on the outskirts of Birmingham in the UK, so naturally, you might think I'd have to go out of my way to find worthy woodlands and lone trees, but it's not the case. In fact, the furthest I travelled for one of these images was 20 minutes in the car, and that was with traffic!
Trees possess unique qualities that I'm often in wonderment about. It's always a joy to photograph them and watch how they change from season to season. That being said, these 4 images have all been shot this past winter (2018-2019). Winter weather often brings about unique shooting conditions, but also difficult travelling conditions, so finding interesting photos close to home is more efficient for me. Of these photos in particular, I think the two in deep fog might tell stories visually, whilst the other two are a delicate portrayal of form and texture.
A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened. ~Albert Camus
It’s a cold and quiet winter morning in a remote part of the Utah canyon country. From my base camp atop a high ridge separating two large canyons, I can see at least fifty miles in nearly all directions. About twenty miles to the east, sheer cliffs mark the edge of a snow-covered high plateau. There are no traces of humanity as far as I can see, other than my own belongings and a small section of the rough two-track dirt road I drove in on.
~~~
As a child, I was fascinated by tales of exploration and adventure, of wild lands, and of fantastic animals.
If I could send a message to my younger self—to the quiet boy who loved to roam alone in fields, when there were still fields; to the lonely and confused teenager who never fit in; to the young soldier at odds with his conscience and at a loss for hope—how would I have felt then to know that someday I’ll have my own tales of wildness and discovery and adventure?
If I could send a message to my younger self—to the quiet boy who loved to roam alone in fields, when there were still fields; to the lonely and confused teenager who never fit in; to the young soldier at odds with his conscience and at a loss for hope—how would I have felt then to know that someday I’ll have my own tales of wildness and discovery and adventure? What would it have felt like to know that someday I’ll explore, photograph, and write about this vast and magnificent, and largely unexplored, desert, thousands of miles away from my birthplace, as my full-time job?
I urge you now, as you read, to consider this question: if you could give your younger self just one bit of advice (other than stock tips, dating advice, or lottery numbers), what would it be? I’ll offer my own at the end.
Graham sees the world in a unique way; his process of looking at the landscape and the images he makes are truly abstractions/extractions of the world. These aren't typical, classic landscape images but are definitely 'of' the landscape and hint at subjects and processes seen anew.
We interviewed Graham as our featured photographer in issue 178 (read it here) and his exhibition launched on Saturday 9th March with talks by Doug Chinnery, Mark Littlejohn, Valda Bailey, David Ward and Joe Cornish interviewing Graham Cook.
For those who could not join, we recorded the talks so everyone could watch and immerse themselves in hearing these spellbinding talks.
We enjoyed the talks and the exhibition immensely and can highly recommend a visit if you'd like to see abstraction of the natural world done exceptionally well.
Graham is publishing a book of his photography to coincide with his exhibition, titled “INNERVISIBLE Photography by Graham Cook” and is available on his website.
Articles on Multiple Exposure and ICM in Landscape Photography
I spent a while recently enjoying the colours of New England on a dark winter’s morning courtesy of Cheryl Rose’s photostream. Each time we look at another photographer’s work we open a window on their world, and the way that they see it. Momentarily it replaces the view out of our own window, if we have one near, and transports us to places anew. I confess that by the end of it I was a tad envious. There will, of course, be detractors – if we chose to depict nature’s beauty in our images, not all will be as perfect as we might like, but it’s good to escape our mostly urban lives for a little while and to allow the viewer to do the same.
One of the things that struck me on reading through Cheryl’s answers was her comment about the cumulative noise of leaf blowers in autumn. It reminds me that as well as the visual, one of the most appealing things about photography is that it allows us to reconnect other senses and to enjoy the birdsong, the rustle of leaves, the conversation of water….. It’s a reminder that we need to value and look after not just the beautiful places, but the quiet places too. Enough of my rambling, and time to find out more about Cheryl.
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 on to do?
I have lived in the suburbs of Boston, Massachusetts, USA all of my life. After a year of college, I worked full time as a secretary for five years, hating every minute of it. During that time, I took numerous adult education art classes in the evening. I also spent a lot of time in the basement silk screening, then selling my silk screened T-shirts and notecards at local shops and fairs. I was also doing some batik and making and selling candles. I was always interested in creating things, doing a variety of crafts, even as a child.
As I sit here in the dark room, snow falls from a grey, overcast sky, I pause to reflect on the uniqueness of each flake, perfect in its own form; crystalline sculptures with a distinct personality. Even within my limited field of view, their number is beyond count, settling on the icy ground below forming new layers, textures and drifting patterns of aesthetic beauty. Through these eyes, the world is a beautiful place, filled with meaning, metaphors and imagery. It is this mindful engagement that I will write about now; to find ways of transcending judgement, techniques, equipment and the relentless pressure of social media. I want to find flow in the natural beauty of the world, the antithesis of the banal, the ordinary and the everyday. I want every moment to feel like the most important I’ll ever experience and in this way, each moment is precious, giving my life value.
In the grand scheme of things, each image we produce can feel meaningless. I feel it often, as I stop to make a photograph, “does the world need this?” We can be left swamped by the sheer profusion of images, each one vying for attention on the biggest stage, “me, me, me, cries the demanding child!” If I made images for the sake of popularity I’d have quit by now, taking up wood carving, or just writing poetry instead. But, there are things in me that need to be said, and more so than just that expression, it is the engagement with the world and the discovery of value both externally and internally that provide me with all the focus I need. I find the meaning of life in the pursuit of this passion to engage - a valuable and rewarding existence. By exploring what I need to say tells me more about myself, my drive, purpose and place in an often confusing world.
We can be left swamped by the sheer profusion of images, each one vying for attention on the biggest stage, “me, me, me, cries the demanding child!” If I made images for the sake of popularity I’d have quit by now, taking up wood carving, or just writing poetry instead.
A few months ago I wrote an article called Diamonds and Sand: The Act of Mindfulness in the Landscape (On Landscape 168). In a series of engaging comment interactions, it was put to me that mindfulness was just a new word for being in a flow state, and that got me thinking. Are they the same at all, or quite different, yet still collaborative and complimentary? In this article, I will address that dichotomy and go on to discuss how these states and attitudes can help us find ourselves creatively and regaining harmony in our pursuit of life through the lens.
When Norman McCloskey started photographing The Beara Peninsula 25 years ago, little did he know that this project would inspire him and change his life in more ways than he could ever realise. Norman talks about his connection to the landscape and the development of his project.
You graduated in 1995 from the Institute of Art, Design and Technology having studied photography. Tell us about how you chose this as a career and how this shaped your approach to photography.
Looking back now it seems like it was all meant to be and I had a perfect plan, but the reality I think was down to luck and good timing. I had made a great move from my city upbringing to the beautiful surroundings of Kerry in the southwest. I had just graduated from college studying computer programming and had offers from universities in the UK to continue studying there. But I left it all behind for a complete change in life at the tender age of 21 and soon after discovered photography. Apart from being a bad guitarist but a passionate music fan, it was the one thing that really ignited a spark of real interest and passion in my life up to that point. After two years of enjoying my life filled with photography and devoid of any real pressure to do anything else, reality kicked in and I realised I had to start thinking about a career.
Photography was the only thing that I really and honestly wanted to learn and so I applied for a course in Dublin with the help of a friend who by chance was also applying. The course was called 'Commercial Photography' but it was anything but that. It was art college and had very little structure or clear idea what it was we were supposed to be doing. Initially, I felt I'd made a huge mistake and I knew this wasn't preparing us for a career of any sort, but soon I began to see and learn a whole other side to photography and my passion for it only grew. I continued to work on my landscape work, which of course in art college was completely dismissed as meaningless and trite. But I had huge resources of cameras and darkrooms so I made the best of it. I discovered the work of John Davies, Bern & Hilla Becher Joel Meyerowitz and Edward Weston, which I was very comfortable absorbing alongside my staple diet of Ansel Adams.
I admire many different approaches when it comes to photographing the landscape. The opportunities for contrasting, opposite and very personal interpretations of the subject matter are endless. Of all photographic genres, perhaps landscape is the broadest and most diverse.
My own inspiration to pursue the vast majority of my photography outdoors in the countryside has come from admiring the work of too many talented photographers and artists to mention. Over the years I have inevitably (and mostly sub-consciously) adopted aspects of their approaches that appealed and combined them in the pursuit of making images that best represent my own feelings towards the landscapes and places I know best and regularly return to.
All of this makes selecting a favourite image for end frame quite challenging. I found it extremely hard knowing where to start with so many positive influences to choose from. However, Fay Godwin’s ‘Copper Beech’ image from the National Trust estate at Stourhead in Wiltshire felt, in the end, like a natural choice. Compared to my exposure to the work of other photographers (who, as it happened, most often worked in colour), I was late in discovering and coming to hugely admire Fay Godwin’s images.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios 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!
With a young family, you need to get out. Loaded down with the correct paraphernalia, pushchair, nappies, changing mat, mashed banana etc. Your days out, though tiring, are fun and of course, you want to document those important years.
When my first child was born I used many different types of cameras and formats to record his early years, a 35mm range finder, a Bronica medium format camera, I even had a go with large format and Polaroid Type 55...the results were, at best, patchy. When my second child was born I realised that I needed a camera system that would capture the growth of my small family in a more consist way. As a child I would pour over my families black and white photo albums for hours, so wanting to continue that tradition I bought a TLR Yashica. Perfect. Small and portable with no extra lenses to carry, this simple camera could easily be stuffed into the nappy bag. It also produced fabulous large 120 negs that took me back to those old family albums. I quickly modified our bathroom into an occasional darkroom.
As my children outgrow their pushchairs and weekend family walks became longer and more frequent, we ventured further afield with the landscapes became more varied. Living in London we would day trip the South and North Downs, visit family and friends in Yorkshire, camp in the Lakes and holiday in rural Devon and Norfolk. The landscape became part of the adventure, if in a child friendly sort of way...and we visited a lot of playgrounds! And as we travelled my photography started to include those mainly British landscapes.
Of course, any photography would happen at the behest of my family, if the clouds parted to throw a beautiful shaft of sunlight over Ullswater I could get that photograph only if I wasn’t tying a child’s shoelace or giving my tired youngest a shoulder ride at the time. In between these family duties, I would shoot landscapes when I could... no tripod, no planning, no kitbag. Just the camera, light meter, two filters and a couple of rolls of HP5. There was none of that ‘having a film camera slows you down’ mantra, to get those shots I had to be quick.
I used the Yashica for a couple of years before selling it to buy a Rolleiflex (oh be still my beating heart). The 5D MK whatever of its day, this awesome camera has produced some of the best photos I have ever taken. Very similar in layout to the Yashica but with a slightly better f3.5 lens and a gorgeously uprated brighter viewing screen from Rick Oleson this camera goes on all family adventures.
After 2018 school summer holidays I had 12 rolls of film to process...that’s only 144 exposures over 6 weeks but those photographs tell the story of those six weeks in Cornwall, Kent and Scotland better than any digital haul of images I could capture. As the years roll on the day is coming when my kids won’t want to go on holiday with their aged parents anymore. Maybe then I’ll go all Ansel and get my old 5x4 out of its case and start planning my landscape photography, using a tripod, making notes on exposure... but until that day my Rolleiflex is here to stay.
After a period of photographic boredom, a period in which I have practised sports and wedding photography, my interest has awakened thanks to nature.
Starting to think that there is something beyond the big vistas was my great challenge as well as looking for shots that reflect my emotions of the moment as well as a simple landscape.
To do this I started to face situations that generally avoided before, in short, I came out of my comfort zone.
This gallery represents one of these challenges: I have always tried not to photograph the trees because generally I was so engaged with the context that surrounded me, that I could not bring home photos that were worth looking at. In this gallery, along with the trees, there is always the fog that, in my opinion, adds an element of mystery and dynamism to a situation that might seem too static.
Skye is usually the photographer’s favourite destination in the North West of Scotland but on a family summer holiday with my parents, we went one ferry further and travelled to the Outer Hebrides, basing ourselves in North Uist. The weather was definitely more suited to photography than sunbathing with very changeable conditions, the western beaches offering views as far as St. Kilda before huge rainclouds rolled in off the Atlantic to soak us.
Almost every evening we climbed up a small hill near our holiday cottage to try to catch a sunset. It offered us a 360 degree view of the island and despite the wind being very calm, incredibly there wasn’t even a single midge around to annoy us. From there, the cloud formations were a dramatic sight throughout the week, from wispy spirals to dinosaur shapes and some of the biggest cumulonimbuses I’ve ever seen! One of my favourite photos has a cloud formation that looks like a giant spaceship emerging through the clouds before hitting warp speed and disappearing to a distant galaxy far, far away.
But on our final day, it was stormy and we drove all the way down through South Uist and crossed over to Eriskay. As we reached it, we saw a Sea Eagle fly over, heading for Barra. Leaping out of the car we missed photographing the eagle, but we took the chance to explore the coastal landscape. Despite the sky now being overcast and the light fading, there was still sufficient colour in the Hebridean waters and exposed kelp to provide contrast and compositional interest around the shoreline.
As we finally neared the southern end of Eriskay we rounded a hill, and looking down and out to sea, there was the most picturesque football pitch I have ever seen. Being a keen footballer I insisted we went down and played on it but not before getting a photo of it with the dramatic clouds in the background. Very recently we found out it was featured by FIFA as one of the eight most unique places to play football in the world! The photo went on to win me the 2017 Junior Scottish Nature Photographer of the Year so it was definitely worth all the extra miles to get there.
I was meant to be on Eigg for the week but due to high winds the ferry was cancelled, I had already been in Glencoe for a week and decided instead of sticking around I'd head further up north. I arrived in Ullapool and booked myself into a B&B, I spent the next few days exploring around this stunningly beautiful part Scotland
We live in a world that has changed immensely over the last few thousand years as a result of our 'progression'. The majority of us live in villages, towns, and cities, yet many of us relish the opportunity to escape to the great outdoors, 'to get away from it all'. This life we lead with all its creature comforts is somehow not enough on its own.
Time spent outdoors may range from such things as a picnic or barbecue on the beach with friends and family to taking part in activities such as climbing, sailing, surfing or country walks. This immense change relates to our 'progression.' Yet despite life in towns and cities, it isn’t quite enough because we need to make changes and re-connect with the outside world.
In making such choices, we may allow ourselves the opportunity of embracing the landscape and chance the delight and sensation of focusing on the beauty of wildflowers growing near moss covered rocks as we amble alongside a moorland stream. We can be astounded by the pleasant sounds of birds in the trees and hedgerows when their songs speak of communication in their winged world of flight and fancy.
A curious European Robin perched on a granite rock in the Longtimber Woods, Dartmoor.
For adults and children, outings to the beach can open-up a world of discovery with the sensation of sand under their feet and the sight of the sun shining on the sea. A popular place where pebbles can be picked and tossed back into the salty water or near to where sea-creatures can be found in rock-pools. The sight of waves can be exciting and uplifting, as can a ride on a surfboard when a breaking wave is on its way. It becomes a metaphysical journey if we allow ourselves the freedom and time to experience, understand and focus rather than let such things of significance pass us by. These ideas beckon us toward the connection, be it emotional or visceral, with the wonders of the world beyond our own homes. The more we absorb through keen multi-sensory observation, the deeper we become immersed in such pleasures and because of these connections, we can experience a more enjoyable way of understanding our Earth in a rewarding and numinous way.
Waves swooshing back and forth, within Renny’s Reef, Heybrook Bay – on the edge of Plymouth Sound.
In my photography of the natural world, pastoral landscapes, and the transitional rural fringes, I try to distil the essence of my innermost feelings into something that conveys my responses; the very thing that I want to 'say' about a place... a moment in time that has been captured.
Every winter we see lots of images of snow-covered peaks in the glow of dawn or dusk light and most of us think “That’s fantastic, but there is no way I could get up a mountain to take photos like these”. And for those that try, they are often so enveloped in the desire to make it to the top of their chosen peak that they either miss or don’t give enough attention to, the views along the way.
And this is a pity as, in reality, some of the best mountain images you’ve seen have probably been taken from some comparatively modest altitudes. It turns out that images taken from the very tops of mountains are all amazing in the size of the view you get to see and the sense of wonder at standing ‘atop the world’ but, in general, they can make relatively poor photographs (with some exceptions!). Classic mountain profiles end up hidden against the background of further peaks and the reduction of the number of compositional possibilities to a single ‘highest point’ your potential options. (As an aside, a colleague climber said one of the most disappointing views he ever had was at the top of the Mont Blanc - all of the fantastic mountains were diminished because of the position)
In terms of raw altitude, what often makes the greatest of mountain photographs is the combined sense of the photographer’s height above of the mountain and, in that given context, the sense of how far the portrayed mountain is beyond that. i.e. “Look, I’m standing this high already and yet the mountain still towers above me!”. And then there are the massively increased options that are available to you because you can position yourself anywhere around the view in question instead of being limited to only the nearby peaks.
You’ll have to go back to August 2011 and Issue 20 to find Tim’s original Featured Photographer interview with David Baker. This pre-dates both Sea Fever and Ridge Trees, although David’s fascination with the coast was already evident. Much has taken place since then including a ‘big move north’ to Aberdeenshire together with Shona Grant, whose photography and artist’s books we featured last year, so an update with David is definitely due.
It’s safe to say that a lot has happened since Tim spoke to you way back in August 2011. What has given you most enjoyment, or satisfaction, in the intervening period?
I think that's very fair to say. In late January 2017, after 54 years in Hampshire/Dorset, there was a move to rural Aberdeenshire. Whilst I was brought up very close to the country - well country as in Hampshire terms - I'm now in a very small village within a farming community with no street lights, open fields on three sides of the house and the great expanse of sky. It's also a wonderful creative environment. Having lived in a flat for 20 years, I'm now confronted by such things as gardening, open fires and much peace and quiet.
Paul was born in Salford, Lancashire, in 1951. He graduated with a Fine Art degree from Newcastle Upon Tyne Polytechnic in 1975. In 1976 he started work in local government but photographed in his spare time.
In 1996 he gave up his job and began working full-time as a photographer, specialising in abstract still-life images. Since then he has held numerous solo exhibitions of his work.
His book Seaworks 1998-2013 was published by Triplekite in 2014. He lives on the Northumberland coast with his wife Margaret. Read our interview with Paul here.
On Landscape - On Photography
Tracing his (almost) 50 year career making work, communicating his thoughts about an ever changing landscape through the ever changing medium of photography.
The opportunity to write a book about where to go and take photographs in my home county of Kent recently came along and I accepted. Shortly after the joy of agreeing to the deal, the reality that I’d just taken on the ultimate ‘shoot your local area’ project began to dawn upon me.
Years of shooting in more traditional landscape photography hot spots, from Scotland to Sydney Harbour, has made me accustomed to iconic views, beautiful light, weather and (mostly) all fitting nicely into the usual rules of composition.
By comparison, Kent just doesn’t conform to the way we are taught to compose a classic landscape and, I confess, I avoided it for a long time on account of finding it more difficult.
Without distant mountains, there is no obvious backdrop for the final third of a composition before the sky at the top. And without a myriad of boulders or seams of granite liberally sprinkled around the countryside, there isn’t the usual foreground elements I have come to rely upon and trust for successful photography.
Loughrigg Tarn, Cumbria. A good example of a classic landscape shot with textbook rule of thirds, an approach I was initially very frustrated to find wanting in the landscapes around where I live!
My struggles with finding a creative approach to this less conventional landscape meant that I needed to look elsewhere for ideas and inspiration.
I began researching Kentish artists and realised I had the ultimate creative guide that I could wish for in none other than JMW Turner.
I cannot simply throw myself into my photography, it takes me time to adjust and feel that what I am doing is worthy. This level of self-doubt is good for me. I have consistently been self-critical, which leads to doubt, but when I reach the point in what I am doing and I believe in it, then little will convince me otherwise. I don’t mean this in an arrogant way, but in a way that enables me to cut out what is around me and any association with other opinions.
I usually spend over 160 days a year travelling so to be at home is often rewarded by an overwhelming sense of comfort and warmth. This, in turn, has led to ‘home’ meaning one thing, and my photography becoming something entirely separate.
Much of my work is in places that I am familiar with and I love to be. Even if I go off into the wilds of another country, which I do often, I usually have some understanding of what I am about to experience, which in a way, prepares me for the moment I am there with a camera. I usually spend over 160 days a year travelling so to be at home is often rewarded by an overwhelming sense of comfort and warmth. This, in turn, has led to ‘home’ meaning one thing, and my photography becoming something entirely separate.
I live in a very beautiful part of England called Lancashire which is a large area mostly consisting of open farmland that stretches from the Pennine Moors down to the coast. As you would expect, there are paths aplenty and you can literally walk for miles far from the roads and truly escape. As I have associated home with a separation from photography, I have hardly ever headed out with my camera in anger so I have never entered a state of mind that has led me to connect and ‘see’ what is around me. I have simply enjoyed being there.
About a year ago I was fortunate to have a good lengthy break at home over the Christmas period and I did plenty of walking during that time. As ludicrous as it may sound, I had been overloaded with the grandeur of some of the most staggering landscapes I had been fortunate to visit during my year of travel and oddly sought out, and began to relish, in the sparse winter landscape surrounding my house. I live on the edge of a protected valley park which covers an area of 800 acres and is made up of woodlands and meadows, through which, the River Lostock runs.
Back in 2016 Paul Heathcote wrote about the exhibition he had put on for this project and shared some insights into its six-year making. We catch up with Paul again to hear more about the project and creation of the book.
Tell me about why you love landscape photography? A little background on what your first passions were, what you studied and what job you ended up doing.
I studied Civil Engineering at Loughborough University and after my degree stayed on and did a PhD in Structural Engineering. From this, I went to work as a Consultant at a local firm of Structural Engineers.
I had always loved taking photographs on holiday but they generally consisted of pointing a camera at the sun and not understanding why it never looked like the beautiful sunset in front of me.
With a background in engineering, I always wanted to understand the technical side of things and how to take a better picture.
I grew up in the countryside and always played outside as a child. Often disappearing for long periods into woodland or fields making dens and climbing (and falling out of) trees.
The love of the outdoors and my obsession with the technical aspect drew me into landscape photography as a natural escape from an ever increasingly stressful job.
The love of the outdoors and my obsession with the technical aspect drew me into landscape photography as a natural escape from an ever increasingly stressful job.
Tell us a bit about the project ‘Scene from the Water's Edge’. Where did it all start?
Scene from the Water’s Edge’ is a collection of images taken over approximately six years.
For years I have enjoyed the peace and serenity that can be found next to the water, regardless of the size and whether or not it is natural or manmade. Wherever I go I always find myself drawn to the water.
In 2009 I discovered Cropston Reservoir. Situated on the edge of Bradgate Park in Leicestershire, it is just like any other reservoir, but to me, it soon became a place of great mystery and appeal. I started walking the shoreline and spent many cold, misty mornings crouching waiting for some subtle light to rear its head. 99% of the time I was left with no real shot, but every now and then the light would be ideal for my colour palette and I would drive home with excitement and anticipation, just waiting to see what the camera had captured.
This soon became my ‘go to’ place. Whenever I had lost my photography mojo I would nip out to the reservoir. Just me, the boats and maybe some mist. The feeling that Cropston gave me initially, and continues to give me some 8 years after first discovering it is addictive. I think that this location and others like it, ignite my childhood fishing memories which form half of my love of water, the other half is satisfied by the coast.
Tell us about your passion for waterscapes and why they are important to you.
For a few years, I had been trying to figure out how this project came about and what it really means to me. Although inspiration is difficult to put into words, for me it seems to have come from strong memories, drawing me back to places that remind me of simpler times.
I loved my childhood. A particularly strong memory which I recall with great fondness was our yearly two week holiday to Scarborough. Staying in the same place every time and visiting the same coastal treasures, that time spent on the coast with my family I will never forget.
Although inspiration is difficult to put into words, for me it seems to have come from strong memories, drawing me back to places that remind me of simpler times.
Another large part of my life from a very young age has been fishing. When I was young, many days were spent on the side of rivers and canals with my brother and mum fishing. Mum would sit in her fold up chair reading books and my brother and I would fish. Most of the time he would be untangling my line from a nearby tree whilst cursing me or rescuing me from falling into the water, but still, they were great times. In fact, when I think back, water was and has been a key factor in some of the most enjoyable parts of my younger years.
I think it is those early years that pull me back to the water’s edge. Obviously now I am older I can appreciate more the quality of light and subtle colours that reflect off the water at either end of the day, but the love of that scene is the same as it always was.
What came first the idea for the book or the photography project?
The project came first, I never considered an outlet for it. For me, it was solely for escapism which then, through various events in my life, took a very emotional turn at the end.
How did you choose the locations which you included in the book and exhibition?
Originally the locations were to be all local, mainly because I was very busy with work and am quite lazy when it comes to things outside of business. However, I had the opportunity to visit areas which had been special to me as a child and therefore it grew to a wider area.
The project came first, I never considered an outlet for it. For me, it was solely for escapism which then, through various events in my life, took a very emotional turn at the end.
How did the project evolve into an exhibition as well? Did that impact on the style and type of images you took?
For some reason, I took the brave step of approaching a large gallery in my home town of Loughborough. I was approved and a date was set for the exhibition. At this time I only had a handful of images but assumed that an exhibition would be easy!
Panic then set in and I spent every waking hour trying to figure out how to draw it together as an exhibition. I now realise that the images I had at that stage were extremely average and thankful I had time to collect a full body of work I was proud of in time for the exhibition.
Around this time I was fortunate enough to meet two people who became very good friends of ours, Rob and Karen Knight. They are so enthusiastic and giving of their time and live for photography. Long chats with Rob soon got me motivated and he introduced me to some spectacular locations, some of which were old haunts, others new to me.
People often say I have a style but I have never seen it. The only thing I do look for is soft pastel colours. I am not a fan of strong colours and even if I shot an image with punchy colours, I will often pull it back a bit to soften it.
I never felt like the exhibition changed my mindset when shooting. OK, there was a time near the end of the project when I was a few images light and the pressure seemed to mount, but I was in the flow of image making then and everything seemed to come together easier with less pressure than ever before.
What inspired you to do a handmade book of the project?
The exhibition was over, life had been quite traumatic due to the death of my dad in the months before the exhibition and I had absolutely no interest in image making. However, I wanted to personally reflect on what I had done, I guess to try and motivate me again.
I had seen a few handmade books and always thought that it would be an amazing way of creating a long lasting memory of what you had achieved.
I had seen a few handmade books and always thought that it would be an amazing way of creating a long lasting memory of what you had achieved.
I always thought I was rubbish at making things so set a challenge to try. This is the result.
Sequencing is obviously important - how did you manage the flow of the book with the images and the visual narrative?
I didn’t worry too much about the layout. The only thing that was important to me was to ensure that the sequence and pages closely represented the order of images in the exhibition. I had purposely introduced my story text fairly randomly throughout the exhibition, although looking back the text obviously matches my mood when taking the image it was next to so there must have been some subliminal work going on!
How did you learn to do handmade books and binding? Is this the first project you’ve done or were there previous books?
All completely self-taught. Never done it before. However, our house is full of piles of practice books!
How did you decide on the format of the book and binding e.g. size and paper, print type?
I always envisaged an A4 landscape book. I realised that a soft cover made things easier, for example printing the cover etc. but I wanted a hardcover book just because I am an engineer and always want an element of robustness in everything I make!
Two things were key to the book and I was set on those from the beginning. The first was that I wanted to use the same paper as the exhibition so that the look and feel were the same. The papers in the exhibition were Fotospeed Smooth Cotton and NST BW. However, it soon became apparent that the thickness made the book too rigid and I had to try and find a thinner paper which still felt the same. In the end, I used Fotospeed HWS Lite Duo which is excellent for books and has the same feel as the Smooth Cotton.
Second, I wanted the cloth colours to be pastel blues if possible. I wanted a simple, quality cloth that didn’t detract from the images but complimented the colours.
Tell me what your favourite one or two photographs from the book are and a little bit about them.
Obviously, I am a big fan of all of them, although if I am completely honest there is one that I still don’t feel really worked as part of the collection. It’s presence in the exhibition was the last minute choice due to a late rejection on quality grounds. Sod's law this was the first image to sell within half an hour of the exhibition opening!
The Mystery of Cropston
My favourite image of the collection and possibly that I have ever taken is ‘The Mystery of Cropston’.
I know that technically it probably isn’t one of my best, but it was taken around the time my dad was in and out of hospital and a few months before I stopped shooting for the project. For me, it completely sums up the location and was everything that I had strived to achieve for a number of years visiting Cropston Reservoir.
The lone boat
Another favourite is also from Cropston, ‘The lone boat’. A very simple shot but it is what I call, my first ever proper shot. Taken back in 2012 when I was playing around with a very simple camera it became my poster image for the exhibition.
Could you tell us a little about the cameras and lenses you typically take on a trip and how they affect your photography?
I started the project on a relatively inexpensive, Canon 1000d DSLR with very low end lenses. I later changed that to the camera I use now which is a Canon 6d, a fantastic camera and it suits me perfectly.
Generally, I use only one lens, the 24-105mm that I bought with the camera, although every now and then I will put on a 50mm to challenge myself compositionally.
The kit hasn’t changed how I photograph, but I would definitely say having the 6d, which is heavier and more expensive, gave me a big confidence boost. Strange as it sounds, but it makes me feel more at ease.
Having started this interview by saying that I was drawn to photography by the technical aspect, that couldn’t be further from the truth now. In fact, the best thing I ever did photographically was to stop obsessing about hyperfocal distance and sharpness and just take images that worked for me compositionally.
Having started this interview by saying that I was drawn to photography by the technical aspect, that couldn’t be further from the truth now. In fact, the best thing I ever did photographically was to stop obsessing about hyperfocal distance and sharpness and just take images that worked for me compositionally. Don’t get me wrong, many things need to come together to make a good image, but for me, I no longer think about those things. My images now have to be visually appealing to me and that often means that the technical aspects come last.
What next for you? Where do you see your photography going in terms of subject and style?
I have a long standing project based on rustic French doors and windows. Not sure of the outlet yet but hoping to bring this together in the coming years.
We have a dream of moving to France and ultimately this project may be first seen over there, possibly exhibited in some dilapidated old barn and printed very large. Who knows!
Many thanks for your time Paul :) You can read more about this project on Paul's website.
If you are working on a project and would like to write an article about it, then please get in touch, we'd love to hear from you!
I know from reading end frame articles over the years that many contributors have expressed difficulty in deciding which image they wish to write about. I didn’t have that problem as Fay Godwin’s “Paved path above Lumbutts, near Todmorden, West Yorkshire” is an image that has stayed with me since I first picked up a copy of the book Elmet.
Elmet is a later (1994) republication of the book of work by poet Ted Hughes first published in 1979 under the title Remains of Elmet. Most of the poems in Elmet were written by Hughes in collaboration with Fay Godwin, who provided the stunning black and white photographs of this part of Yorkshire where Hughes grew up. When the work was first published Hughes called it a “Pennine sequence” and one that responds to the landscape and people of the Calder Valley, where Hughes spent his early childhood. In Hughes’ preface to the original edition of the book, he expands on the subject of this work:
Do you have an image you'd like to write an end frame article on? Take a read of our previous end frame articles for inspiration! We are looking for contributions for forthcoming issues. Please get in touch with Charlotte Britton directly.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios 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!
I had driven by the sign many times, but never had time to stop. This trip I made a special point to visit the Toadstools of Escalante National Monument. The sun was hanging low in the November sky when we arrived late Saturday afternoon. By the time I hiked the mile or so up the wash to the formations, the golden hour had begun. The ‘toadstools’ are hoodoos formed from the darker, harder Dakota Sandstone that caps the pedestal of softer Entrada Sandstone. The cap serves as a shelter from erosion and over time creates fascinating other-worldly formations.
I was there to meet the silent statues that have stood against rain and snow and sun and wind for eons. To feel the relentless glare of the sun slowly and methodically softening and cooling. From white to yellow to orange to pink. To see the long shadows creating definition, emphasizing every grain of sand and stalk of weed. To watch the reflections from the cliff faces illuminate both sides of the formations in pastel shades of brilliant colour. I came for the light show but left having made some portraits of some of the oldest individuals on the planet.
The published images are taken in Switzerland and Cornwall, UK. Those are a few of my favourites and are captured under different weather conditions. In Cornwall, I mostly faced the windy and Cloudy conditions which turned out good in order to show the mood in the Photographs.
Wind is an audible whisper,
It’s a secret, and it’s a laugh,
Murmured through the timeless trees,
From ancient ages past.
It sometimes calls through blackest night
For the owl to hoot and scream,
It plays a haunting winter flute,
In the meadow near the stream.
Piping little melodies,
Endless, haunting, long,
And when you think you’ve finally caught them,
In a moment they are gone.
Many photographers have a local favourite place they like to go and sometimes we go to that place just to get out. One of my favourite locations to hike and photograph is an area called the Granite Dells (Prescott, AZ).
The Dells is a geological feature of exposed granite bedrock that is 1.4 billion years old and this area has some of nature's finest rock sculptures and natural art designs. For some reason I find myself connected to these wonderful rock formations as I am constantly drawn to them. Each time I go hiking in the Dells I marvel at the rock formations and how they were formed, I find amazing patterns in the granite and wonder how balanced boulders are still standing.
Even if the conditions are not right for photography it is still a treat just to scramble around the rock formations, explore slot canyons and look for new compositions for another time. The Dells seems to keep me going even when I do not feel like getting out and has become my local sanctuary, my exercise routine and a source for inspiration.
Graham’s abstract creations have been punctuating our social media feeds for a while now, prompting us to wonder at both his unique take on the world and also how the heck he does it. When he wrote a piece for On Landscape back in 2016, his opening line began “Photographically I consider myself largely anonymous….”
Well, that is no longer the case, and in March 2019 he will have a solo exhibition at the Joe Cornish Galleries which will bring his eclectic and personal images to a wider audience. Having seen some of his prints last year, I can say that it promises to be something rather special. ‘InnerVisible - The World Within : The World Without’ will be at the Joe Cornish Galleries from 9 March - 13 April 2019.
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’m a Kentish Man rather than a Man of Kent, having been born to the west of the River Medway. My family, and particularly my wife’s family, has a local history that can be traced back to 1620 so we do feel a strong connection with the area. But things are changing. I fear the essence and richness of history and spirit of community slowly being whitewashed by relentless urbanisation. With it come people with a narrow mindset and money worshipping sense of entitlement who chase a quite different history.
As an only child with a vivid imagination, my father was a huge influence. He came from that generation who seemed able to tinker with anything. His ‘shed’ was a veritable Aladdin’s cave of treasures and after he passed away, clearing out a lifetime of memories that most would consider worthless, was very emotional. An electrical engineer by trade, he could strip down and service a motorcycle or car, repair watches, engrave glass, put boats in bottles and play the spoons. He used to suspend himself from branches by his feet, which was no small feat. He had all kinds of instruments from crashed WWII fighters and on Guy Fawkes’ night, he would shave slivers from an incendiary bomb and toss them on the bonfire to startling effect. He anticipated really bad weather and stormy seas and would whisk me off at strange times of the day or night to experience the effects first hand.
As an only child with a vivid imagination, my father was a huge influence. He came from that generation who seemed able to tinker with anything. His ‘shed’ was a veritable Aladdin’s cave of treasures....
On a dreich day in January, Joe Cornish visited us in the Highlands and instead of going out and taking pictures, we spent some time looking through some of my favourite images from his 2018 Autumn across multiple visits to Scotland. We've added a gallery of the images seen in the video at the bottom of this page.
Here is a gallery of the images in the above video.
Theo Bosboom is a passionate photographer from the Netherlands, specialising in nature and landscapes. In 2013, he turned his back on a successful legal career to pursue his dream of being a full time professional photographer. He is regarded as a creative photographer with a strong eye for detail and composition and always trying to find fresh perspectives.
Theo's photographs are regularly published in magazines such as National Geographic (Dutch edition), GEO, Outdoor Photography and OnLandscape. Theo has won numerous awards and recognition in international photography competitions like Wildlife Photographer of the year, European wildlife photographer of the year and International Landscape Photographer of the year. Theo has published two photo books: Iceland pure (2012) and Dreams of wilderness (2015). Currently, he is working on a new photo book Shaped by the sea about the Atlantic coasts in Europe. Read our featured photographer interview with Theo.
Shaped by the Sea
Theo talked about his recent project, Shaped by the Sea where he explored the Atlantic coast of Europe, in every season and in all kinds of weather conditions.
The work is a tribute to the power of the sea and to the dynamics of the beach. It shows how the sea is constantly changing and shaping the landscape, it highlights some of the creatures living in the intertidal zone and it reveals the variety of geological features along Europe's west coast.
The Fireweed Turns takes place one summer in Alaska. Katharine MacDaid rented a jeep, bought a sleeping bag and a road map and set off with some half-remembered place names in a notebook. Alone in the landscape, MacDaid was both in awe and fearful of the desire that drove her.
Made to resemble a storybook, The Fireweed Turns considers the psychological power of Landscape. It is a story of shame and desire, about what is hidden and what is revealed.
Intrigued to find out more, we got in touch with Katharine to find more about her project and how she's gone about compiling the project into her first book.
What started your interest in photography and how did you come to choose it as a career?
My interest in photography started as a teenager. The chemistry teacher at school ran a photo club on a Wednesday lunchtime. We learnt how to process black and white film, I clearly remember standing alone in the science lab rocking a tank from side to side for what seemed like forever. There was only about three of us who would show up, and we would stand around Mr. Warne as he loaded a negative into the enlarger. Around the same time, my best friend and I were spending almost every Saturday night at a club in Soho, it was the late 1990’s and there was a bit of a Mod revival scene. I started taking my camera with me and shooting at the club. I printed a portfolio of images and after finishing A ‘levels, I did a foundation course at Kingston University. My final project was a series of portraits of the boys and girls from the club scene, I still have them on my website. I knew I wanted to be a photographer from then on, there was nothing else.
You graduated with an MA in Photography from the Royal College of Art - How useful did you find an academic course in photography?
It was a complicated experience, it was overwhelming in a lot of ways, but it was a fundamental education for me. I was very shy when it came to my photography, not producing the work, but conceptualising what I was doing. I knew on a very instinctive level why I made work, which at that point at the RCA was a series of photographs of my parents who had just retired and moved to the middle of England but trying to formalize that feeling into a concrete explanation really troubled me. From a distance, 12 years on from graduating, I’m so glad I went through that process. I’m confident in the work I make, but I’ve also worked out what it is I use photography for. I’m not embarrassed to be straight forward in how I talk about photography. The complexity is in the work, not in the blurb.
Your early projects are mainly portraiture based, what inspired you to move to landscape photography?
In my final year of my BA at Napier University, I was making work about a group of friends in Orkney, about their ties to the island, the push and pull of belonging. I started to photograph the landscape as a metaphor for these complicated feelings. I guess it’s a very romantic approach; landscape as a representation of emotional expression. It’s still how I approach landscape photography. In Orkney, I was using a Bronica 6x4.5, which is so light and easy to wander around with and was holding it low to the ground trying to combat the huge sky. The only time I have ever sensed the curve of the earth was in Orkney, you can almost see it, the land is so flat and there’s nothing blocking your view.
Tell us about The Fireweed Turns project - how did it start?
It began because I was finding it so hard to untangle a huge project I had made in the Sultanate of Oman, and I thought by stepping away from one body of work and making another, I could work everything out. I had recently moved back to London from Oman and was teaching photography. I had a really long summer break ahead of me and decided to put my Alaska plan into action. I had been thinking about returning to the Pacific Northwest for a long time, my father still had a contact there from the days of working on Amchitka, so I got in touch with him and talked through some basic practicalities. From there it was a case of getting to Anchorage, then up to Wasilla where I rented a vehicle, bought a sleeping bag and a cold box and hit the road with a book of half-remembered place names.
You mentioned in the exhibition information "The landscape of the Pacific Northwest was rooted in my memory and imagination at a young age. When I was nine years old, my family moved from the Sultanate of Oman to America." Tell us about how this influenced your photography and the impact the American landscape had?
It was a massive shift, moving from one particular landscape to another. I had grown up with sand dunes next to my house and an arid, rocky mountain range behind my school. Then at nine years old, moving to America, to the Pacific Northwest, it was all dark forests and rain. I think the radically different landscapes probably affected my understanding of the world, the contrast of one place to another, that sense of feeling outside a place looking in because you can see it is so clearly different. And where do you belong? As a kid, the cultural landscape really influenced me too. America was much more vivid, more intense. Perhaps the major influence on me when I later learnt to use a camera was the desire, the need, to make sense of my surroundings…
"When I was a young girl my father worked on a remote island in the Aleutian Chain and would come home with stories of the men and the landscape, both strange and incredible." Did your memory of the landscape match you later experiences of it and how did these stories affect your work?
My memory of the landscape from when I was a kid was in some ways quite innocent, I had a sense of it being not entirely benign of course, but returning there on my own as a grown woman, I was discovering the landscape anew. The stories were a way of tuning in, the characters made sense once the landscape became apparent, I recognised to some extent how the landscape shaped them, or maybe I unconsciously searched them out…
"The Fireweed Turns project is a story about shame and desire, about what is hidden and what is revealed… " How did you build this narrative around the images to develop this story that has become the book.
I used images in which the situation seems slightly uneasy, where there is something you can’t quite put your finger on, and gradually the more images you see, the more you realise that feeling is not letting up. There is no image that allows a happy resolution, and the terse, objective texts reinforce that. Nothing is explained, nothing is concluded or resolved. There are hints of a complete story, but no more. Every image is a question. What is it? Why is it there?
How did you go about choosing and sequencing the images to tell the story?
With help! I work really closely with my partner, the photographer Chris Harrison. The first, initial edits were done with him, choosing which images immediately worked, which could be put aside straight away, and which floated in the middle somewhere. It might be different for some photographers, but with a big project like this, I need objective input. Even when I shoot a straight forward portrait and I’m confident which one to choose from the contact sheet, I always ask Chris for a second opinion (and vice versa by the way). After the initial edit, I worked on the text for a long time. Then I worked with a very close friend, Claudia Arnold, to design the layout, which involved looking at the sequencing more closely, how the text played a role, how the rhythm of the images worked. And finally, weeks before sending the document to the printers, I changed a few images and didn’t ask anyone. I think I suddenly felt I knew the work, I knew exactly what I wanted.
What visual (and non-visual) narrative did you want to leave the reader with when you were working on this project?
A tutor of mine once said, very simply, “…one always brings their own narrative to the work”, and I really like that idea, that a viewer/reader will understand any work through their own experiences, desires, doubts, and so on, even if there is an unambiguous message. With this project, the narrative is very open for interpretation, but my aim was for an atmosphere of uneasy melancholy, a sense of the mysterious.
You choose to work with colour negative film. Can you tell us more about this, the cameras you use and how this process has affected your work? Do you think photographic film offers something distinct from digital photography?
I use a Hasselblad with a standard lens, 80mm. I have used the same camera for the last 14 years. I rely on natural light, and often only shoot a couple of frames at most for any image. I think working this way is quite specific to using film, I can’t check the pictures, I just shoot and move on. I can often sense if it’s worked or not, although I have been disappointed on occasions, as well as happily surprised… I have a feeling it might change something if I was to switch to digital, but maybe that’s overly romantic. I feel really comfortable with film, I trust my working method, but it can be an expensive process. I used to spend a lot of time printing in a colour darkroom, I would love to handprint of all my work, but now it’s much easier to have things scanned. I make a lot of hand-made books too, so I make huge amounts of digital prints to work with, just on my Epson printer.
This is your first book which consists of 88-pages, including 8 circular die cuts, 18 colour photographs, 15 black & white photographs and 7 texts. How did you decide on the format of the book and binding e.g. size and paper, print type?
It was through the process of building the conceptual thrust of the work… I wanted it to have the feeling of a storybook, hence the size and square format. The die cuts, which are circles, came from thinking about old storybooks with illustrations at the start of a chapter. At first, I was using circular black and white images, but it was on showing the work to a colleague that the idea for actually cutting out a circular window began. Lots of decisions grew slowly over a long period of time. The use of slightly heavy, uncoated paper was another factor in conceptualizing the work, the ink sinks into the paper, there is a texture to the surface, it’s not so ‘photographic’…
Tell me what your favourite two or three photographs from the book are and a little bit about them (please include these images in the ones you send over)
The photograph of the radar behind the little shed is one of my favourites. I remember driving past it on my way north on the Richardson Highway, seeing this looming white ball against a strange sky. I didn’t realise at the time that it’s a radar, which is what my father was building in Alaska back in the late 80’s, early 90’s…
There is a photo of a moose decoy, and I am not totally sure how it works, but I think it is a female moose used to attract males, for hunting. I like it because it looks so real. Almost everyone stops at that image and looks again, because for a moment they think I’ve photographed a real moose. When you realise it’s a flat object, it’s an unsettling feeling. I like that a lot.
And a third one - the odd little dog at the end of the book. He’s just so strange looking, like a character from a story. And he’s really looking back, it’s a portrait rather than a photo of a dog.
What sort of post-processing do you undertake on your pictures? Give me an idea of your workflow.
I do rough scans first, I have a Nikon scanner in my studio, it’s quite basic but I can print out workprints from the scans to start the editing process. Then I have been using a Hasselblad X5 to scan the selected images, renting one for a few hours as needed. I thought they were my finals – a set of 3Fs, but then I got the images for the book Drum scanned and the difference was incredible. Tim helped me to process the drum scans in Lightroom initially, which was a huge help, but I’m much happier using Photoshop, which is where I’ll end up processing the images for print.
What is next for you? Are there other projects that you're working on?
The next place I’m interested in is Northern Ireland. I was born in Belfast, where my mother is from, my father is from Derry. I lived in Belfast for a couple of years when I was a young teenager and as a kid, we’d always spend time in Belfast and Donegal in the summer. A few years ago, while photographing on the Isle of Barra, I met a local guy. He was very reserved, yet after a drink, began to guardedly ask me about my surname. He was an anthropologist and had been doing fieldwork in Ireland. He slowly began to tell me about the family names of Inishowen, where it turns out, he had studied my surname… By the end of the evening, he was imploring me to go back and find my faeries. To return to my land and feel the soil beneath my feet, to connect to the very roots of who I am…
Katharine would like to invite you to the launch of her self-published book, The Fireweed Turns, on Thursday 14th February at The Photographer’s Gallery, London, 6pm-8pm.
Last year, I took a writing workshop with one of my favourite authors Craig Childs. A group of mostly strangers from various backgrounds came together on a Nature Conservancy property in northeastern Oregon to soak in his wisdom. In the weeklong class, we tapped into our natural surroundings, philosophised with the other students, and camped under the stars.
I attended the session for a few reasons. Obviously, I sought to improve my abilities to write andEven though many yea develop story ideas. Maybe less obviously, I also hoped the workshop would poke my brain in new ways to influence my photography. “Cross-training,” or the notion of immersing oneself in a different creative outlet, often helps me navigate through the cyclical flow of self-expression when I’m feeling stale and uninspired. The writing workshop provided just the jolt I needed. Of the many lessons I took with me, one was powerful enough for me to scribe it across one of the pages in my notebook in all caps: SAY YES.
The Temple glows at sunset and reflects into the glass-like waters of the Colorado River in Lake Mead in the Lake Mead National Recreation Area on the Arizona-Nevada border.
I’d heard this notion once before, long before I ever held a camera in my hands. In the late 1990s, a friend and co-worker had invited me to watch him perform with his improvisation theatre group (similar to the British TV show, and later the American adaptation, “Whose Line is it Anyway?”). I marvelled by how seemingly easy it was for the cast to develop immediate relationships, compelling story-lines, and unexpected punchlines—all without the assistance of a script. After the show, I asked my friend, “How do you do that?”
Every experience leaves you with something, even if you do not notice it. It is not about memories, but sensations. I was lucky to spend a few days last summer at the Isle of Harris, Outer Hebrides, in a particular period of emotional chaos.
I knew it was beautiful, wild, and colourful. But I could not imagine how strong it was bound up with my feelings, which came out suddenly, at every new sunset or sunrise that I photographed.
Harris is an island with a precise tone that can make its voice heard. Everything is connected to the Ocean, in all its forms. And with this little project, I tried to show what is Harris for me. What it meant to me.
Harris is Tide
The tide accompanies and scans all hours of the day. It retires, to show sand games and tired purple jellyfishes, but also small animals building mosaics under my unbelieving eyes. And then it goes back silently, up to cover those golden sandy expanses. Again and again. Like in a mystic cycle of life.
Harris is Rocks
The rocks of Harris, the Lewisian Gneiss, the oldest rocks in Britain and some of the oldest in the World, have been polished by the waves for millennia. They are so ancestral, magical and smooth to retain all the minerals and make the drinking water light and special. In spring they are covered with purple flowers and in winter they remain there, naked, immobile and fearless, listening to the song of the sea.
Harris is Sheep
Many, soft, funny sheep all around, always climbing on slippery ground, eating very thin grass in summer and still in winter under a snow whiter than them.
All these emotions captured with my camera in this project, not only the breath-taking landscapes but the essence of Harris's voices and colours.
Harris is Colours
The beaches of Luskentyre and Scarista are amongst the most spectacular. It is impossible not to be fascinated by the beautiful colours that the sky assumes when it meets the Caribbean green Ocean that bathes Harris. And here we see all the nuances, from blue to purple mixed in a poem that changes, darkens, sometimes blind by the rays of the sun, proud to be so unique.
Harris is Spirits
The essence of Harris is captured by the taste and scent of his Gin and Whiskey, which reflect the generous character of the island and the people who live there.
Harris is Tweed
Harris Tweed is a tweed cloth that is handwoven by islanders at their homes. The simple and unique Harris colours, combined together give shape to beautiful fantasies.
All these emotions captured with my camera in this project, not only the breath-taking landscapes but the essence of Harris's voices and colours.
Twelve photos, from the blue of the early morning and the gold of the sunrise to the pink of sunset.
Each picture tells a moment, a note, a shade of colour of the day I lived. And it's beautiful because it was unique.
Each one is a painting, drawn by the Ocean, heard by Nature…and appreciated by anyone who has the heart open to listen.
Whilst thinking about the image to discuss, I looked at many traditional landscape shots, pondering on what makes an interesting image to write about. I initially thought about a Jem Southam shot, he was the photographer for me that changed my attitude to not only landscape but all photography. He showed me that by using repetition in my work could add to its power.
After all my deliberations, I decided to try to look at the image that was not just a pretty or thought-provoking thing, but something far more compelling. I looked for an image that could partly communicate sadness, but also be part of a continuing story.
After looking through many images I chose ‘Destruction of the Monumental Arch 2018 by Sir Don MucCullin. The 3rd century arch has been under the control of many great empires, including the Roman, Byzantine and Timurid. Its partial destruction in 2015 by ISIL made headlines around the world. The site is in the middle of the Syrian Desert and is a UNESCO world heritage site.
During Christmas 2018 my daughter brought me a gift, it was The Landscape by Sir Don McCullin, I unwrapped the crisp plastic wrapping and sat down on Christmas morning to look at my new photo book. The publication is the last instalment in a series by don, which documented many years of his work. I also have another in the series called My England, which is a hybrid collection of street and landscape photos and showed off the skill of McCullin’s varied work. He says; I do not take photographs I think, but most importantly he makes the viewer think.
My featured image is influenced by the work of the great Victorian explorer photographers, such as Francis Frith. His picture Koum Ombo Near View is from his book Upper Egypt and Ethiopia published in 1863. The Victorian’s used new technology to document the skill and purpose of past societies, so allowing it to believe that it was a better version of an earlier civilisation. Frith also shot many scenes in England during the nineteenth century.
As mentioned the area has been the centre of destruction by ISIL. But the image asks more questions than it answers. Why did McCullin take this shot? Was it a comment on the abhorrent action? The columns themselves look brittle and weak, but by the look of the debris took an enormous amount of explosives to destroy.
Though shot in the middle-east, the images have ghosts of early pre-Raphaelite photography. They documented ruins in a very similar way to don. Their images were a reflection, in their eyes of a fairer, nobler society before the Industrialisation of Victorian England, which in their opinion had supposedly tainted the land and the soul.
There are still remnants of the arch, lone columns in the foreground and intact columns in the background, suggesting that more of the site survives intact than first thought. The sky has been dodged within the image to make it a lot darker than it originally was, this trick adds to the tension of the piece.
The Syrian picture has so much baggage associated with it, I suspect the frame was an example of religious madness and what it can lead too. Something McCullin came up against time and time again during his work.
It is an image of many sides, not strictly a war or landscape shot, it sits somewhere in the middle, this gives you freedom artistically to question the image. As with many black and white shots, one of the first things you notice are the textures, they seem exaggerated in the desert light.
The scene of destruction could be why Don was drawn to this area, it looks like it has just been bombed, the image documents a crushed and repressed area. The narrative he has used maybe mirrors McCullin’s view on the world at that point. There are still remnants of the arch, lone columns in the foreground and intact columns in the background, suggesting that more of the site survives intact than first thought. The sky has been dodged within the image to make it a lot darker than it originally was, this trick adds to the tension of the piece. The rubble at first glance looks as it should be, but on closer inspection, the columns have appeared to have been cut, which suggests human not natural change. It is not known whether the rubble has been moved to its present site or if it was moved after the attempted destruction.
The picture is almost scorched into the page, but more interestingly, it frees you to look at your own work. Forcing you to ask, why do I take pictures? Where do they fit in my overall vision? And whether the images I take resonate with my target audience? This image in all its beauty and sadness fulfils the mantle of a successful picture, it makes you think………………
Do you have an image you'd like to write an end frame article on? Take a read of our previous end frame articles for inspiration! We are looking for contributions for forthcoming issues. Please get in touch with Charlotte Britton directly.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios 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!
These set of images are all taken in Madeira, where my both my parents originate from and where all my summer childhood memories are based.
Being born in London and travelling most summers back to Madeira always became an exciting adventure to look forward, exploring little parts of the island and something I looked forward to every year.
What inspires me the most about the island is how diverse its landscape are and how climate changes so dramatically from each side of this tiny exotic island.
These photos were all taken while I was skiing in the Alps. I'm not a particularly good skier and carrying a large DSLR with me in a backpack doesn't make things easier but it's worth it for the times when I come across views like these.
Images from recent travels in the Scottish Highlands, my home. Derelict crofts, barns and outbuildings, run down within the highland landscape. A journey which saw many of these buildings, grabbing my attention, inspiring my love for old and broken down buildings & structures, sudden rich colours, blending into the landscape which housed them, still a part of the landscape.
People often view deserts as dry, barren wastelands. While this may be true of some, it certainly isn't true of the Colorado Plateau landscape surrounding Moab, Utah. The Colorado River cuts through canyons to the north, two creeks fed by mountain snowmelt and natural springs flow through the heart of downtown and summer monsoon storms leave ephemeral waterfalls and reflecting pools in their wake. Moab may be a desert, but it's anything but barren.
Landscape Arch reflects in an ephemeral pool of rainwater collected in a shallow pothole in the Devil's Garden area of Arches National Park, Utah.
A spring storm dissipates as sunset light warms the sandstone cliffs and Fisher Towers near Moab, Utah.
Delicate Arch reflects in a pothole filled with rainwater at sunset with clouds from a departing storm filling the sky above Arches National Park, Utah.
A spring thunderstorm clears at sunrise as The Organ and Three Gossips reflect in a pothole filled with rainwater in the Courthouse Towers area of Arches National Park, Utah.
Paul Hill's early career in the 60s and early 70s moved from newspaper reporter to photojournalist. In 1974 he moved to academia, first as Lecturer and as head of Creative Photography at Trent Polytechnic.
At this time he also set up the 'Photographer's Place', a residential photography workshop with a prestigious guest list - Martin Parr, Thomas Joshua Cooper, John Blakemore, Brian Griffin, Raymond Moore, Fay Godwin, Lewis Baltz, Bill Jay, Hamish Fulton, Andy Earl, Aaron Siskind, Paul Caponigro, Jo Spence, and Cole Weston (note the strong landscape leaning).
His work is in the art collections of the likes of the Victoria and Albert Museum, London; National Museum of Photography, Film and Television, Bradford; Arts Council England; Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris; Museum of Modern Art, Stockholm and many more. A major influence on contemporary British photography, he was made a Fellow of the Royal Photographic Society in 1990 and, four years later, was awarded an MBE by The Queen for services to photography. Between 1995 and 2010 he was a professor at De Montfort University, Leicester, and set up the MA in Photography course in 1996, which was of the first in Britain.
Landscape Photography Is Just Not About The Land - or Photography
Teacher, author and photographer, Paul Hill, a former journalist and climbing instructor, offers a provocative alternative vision of landscape photography that advocates that we could make more interesting landscape images by being ourselves.
Do photographers ever consider what motivates their choice of location when setting out to do landscape photography? Why did we go there in the first place? What are we looking at? Is it what confronts us? Or are we trying to make a certain type of photograph we admire - and just replicate it?
Art is a human activity, consisting in this, that one person consciously, by certain external signs, conveys to others feelings he has experienced, and other people are affected by these feelings and live them over in themselves. ~Leo Tolstoy
In a letter to an aspiring young poet, Rainer Maria Rilke advised, “This above all—ask yourself in the stillest hour of your night: must I write? Delve into yourself for a deep answer. And if this should be affirmative, if you may meet this earnest question with a strong and simple 'I must,' then build your life according to this necessity … Then try, like some first human being, to say what you see and experience and love and lose.”
If I had to answer Rilke’s question as originally asked, about writing, my answer indeed would be, “I must.” But I can’t say that the same is true for photography. I never felt that I must photograph, and yet I still dedicate a great portion of my life to it. This is because Rilke’s second advice—to say what I see and experience and feel—is eminently more important to me than what medium I use to do so. I did not choose photography for this purpose originally, it just happened to be available to me at the time I realised I wanted to express myself creatively.
It is easy, sometimes, to accept advice without questioning, on the sole base that it is offered by a figure of authority, or that it sounds important or noble.
If at the same time I was more skilled in painting or in playing the violin than I was in photography, I would likely be a painter or a violinist today. More important, I would still preach the value of self-expression just as passionately.
It is easy, sometimes, to accept advice without questioning, on the sole base that it is offered by a figure of authority, or that it sounds important or noble. None of these qualifications, however, necessitates that the advice is good, true, or even tenable. One such bit of advice often given to photographers is this: “photograph for yourself.” Seemingly simple, wise, and self-evident, it is a motto I promoted to others and claimed for myself for three decades. And then I asked myself whether, if I woke up tomorrow to find a world in which I was the only human being (coincidentally, one of my favourite recurring dreams), I would still photograph. The answer, “not likely,” flashed in my mind instantly, followed by the realisation that it could not be congruent with my claim of photographing for myself. Upon further thought, I realised that, while not entirely false, my claim of photographing for myself was, at best, only partially true.
At the end of the year, and before embarking on the celebrations that typically surround these dates, another ceremony takes place: accounting. And every time we get to the end, I get astounded by the amount of money spent on books throughout the year. “That much? really? It cannot be!” are the words that leave my mouth every time. And still, I never regret a single penny being spent on books. And neither my wife, by the way.
It is curious, how big is the resistance to buy photography books among most photographers. It is true that photographic books, particularly beautiful art-books, have always been something niche and particularly expensive, big, heavy and difficult to fit in our meagre shelves. And yet, these disadvantages are quickly outnumbered by the immeasurable amount of pleasure and enlightenment they provide.
I still remember my own reluctance many years ago, when I started to call myself a photographer, to buy photography books. Like many others, I kindled my passion for photography mainly thanks to the digital revolution of the medium and was used to looking at the work of other photographers on the screen of a computer. I did not feel the need at the time to go with the expense of purchasing a book and finding it a place in the living room. After all, I already knew by heart the work of my favourite photographers from seeing them on screens, right? One day, after some initial hesitation, I decided to spend $150 for a book from one of my favourite old Masters, Brett Weston. When the wonderfully printed and edited book “Brett Weston: Master Photographer” arrived home and I opened it on my lap, I realised what I had been missing all those years. [paid]
There are different reasons why books provide enlightenment and meaning which is absent from other supports. The physicality, the permanence, the ritual embedded in the process of opening a book and absorbing its content, the slowness of the process, the introspective and fully sensorial experience provided, the context and the narrative, the textuality and the concept… are some of them.
There are different reasons why books provide enlightenment and meaning which is absent from other supports. The physicality, the permanence, the ritual embedded in the process of opening a book and absorbing its content, the slowness of the process, the introspective and fully sensorial experience provided, the context and the narrative, the textuality and the concept… are some of them.
The Permanence
There are different unique properties of books when it comes to displaying fine photography. One of them is the sense of permanence associated with them.
The old adage said that in order to obtain immortality, one should have offspring, plant a tree and write a book. Books have always been associated with a strong character of legacy and heritage, resisting time and letting us share with future generations knowledge, enlightenment and inspiration.
Is interesting to think that even today, on the crest of the digital revolution, having a photograph printed on a piece of paper gives a permanence than bits and pixels cannot guarantee. We do not know whether in the future the digital supports will be able to read our current files, let alone be sure those files will not be corrupted, deleted or lost due to data rot. What we know is that a printed photography book, if properly made and store, can last for many centuries.
Very often, this is less important in practical terms than it is in psychological terms. It might be or not important than our book lasts forever (what is forever, after all?). However, the idea a book might be around even after we are gone sets a very interesting state of mind. A book is something not supposed to be consumed instantly and thrown away but made to last. As a result, the typical mindset is not one of programmed obsolescence and compromise, of making something good enough to survive for a brief span of time. On the contrary, a firm strive for excellence typically defines the process and the purpose of making a book.
The physical existence
According to some research, most people think of electronic media as things they use, and of books as things they own. This sense of ownership is way more than just a lust for possessing, so much embedded in human nature. It is more connected to a certain feeling of pride, the pride of owning a beautiful object fruit of the work and passion of a number of people. When we talk about owning a book, we are talking about owning a piece of the soul of its creator(s), the embodiment of some of the noblest traits of human nature. A photography book and its physical existence provide way more than mere convenience, usefulness or practicality. They are not made nor acquired to provide solutions or carry mere information. They have an almost metaphorical value, where we associate the book to the artist, his work, his philosophy, his life.
It is also the physical existence of books which make them prone to be shared, given, passed on to other people and generations. They can be dedicated, signed, given away to a loved one. Due to their physical existence, books become the support for emotions like love, friendship and gratefulness. Who would sign an electronic file?
The multi-sensorial character of books
Printed material works by reflectance, as opposed to screens which work as the transmittance of light. This means the visual experience of contemplating a photography book will be very much influenced by the quality of the light falling on the pages. This is one of the beautiful aspects of printed books. During the evening, under the warm lights of our cosy living room, we will obtain a certain feeling that will be different from the one we experience when looking at the book under the light of noon. It is as if the mood of the photographs would suit that of the moment and environment chosen to experience the book.
The brain also reacts in different ways to visual stimuli printed on paper than it does to information transmitted through screens. Multiple research has proved that different parts of the brain are activated according to whether it is exposed to printed material or screens.
The brain also reacts in different ways to visual stimuli printed on paper than it does to information transmitted through screens. Multiple research has proved that different parts of the brain are activated according to whether it is exposed to printed material or screens. You might have experienced this when correcting text on your computer. All seems right after hours of work, but the moment you print the page many mistakes jump at you as if they had been hiding in the document. Editing photographs is another good example. Even when the printed photograph looks essentially the same as the screen, we observe areas which are dissonant in tone or colour that did not bother us at all on the screen.
But the multiple nature of the visual experience provided by books is just the tip of the iceberg. Below the sea level, there is much more information and sensorial stimuli that, even if not often seen or consciously acknowledged, is felt and hugely adds to the experience we have.
The very first moment we touch the paper, a lot of information is coming through our fingers directly to our brain. The "tooth" of the paper, that is, its structure and tactile qualities can transmit a lot. A soft and silky paper will make us feel calm and relaxed and will give a delicate and inviting character to the photographs. A textured, grainy and thick paper will give strength, power and materiality to the subject. The volume of the paper will also confer an emotional connotation. Flimsy paper will transmit airiness and surrealism, a solid and thick paper will transmit luxury, stability, permanence and solemnity. When the page is turned, the rustle of the paper adds a bit more of information. The smell of paper and ink also kicks in. All these stimuli come through without us being consciously aware, in the same way, we are affected by the body language of a person we are talking to. However, they profoundly affect the way we understand and feel a photographic book and can hugely complement and resonate with the overall message and the artist's original vision.
The ritual character
There is something ritual about enjoying a beautiful photography book. First of all, there is the deliberate nature of the act. One decides to put aside some time, sit down comfortably, eventually put some music, pour some tea on a cup and open a book in order to contemplate slowly, in small sips, its content. When enjoying a book, there is no rush, there is no goal rather than just pure enjoyment. The process is long lasting. The next time we decide to enjoy a few more photographs, we might have changed, our mood might have changed. The work printed in a book is not static, and by exposing ourselves to it during a long period of time, we see how it evolves as we also evolve. Good photographs can hang from our walls for many years, without us becoming never bored of them. That is the long-lasting power of good photography. Books provide the same, with the extra bonus of incorporating several dozens of photographs. We do not "read" photography books, or just "get them" after a first browse. Would you drink a whole bottle of the finest whiskey at one go? The same thing happens with books.
This slow, deliberate and purposeful behaviour so inherent in the act of enjoying a book seems to contrast wildly when talking about digital support or social media. When confronted with screens and devices, our threshold of patience plummets dramatically, and we seldom allot more than a few milliseconds to any photograph. As a result, the best photographs, those who unveil their mystery, charm and magic not suddenly but with subtlety, those who grow up with time, get lost. This photography, the one that lures us, captivates us for many years to come, makes us wonder and think, feel and see the world in a different way, finds its best medium in the art book.
This slow, deliberate and purposeful behaviour so inherent in the act of enjoying a book seems to contrast wildly when talking about digital support or social media. When confronted with screens and devices, our threshold of patience plummets dramatically, and we seldom allot more than a few milliseconds to any photograph.
Long-lasting memories
Psychologists talk about the meta-cognitive learning schemes inherent to printed material or electronic media. Research has shown that we learn more, remember more and digest more when confronted with printed material than digitally supported media. This is especially the case with photography. Due to its marked visual nature, the brain gets in a different zone when we open a book. Images are engraved more deeply in our mind and we tend to remember them better in time. This is particularly important for photographers and other visual artists. The creation of an unconscious "bank of images" in the back of our mind is what gives us visual ingredients to play with and come up with personal and creative renditions of the world. No artist creates in a void, and every time we photograph, we are putting together wires of feelings, souvenirs, concepts and images we have seen during our life which have marked us whatsoever. Being confronted with printed material gives us a lead when it comes to visual literacy.
More than a bunch of images
Until now, all the advantages listed could apply to all printed photographic material. A single fine print or a small portfolio share with the book the qualities of permanence, physical existence, multi-sensorial nature and provide a ritual of slow enjoyment to the observer. However, the book provides something else that none of the other printed photographic material provides: narrative, context and comprehensive vision.
The individual image is frequently a strong, powerful and expressive image that can stand alone and still convey the message to the observer. But individual pictures, or “best hits” like Brooks Jensen calls them, frequently offer a mere glimpse of the expressive power of the photographer. With only one image, everything must be said within that individual frame.
In contrast to the unique isolated photograph, books focus on photographic projects. A photographic body of work is much more than a collection of images. A good project tells a story, transmits a deliberate idea or message and shows a coherent way of seeing the world.
A good book will have to provide a narrative and deliver the message as a story, with its beginning, development, and end. Being a good photographer does not suffice to make a good photobook. Being a good editor and a good storyteller is also part of the “cahier de charges”.
The beauty of a good photo book, as opposed to the single image approach, is that we can find inside strong resonances taking place between different images, that as a result see their expressive force increased. Encapsulated within a full body of work properly arranged and edited, we can discover and understand complex messages in a more effective way. Rather than relying on one single image, we are granted a whole succession of visual sentences to tell us the whole story.
The book is the ultimate trial for any photographer. Working on a book is way more demanding than creating a strong image out of a lucky strike. Not only it demands more work, time and energy. It also requires a clear intent and idea from the photographer, and enough technical, compositional, editorial and logistical skills to make it happen.
The results, however, frequently reward the effort. By working on a book for a certain amount of time, any photographer will develop a better understanding of his subject and experience an increasing wonder and love for it. That will forcibly lead him to a stronger connection with the subject and to a more profound message that demands to be shared with the audience.
The context
Another decisive element that makes photo books a key medium to convey inspiration, knowledge and provoke reflection in the observer, is their contextual value. Most photo books come accompanied by an artist statement or a foreword written by a third person, like a critic or a curator.
Another decisive element that makes photo books a key medium to convey inspiration, knowledge and provoke reflection in the observer, is their contextual value.
This written context provides a framework that either allows to re-interpret the visual work in a very different way, and/or provides a deeper level of signification by clarifying the conceptual basis on which the visual experience is grounded. The latter is particularly important with a big part of the so-called “conceptual photography”, where the concept behind becomes as important as the visual work created to represent it.
Whatever the style or artistic movement represented in the work is, the textuality and critical analysis provided within most books frequently bring with it the possibility of going beyond the mere visual experience and tapping into the intent of the photographer and the metaphorical value of his work in a more effective way.
Conclusion
Many are the photographers who ask me how to improve, make their work deeper and more meaningful, acquire higher levels of maturity and sophistication in their photography and get closer to their personal vision. The answer, typically long, frequently includes, among other things, the study of our own work and that of other practitioners, reflection and introspection. Books, due to their inherent characteristics, provide the ideal medium to absorb, digest and analyse the work made by other photographers. When exposed to good photo books, we can find full bodies of work organised with coherence around a solid intent and message that orchestrates the whole project.
This intent and this message are conveyed through a careful sequencing of images, properly edited and appropriately put in value. Photobooks work through a multitude of different channels of communication and go well beyond the superficial visual experience typically provided by a quick glance to an image on a computer screen.
We photographers do not hesitate to spend thousands of pounds on the last lens or the new mirrorless camera, and still, frown upon the idea of spending £90 on a good photographic book. Trading one of those lenses for a shelf full of photobooks might make a bigger difference than you think. The only problem is, sooner than later you will need more shelves around!
The Southern Uplands of Scotland must be one of the least photographed areas in the British Isles. A search of Getty Images turned up only forty photos tagged with Southern Uplands of Scotland, whilst a whopping ninety thousand images appeared for Scotland as a whole. I’m more than happy with this situation given my penchant for solitary hikes across the big round hills, but it does pose the question of why this is the case. To visitors from south of the border, the area is just grassy hills with lots of wind turbines, passed through on the way to more celebrated areas further north.
It is also an area lacking in notable features such as rocky summits, dramatic cliffs, or a rugged coastline - in short, it’s a place that is difficult to photograph. As a long time local resident I’ve become something of a connoisseur of vast tracts of open moorland; the play of light on a rounded hillside and the enormous skies are things that I have come to value highly.
One notable, if a subtle feature, is the wall. The wall skirts around Gameshope Glen in a horseshoe ending not far from where it started, close to Talla Reservoir, a couple of miles east of the Tweed Valley. Built sometime in the early nineteenth century and travelling for upwards of twenty miles, it has three offshoots: one climbs Hart Fell (808 metres) ending abruptly near the summit, another goes off to the shores of Loch Skeen, and the third heads down towards Moffatdale, ending inconclusively just above the Grey Mare's Tail waterfall. Rather intriguingly, it navigates in a series of straight lines, saving anything that resembles a curve for the most vertiginous sections.
Perhaps the thing that strikes me most about Thierry’s poetic images of China is that it is very much a manmade and managed landscape, and also a peopled landscape - a celebration of the old ways where, yes, man exploits the resources that he has around him but does so in a way that leaves room for nature. The scale of the views that he represents, whether terraced rice fields or fish farms and the inclusion of the human form – often from elevated viewpoints or in sweeping panoramas – also serves to emphasise that we are but a small part of this earth.
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 was born and raised in France. As a young man, I loved water sports and activities such as swimming, scuba diving, surfing and water skiing. After my army service, I went to study accounting at university to obtain my Bachelor of Arts in accounting and pass my CPA (Certified Public Accountant) exam. Later I graduated with a Master of Business Administration (MBA) degree in finance (mergers & acquisitions of a company).
How did you come to live in China, and what changes have struck you most in the time you have been there?
I have been living in China since 2006, so have spent 12 years here. I was working in New York for a French sports fashion company who asked me to transfer to Shanghai to implement SAP (accounting, financial software) for our factories. I was the chief financial officer for the next 3 years.Unconsciously I strive for some kind of order. I find life a quite disorganised and chaotic place to be but in my photography, I can manage and organise this complexity. And, yes, this does influence the expression of my work. I have seen China change drastically during the last 10 years, with a better life and infrastructure for Chinese people including new tourism opportunities for them. Unfortunately, many beautiful places have been destroyed because of modernisation. [paid]
Landscape photography is the only religion I practice and nature is the only spiritual book of my life. It's only when I'm connected to the world of beauty, that I can conceive art.
~Thierry Bornier
When did you become interested in photography and what kind of images did you initially set out to make?
My company asked me to return to the USA because my job in China was complete, but I did not feel like returning and wanted to stay in China. I decided to take a break in my life and a year off to travel around China which was at this time still very untouched by modernisation, so I bought a camera, a Nikon D700, to capture some images during my trip. I went to Southwest China and travelled in Yunnan, Sichuan and Guangxi Province and I started to enjoy my encounters with all these different minorities, which was so exciting. The biggest impact during my travel came from the rice field terraces of Yunnan. Without any experience of landscape photography, I made some images and one of them was published in National Geographic as Photo of the Day. This experience totally changed my life and career because I had to make decisions about my future, and it was not easy to choose between a life of security or a life of adventure and challenges.
What made you then commit to developing as a career what was – at the time – your personal photography, to take the risk and move away from secure employment, rather than simply continue with it around your (then) job?
I always say life is about 2 things: feeling and choices. I had to make a big decision because, for me, it was a huge challenge not only to change career but also to reach a level and achieve expertise about China landscapes, as well as photography skills. I have decided to give it three years of my life to be sure I could reach my objectives and that I had a plan. Considering I’ve never studied photography, I knew it would take time and I also needed to survive. Life is to open doors, and these doors open others and bring you somewhere. You need to not only work hard but also to be lucky sometimes. My first target was to learn photography skills not just with the camera, but also to understand lighting which is the key for me in photography. Without any conceptions of photography, I decided that in order to make money to survive and be free I should open a studio to shoot wedding and fashion photography because in China the market was so huge with opportunities. It took me over one year to learn fashion photography online and look for inspiration from some famous photographers and understand what made them different and unique. I spent hours watching YouTube videos about their shooting, and step by step my insatiable curiosity let me find some important clues and techniques about lighting. My next move was to try and apply them in my own studio.
Before readers become wholly envious of a life spent amid wonderful landscapes, am I right in thinking that commercial and fashion work underwrites your landscape photography?
Fashion photography, portrait photography and landscape photography have different approaches and different environments. For the former two, we deal with people in the studio and it is not easy as we have to build the light; as for landscape photography, nature builds everything for us before our eyes, but the most complicated part is the lighting because it is out of our control. We need luck. Sometimes people see amazing images with incredible weather conditions and light, and many say what great photographers we are, and I tell them no, it’s how lucky we are because we can’t control the weather - that’s why I spend a lot of time in one place to get my ideal image. I would imagine all kinds of scenarios of lighting and mood that I can get in a particular place, and when I have this ideal image in mind, I just need to stay as long as I can or come back until I get it. One of my images took me three years to obtain what I expected for the place: landscape photography is about patience.
How proud are you of being self-taught and does it make you do anything differently or give you any competitive edge?
I don’t think I’m proud to have learned photography by myself, because if you really want to achieve anything in your life, you must first believe in yourself and be very curious and keep trying, working hard and never giving up. For my part I am never satisfied with my work, it is the only way to improve, and life, after all, is to learn always until the end. I think the advantage to be self-taught is that I’m able to shoot anything and that is great. I can use my Phase One for my landscape photography workshop and use my Nikon to shoot my portrait photography or commercial work in the studio without any problem. I have two philosophies of work and have two different technical approaches to reach my target.
Nature is a poem only for people who can read it with their heart and soul. ~ Thierry Bornier
Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you, or driven you forward in your own development as a photographer?
My favourite fashion and portrait photographers are Peter Lindbergh, Irving Penn, Richard Avedon, Helmut Newton and Yousuf Karsh. I also love some painters such as Leonardo de Vinci (genius of humanity), Monet and Van Gogh. I have studied each of them to find their style as fashion photographers or some specific lighting as their own signature, the same for the painters: what story they want to tell, and the lighting inside the paintings.
Regarding landscape photographers, I have been intrigued by some photographers but none of them has really helped me to find my own style because I do believe photography is based on our personality. When I shoot a place I’m not the only photographer: I can be on a workshop with many people, but when we review our images they ask me why they look so different. I explain firstly, we all came from different backgrounds - just like the differences between Van Gogh and Picasso, they had different lives and education, and their motivation to create varies. Our life is unique because of our childhood, our emotional encounters, the things we are sensitive about, and that makes all the difference in our works and the way we see the world, our own world. But I should mention Sebastiao Salgado, he inspired me a lot with regards to black and white photography, as well as Ansel Adams. I am curious about how Ansel Adams would approach his works today with a digital camera.
Which cameras and lenses do you like to use? Has this changed over time?
I used to only use Nikon, as my first camera was a Nikon D700 and I always upgraded. Today I do use a Nikon D850 but mostly for my fashion and portrait works. After I sold my first photo – “Hani Terraces”, the one that was published in National Geographic – I bought my first Phase One IQ280 CCD and to date, I always use it for my landscape photography.
I never use wide angle and most of my lenses for my portrait and fashion shooting are 85mm f1.4 and 70-200mm f2.8, for my lifestyle photography I’m using 35 mm f1.4.
For my landscape photography with my medium format Phase One camera, I use 150mm, 80mm and 55mm. I never upgrade my Phase One because I love my CCD sensor.
Can you give readers an insight into your workflow from the point of image capture through post-processing to output?
When I capture images from one place, I will wait for a few weeks before looking at them to digest my trip and the location. Then I will choose only one image to process - by then I know which one I like the most. For this one image I use Capture One to correct my RAW image, and then make some further corrections in Photoshop, but I won’t change my images because I refuse to do so - I only correct contrast and adjust colours because cameras don’t have eyes and brains so we must compensate for this.
All these mistakes appear because we are using digital cameras and cameras can’t see. I have never done HDR photography in my life because it does not represent my personal approach in photography. I use my cameras only in the simplest way possible as people did before with film: manual mode with ISO, aperture and shutter speed. I use a polarizer and ND neutral filter, and one year ago I started using my Big Stopper when there are thick clouds. For portrait photography, I refuse to retouch people’s faces because it will make them unreal and I believe they will lose their identity. As Peter Lindbergh said, there is no beauty without truth.
From what I’ve read, you’re very persistent and will spend a long time working towards a single image. Can you tell us a little about your travels – where you like to go, how you get to your elevated viewpoints and how long you will stay in a place or how often you will return to achieve the outcome that you have in mind?
I always know very well the places I go after many years, but also sometimes I discover new places, so I need to know when is the best time of the year for the weather is. For example, there are five main areas of rice field terraces in China and if you take only the one in Yunnan, the best time is January to March because before that there is no water. So you must have good knowledge of the places and have connections with local people because with the climate changing it affects your work. These local people always contact me to let me know if it is going to rain or snow because this is valuable information that lets me decide to go or not. Regarding the viewpoints, I try always to find the best high vantage point that I can to make my images; I have never used drones. I go back many times to the same places because the scenarios of lighting or mood won’t be the same; when I have my mental image I will go until I get the mood I want - some pictures took me 2 or 3 years of my life.
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?
Cloudland
This image is a story of patience and, most importantly, of luck. I have been many times to Yellow Mountain in Anhui province. On this night I woke at 2am and climbed the stairs to reach the point of shooting. When I arrived, I could see a white sea of cloud which was not moving without being able to see clearly what shape it was. After waiting a few hours at minus 10 degrees Celsius, after dawn, I realized the wonder of nature and saw the sea of cloud moving so slowly that I didn’t need to use any filter or long exposure, and captured this image at only 3 seconds’ shutter speed. An old photographer living there told me later when he saw my image that this chance encounter with nature happens maybe only once in a century. I did not process this image in Photoshop and it is 100% natural.
The image was published in National Geographic on December 25, 2016. Someone wrote after publication:
“Where I was a little boy, my mom used to tell a story: one day a beautiful girl will come from heaven and take you there. As I grew older, the dream became faded. Whatever the dream was, now I can see the photo of heaven whether the girl comes or not. When I saw the photo of this ‘Cloudland’, the first thought that came into my mind was that I was in heaven. This is China’s Yellow Mountain (Huangshan) soaring above a shroud of dramatic cloud cover.”
Hani Terraces
This image is the most important one not for the quality of the image but because it made me change my career forever. I was travelling for one year to take a break from my stressful life as a CFO. This image was taken with a Nikon D700 and I had no experience at all in photography, but National Geographic selected the image as a picture of the day. A few months later the German company Siemens bought the image for 5 years’ worldwide advertising use for 40,000 Euros. I immediately used the money to buy a Phase One IQ280 camera and decided to try to become a photographer for the next 3 years and at the end of this go back to finance if I couldn’t reach the level I wanted to.
Pastel Floating Dream
This image was captured in Xiapu Fujian Province; it also has a story because I was the first photographer to shoot this place, just after it was built. My local friend called me and told me a new place will soon be ready, so I took the high-speed train from Shanghai and reached Xiapu. The next day I went visit the new site and I made my first 2 pictures there including Pastel Floating Dream. I sold this image in Shanghai to a collector for 20,000 USD for a Limited Edition print 2.5 metres in size.
Xiapu is one of my favourite places in China. I have made a lot of abstract pictures there and have already been 30 times in the past 6 years. I organize many workshops there and go to places people don’t know. It’s a very unique place and I can talk about it for hours; it is another man-made place but this one is so different because they have to replant the seaweed which is farmed in the mudflat year after year when the typhoon season is over.
My images are based on moods and stories because you need to tell the story of the places you shoot, even if sometimes there is no one in the images, the lighting and the mood becomes the story.
One of the things that strikes me most about your images is that it is very much a man-made or managed landscape, but also a peopled landscape. In the west, we spend a lot of time seeking ‘natural’ looking landscapes and avoiding obvious signs of human influence (which isn’t always so beautiful). How important are the farmers and fishermen in your images, and what have you come to know of their way of life? What changes or challenges are they experiencing?
That is a very interesting question and I guess after living in China for 12 years I have seen all the man-made work in this country such as the rice field terraces, and of course, sometimes you need to tell a story about these landscapes and the people who made them, such as Xiapu Mudflat in Fujian. Behind these landscapes, there is an amazing story about how the men and women created and maintained them for thousands of years, the same now as exactly 2000 years ago for the oldest rice field terraces. My images are based on moods and stories because you need to tell the story of the places you shoot, even if sometimes there is no one in the images, the lighting and the mood becomes the story. During my workshop, I teach people more to look and understand what they want to shoot. I ask them to keep the camera in the bag and take their time to look at the landscape and to feel it and get the best impression of it. After that, I ask them what and how they would like to paint it if they were painters. Then I ask them to use their imagination, take the camera out and start to shoot what they feel. An image is not made by a camera, but by your soul and heart; the camera is only 5% of the image, the rest is about creativity, about us.
Now all these beautiful places made by people such as the rice field terraces will disappear soon because the new generation wants to work in big cities instead of being farmers because living in big modern cities means a better quality of life. I have also seen many beautiful places completely destroyed and lost for the genuine part of it because of modernism and tourism.
Is it important to you that people see your work in print, and how do you choose to print and present your pictures?
Now I sell my prints in Limited Editions of 6 for each image for 20,000 USD for a print of 2 to 3 meters, and I only use the famous iconic German company Hahnemühle. Hahnemühle Fine Art – Germany’s oldest artist paper mill – has been making artist papers for traditional painting and printing techniques for more than 425 years. The Digital Fine Art Collection combines the elegance and uniqueness of genuine artist papers with the impressive look of modern Fine Art prints.
The world I live in is not an ordinary world; I just need to use my eyes and listen to the melodies of beauty all around me while it will be invisible to others. This world is mine because I create it from the chaos of my imagination. ~ Thierry Bornier
What reaction have you had to your images in China? From a short spell in Hong Kong I know that landscape was relegated to backdrop in images of self and family – nearly 20 years before ‘selfie’ became common parlance – and I wonder if your work has helped people to better know and appreciate their countryside, and perhaps to recognize the value of protecting and conserving it?
I have received messages from Chinese photographers or Chinese people saying they never knew their country was so beautiful until they saw my images and they want to go to these places, and I think it is good because my images have promoted this beautiful and unique country by showing its diversity of places and moods. I find that Westerners still don’t come here that much, probably because they don’t feel safe, or for other reasons, but living here for 12 years I can assure you that China is the safest country in the world because there are no weapons here and they have the best infrastructure including high speed trains and the best airports. The food is amazing, and the only problem is the language because 85% of the people here can’t speak English.
Do you have any particular projects or ambitions for the future or themes that you would like to explore further? Do you have any plans to photograph in urban environments or other countries?
I’m still focusing on China because I’m a specialist in this country as a landscape photographer and I do speak English, French and of course Chinese. In the near future, I will publish a book about China called “Vision of China”.
I do organize a few workshops in China every year to help people discover this country but I’m not doing tour photography - my workshop is really to teach people photography based on my experience and I spend a lot of time to take care of each of them, which is why my workshop groups are in small, 4 to 6 people maximum.
In 2020, I will start to shoot some other countries and work with local photographers to explore the best of these new photographic opportunities.
If you had to take a break from all things photographic for a week, what would you end up doing? Do you have other hobbies or interests?
When I come back from my workshops or my personal trips, the first thing I love to do is to cook because I love cooking. I also love music and movies so I will spend time at home to relax and do some sports before my next trip.
And finally, is there someone whose photography you enjoy – perhaps someone that we may not have come across – and whose work you think we should feature in a future issue? They can be amateur or professional.
I know a Chinese gentleman - Zheng De Xiong - who made a small place called Xiapu in Fujian Province famous throughout the world; he has been photographing this amazing place for 15 years, and I respect him a lot.
Thank you for sharing your story with us Thierry, and congratulations on finding your dream and making it work for you.
If you’d like to see more of Thierry’s images you’ll find his website here.
I don’t have a favourite photograph. You don’t even have a favourite photographer. So what do I write?
Well pick an image you like, then write about the composition, the photographer, the emotional impact the photo has on you.
But I’ve only been taking photography semi seriously for three or four years, my knowledge is too limited; I don’t want to make a fool of myself.
OK, read through some of the past articles Charlotte has sent a link to, that will inspire you.
Just did, made it worse. Maybe this tooth abscess and the drugs I have been prescribed will set my creative fire alight. I’ll take a couple more tablets.
Did it work? Nope, too mushy. A couple of glasses of crisp New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, that will help. You’re still on the antibiotics.
DAMN IT. OK, I’ve written before, hell it was even deemed so good I was asked to read my story out on national radio. I can do this.
But that was forty years ago when you were twelve. In primary seven. And you only have a vague recollection of the story itself; something about how times had changed and that your mum used to pay into the pictures (cinema) with two jeely jawrs (jam jars) and eat a carrot during the movie (1950’s popcorn). Not much help.
Right, I have some photography books, that seems like a sensible place to start. Digital Photography for Dummies, Teach Yourself Photoshop CS5, The Digital Photography Book by Scott Kelby.
Ha, very funny, try those ones piled up on top of the printer, you know the one you rarely print from.
How about the awards books from Landscape Photographer of the Year, Outdoor Photographer of the Year, Scottish Landscape Photographer of the Year and International Garden Photographer of the Year? Lots of crackers in there.
True, but there’s just too much to go through with all those. You have others over there, in fact too many others to mention.
Well I need to come up with something. You do, and soon.
Excellent choice, but you better check the back issues just to be sure.
I have them all downloaded to my iPad so this should be quick. Back we go, nothing in the 170’s, 169, no, 168, clear, 167, keep going, issue 166, fine, 165, no probs, 164, looking good. Aarrgh. 163. I don’t believe it!
Start again. What motivates you? OK, I love to travel, and I love photography.
You love US National Parks, so there must be something in “Treasured Lands” by QT Luong that inspires. After all, it is “A Photographic Odyssey Through America’s National Parks”.
Problem. I love the book, I’ve been to thirteen of the fifty nine parks, but no single photo stands out.
When I first got back into photography it was the grand landscapes of Yosemite and the American West that inspired me. Colin’s book contains none of the above. It is filled with shots of twisted trees, reeds, frozen leaves, piles of slate and fallen branches.
OK, forget travel, you live in Scotland, one of the most beautiful countries in the world. Look there.
I did already. Nothing elevates my senses. It’s the drugs. Maybe you should stop talking to yourself. Thanks for the suggestion. And it worked.
I take pictures to get away from the pressure of running a small (circa fifty employees) business. I used to play golf to relieve stress but got fed up with the time it took to play eighteen holes, and the lack of decent weather. So about five years ago I decided to get back into photography, something I had dabbled with on and off since I was a teenager with a cheap SLR, a dark room and an enlarger.
Suddenly the weather didn’t matter, in fact, I learned through time that the worse the weather, the better the photos. I started to use my expensive golf waterproofs for something else, and I enjoyed it a lot more. After a pressure filled week at work, a few hours out with the camera worked wonders. Photography healed my mind.
Which takes me to “Healing” by Colin Bell. It wasn’t amongst those books piled on top of my seldom used printer. It’s somewhere safe, still wrapped in the bubble wrap it came in because it’s probably my favourite book. And all along I really knew the image I would pick would come from this book.
As mentioned above, when I first got back into photography it was the grand landscapes of Yosemite and the American West that inspired me. Colin’s book contains none of the above. It is filled with shots of twisted trees, reeds, frozen leaves, piles of slate and fallen branches. It takes me back to my youth, squeezing through bushes and clambering over trees in the local woods, trying to avoid getting stung by wasps and scratched by thorns and brambles that seemed to reach out and grab.
It has inspired my own work, opened my eyes up to another landscape. I no longer seek out the grand view, though some are still hard to pass up. Instead I now mainly try to solve the puzzle of the more intimate landscape.
Of all the images in the book, those captured on Holme Fell are the ones I return to most, the “Tarn Tales” series and the “Twisted Rowan” series in particular. “Tarn Tales II, IV and V” are simply stunning and encapsulate everything I now adore about landscape photography. “The Tarn and The Rowan” is a perfect combination of the two.
Sadly, this article is titled “End Frame” and not “End Frames”, therefore I must choose one, and “Twisted Rowan III” is my choice. This shot, judging by the tone of the grasses, the nakedness of the trees, and the soft blue cast to the fog, was captured on a cold day in winter. In my opinion, the composition is flawless, with the shadow of the tree in the lower right-hand corner grabbing your eye, the edge of the tarn leading you to the lone raggedy old rowan, which in turn nods to the two trees (birch?) on the small hill in the fog. The supporting cast are all perfectly placed, but the “Twisted Rowan” is the star of the show.
There, you done it! I thought you said stop talking to yourself?
Back in December in issue 173, our last of the year, we asked our subscribers to submit an image to represent their 2018 photography.
We had some great submissions and have compiled them into a PDF which you can download by clicking the cover image below (for which we can thank Paul Constable!).
Thank you to all who took part, we really enjoyed compiling all of the images and reading the captions.
Joe Cornish emailed us a few weeks ago about the campaign The Woodland Trust are running to fundraise to buy Ben Shieldaig.
If you had the chance to save 10,000 acres of prime wild land in the UK, would you try to take it? Well, the Woodland Trust is trying to raise £1.6 million to save Ben Shieldaig, one of the classic little mountains in Torridon.
It may be smaller in stature than others but it is surrounded by beautiful, ancient pinewoods. We're hoping that some of our subscribers will be able to contribute a small amount to support this venture. Have a look at the video below and enjoy Joe's beautiful photograph and please help if you can..
Ben Shieldaig is the prominent mountain on the right, Shieldaig village at its foot. ~ Joe Cornish
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios 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!
Field margins planted with native wildflowers are one of my favourite habitats to explore in the Spring and Summer months, alive with insects, butterflies and the scent of summer I love how the flowers dance as the wind travels over the fields of crops.
These images were all taken a few miles from my home in north Dorset, I used intentional camera movement and multiple exposure to convey movement in the dancing flowers.
Mid-May in Alaska. First light at 4am and last light at midnight. Travelling by car between Anchorage, Kenai Fjords, and Denali over the course of a week.
My first visit to the state, I was deeply moved by the immense, unspoiled beauty around every turn. A land wholly apart from the modern world – dynamic, powerful, timeless.
In June of 2015, I moved my family lock, stock and barrel to start a new life in Sweden. It wasn't a decision taken lightly! We had a 2 houses and a business in Malta, my wife had just given birth to my daughter Chloe and we were to turn our backs on Malta for good and move, more or less, blindly to Sweden.
Let me explain....
I am 52 and having taught tennis at all levels for over 30 years, I desperately needed a change. I was feeling drained of enthusiasm for the sport and tired of the routine. Sometimes in order to make a change, it needs to be a complete change, so we agreed we would start a new adventure with our baby in Sweden. Yes, we sold up in Malta, we bought a house in Sweden and here we are, very happy and very contented as a family.
What has all this got to with photography?
This is where the changes happened... I found a new passion, a learned new skills and after 3 years, I started a new business - landscape photography!
After 3 years of learning about using a camera in full manual mode, becoming more creative with compositions, developing a photographic style and adapting to different conditions, or more specifically learning about light!
By no means am I suggesting that the journey of learning is complete, in fact, I am an apprentice but having looked back at my early work, I do see the improvement which gives me the drive to keep moving forward.
Living in Österlen, in the south-east corner of Sweden is very easy and although more or less flat in terms of terrain, it has some of the most stunning beaches and seascapes as well as fantastic forests a rural scenes to give the landscape photographer a myriad of choice of subject to shoot depending on the weather and conditions.
This article features some of the seascapes all within 20 minutes drive and most within walking distance.
My aim as a photographer to create images that I am pleased with and that it makes me feel calm. I feel a connection to the landscape and my environment, that creates an emotion within my sole and I try to convey those emotions through my images.
It has become a life experience through the art of photography, rather than all about camera settings (although important). The therapy of photography wields a magic and one that I highly recommend to everyone. Being in the great outdoors experiencing nature in all conditions is more important than Facebook!
I hope this journey resonates with some and I would love to hear your experiences.
In the first part of this article (Click here to read it), I discussed the transitions of Luminosity and Contrast and how they work together to represent the fundamental realities of nature within our images. In my life and work, I’m very focussed on why things are the way they are; nature, science, beliefs, reality, perception. But, as I teach the art of creativity, I have to marry the why of it all with the how to do it, and with all great dichotomies, they can be jointly exhaustive or mutually exclusive. As I flow into the second stage of this article, I am truly aware of why I do these things, these hows. Without a Why there is very little need for a How!
The art of linguistic creativity relies heavily on tools of communication; words, punctuation, articulation, metaphor and nuance. Yet, in landscape photography, we are essentially mute in explicit language, leaving us with nothing more than luminosity, contrast, colour, texture and transitions. Armed only with this limited palette, we aim to express ourselves, desperate to communicate something, anything to another human being. “I was there, I saw this” are simple statements, being more articulate requires greater degrees of craft and intention. However, whether we are conscious of our statements, or they are byproducts of subconscious processing, there are impacts and consequences of everything within the frame.
At the very start of Part I, I used a few expressions that may have raised some eyebrows; what I call Attention Gradients and the Awareness Fulcrum.
The decision of what shape of a stage to perform on is critical to your expressive intent. I believe there is too much randomness associated with cropping, and the first step is to become more consciously aware of its impact.
I’ve thought about this for over a year now, and it’s really a fundamental of how I put my work together, and currently, they represent the zenith of my thinking on transitions. In this article, we’ll look at how these expressions came about, and how we can use them with an intention to affect how images are read, essentially making our images say what we want them to.
Hopefully, we’ll remember 2018 for the extended, and for many of us, the welcome spell of hot and dry weather that we had – ‘summer’ isn’t always something we can rely on here – and not for other things that have been dominating the headlines. The year has seen aptly titled new project work – ‘Hothouse’ – from Cheshire based Steve Palmer, a proliferation of image making matched only perhaps by the rate of growth of the plants in the water lily house at Kew. We catch up with Steve to find out more about this, and what he gets up to on his home turf.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up and what your early interests were?
I grew up in a small town in east Cheshire, with the countryside on our doorstep and the city of Manchester a short train ride away. As a young kid, most of my time was spent playing outdoors, getting all the usual cuts, bruises and nettle stings. My Dad was a keen birdwatcher, so weekends would be spent out in the countryside, binoculars in hand, searching for birds and animals. The highlight was seeing a migrating Osprey hunting for fish at Chelford sand quarries in 1975, a huge rarity at the time. From these walks, my love of the natural world grew and many happy days were spent walking in the countryside. I also had a love of music and had a short and unsuccessful stint making a terrible noise while at school. I think the world of music had a lucky escape!
Thomas Joshua Cooper is one of the most celebrated and distinctive landscape photographers working anywhere in the world today. He was born in California in 1946 but has lived in Scotland for many years. Cooper is the founding head of photography at Glasgow School of Art but spends much of his life seeking out the edges of the world. Like artists such as Richard Long, and Hamish Fulton, Cooper is a traveller, a nomadic artist whose extraordinary photographs are made in series at significant points around the globe, most often at its extremities.
Using an 1898 Agfa field camera and specially made photographic plates, Thomas Joshua Cooper creates extraordinary, meditative landscape photographs printed with selenium-toned silver gelatin. Each work begins as a location found on a map, which Cooper then exhaustively researches and tracks down. Composing only outdoors, he captures each site in a single exposure, stressing the “made” and “built” quality of each print over its documentary or snapshot elements. In his ongoing “Atlas Project” (1989-), Cooper charts the extremities of land in the Atlantic Basin, from South Africa and Scandinavia to the Arctic, Antarctica, and South America. Read our interview with Thomas Joshua Cooper.
The Promise in West, the Allure in North, the Fear in South
Fragments from the Atlas of Emptiness and Extremity
Identification with the work is a subtle and insidious phenomenon, one that we all are prone to experience to some degree. We view the work - rightly - as an extension of ourselves. Yet we cannot become the work. We must maintain a critical distance, and be capable of a more objective relationship with the content of our efforts. ~ David Ulrich
There is an old joke that the difference between a professional and an amateur photographer is the size of the wastebasket next to the light table. Granted, this was from the days of slide film, but the tenet still holds true. One of the defining characteristics that separate the professional photographer from the amateur is the ability to honestly and accurately critique one’s own work. It is also one of the more difficult tasks to master.
Learning to self evaluate one’s work is an extremely important exercise. A photographer's reputation is built on the images that she/he puts out into the world, whether it’s to editors or other potential buyers or simply the public at large. Sending out mediocre images shows an inability to discern between good pictures and bad. Worse, including lesser quality images with your best work in an exhibit or portfolio has a diluting effect and reduces the overall impact. Our work is only as strong as the weakest photo in the collection.
Self-critique requires us to be brutally honest with ourselves. It is often suggested by friends and family that I am too hard on myself with regards to my photography, and I understand how it can appear that way. But if not me, then who? If I listened to them I would believe myself to be the best photographer in the world, bless them. Truth is, all artists must have a critical eye when it comes to their work. We know when we have created something special, but it is just as important to know when we have failed, as much as we may try to kid ourselves. In order to learn and evolve as artists, we must be able to critically evaluate our work. It is easier said than done, as it can be difficult to cast an objective eye on our own creations.
Relying on Others
We all at one time or another have experienced the sting of posting a photo of which we are especially proud on social media, only to have it garner a tepid response. The first thought is one of confusion and disappointment. Is it not as good as I thought? Was I kidding myself? Or perhaps, is it the fault of the audience? Is it too challenging to appreciate, requiring time and reflection in which to be understood? All too often the latter may be the case, which is the danger of relying on social media for feedback. As photographers, we cannot treat our potential audience as if they are all equal. We must work to establish an educated audience, one that shares our sensibilities and is willing to put forth the time and effort to view and understand our work. And of course, saying that social media is a less than ideal platform for sharing our work is a tremendous understatement. The physical limitation of tiny screens coupled with the barrage of images posted daily all but discount it as a viable forum for opinion and feedback.
But, what of the educated audience? Can they be counted on for a fair evaluation of our work? The answer is maybe. Portfolio reviews with an established and respected photographer may provide informative and useful feedback, but there is no guarantee. Just because the reviewer is established and successful does not immediately make them qualified to critique your work. At a conference last year I signed up for three portfolio reviews. I learned very little beyond what I already knew of my work. In fact, in regard to one of my favourite images, one reviewer said he “doesn’t get” these types of photos, while admitting that others did. Okay, then. In all fairness (and at the risk of sounding immodest) I have been practising photography for over 20 years and my work is probably “beyond” the services provided by these particular reviewers (no doubt I would find a review with the likes of Guy Tal or William Neill most illuminating). However, for those not as far along in their growth reviews can be of much use, provided the reviewer exhibits the traits outlined in Chuck Kimmerle’s blog
As photographers, we cannot treat our potential audience as if they are all equal. We must work to establish an educated audience, one that shares our sensibilities and is willing to put forth the time and effort to view and understand our work.
Relying on Ourselves
While having our work critiqued by others can have a useful and transformative impact, we must ultimately learn to rely on ourselves when it comes to evaluating our own work. We will not always have access to a reviewer’s eyes and opinions. More importantly though, who knows you and your relationship with your subject(s) better than yourself? As Guy Tal points out in his article Judging the Judges, “how can a critic know if the photographer was successful in expressing something without knowing what that something is?”. Beyond a certain point in our development outside critiques are by and large immaterial. Not everyone shares your sensibilities. Approval must come from within.
The biggest challenge with self-critique is evaluating our work with an objective eye. As stated in the David Ulrich quote at the head of this article we need to have a critical distance between ourselves and our work if we are to be able to objectively view it. We need to realize that our work comes from us, it is not of us. Linking our identity to our work leads to much pain and frustration. We must not fool ourselves, one way or the other. Personally speaking, at times I flip-flop between thinking I’m something special as an artist to believing I’m nothing more than a hack. The truth is somewhere in the middle, we must find the true perception.
Identifying our failures is critical in our growth as artists, for we often learn more from our failures than our successes. Recognising our successes is often easy, our failures, on the other hand, can be more difficult to acknowledge. We look at the flawed image hoping that in time it will somehow fix itself, or we try and convince ourselves that it’s not really that important a flaw. I know from experience the temptation to keep “almost” shots. We know deep down when a photo doesn’t cut it, as difficult as it may be to openly admit it. Perhaps it was a once-in-a-lifetime type of shot that just didn’t come out right. Or perhaps it carries so much emotional weight from the experience or what was going on in our life at the time that we don’t want to let it go. Keep them if you wish, just don’t include them in your portfolio.
Identifying our failures is critical in our growth as artists, for we often learn more from our failures than our successes. Recognising our successes is often easy, our failures, on the other hand, can be more difficult to acknowledge.
As creators, we often have an emotional attachment to our work based on what we were feeling or experiencing at the time of the capture. That part is important to us, but not the viewer. We must divorce ourselves from that emotional attachment that can colour our perception of the photo. The best way to do this is to put some distance between yourself and the making of the image. Let it sit for a period of time, a day or two, perhaps even a week. When you come back some of the lustre and emotion will have worn away and you’ll be able to evaluate the image more objectively.
It is easy to spot technical shortcomings, or at least it should be, which is why I am not going to spend much time addressing it here. Photographers are first and foremost observers, it shouldn’t take much effort to spot such obvious mistakes ranging from the most simplistic (sensor spots, tilted horizons) to more technical (improper depth of field, processing issues, etc.). It’s the more artistic and creative qualities of a photo that are challenging to self-assess. A photo can be technically perfect and yet still not be successful. Usually, the first question I ask myself is the image interesting. I don’t concern myself with whether or not my audience will find it interesting, that is irrelevant to me. All that matters is that I find it interesting. I value simplicity in my images to a great degree, but at times simplicity can be simply boring. I then judge how original it is compared to my body of work. Is it something new and fresh or more of the same? Being self-derivative is a trap of which I am always wary.
The most important criterion, however, is does the image effectively communicate what it is you are trying to express. Step back and ask yourself what it was about the scene that moved you to make the photo. What were you trying to say? Has the composition, visual design, and processing all come together to effectively express your vision? If the answer is yes then it is a successful image, no further feedback or questioning is necessary. A sure sign of failure for me is when I find myself trying to convince myself that the image works. I want it to work, but there is that nagging voice in the back of my head that knows better. In truth, I always know better.
Learning to self-critique requires confidence in one’s own work as well as self-knowledge. We must be confident enough in our abilities and vision to not fear failure. No growth will come from playing it safe. Creativity is born from the freedom to fail. Allow yourself that freedom and embrace failure as you would your successes. Like everything else learning to critique our own work takes time and practice. Our ability to self assess grows as we grow as artists. The more confident we become in our work and the more we understand ourselves and what we are trying to convey the better we become at evaluating ourselves.
Back in the summer, Craig contacted us to tell us about his new book 'Into the Great White Sands' and the more I read about the White Sands National Monument, the more I wanted to know about the vast 224 square miles that the park covers and the six distinct ecological units it encompasses. We caught up with Craig to hear more about this special place, the largest gypsum dune field on the planet, and his sense of connection with it.
Tell us why you love landscape photography and your route into it.
To answer that question, I have to go way back to my experiences as a small child growing up in Canada. I was always drawn to the outdoors, being out in nature and observing and watching whatever I could find in my backyard; leaves, insects, birds, small animals. I was a focused, contemplative child who enjoyed spending time alone and getting lost in the workings of the natural world, trying to figure out why i seemed to work the way it did. As an adult, I continue to find great joy being out in nature, almost an obsession, and working as a photographer has given me the opportunity to constantly be learning something from my experiences in the natural world. For me it’s more than just about making pretty pictures, that’s nice certainly, but it’s more about having the opportunity to observe, to be a witness to the miraculousness of it all. While out photographing in the landscape, I have learned that I have to turn off the internal dialogue, to be quiet, still and patient so that the veil might be pierced and I am given a glimpse into some magic moment. And if I’m lucky enough for the veil to stay open long enough, I am given the gift of a beautiful photograph. Sharing these moments through my photographs brings me great joy.
A chance encounter at a gallery with a well-known photographer at the age of 14 ignited my imagination to the possibilities of becoming an artist and pursuing photography as a craft. This led me to the formal study of photography with Phil Davis at the University of Michigan. Phil was a stickler for craft and believed that with a thorough grounding in technique one could then begin the challenging process of mining the notions of what makes a good photograph. I am grateful for the discipline that Phil Davis taught me. A few years later, thinking that I wanted to follow an academic career track, I enrolled at the Rochester Institute of Technology where I received my Master of Fine Arts degree in photography.
While out photographing in the landscape, I have learned that I have to turn off the internal dialogue, to be quiet, still and patient so that the veil might be pierced and I am given a glimpse into some magic moment.
As a photographer, I have been incredibly fortunate to receive so much support for my work. Photography is a highly competitive field and it is difficult to get noticed, much less supported. I am tremendously grateful and a little overwhelmed by the people who purchase my original photographs, acquire copies of my books or attend photography workshops that I teach.
My work has covered a wide range of genres and has received national recognition, such as a television Emmy Award in 1991 for the PBS Documentary "En Divina Luz: The Penitente Moradas of New Mexico". I have also received two successive National Endowment for the Arts grants for my work. I tend to work on photographic projects somewhat thematically, projects that seem to grow and take several years to wrestle with and eventually complete. These often evolve into a book, then a travelling exhibition of that work. My latest body of work, "Into the Great White Sands", is my twelfth book published by the University of New Mexico Press and photographs from this are currently being presented at The Museum of the Southwest in Midland, Texas, where the exhibition debuted. The exhibition will continue to travel around the United States and possibly go on to Europe.
It's strange, I was writing an end frame article on spec for On Landscape when simultaneously Charlotte approached me to write one. I'd been making some notes about my favourite image which is in Joe Cornish's Scotland's Mountains book. For me, an easy choice. I return to this book frequently finding solace in the pages and it's great to spend time lingering over the photographs.
Although he doesn't know it Joe has inspired my photography for many years. Put simply, Joe's work inspired me to become a landscape photographer. Imagine my thoughts on a Wednesday morning in August this summer when I saw Joe in a crowded Kings Cross station. I was jet lagged and exhausted after travelling on an overnight flight from Florida. I walked past him while he was talking on the phone. I had to shake his hand. I wanted to tell Joe his work has inspired me but I was exhausted and jet lagged all I could mumble about was the rocket launch I'd seen in the early hours of the morning on the day we flew home. Joe had just returned from the Russian Arctic, that sounded interesting. I wish I'd thanked him for being an inspiration. I became aware of his work when I read In Search of Neptune and learned that Joe was the photographer. I found more of his work, as his career progressed becoming well known to us landscape aficionados with his images seeming to appear everywhere.
That inspiration has continued along my own photography journey. Joe's books are my most thumbed photography books. When I thought about an End Frame article, the long shortlist I envisaged was one photograph; the image that stopped me in my tracks when first reading Scotland's Mountains. Some were slow burners, others had an immediate impact and some I knew would become favourites. When I turned to page 38, that was it for the next half hour. I stared transfixed at this image tucked away on page 38 was Lochan Na Staigne. Immediate feelings of envy (why couldn't I make images like that) quickly dissipated to pleasure. Ansell Adams' Snake River, Grand Tetons had and does remain a favourite, but when I saw Lochan Na Stainge I knew I had a new one - why?
The muted colour pallet in which greys predominate is striking, then there is the quality of the light; with both lending pathos and, simultaneously being uplifting creating balance and a frame full of energy.
I see and think in colour and, these days I produce little black and white work. The muted colour pallet in which greys predominate is striking, then there is the quality of the light; with both lending pathos and, simultaneously being uplifting creating balance and a frame full of energy. I've listened to Joe's thoughts on composition and read just about all he's written on the subject, but it was this image that made sense of what he was saying. I made me think about the decision making processes that were employed. Compositional considerations, capturing the light, the degree of control over the highlights, masterful use of exposure onFuji Velvia, (not the most forgiving film), the use of the cracked ice as a foreground to draw attention and contrast of the rounded shapes of the three lumps providing a visual stepping stone through the frame. Where they're placed in the frozen lochan and how they echo the mountains create a balance that is restful and invigorating at the same time. The sharpness and clarity of the cracked ice is a joy to see and being able to appreciate the technical considerations of such wonderful depth of focus added to my enjoyment. The rendering of the dark clouds and rocks to the left the frame appeared at first sight to unbalance the composition but on reflection, my thoughts turned to an appreciation of the dark tones adding a sense of threat and a tension that creates a new vignette. That new character differs from the tonal balance and the image's overall serenity and in doing so creates a counterpoint that draws attention back into the frame, as well as making me think about what's over the mountains.
Lochan Na Stainge has been a schoolmaster, teaching me much about composing a photograph, and has been the catalyst to me adopting (or at least trying to adopt) Joe's philosophy of creating balance, depth and energy into my compositions.
This is a piece of art that opens up so many emotions. it uplifts whilst creating a sense of pathos, and is restful and energising at the same time as well as being dramatic and simple.
But I think it's the sheer enjoyment of viewing this photograph that I wanted to discuss here. Inevitably I was always going to write a critique when preparing this article. I have recounted many of my preparatory notes which centre on my critical observations but the emotional connection is obviously unique to me.
This is a piece of art that opens up so many emotions. it uplifts whilst creating a sense of pathos, and is restful and energising at the same time as well as being dramatic and simple. I don't know of many images that I've seen that can open up so many conflicting emotions and moods as Lochan Na Stainge, Meall a Bhuiridh beyond does. I first read Scotland's Mountains when I was starting to worry that my mobility wasn't all it should be. After the diagnosis of a degenerative spinal condition, the dawning realisation of that my ability to access remote wilderness would quite quickly diminish was sobering Joe's work became my vicarious access to this photographer's playground. That's when Lochan Na Stainge's became more significant, becoming far more important to me as an image and as a steppingstone to inspiration. Physiotherapy and drugs help my problem but the thought that one winter's day I'll stand on the shore of Lochan Na Stainge is my motivator to maintain my mobility and continue to call myself a landscape photographer. This image is an old friend, I know it as well as I would the lines and contours on the face of a loved one and think of it in the same way.
Welcome to our 4x4 feature which is a set of four mini landscape photography portfolios submitted from our subscribers. Each portfolios 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!
I live in Fort Collins, Colorado, USA. In our city, we have 48 natural areas, scattered throughout the city, but especially along the Poudre River. Several months ago I started a project to visit each of these natural areas and look for intimate landscapes within them. Recently the weather turned cold and the river has frozen over in places. I have been thrilled and amazed at the remarkable images the river affords in its frozen state. I wander along its banks for hours, looking for interesting compositions. It has become one of my favourite ways to spend a morning.
It is being said that we are entering a new age. No longer simply the product of evolutionary transformation, we human beings are now driving it. Not surprisingly, we have named this new age after ourselves – The Anthropocene. This new age marks the ascension of human will through the things we build and the garbage we leave behind.
Wilderness, the wild places of the world, are shrinking. We come to them now like tourists visiting an exotic zoo. We prize them for what they have to offer us – beauty, recreation, healing medicines and a retreat from the narcissistic wasteland we have made for ourselves. But the true value of these wild places is not in what they have to offer us. They are of value because they are life itself. Not something apart from us but something of which we are apart.
These photographs are the result of two, month-long journeys paddling the remote Berens and Bloodvein Rivers that flow down through Northeastern Manitoba into Lake Winnipeg. During the course of these journeys, my wife and I, just the two of us travelling alone, felt ourselves shedding our skins of civilized certainty and entering into a deep wilderness dialogue. We slowly awoke to ancient memory – we were once wild too. We arose with the sun and moved with the unfolding cycle of the day. We entered a dialogue that was both listening and revealing, receiving and giving, as the “I” so carefully nurtured and prized, slowly dissolved. We remembered who we really were and were welcomed home.
For years I have travelled all over the wonderful state of Florida photographing landscapes of state and national parks. I was returning from a trip to Tallahassee last summer when I realised that nearly all the parks I had photographed over the years were near to, or at sea-level. When you consider that sea-levels are expected to rise between four and ten feet over the next fifty years, all the landscapes I had photographed will soon be gone due to climate change.
Florida is the proverbial "canary in the coal mine" when it comes to climate change. The times we have King Tides (full moons that coincide with a high tide when the moon is also closest to the earth) it is not uncommon for the seawater to flood in the streets of Miami and Miami Beach. This collection of photographs are likely to be gone in my children's lifetime along with my Miami house. I hope to bring awareness to Florida's plight, and to inspire others to get out and enjoy our beautiful outdoors before it is gone forever.
Tim spoke to Jon Gibbs for our Featured Photographer spot back in March 2013. You can read the original interview here. Jon was the very first winner of Take A View’s UK Landscape Photographer of the Year competition in 2007 and this success helped him to turn his dream of becoming a full-time photographer into a reality. After 10 years running the Saltmarsh Coast Gallery in Wells-next-the-Sea with Gareth Hacon, Jon has announced that the gallery will close this year, so we thought we’d find out what he plans to do in its place and how things have developed for him in the last 5 years.
Congratulations on keeping the Gallery going during an especially difficult decade. Has anything in particular prompted you and Gareth to call it a day, or is it simply time to do something different?
Thanks, it has been a great experience and we are justly proud of our efforts, especially as all we have known over the last ten years has been a state of economic uncertainty. Starting up an independent retail business takes a lot of guts and I have nothing but admiration for those who continue to do so, it is not easy. From our point of view, we’ve had some real peaks and troughs and over the last couple of years I think both me and Gareth have run out of steam and now we feel that perhaps it is better to move on; the timing certainly feels right.
Now the fact is that there is hardly a roadside pond or pool that has not as much landscape in it as above it. It is not the brown, muddy, dull thing we suppose it to be; it has a heart like ourselves, and in the bottom of that are the boughs of the tall trees and the blades of the shaking glass, and all manner of hues of variable pleasant light out of the sky. ~John Ruskin, Modern Painters.1
As will be all too evident from my previous articles for On Landscape2, I like to make images of water in its various forms, but particularly the interaction of light and flowing water in streams and rivers. The attraction in making many of these images is often the points and lines of concentrated light that make the surface sparkle (and, of course, makes deciding on an exposure difficult!). We can sometimes use these points and lines with a slower shutter speed to give an indication of the movement of the water (see Sarine at Hauterive Caustic Traces below), or blur them out over a second or more to create more abstract patterns (see Eden at Shoregill Abstract below). Those points and lines of bright light are called caustics3 . We may have some vague ideas that they are caused by the effects of refraction and reflections in the flowing water. That is indeed the case, but caustics turn out to be a really interesting physical phenomena that have impact in a wide range of domains from dark matter and gravitational lensing around stars, to sound (the “whispering gallery” effect), understanding the ionosphere, non-destructive testing, and the interpretation of remote sensing images. From a photographer’s point of view, they are also important in how we see the rainbow, mirages, and the interaction between curved architectural glass and light.
Sarine at Hauterive: Caustic traces to show movement
Eden at Shoregill Abstract
Caustics may be defined as the envelope of light rays that have been reflected or refracted from a curved surface and projected onto a surface where they can be visualised.
This is not actually new, the first known drawing of such a caustic ray tracing is actually by Leonardo Da Vinci (that man again!) and dates from around 1508. Leonardo’s drawing is similar to that we see when sunlight is reflected from the side of a teacup onto the surface of the tea in it.
They can be generated quite easily for different light sources and surfaces using the modern computer visualisation technique of ray tracing that is used widely in computer graphics and games.
This is not actually new, the first known drawing of such a caustic ray tracing is actually by Leonardo Da Vinci (that man again!) and dates from around 1508. Leonardo’s drawing is similar to that we see when sunlight is reflected from the side of a teacup onto the surface of the tea in it. Other common examples are the often complex patterns of light passing through a glass of clear water onto a tabletop, and the patterns on the surface of a swimming pool when the surface is disturbed, as famously represented in the “Underwater Swimmer” image of André Kertész from 19174 and some of the Californian pool paintings of David Hockney. Sometimes we will see both the surface caustic and its reflection from the bottom of the pool or stream. With modern computational algorithms, it is possible to do ray tracing for a wide variety of complex lighting situations, including the generation of caustics in rendering surface water surfaces5. It is even possible to “reverse engineer” caustics. Work at EPFL at Lausanne in Switzerland has shown that a specially designed acrylic sheet can be used with a light source such that the resulting caustics give a clear image on a surface (they reproduced a photographic portrait of Alan Turing in their demonstration).
Leonardo Da Vinci, drawing of a caustic, ~1508 (British Library, codex Arundel 263, folio 87v)
Rainbows are another nice example of caustics at work. We all learned at school how rainbows result from the refraction of light and internal reflection in raindrops. Since different wavelengths of light are refracted by slightly different angles6, incoming sunlight is split into the spectrum of visible wavelengths and the resulting rainbow will be seen most clearly when the observer is at 42° to the direction of incoming light from the sun, especially if there is a large black cloud in just the right place for a good photo possibility….. In fact, most rays of light pass through the raindrops with little impact; it is only those that cross on leaving the drop that creates a caustic to give the intensity of the colours and the clean separation at the edges. The caustic surface or caustic sheet separates the region where rays of light cross and the light is concentrated, from those where they spread giving a darker region.
Rainbows are another nice example of caustics at work. We all learned at school how rainbows result from the refraction of light and internal reflection in raindrops.
For certain sizes of uniform raindrops, diffraction effects can also kick in7, resulting in extra supernumary rainbow arcs8, though to see more than one is rather rare (except perhaps in the fine spray at certain waterfalls – WR cameras and lenses recommended!).
There is a whole book devoted to caustics by John Nye, Professor of Physics at Bristol University (he is also an expert on the structure and properties of ice and glaciers)9. His latest scientific paper, published this year, is on Symmetrical Optical Caustics (note that Prof. Nye was born in 1923!). In his book, he notes that the study of caustics and the diffraction phenomena associated with them has revolutionised the study of optics, with a mathematical foundation being laid down by the developments in catastrophe theory by the French mathematician René Thom and others. A caustic surface is effectively a form of separating surface analogous to the catastrophe surfaces in the theory.
With the advent of catastrophe theory it is realised that there is hitherto unsuspected organisation in such patterns….. Nature also has its way of focussing light, but it is rather different. In nature there are few approximations to point foci; those that do occur are mostly in the eyes of animals, where nature has been aided by biological evolution. Rather, when light from a distant source passes through a refracting medium the natural result is the concentration of rays on to bright caustic surfaces. Even when the light is monochromatic, closer examination reveals that the caustics are not perfectly sharp but are softened by being decorated with characteristic diffraction structure…. Thus there is a whole spectrum of scales to be explored, with each increase in resolution revealing new structure.~ John Nye, preface to the book
Nye shows that at the macroscopic level (much greater than the wavelength of light), the scale at which we normally photograph, the stable objects are the caustics. There is a theorem from Thom that proves that there are only five distinctly different forms in up to three dimensions10. At finer scales, each of the five caustic forms has its own diffraction pattern, providing structure as the magnification increases (see Sarine at Hauterive: Bright Stars below, where there is a diffraction fringe around the main caustic).
In 1977, Michael Berry, one of Nye’s colleagues at Bristol had shown that these fine scale patterns can be fractal in nature, with all the rich complexity of structure that implies. Berry and Nye identified a problem, however, in that many caustic patterns in water show triple junctions that do not appear in the simple catastrophes. This was explained in the later work by Upstill11 who showed the complexity of caustic patterns that could arise by having two sets of surface waves intersecting at an angle. Such waves can be generated by the wind or other disturbance, and wave reflections from a boundary (such as in a swimming pool) or the turbulent vortices generated over a rough stream bed. Fractal optics is now a subject area in physics in its own right but the fine scale structures will generally be invisible to the macroscale photographer. What we can see are the caustics (and perhaps some lens diffraction) and their changing patterns over time. Nye has shown that small dynamic perturbations can result in changing patterns, albeit based on the same basic forms.
Sarine at Hauterive: Bright Stars (Reflection Caustics with Diffraction Patterns)
For the macroscopic caustics, we can use ray tracing to try to visualise the type of patterns we might expect in shallow water for a simple case with some waves on the surface, lit by the sun directly overhead. This can lead to some caustic sheets beneath each waveform as a result of intersecting refracted rays in the water (diacaustics), and to reflection caustics (catacaustics) when the waves are at just the right angle to reflect light to the eye or camera lens. Reflection also results in the light being polarised, which is why a polarizing filter can be so effective in reducing glare from water surfaces. These two situations are demonstrated using ray tracing in the figures for refraction and reflection, but it is necessary to remember that what the eye or lens sees will be only the rays reaching their small aperture to be recorded by whatever sensor lies behind it. Thus for the case of refraction caustics, we will normally see the light scattered from the caustic by the bed back towards the eye (and refracted again as it leaves the water).
Movement of the surface waves through which the light is passing will cause the forms of the caustics to persist but the location to shift. In some cases, small scale perturbations of the moving surface will mean that specular highlights can appear and disappear at the same place. This can give the appearance of sparkling on the surface. The situation in shallow water can be further complicated by caustics resulting from the reflection of rays from an irregular bottom surface interacting with other rays. Full sun on a water surface can, therefore, exhibit a number of different types of caustics, due to reflection, refraction from the surface and reflections from the bed that might all be seen in an image. These will be the bright highlights in the image, but there will also be colour, a result of reflections of the sky and surroundings from the water surface (sometimes called skypools and landpools12) and illumination of the bed (at least where the water is clear enough).
Eden at Shoregill (Landpools, Skypools and Caustics)
The images below represent the sum of all these effects. There are different types of caustics and reflections shown. Caustic highlights are sometimes playing across the surface as both points and patterns. Surface reflection caustics tend to lie in the depressions in the surface, where rays of reflected light will cross and concentrate the reflected light. This can occur between linear ripples on the surface. Refraction can lead to dynamic grid like patterns crossing the stream bed induced by the undulations in the water surface above.
Colours are a mix of reflected light and the transmitted colours of the bed materials. Larger patches of white highlight will generally be from the reflected sky rather than caustic sheets. Some colour fringing associated with the caustics can also sometimes be seen (see Eden at Stenkrith: Refraction Caustics and Edge of Pothole). This is a form of strong chromatic aberration resulting from the wavy surface acting as a rather poorly designed lens. Refraction causes the focusing of different wavelengths at different points on the exit ray pathways towards the eye. It is perhaps a little ironic that something that we would normally wish to avoid in purchasing a lens, can be rather attractive in an image of a water surface.
Film tends to handle such highlights with smoother transitions but the increasing dynamic range of newer digital sensors is making it easier to bring back underexposed areas.
Exposure of caustics in these images can be difficult. Exposure to the right so as to avoid clipping of caustics can result in underexposure of the rest of the image using both film and digital sensors. After all, they represent concentrated light. When the highlights are moving, a slower shutter spread can spread the load across the sensor area. This can be advantageous in getting streaks of highlights to focus attention on the dynamics of the flow; it can be disadvantageous in smearing patterns of highlights unless aiming for a more abstract pattern of colours. Aperture can also be important, since the smaller the aperture then the greater the effects of diffraction (something than can also be used to good effect in producing sunstars). Exposure is usually, therefore, some form of compromise and acceptance of some clipping. Film tends to handle such highlights with smoother transitions but the increasing dynamic range of newer digital sensors is making it easier to bring back underexposed areas.
Even after many years of experience, these types of water images remain an experimental process. Sometimes they work, sometimes not. The advantage of digital in that respect is that there can be immediate feedback on the choice of aperture, shutter speed, ISO and any filters used. Having said that, some of my favourite images have been taken on film, particularly Fuji Reala when it was still available (Eden at Stenkrith: Refraction Caustics and Edge of Pothole is one). I am, however, happy that the challenge is still there and will keep me occupied for still more years to come.
Sarine at Hauterive (Caustics over pebbles)
Eden at Stenkrith (Refraction and reflection caustics and Edge of Pothole)
Eden at Hell Gill (Skypools and caustics over rock and algae)
Sarine at Hauterive (Caustic Sheets and Reflected Sky)
Versasca at Lavertezzo (Patterns of caustics over rock surfaces)
Versasca near Brioni (Caustics over a stony bed)
Verzasca at Lavertezzo (Caustics over smooth rock with quartz intrusions)
Verzasca at Lavertezzo (Caustic Textures, colours from rock bed)
Sarine at Hauterive (3D caustic patterns, small skypools)
Verzasca at Lavertezzo (dry rock, caustics in shallow flow, deep water)
References
[1] Quoted in M. G. J. Minnaert, 1993, Light and Color in the Outdoors, (English edition), Springer; originally published in Dutch in1937, with a 5th edition in 1968, with some modifications arising from an earlier translation into Finnish!
[5] See, for example, Foley et al., 1996. Computer Graphics: Principles and Practice, 2nd ed. Addison-Wesley.
[6] Perhaps you remember Snell’s law of refraction? That dates from 1621 though Michael Berry in his 2015 paper on Nature’s Optics in the journal Contemporary Physics points out that this law was derived independently by Descartes in his 1638 explanation of the rainbow (but with some wrong underlying assumptions), was known to Harriot in 1602 well before Snell, and to Ibn Sahl some 500 years before that!
[7] Diffraction is the bending of light around a sharp edge or through a small aperture as the result of interference in the wave like nature of light, resulting in dark and light banding. The effect depends on the wavelength of the light and the size of the aperture (hence the longer arms of sunstars when a lens is set at small apertures). It occurs with all types of waves, including waves on a water surface.
[8] Michael Berry’s paper is worth looking up as it contains a fine photograph by Roy Bishop of a bright rainbow, secondary rainbow and supernumary diffraction rainbows curving over the birthplace of Isaac Newton. Nothing like being in the right place at the right time with a camera to hand! He points out that this is somewhat ironic in that Newton was not able to explain the supernumary rainbows in his optics. The effects were known at that time due to the work of Grimaldi but Newton suggested that they were due to the inflexion of the paths of the light rays. A full explanation required the wave theory of diffraction which came later, particularly after the work of Thomas Young in 1803 and Augustin-Jean Fresnel in 1825 (he of the Fresnel lenses used in focusing screens and to reduce the length of telephoto lenses).
[9] J. F. Nye, 1996, Natural Focusing and Fine Structure of Light: Caustics and Wave Dislocations, IOP Publishing. There is a transcript of an interview with John Nye as part of the British Library’s National Life Stories archive at https://sounds.bl.uk/related-content/TRANSCRIPTS/021T-C1379X0022XX-0000A0.pdf
[10] These are the fold, the cusp, the swallowtail, the elliptic umbilical, and the hyperbolic umbilical (see Nye’s book or the chapter on Natural Focusing by Michael Berry in The Artful Eye edited by Gregory et al., Oxford University Press, pp 311 – 323). There are some nice illustrations of various forms in Berry and Upstill, Catastrophe Optics: Morphologies of caustics and their diffraction patterns, that can be found at https://michaelberryphysics.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/berry089.pdf
[11] C. Upstill, 1979, Light caustics from rippling water, Proc. Royal Society, A365: 95-104
[12] See David K Lynch and William Livingstone, 1995, Color and Light in Nature (2nd Edition), Cambridge University Press, Section 3
Supposedly photography’s place in the world of art has been established for decades. But is it really? Or is it merely a certain type of photography that is even considered as such?
My recent visit to the Museum of Photography in Berlin made me wonder. The almost complete absence of landscape photography left me somewhat disappointed. The only exception was a couple of tiny Alfred Stieglitz prints and even those could only barely be counted as such. Of course, the location is not only the Museum of Photography. Two thirds of the exhibition rooms belong to the Helmut Newton Foundation and are arranged accordingly. Therefore, finding mainly a certain type of photography should not have been surprising. Only the third storey is being used for a variety of exhibitions from all photography genres by the Photography Collection of the Berlin Art Library.
The Newton Foundation is currently exhibiting works from the private collection of Carla Sozzani. There were many portraits, some fine artworks for example by Sarah Moon or Duane Michals and a seemingly endless amount of fashion photography. Additionally, there were the mentioned Stieglitz prints and one Edward Weston print if I remember correctly. My disappointment may be a bit unfair because of the general concept of the exhibition and also because for a long time fashion photography had a rather hard time to be accepted in the art world as well. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help it.
My disappointment may be a bit unfair because of the general concept of the exhibition and also because for a long time fashion photography had a rather hard time to be accepted in the art world as well.
The Art Library exhibition covers artist portraits throughout the 20th century. So as not to be misunderstood, it was a wonderful collection of photographs showing many fascinating artists and I really loved seeing it.
Still, I could not help feeling that often times photography has sought validation as art through the portrayal of established artists like Picasso, Frida Kahlo, Andy Warhol, Georgia O'Keeffe. Those were just the most portrayed artists of the exhibition, some of which I had already noticed in the Carla Sozzani collection as well. Many of these portraits are several decades old and therefore do not necessarily express a current trend. Their prominent presence can likely also be explained by exhibition politics, simply because certain artists will always draw in an audience.
After seeing the exhibitions, I went into the well-equipped bookstore of the museum. Again, I noticed hundreds of books on fashion photography and portraits, many books portraying high society and artists, some architecture and street photography, but very little landscape photography. There were one or two Ansel Adams books, one Edward Weston, Andreas Gursky of course, Sebastiao Salgado's 'Genesis' and at least the wonderful 'Landmark' book by William A. Ewing and 'Reading the Landscape' by Olaf Otto Becker. There were a couple more books by unfamiliar photographers, but compared to the total amount in the shop there were not many.
Despite all the logical explanations for the absence of landscape photography in this particular location, my lingering disappointment made me ponder the role of landscape photography in art and its status in general and I started some internet research.
Browsing through the online exhibition archive of the Museum of Photography, there does not seem to be much place for landscape images in general. During the last 14 years, there were exhibitions on street photography, architecture, war photography, portraits and nudes and yet again more fashion photography. I believe I have found only two exhibitions in the archive that can be classified as landscape photography, one by Michael Ruetz in 2014 and another by Sigrid Neubert in 2018.
America generally seems to have a greater appreciation for landscape photography as art. The American identity seems to be very much connected to the American landscapes.
I then went through the website archives of other photography museums and established art galleries worldwide. I can't claim to have done an in-depth research on this, but my impression was that the situation seems similar in other photography museums and galleries in Europe. Browsing through photography on Google Arts & Culture I came upon the collection of the Amon Carter Museum of American Art. This one stuck out. I love how photography sits comfortably between traditional paintings and sculpture in this gallery, online at least. I have not visited the place of course. America generally seems to have a greater appreciation for landscape photography as art. The American identity seems to be very much connected to the American landscapes. Likewise, from early on landscape photography has been closely connected to the naturalist movement and the impact of photography on the establishment of national parks cannot be disregarded.
In Germany, the kind of landscape photography you see in art galleries still seems to be based very much on the traditions of the ‘New Objectivity’ art movement which was largely represented by the Bechers’ School of Photography in Düsseldorf. Andreas Gursky being the most well known photographer from this school. Unfortunately, this is the kind of photography that leaves me personally largely unaffected, with one exception by the name of Elger Esser. However, he seems to have parted ways with the concepts of his companions and teachers for the most part, because his work is decidedly not objective. For me, art and objectivity exclude each other and the attempt at objectivity always seems affected and merely disinterested to me.
There are numerous other contemporary landscape photography trends, among which we've got the ‘Instagram-adventure-hiking-boots-and-glowing-tents photographers’, the ‘candy-colour-atomic-glow-luminaters type of photographer’, the ‘moody-black-and-white-only-square-loving-long-exposure photographers’ and then there are those I mostly see in 'On Landscape' or the German magazine ‘Forum Naturfotografie'; photographers who seek a more laid-back, authentic and personal approach towards landscape photography.
Despite the cheek, I find that there are some wonderfully creative and original artists (and also many more imitators) in each of these groups. However, none of these currently seem to have a place in established art galleries.
Possibly the overabundance of contemporary landscape photography on the internet contributes to a certain decline of the value of landscape photography as art in general and maybe it will just take a couple of decades to filter through the landscape photographers whose work is strong and expressive enough to pass the test of time.
At least we still have small local galleries like the Joe Cornish Gallery who strive to present landscape photography as something other than the daily Instagram image overdose.
Still, I’d love to see something similar like the aforementioned American museum in Europe, e.g. a landscape art museum, a place where images by Eugène Atget could be seen in the same exhibition as paintings by Monet, Turner and Friedrich. There are galleries exclusively for portraits after all and they sometimes show photography in addition to paintings, the National Portrait Gallery in London for example.
Still, I’d love to see something similar like the aforementioned American museum in Europe, e.g. a landscape art museum, a place where images by Eugène Atget could be seen in the same exhibition as paintings by Monet, Turner and Friedrich. There are galleries exclusively for portraits after all and they sometimes
I have to admit I have struggled quite a bit with this article. Not only have I not done much writing during the last 15 years, but I also feel that I have largely failed to understand the current directions of contemporary landscape photography in the chaos that is photography on the internet. Especially getting a feeling for differences between European countries seems impossible through online-only research, which is why there are few references to those.
I’d love to read what others think on the topic and where you see your own work in all of this. Are exhibitions important to you? Would you like to see more of your favourite contemporary landscape photographers or your own work in established art galleries or do you dismiss those as an elitist and commercial environment?
Personally, I cannot see my photography in galleries, neither established art galleries where my style would not be suitable for the current perceived art world climate nor local photography galleries for which I feel my work is not cohesive and mature enough yet.
So far, I had one image in a nature photography exhibition and for the most part, I just felt embarrassed and like a pretender. Perhaps I have to grow some more confidence to be comfortable in an environment like that, but for now, I just want to grow as an expressive and more creative photographer. Luckily I don’t depend on my photography for an income and I don’t need exhibitions to woo potential clients.
