The reason why I decided to write "A Story Behind a Picture“ was my own surprise at one of my latest images from the Forest Quarter, an Austrian region that I am familiar with for more than forty years.

Forest Quarter is the northwestern part of the Austrian state of Lower Austria, bordering Bohemia in the Czech Republic to the north. Geologically it is part of the Bohemian Massif that stretches over most of the Czech Republic, eastern Germany, southern Poland and northern Austria. It consists of crystalline rocks which are older than the Permian (more than 300 million years old). Its bedrock of gneiss and granite is weathered to brown soil. The landscapes of this massif are mostly dominated by rolling hills. During my school days, I had the opportunity to spend time there for one or two weeks in the summer for several years. The extensively unspoilt nature in this place has drawn me back to this landscape after decades, now together with my wife.

We often go on a long hike along the valley of Kamp river, a northern tributary of the Danube. Particularly in its upper course, there are remote areas where we like to relax and recharge. They work as “places of power“ for us. On a day in mid-April this year, we were still waiting for the colours of spring in the valley. After a rather cold period in late winter and early spring, there appeared only some tiny buds. Within the otherwise bare forest along the river bank, some trunks and branches overgrown with bright green moss were standing out.

After hiking for several hours, we took a rest at a river bend. We tried to take in all the sensations. Closing my eyes, I could experience the sound of the water approaching from the left and flowing further to the right. The smell of the humid and fresh air added to this impression. Opening my eyes again, I found a new way to look at a group of trees at the opposite river bank. Its trunks and branches made for a most interesting structure for me, which was still enhanced by the bright green of the moss, contrasted by the rather dark background at dusk.

Trees are known to be connected by a complex underground system of their roots together with an extended interwoven mycelium, thereby allowing an exchange of nutrients as well as a sort of communication similar to a nervous system. And this kind of connectedness came into my mind when I had a look at the scene in front of us. The pattern with all the intertwined branches and twigs seemed to be full of action and dynamics.

Now there was the question of framing it aptly. In the first step, I decided on a 4:3 horizontal format, including only a small group of trees that represented the essence of this place in a convincing way for me. There are diverse diagonals formed by the trunks and branches, with the most prominent of them pointing to the lower right corner. I usually do not prefer to let diagonals lead the viewer exactly into one corner.

Therefore in my first attempts, I choose a composition with this branch cutting the right edge just a bit above the lower corner. But that way was unsatisfying and meaningless for me.

I finally let the prominent diagonal lead exactly to the corner, which made for interesting and compelling dynamics to my eye, maybe due to the more unstable composition. The kind of dynamic balance now just made the difference, in my opinion.

That was a new aspect of this place for me, which I used to experience as tranquil and peaceful, but now full of action and tension. A mindful approach after slowing down and taking in all the sensations has opened a new way of looking at a familiar place.

My previous article (Bidean nam Bian – A Walking Guide) described the ideas behind the first in a new series of detailed walking guides to some of Scotland's most iconic peaks. The following article charts the practical challenges of melding images, text, illustrations and maps into a concise and practical walking guidebook.

Bidean is a mountain which gives up its secrets one facet at a time. No single viewpoint, or single walk, can tell the whole story. It is a massif so crumpled and folded in on itself as to defy any attempt at a singular defining aspect. Perhaps the view of the Three Sisters from The Study comes close, although this only encompasses three of the nine hills and shows nothing of the higher peaks of the range. To journey into this mountain realm is to lose oneself in a rocky maze of ridges and corries of immense character. This is not a mountain of wide open skies and grand vistas but an almost subterranean world, enclosed and intriguing, where shattered cliffs surround haunting, silent corries, and fast flowing burns tumble through deep ravines. Once the corrie walls have been scaled, mile after mile of lofty ridges link up the summits; natural viewing belvederes high above the mountain sanctuaries of Coire Gabhail, Coire nam Beith, Coire Eilde and Coire nan Lochan.

The Routes

The concept of the book was to provide a detailed, comprehensive study of the massif, which includes the two Munros of Bidean nam Bian and Stob Coire Sgreamhach, along with all the subsidiary tops and the outer peaks.

Bidean nam Bian has a plethora of superb routes to the summit. Some are well known, but many are not, and traverse some of the most spectacular mountain terrains anywhere in the Scottish highlands. It was these lesser known routes which I wanted to highlight, in particular routes to the summits of the outer peaks such as Aonach Dubh, Beinn Fhada and Gearr Aonach (the three sisters). These mountains are right in the very heart of Glen Coe but are curiously unfrequented as most walkers generally head directly for the summit of Bidean. These outer peaks are both challenging and enjoy superb viewpoints in their own right. Any ascent can easily be extended to include the summit ridge of Bidean.

There are many fantastic routes through some wonderfully rugged ground in the heart of the massif. They explore hidden corries, tiptoe under and around some of the mighty rock buttresses of Bidean on tiny climbers tracks, and there are also routes on the quiet side of Bidean above Glen Etive where wildlife and wildflowers abound. These routes have a real flavour of gentle mountaineering about them, often weaving over steep and rugged ground by the easiest lines.

The mountain has nine separate summits, and each summit has its own chapter. As I was already very familiar with the mountain, so many of the routes were already well known, but some, and this was the fun part, were not at all. These routes were found by studying maps, scouring old guidebooks for clues and for some, just being curious and intriguing.

Taking An t-Sron as an example, the ridges were a natural place to start and one, the east ridge, turned out to be an absolute gem. There was a vague reference to it in the Irvine Butterfield guide 'The High Mountains of Britain and Ireland' but no reference of how to get onto the ridge from Coire nam Beith or any indication of the ridge above. Clearly, this needed investigating, and after an initial steep scrabble, it proved to be a fabulous route full of interest and with simply superb views. I have been up and down this ridge half a dozen times now, and it has become a firm favourite. Another route on An t-Sron, from Fionn Gleann is entirely of my own making and demonstrates my fondness for fossicking around on steep ground. It introduces the walker to the beautiful Fionn Gleann, another place which really deserves to be better known. Hidden in full view from the road through Glen Coe, this glen is an absolute gem. Full of wildflowers in the spring and early summer and with a beautiful river, this is the quiet side of Bidean.

These are just two examples, but they give a flavour of the book's less widely known routes. Finding the routes was very easy but narrowing them down was a different matter altogether.

My enthusiastic reference gathering had yielded over forty routes. The page count had reached five hundred and the book was in serious danger of needing to be split into two volumes, which would have been rather excessive for a single mountain, even one as complex as Bidean. I needed to do some pruning. The popular and well trodden routes to the summit had to stay in, in fact, any route with a path needed to stay in. I chose to discard the routes with a marked sense of exposure, this being a walking guide, so out went the Rhyolite romp and Ossian's rake due to the exposure, another steep and potentially problematic one on the north east face of Aonach Dubh, a beautiful but steep rocky scramble on the sunny side of Stob Coire nam Beith and several more. I finally settled on 31 excellent walks, which kept the page count reasonable yet still fulfilled the brief. Throughout the initial stage, I made copious notes on the ascents, particularly if it was on pathless terrain, but found that even then, I often needed to repeat a route just to make sure.The routes which were selected for the guide are a perfect mix of popular walks on good footpaths and my pick of the best pathless routes to the summits.

There are so many things I have learnt during the production of this guidebook. I had the unique privilege to work on the entire project, cover to cover, producing the text, photographs, illustrations and maps. Of course, I was working to a brief but, within those constraints, had free range to pick the routes, the aesthetics of the illustrations and maps and the accompanying photographs. The book became one of the most enjoyable projects I have worked on.

The process

One of the major challenges was linking the text description of the routes to the maps and illustrations. This was achieved by creating a standard template for each route, consisting of a brief introduction, then the route with a map, illustration and text description. Sequential numbering of each stage of the route was marked in the description and also on the map and illustration. I wanted the reader to be able to interact with the guidebook in as natural a way as possible. Some would choose the visual aspects of the guide to route find by using the map and illustration alone, some would use the text descriptions, and others would use a combination of the three depending on terrain, experience and conditions.

Looking back now, I can see how inefficient my working methods were. Many times I would go back to a route just to make sure I had the description absolutely perfect. It was often so very subtle a change which made the difference as I was learning all the time to match my interpretation of salient features on the ground to what others might see standing on the same piece of ground. Apart from these challenges, the book seemed to progress in a very organic way as routes were walked, illustrations and photographs made and maps completed, and it was always hugely enjoyable. I'm sure I could have been much more efficient if I had planned each walk meticulously before any field trips, such as matching a route walk with making an illustration, for example, but time pressures and goals achieved have no place on the hill, at least not for me. If there is to be joy in the book, then the process must be a joy. Just the sheer pleasure of walking through these beguiling mountains, spending time sketching views and watching the cloud shadows, or bathing tired feet in the crystal mountain burns at the end of a long day brought such simple happiness. Certainly, for the second book, I will try to plan ahead a little more, but we shall see.

All the routes were walked as ascents and descents at first, but it soon became apparent that some routes were steep and potentially problematic in descent. I, therefore, decided on the idea of steep up, easy down for the routes on pathless terrain, I don't want to frighten off my potential readership after all. The route planning stage proved to be supremely enjoyable, and I found so many interesting corners of the Bidean massif that I might never have found without the excuse of producing this guidebook. It proved time and again that even on a busy summer's weekend, and in an area as popular as Glen Coe, most of the hill is quiet away from the main paths. The hidden corners and secluded corries of this complex mountain massif live long in the memory.

After all the routes had been written up, illustrated and mapped, they were all meticulously tested with the help of some extremely kind volunteers. During this stage of continuous route finding and checking, I tallied up a total of almost 47,000 metres of ascent, and every day on the hill was a particular joy.

The Photographs

Although the guidebook was designed to be practical and pocket sized for use on the hill, it also needed to be inspirational, and the photographs were vital to the overall aesthetic. I had initially planned to use film as much as possible to keep with the classic 1950’s feel, but as the project went on, I found a digital workflow much more straightforward, as it cut out the time loss of having to wait for the film to be processed and scanned. The photographs also needed to be representational, to show features and topography and help clarify the written route descriptions. My interpretation of the landscape needed to take a back seat on this project which proved to be a blessing rather than a curse. Free from the burden of heavy cameras and tripods, I found a photographic simplicity which was a revelation and a relief to my ageing knees with so much steep ground to cover.

The Artwork

It was decided early on that the book should be a visual as well as an informative work. Photography is a wonderful media but can, on occasion, show a little too much information, particularly over complex ground. The illustrations were a way of showing what needs to be there but without the extraneous detail visible in a photograph.

For each route, I planned to produce an illustration to clarify the most challenging ground of each walk within the constraints of a single viewpoint. This concept of a single viewpoint was important to me as I wished to draw all the illustrations from life out on the hill. In this way, I could see exactly what was there as opposed to struggling to see details on a photograph far removed from the subject. On a purely personal level, it is what I enjoy most, sitting out on the hill with a sketchbook. Observation and interpretation are the key, but more than anything, just being alone and creatively engaged in a mountain environment that is such a pleasure.

On a practical note, the illustrations needed to be extremely accurate and not subject to too much artistic interpretation. In my thirty years as an artist, my drawing style has evolved to an extent that I knowingly exaggerate form so naturally that the discipline required for these illustrations was challenging at first. I ended up using a viewing frame, squared up using a sheet of acetate to plot out key features so as not to introduce any topographical distortions.

A heavy weight cartridge paper with an acrylic ground to seal the surface was used. This ground layer has a good 'tooth' or texture which gives the ink work character as the pen has a tendency to skip over the surface. The final stage of the process is a thin, translucent layer of paint to give some tone to the illustration. I wanted the illustrations to have the appearance of a silver gelatine photographic print, and to that end, I experimented with various ideas for the paint layer. Tests with ink and wash, diluted ink in isopropyl alcohol, watercolour and acrylic paints were made but none had quite the right feel. Finally, I found a way of getting the feel of a photographic print by using powdered graphite bound in a thin glaze of zinc white oil paint. The graphite gave a beautiful silvery sheen, and the zinc white was translucent so the ink drawing could still be seen clearly underneath.

The maps are similarly hand drawn and proved to be a real labour of love. My wish was that the routes would be able to be followed by using the maps and illustrations alone, with only a brief glance at the text for clarification if necessary. All well and good, but this meant that the mapping needed to be extremely accurate. Six weeks after starting the maps I emerged from my studio looking pale and hollow eyed...but with accurate maps.

In conclusion

Bidean nam Bian, or 'the pinnacle of the mountains' when translated from Gaelic, rewards a leisurely and prolonged exploration. To walk amongst it's mountain sanctuaries, crystal rivers and challenging crags can provide a lifetime of memorable experiences. It exerts a magnetic pull on mountaineers, hillwalkers and tourists alike, a mountain of challenges and rugged beauty, and a place of secular pilgrimage for those who love the high places.

Kickstarter Campaign

Walking in Glencoe Guide - Bidean nam Bian

In order to get the book started, we looked at raising enough money to print a pilot project which we could distribute in various outlets and assess the demand for the a longer print run. This first Kickstarter campaign will support the digital printing of 500 books and, if successful, will help us decide whether to extend the print run on a full litho printing press. There are a few different rewards available but the main reward will be an early copy of what we think will become a classic series of walking books.

There will be few, if any, subscribers to ‘On Landscape’ who are not aware of ‘The Landscape’ by Paul Wakefield (read our review of the book and our interview with Paul). I ordered it when it was first published in 2014, and now, some eight years later, my copy has that well read look to it. Paul’s work first came to my attention actually when, prior to 2014, I had bought a second hand copy of ‘Scotland: A Place Of Visions’ by Jan Morris and Paul Wakefield. I noticed in that book that Paul had included photographs made in Culbin Forest, which is located mostly in Moray in the North East of Scotland.

That interested me immediately as I live some 40 minutes by car from Culbin Forest and had been wandering the area now and again since I became aware of it in my early twenties. That’s more than forty years ago now. I had also established an interest in photography at that time, but it wasn’t until much later that I had developed an interest in intimate landscape photography and had begun to explore the local forests photographically circa 2014.

Culbin forest covers approximately 3,500 ha and forms part of the SSSI ‘Culbin Sands, Culbin Forest and Findhorn Bay’, which in turn covers some 5,000 ha. The forest was established on a huge dune structure known as Culbin Sands, an area surrounded by mystery and intrigue. The history goes back to the beginning of the 13th century with the actual destruction of the Culbin estate by wind blown sand happening in 1694. Did a substantial community comprised of 16 farms really vanish overnight in a sandstorm in the late 17th century? The book 'The Culbin Sands - A Mystery Unravelled' by Sinclair Ross, published in 1992 (a PDF version is available), goes some way in establishing what actually happened at Culbin. The Forestry Commission started to look at the area circa 1921. Marram grasses were replanted in order that some of the sand could be slowly stabilised before tree planting began, and today the resulting huge working forest is also managed so as to provide a key recreational resource for Forres, Nairn and the surrounding areas. The dune system is the largest in Britain, and substantial areas of that system have not been over-planted. Shingle ridges run parallel to the forest for 7km along the coast.

I had no objectives in mind really when I started to explore Culbin Forest with a camera, and thirteen years later, that is still true today. I photographed what grabbed my attention. Purposely some of the photographs were taken in overcast conditions in order to prevent over-exposing lichens and mosses. The area virtually never gets mist, and any sea haars burn off rapidly. Misty tree opportunities are therefore non existent unless one can substitute mist for rain. Snow is also a rare occurrence these days, but rainfall seems to be on the increase. The forestry access roads are well maintained, but one has to wander away from the tracks to be in the real forest and really experience it.

To maybe sit and watch for any wildlife. Smell the forest or listen or contemplate the living forest above and beneath one’s feet. Perhaps even to watch the wood ants climbing over those feet. They are never far away! The dune structure on which the forest was planted is, to a great extent, still apparent and can be over 30 metres in height in places. Culbin is full of surprises. In no way can it be described as being wild. However, even though it may be a huge working forest, it is also a sensitive area. If you plan a visit, please take care of walking off the tracks as rare plants, including national and regional rareties, can be found in Culbin. Likewise, rare lichens and fungi also exist in the fragile and diverse habitats. One species of fungi is not found at any other location in Britain.

One of the subjects I discussed with Paul was access, and we both agreed that walking provided the best opportunities for seeing photographs. I remember him telling me that “Culbin is a time consuming place.” He wasn’t wrong! I used to see Culbin as an ongoing project, a live project and one where I would add and cull images regularly. However, enter Guy Tal. In his book titled 'More Than A Rock' (p 107) he writes about projects and how he prefers the term explorations rather than projects. His point being that a project really requires to be completed for it to perhaps be seen as a success. An exploration, however is just that as he explains in his words, “I find ample and sustained reward in merely being engaged in something that interests and fascinates me: a journey that is more important than any preconceived destination.” I can’t say it better than that! Who could?

I will never come remotely close to exploring all of the forest but I accepted that a long time ago. Now, if the light is quiet preferably, I sometimes still make my way to Culbin and wander the forest and look to see what will grab my attention or revisit favourite locations just to see what has changed.  I might even take a photograph or two! ‘Finding a path – Culbin Forest’. It’s an exploration.

Thank you to Mark Reeve, Planning forester for Moray & Aberdeenshire FD, from Forestry Commission Scotland, for providing me with additional information about Culbin Forest. And finally, thank you to Paul Wakefield and Guy Tal for their inspiration and generosity.

References

‘The Landscape’ - Paul Wakefield. Published by Eddie Ephraums 2014., ISBN 10: 095647649X ISBN 13:9780956476494.

‘Scotland: A Place Of Visions’ - Jan Morris, Paul Wakefield. Published by Aurum Press 01/10/1986 ISBN 10: 0948149191 ISBN 13: 9780948149191.

‘More Than a Rock: Essays on Art, Creativity, Photography, Nature, and Life’. - Guy Tal. Published by Rocky Nook 15/02/2021
ISBN 10:1681986833.

‘The Culbin Sands - A Mystery Unravelled' - Sinclair Ross. Published by University of Aberdeen Centre for Scottish Studies 1992.
ISBN 10: 0906265169 and ISBN 13: 9780906265161.

The Scottish Society For Northern Studies provides us with a link to this pdf version of the above https://www.ssns.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/10_Ross_Moray_1993_pp_187-204.pdf

Additional information about the history of Culbin forest 1921 - 1951 can be found by following this link https://www.forestresearch.gov.uk/publications/archive-history-of-culbin-forest-1921-1951/

For those readers requiring further information on the work of the Forestry Commission in establishing Culbin Forest I would draw your attention to ‘The Culbin Story’ which is archive video footage from 1955. As the introduction informs us "This archive film was made in 1955 - just as the vast task of establishing a forest at Culbin was coming to an end. It tells the story of the people of Culbin being driven from the land by advancing sand and then the mammoth effort by the Forestry Commission to establish the forest we see today". The films are edited by I Anderson and narrated by J Urquhart.

I would also draw the attention of any potential visitors to the forest, and indeed forests in general, to the Forestry Research publication Lyme Disease. https://www.forestresearch.gov.uk/tools-and-resources/fthr/lyme-disease/

Living almost on the shores of Loch Ness for the past six years has allowed me easy and constant access to the water. I wasn't travelling as much as I do now in the first few years of living here, so I decided to photograph the Loch every single day for one year. It pushed me to find locations, notice weather patterns, and produce imagery that I may not have done otherwise.

Loch Ness is one of the largest lochs in Scotland, and mostly, it is windy and often grey. But when conditions are good, there is no better place. Early mornings in the winter are generally when I find these incredible pockets of peace. The water is still and glassy, everyone else is sleeping, the mist of low before the wind picks up, and the sounds of nature are all you can hear. I have watched weather forecasts for many years and noticed patterns. If I can see a possible window of opportunity the following day. I will pack all my gear and get ready for an early start. Depending on sunrise, I can be out by 5 am and my day is done by 9 am.

The year project just continued past its end date. I stopped going out every single day as I found I was forcing myself out in conditions that just weren't right. It was time-consuming and not very helpful photographically. Instead, I have continued to photograph the Loch only during the moments that I find beautiful and peaceful.

I have wanted to make a book of these images for many years. In 2018 I sat down and grouped my images into chapters and came up with chapter names and a book name: Still Waters. I printed out possible images for each chapter using a cheap printer that returned a large bundle of 6x8 images. These were laid out all over my floor, and I began work on image selection.

Five years ago, I told myself the story that I was a photographer, and I couldn't write. But I have always thought that words and images work together to create a deeper understanding of any art form. It was during working towards an exhibition at the Bosham Gallery in 2019 and a deeper exploration of the meaning behind my work that I really learned that I could write. We should never put ourselves in boxes.

But back in 2017/18, I decided to ask for help from one of my dearest friends. Chloe, who went to Art college with me in Manchester. We also found we both loved the sea and quiet places, and over time, I felt she knew me best. Chloe was always a powerful writer and has since become a published author. I asked her to write the intro to the book.

There is a general idea that you need someone well-known to write your intro if your book is going to be any good. I felt that I needed someone who knew me really well.

Chloe wrote a beautiful intro, chapters, and words to match the images. This book is unusual in that two artists, not just one, create it.

I then asked my designer friend David McCreight if he could put it together for me. The design was beautiful, and I was happy. So the question is, why did I take four years to print this book?

At the end of 2018, Suddenly, life got busy. I started my new landscape workshop business and was already busy running my social photography business. I had spent some time figuring out how to make this book work. What sort of printing, what size, what would the cost be? I had approached a local printing company and went through paper choices and book types but felt swamped with options, and the price just didn't make it commercially viable. I researched sponsorship and funding options and spent a long time just trying to figure out how on earth anyone didn't just make a significant loss on books. I approach my landscape photography from a very business viewpoint. My livelihood depends on it, and I didn't have spare funds to finance the book at this time. So it had to be profitable. With no answers to my questions, I ended up just putting the project away on the shelf. It stayed there for many years.

In 2019 I had a solo exhibition at the Bosham Gallery, and the gallery produced a small book of my images and words about the works. This process was pivotal in my career as I learned how to write. It deepened my understanding of my work and made me see the value of vocalising the images' meaning. I battled through the writing slowly and steadily, guided at all times by Luke Whittaker, the gallery owner. He taught me how to articulate my thoughts and express them through the exhibition's writing. After the exhibition, I had several books leftover and continue to sell them online. They are simple but a beautiful representation of my Hebridean seascapes, and I am incredibly proud of this book.

Fast forward 4 years, and I was sitting on a rock in Harris looking through one of Sean Tuckers Collection of images books. It struck me that the concept was similar to my quiet book. The same simple production fitted into my camera back, which I had taken down to the beach with me. We are often drawn down paths because that is how things are supposed to be done. That is how a photographic book should be; A large hardback coffee table book, with many pages, a more expensive and polished affair.

I recalled watching a video by Sean Tucker on creating zines, and a few days later revisited it and was led to ExWhyZed printing. I watched all their videos and reached out to them. What if I could match the size of the Quiet book I already stocked to eventually produce a whole series of books that matched in style. I have been working on a new idea for some while, along the lines of writing my thoughts next to images of the Hebrides. So maybe I can simply get the Loch Ness into print to prove the quality and method first.

By the end of my week on the Hebrides, I had decided on paper, finish, size and design. I adapted the original design to allow for new work of loch ness to be included, and the printers had been exceptionally responsive and helpful. It was a very easy experience. The price meant I would see a profit after selling 70 copies, and I felt pretty sure I could do that. I have a very engaged and lovely community that follows me, and I felt that would do as a start. So as long as I wasn't losing, it was a great exercise.

The final book has just been delivered, and I am delighted with the quality and feel. I also had forgotten how incredibly proud you feel when you see a physical product of your art.

Still Waters - Loch Ness is available from Margaret's website for £16

You can follow Margaret on Instagram at: https://www.instagram.com/margaretsoraya/

Book Photos

Gallery

Extending for about 900 hectares, the pinewood of Classe (RA) is directly mentioned in Dante’s Divine Comedy (Purgatorio XXVIII, v20). The poet himself – who spent the last 19 years of his life in exile, dying in 1321 in the near city of Ravenna – is believed to have wandered into this forest. Despite the modifications that occurred in the area over the centuries, this remains one of the very few settings, among those mentioned by Dante, in which we are still given the opportunity to experience the original sense of the place as preserved in the poem.

The project originated as an attempt to create an evocative series of images which could guide the viewer along the paths of light unfolding within this dense and ancient forest (see more images on Pio's website). Since I did not want my photographs to be mere illustrations of those verses describing this wood, I instead focused on the journey that both Dante and the reader had already undertaken before reaching the Earthly Paradise. In fact, these verses of Purgatorio XXVIII are almost impossible to read without our mind immediately recalling the dark wood of Inferno, the other forest in which Dante finds himself at the very beginning of his journey. On the contrary, such inevitable comparison is the key element through which the intensity of light can now become so vividly depicted. Likewise, the series develops as a crescendo of light, slowly penetrating the forest to reveal its inner paths.

I remember feeling the need for a very rigorous visual approach that could at least mitigate the risk of otherwise being devoured by the inconceivable vastness of the subjects unfolding before me everywhere I could turn. I, therefore, soon decided to shoot the entire project on a 50mm equivalent lens, looking for those scenes in which the monumentality of this unique landscape could become more evident. Since I wanted the viewer to be able to move their eyes on the entire surface of each image, I always tried to focus on the hyperfocal distance – usually at f/8 – thus preserving readability to its fullest, even in the finest details.

To my great surprise, this appears to be the first photographic project on the topic. If, on the one hand, I did remember about this forest from school, what really made me step into this pinewood for the first time was the – very – strong determination with which my wife, the painter Anna Evdokimova, insisted that we visited it during our stay in Ravenna, where we had been invited to arrange an exhibition for Camera Work, in 2018. Back then, she had just read about the pinewood of Classe in an essay by the famous Russian poet Ol’ga Aleksandrovna Sedakova, one of the greatest contemporary authors and among the finest and most relevant critics and translators of Dante’s work. Although on that occasion we managed to spend there a few hours only, neither of us could stop thinking about that landscape.

From the very beginning, I had the opportunity to share my initial thoughts as well as the first photographs with Ol’ga Sedakova. She herself had visited the pinewood long before we met, and I was very reassured by the way she felt about both the idea of my project and the first few “visual notes” I was able to show her. Meeting her and her assistant was of the uttermost importance for my series to develop in the way it did. Funnily enough, not only did Ol’ga Sedakova write a superb essay for my book La Divina Foresta Spessa e Viva, but she also very kindly allowed one of the photographs from the final series to be featured in the endpapers of her new publication, Mudrost’ Nadezhdy i Drugie Razgovory O Dante, which came out shortly after mine.

A second essential contribution, which instead focuses on the evolution of the landscaping features of the pinewood, was written by the Italian professor Giorgio Lazzari, among the most prolific and well-respected researchers in the field providing the reader with a context to understand the traits of this ancient forest better.

Since Dante is supposed to have entered the Earthly Paradise in the early morning of a Spring day (either on the 30th of March or on the 13th of April, 1300), I needed to photograph the pinewood in a similar period of the year. For the same reason, I managed to have the book printed in March (in Florence, Dante’s hometown, by La Progressiva) and then published it in April 2021.

In the same year, the project became part of the official programme for the Seventh Centenary of Dante Alighieri’s Death, with the Municipality of Ravenna contributing to publishing the first edition of the book and hosting a 3-week solo exhibition.

Divina Commedia, Purgatorio XXVIII (vv. 1-3, 19-24)

Italian

1 Vago già di cercar dentro e dintorno
2 la divina foresta spessa e viva,
3 ch’a li occhi temperava il novo giorno,
[...]
19 tal qual di ramo in ramo si raccoglie
20 per la pineta in su ’l lito di Chiassi,
21 quand’ Ëolo scilocco fuor discioglie.

22 Già m’avean trasportato i lenti passi
23 dentro a la selva antica tanto, ch’io
24 non potea rivedere ond’ io mi ’ntrassi;

English (Mandelbaum)

1 Now keen to search within, to search around
2 that forest—dense, alive with green, divine—
3 which tempered the new day before my eyes,
[...]
19 just like the wind that sounds from branch to branch
20 along the shore of Classe, through the pines
21 when Aeolus has set Sirocco loose.

22 Now, though my steps were slow, I’d gone so far
23 into the ancient forest that I could
24 no longer see where I had made my entry;

English (Longfellow)

1 Eager already to search in and round
2 The heavenly forest, dense and living—green,
3 Which tempered to the eyes the new—born day,
[...]
19 Such as from branch to branch goes gathering on
20 Through the pine forest on the shore of Chiassi,
21 When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.

22 Already my slow steps had carried me
23 Into the ancient wood so far, that I
24 Could not perceive where I had entered it

Book Photographs

Gallery

For the past six and half years, I have made the majority of my income from photography, and the majority of this income has been from print sales.

I live in west Wales, right at the point where the three counties of Ceredigion, Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire meet; the “old” Dyfed. It’s a beautiful area, and I have never felt the need to drive more than an hour for my landscape photography, save for the odd trip to Blaenau Ffestiniog (which I love) and London.

Aberystwyth

I sell my landscape prints through a couple of art and craft cooperatives which have permanent galleries, sale or return in a large number of seasonal and permanent outlets, and with four craft groups of which I am a member where, from Easter to October, we rent suitable premises from a few days to 5 months and divide the stewarding duties.

To be perfectly honest, I have come not to like many of the images that sell the best, and they’d certainly end up nowhere near my wall, and conversely, the images that I do really like, sell modestly or, in some cases, not at all!

I have, though, really enjoyed the process of building up a portfolio of these saleable images, of learning about the landscape where I live, learning to understand how weather, tide and light can combine in different places to produce pleasing results. I have enjoyed (re)learning how to use a camera in a variety of situations and to take control of the controllables to get the images that I want. I have enjoyed learning how to use software to process the RAW files to give a finished photo that looks the way that I want it to but retains an integrity to what I witnessed. The whole thing has been fun!

Cenarth

Henllan

The thing is, though, after more than six years of doing this, it is no longer a challenge. It has got to the stage that if I feel the need to add another pretty picture to my portfolio of images that tourists are willing to buy, I can have a look at a few apps, choose my location appropriately, and be reasonably confident that I can pop along, and get the outcome that I want. It’s not that I hate or resent doing this. To a point, I still enjoy it, it’s just that it no longer really satisfies me: it isn’t enough.

Over the last year or so, whenever I have gone out with a camera, it has increasingly been for me; to do what I want to do, to learn new stuff, rather than to add another photo of an obvious location to my portfolio (although commercially, I do have to do a bit of this). I have become much more interested in the details of a place rather than the wider view. The small things that would often have gone unnoticed are increasingly fascinating to me, and I have a strong desire to record them but do so in a way that is very visually appealing. I suppose that, conventionally, a landscape photographer photographs a view or a scene with the intent of showing the viewer what he or she would have seen had they been stood next to the photographer. I am becoming much more interested in showing the viewer stuff that they probably wouldn’t have seen had they been stood next to the photographer, but stuff which can be really interesting and/or beautiful. For me, it’s about going beyond the obvious and really trying to get under the skin of a place.

Llansteffan

What I didn’t expect is just how hard this is! To be perfectly honest, in the past, I’d looked at the work of photographers like David Ward and not really got it. I couldn’t see the point, and anyway, the photographs just looked a bit like snaps of random objects to me that pretty much anyone who knows how to use a camera could do (sorry David!). I am very happy to say, here and now, I could not have been more wrong, and by actually becoming firstly interested in it, and then by trying to actually do it, I have come to realise it is very, very difficult to do, even vaguely competently, let alone superbly well. It is much, much, much harder, in my opinion than photographing the wider scene. And, I don’t think that it is just because I am relatively new to it, either. I do think that it is, inherently, a harder or more challenging approach to get “right”.

There are a couple of reasons for this, I think. Firstly, the approach to looking at the details of a place is completely different to the photographing of the wider view, for me at least. When I do go out to get an image of a wider view to put out for sale, I usually have a very clear idea in my head of what it is I want to photograph. Not just the place, but more or less the exact composition. I will check the tide apps, the weather apps and The Photographer’s Ephemeris and go to the right place at the right time. I am successful more often than not, and failure is usually down to the weather not doing what it was supposed to do.

When I go out to take the sort of photographs for me that I’ve described, I pay little or no attention to weather, tide or light. I pick a day and a place, I take a camera, two lenses and a tripod, and I go for a wander. I do everything I can to absolutely not try to preconceive any kind of image or prejudge what I might find. This is difficult because you not only have to look really hard, but you also have to learn to see in very new and exciting ways. So, I’ll be wandering along, and usually, I see nothing at all. After a while, I usually see something that might be a photograph. I think it just takes a bit of time to get in to the mindset of looking hard and seeing differently.

Marloes

Once I’ve found something that might be a photograph, the real work starts. And it’s here I think that the second reason for this being such a challenge rears its head. It’s a truism that photography is the opposite of painting: the painter starts with a blank canvas and paints in what s/he wants or sees. The photographer starts with all of reality in front of him or her and has to edit this down until there is a photograph that says what he or she wants it to say. When photographing the wider scene, I just think that this is, by definition, a less complicated process. When looking at the intimate, millimetres matter!

So, having found something that might be a photograph, I usually spend quite some time just looking at it, walking round it and really studying it hard, with the camera still in the bag. This can very easily take half an hour.

The concentration and attention to detail that this takes is way beyond what, I at least, use when photographing a wider view. The thing is that it doesn't seem like an hour; it’s only if I look at my watch afterwards that I realise. There have been occasions when I’ve spent the whole day in an area no bigger, and often a lot smaller, than a football pitch and made maybe 3 or 4 images if I’m lucky. I may have walked far less than a mile, but I am exhausted (but sometimes exhilarated) too! It’s the mental rather than the physical exertion that is the hard part.

In a former life, I knew a hypnotherapist very well. I was extremely sceptical about the whole process. That was until I said, “Go on then, Tim, put me under!”. Without going into unnecessary detail here, it was a profound experience that, 16 years on, I still remember vividly. What Tim also taught me was some self hypnosis techniques, and it is these that I employ when I’m out with a camera. One of the things that he used to say to me frequently was, “It’s when you focus your attention on your intention that you can achieve great things”. My intention is to make an interesting and hopefully appealing photograph, and all of my attention becomes focused on this to the point where hours pass and seem like minutes. Although I am not claiming that my photographs are great!

Mwnt

Tresaith

One thing has been bugging me, though: what to “do” with this new (to me) approach. A conversation with Rachael Talibart gave me the answer. Using Blurb, I have turned them into a project and a book, just for me, really.

I visited nine locations that I know intimately well, within an hours drive of home. For each of the locations, I photographed an obvious, wider view that went on the left hand page of the two pages in the book allocated to that location. Then, within that view the challenge was to find four more intimate photographs of the “unseen” that would be both interesting and hopefully appealing, to go on the right hand page opposite the wider view. And, believe me, it was a real challenge, but one that I loved and consumed me for months. The idea is to use the more obvious wider view as the hook to hopefully attract the viewer’s attention and then more or less force them to consider photographs that otherwise they would possibly have only glanced at or not even looked at at all.

Porthgain

I don’t know if I have succeeded or not, but it has given my love of this approach to photography a purpose, and it has helped me to focus my attention on my intention. It has also led me to really think about what it is that I want to achieve with my photography, beyond taking pretty pictures for the tourist market.

I don’t know exactly how these will evolve, or even if they will all come to fruition, but what I do know is that this approach is, at the same time, both hugely liberating and exciting for me and really forcing me to continually question why I am doing what I am doing. The why of photography is so much more important than the how or the what!

Have you got a project that you would like to write an article about? Or perhaps a photography trip that you have been on and would like to share an article about the images? Get in touch as we are always looking for submissions.

The coastline of South Wales has a concealed history.

A history of tragedy and death.

A history of lives lost at sea.

The treacherous waters of the Bristol Channel have long been navigated by waterborne vessels and on many a gale driven night or fog laden morning, many of these vessels have foundered on rocks unseen. This photographic work investigates the history of these shipwrecks. The work also inspects the landscape that caused these catastrophes, in particular, Tusker Rock and the coastline of South Wales. Tusker Rock is a submerged reef that sits in the middle of the Bristol Channel. The 500m rock is only visible at low tide and is a notorious hazard for ships and as such it is scattered with maritime skeletal remains.

Ghost Ships and Tides is undoubtedly the most rewarding photographic project I have undertaken. For me, it is the culmination of my personal transfer from commercial/general photographer to art based/project photographer. The shoots that made up the content of the project were the most demanding photo shoots I have ever undertaken.

Unsure as to how best to present the work, the early shoots saw me photographing via large format, DSLR, drone and pinhole camera. The shipwreck locations across South Wales are fairly inaccessible, encompassing miles of walking over beaches, soft sand and dunes to reach them. An eight mile round trip, off road, carrying all the equipment, with a multi-format photoshoot in the middle, is an exhausting thing. In addition to the large format imagery that forms the main body of work, I also created four installation pieces for exhibition purposes. Comprised of drone photography of the surface of the sea, and shipwrecks on the sand, these two images are layered on purpose built stands. Printed via the duratrans method (the shipwreck) and suspended under the sea (glass gelatine cyanotypes), these cyanotrans pieces represent the tumultuous force of our sea in a new way.

The idea for Ghost Ships and Tides came about whilst watching a BBC programme called ‘Hidden Wales’. The presenter, Will Millard was taken to the rock by Ross Martin (a resident of my hometown, Porthcawl) and whilst standing on the rock, Millard said “I think something should be done to remember those lives lost”. I decided to create a project as a legacy to those lost by Tusker Rock.

My projects centre heavily around landscape, place and memory. These three constants are undeniably interweaved within this work, especially within the starting place, Tusker Rock. I feel enormously privileged to have stood on that rock with my large format camera. The emotions and feelings that I had as I traversed the treacherous rock were overwhelming in their contrasting calm and unsettlement. To be stood in that environment, that is only fully accessible twice a year, but that can be seen from the shore every day (and that I have been fascinated by from a young age) is a memory that I will hold forever.

Whilst landscape is the driving force and the main visual factor behind this project, in reality, the work centres around people. The people who lost their lives. The people who saved the lives of those shipwrecked. People are the most important things that we have in life. Connections that we make in life and an understanding of when something is good is an underlying driving force behind our decisions.

Therefore, this work looks at the people who have lost their lives at sea, in particular in the treacherous waters of the Bristol Channel. These people sailed on ships, on boats, and had an enormous impact upon the industry and economic make up of our land. This work pays homage to the people who on black, stormy nights floated to their salty doom.

This is a visual story of a treacherous history. A story of foundered ships. A story of submerged doom. A story of pirates. A story of pillars of rock that smashed wood and bent metal.

This is a legacy for the stuttering candles extinguished by the sea.

Fictional Narrative

Imagine standing on Tusker Rock in the dead of night, as the waves wash all around you, your clothes are heavy and soaked. Rain and gale force winds pummel you from every direction. You are freezing to death and the water rises… Imagine…

It was 1882.

It was the year that I died.

I was killed by a rock.

I was killed by a reef.

I was killed by the sea.

I was swamped by waves and water and under I went into the flow and pull of the great tide.

I left behind two beautiful souls.

I left behind another soul, in whose presence I rejoice.

The night I died, the wind was high and the waves were wild. A storm blew in from the south. We lost our way. I couldn’t see the bow of the boat. Waves lashed at my face, rain soaked my skin and drenched my clothes. The sea roiled in a seething mass of foamy spume. And the boat struck the reef. We hit Tusker Rock.

The boat groaned I was thrown forward, and my chest hit hard a cleat. And I fell from the boat. I landed hard on something sharp and dark. The rock. It was beneath me. Blood poured from my arms, my legs, my hands; the rock was so razor sharp. The boat boomed against the black rock. It creaked and tore as the waves pounded it against the reef. I got to my feet and I clambered away from its hulking bulk; I was afraid of being crushed. The wind and the waves were everywhere. They became my world. The wind howled around my ears and I could not hear. The waves roared around my body and I was so cold that I could not feel. I slipped, tripped, slithered and slid across the razor rocks beneath me. With every fall the rock opened my skin and I bled red, red, red. I heard the boat groan again as it was wrenched from the rock and swept away. I knew not what to do. I heard the screams of my crewmates. The dark and wind and the waves were my world.

And the waters rose.

I stood upon the rock only to be knocked over, over, over and over again. The waves tried to wash me into the sea. I clung on with wrecked hands to the rocks, all the while the sea tried to drag me out. My knees tore, I felt bone meet rock. Two hard surfaces competing with one another for grip. All was heavy. Heavy clothes. Heavy waves. Heavy wind. My heart was so heavy, so heavy with the weight of doom that loomed overhead. So I pulled myself up, I pulled up my collar and I faced the cold, on my own. The rock mocked me beneath my heavy feet. And around me, my crewmates, my friends, were dead and drowning.

And the waters rose.

And again a wave knocked me from my feet. The rock vanished from beneath me. There was nothing on which I could stand. In the water, I was thrown around the ocean like a piece of driftwood. The saltwater burned my eyes. The sea filled my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. No breath. The rock that had killed me was nowhere to be found. I had nothing on which to stand. I was engulfed by waves. Torn by the wind. I struggled to stay afloat. My salty tears mixed with the salty sea; a tiny part of me merged with the fury of the ocean. And under I went.

And the waters rose.

I reached up with my hands and they breached the surface. I felt air on my fingertips. The cold brine seethed around my body. I breathed, I inhaled, but it was not aired that I breathed. I breathed water, but fish I was not. I was a man alone in the sea and I breathed water. Submerged, I coughed; the water expelled from my lungs. And I breathed again. Saltwater ravaged my lungs, my body, my mind, my brain. I was taken by the waves. In my mind, I saw…

His face; my boy.

Her face; my girl.

And her face; her face.

And all I wanted was to be out of the sea. The rain fell like a sad song and in that moment, the future did not exist. The only souls I saw were underwater ghosts. Stuttering candles are extinguished by the sea. Memories of old crashed like waves on the shore of my mind.

Life was a memory, and then it was nothing.

Read more at:

https://www.peter-britton.com/ghost-ships-and-tides