Acknowledgment of reaching your own summit

When we are being retrospective, we tend to focus on the things that have changed: what we do now that we didn’t, and also what we did do, but don’t do any more :-) Rarely however, do we notice the elements of our photography that remain the same.

I’ve just been reviewing my latest work over the past year or so, and I’ve come to the conclusion that although there has been a shifting in what I do over the past decade, I really haven’t changed much at all.

This reminds me of the saying ‘the more things change, the more they stay the same’.

Image used by kind permission. Image © Michael Scandling.

I don’t think this is particularly a bad thing. Nor is my post today lamenting the lack of change in my work. Because I know in some ways it has changed. It’s just that well, there’s an integral part of what I do that I can’t escape. And that part is me.

It is, in my view, such a rare opportunity to see yourself in your own photography. Like the blind spot that is not being able to see ourselves the way our friends and family see us, we are blind most of the time to that part of our ‘art’ that is us.

I think the only way to be able to get a glimpse of ourselves in our own work, is to have been taking photos for a very long time. You need a lot of distance, and a lot of water under the bridge, with which to compare your most recent work with that of what you did perhaps when you first started out. See anything ‘familiar’ ? If you do - then that is most probably you.

I wish I still had the email I got from Michael Kenna. When he published a reprint of his Rouge book, I noticed that although the new edition was expanded with images that were shot at the time of the original publication, the inclusion of them showed signs of his future work to be at that time. When I wrote to him and said ‘I see Hokkaido in these images, before you went to Hokkaido’, he replied with a bit of poetry which I wish I could remember. It more or less said something along the lines of ‘the more we change, the more we stay the same’. Included in his email was also an early Kenna image - taken around the early 70’s. Although it was 35mm format, it had all the earmarkings of a Kenna shot - foggy, with a simplistic minimalist composition of a park somewhere in England. I could see him in this early shot so well, and yet at the time of capture, he still had to form his style.

I think now that I’ve been making images for over twenty years, I have the benefit, or opportunity to be able to see ‘me’ in my imagery - the part that has stayed the same all this time.

It is in doing so, that I think I can assume that I’ve reached the summit of where I am meant to be. With this acknowledgment, I realise that the future is perhaps mostly going to be about honing what I already have, rather than making massive changes. I think this is something one has to reach an understanding, and also an acceptance with oneself.

It is what it is, I am what I am, and this is what I do.

2-stop ND filter increments, and 1-stop exposure granularity

It’s taken me 20+ years to figure out that for long-exposure work, having a set of ND filters that are 2 stops apart is the best way forward.

I have always used 1, 2, 3, 6 and 10 stop ND filters. But over the past while I have found that the jump between 3 stops to 6 stops is far too much. Same for the leap between 6 stops and 10.

So now I use 2, 4, 6, 8 and 10 stop ND filters.

Further to this, what I should let you know is that for the past decade, I work my exposures out in 1 stop increments. I do not meter in 1/2 stops or 1/3rd stops. They are in my view - simply too fine and 1 stop differences is as fine a granularity that I need for my films.

I would like to also add that it becomes a lot easier to meter, and to add exposure compensation when adding ND filters, if you work with your camera set to meter at 1-stop increments only.

Consider if your camera is set to expose at 1/3rd stop increments. It is very hard to work out for 2 stops more would be if your exposure is at 1/9th of a second. It becomes a lot easier if your camera rounds it down to 1/8th of a second. Adding two stops onto this means you just divide it by 2, twice:

1 stop increment = 1/4 of a second

2nd stop increment = 1/2 of a second.

I like working in 1 stop differences. It’s as fine as I need it, and it also simplifies my working out the exposure compensation difference when applying ND filters.

Inner symphonies & the role of feeling deeply

I got a new album of music to listen to this week called ‘Inner symphonies’. I liked the title but it was only when I opened up the gatefold sleeve of the album that I understood the title. Inside were the words ‘for those who feel deeply’.

And it got me to thinking about the role of our emotions on our photography. As a good friend of mine has often said to me ‘the camera points both ways’. I have always understood that my own ‘art’ whether it was music making, drawing and painting as a kid, or photography now, has been, and still is, routed in something within me.

Each time we make a photo, perhaps we are making a mini inner-symphony? Each image we make can often symbolise something more about us, than the actual subject. Well, I think that is the way it should be.

Logic in a way, shouldn’t even come into the equation when making images:

‘Think less, and feel more’

is perhaps the way we should approach what we do. Or perhaps ‘respond’ rather than ‘think’.

I know I am someone who overthinks things, but when it comes to producing art, it is one of the rare moments in my life where overthinking, or even thinking diminish (those who know me may dispute this, and say that I never think at all ;-) . I seem to disappear and enter a form of meditation when I am making pictures.

I prefer to be drawn to something for reasons I do not know, than for reasons I do. As I believe that unearthed motivations have more truth in them than anything that is apparent. I like to think about what Mark Hollis once said about improvisation when writing songs. He said that when you are improvising, the first notes you play tend to be the more honest ones. Each subsequent replay becomes less and less honest, and more contrived as you struggle to now control the magic you just found.

And so, I think this is the way it is with fieldwork.

Respond rather than think,

do before analysis,

and try to be fresh each time you make a picture.

Perhaps I should invert this, and say:

feel first, respond second, and think later

There is magic in improvisation. For it is the act of escape from rules and self imposed aspirations. Working fluidly, and without any analysis or overthinking, is , in my view, the right path to creating surprising imagery and art.

Why I photograph the Highlands of Scotland

I have often thought that what we show others in our photographs, is really an insight into how we feel within. One may assume that when we look at photos of a landscape, they are just that - photos. But if we ask ourselves ‘why did the photographer choose to visit this place in the first instance?’, then the pictures take on a deeper meaning. And if we ask ‘why these particular compositions?, then we may find our curiosity is piqued.

Isle of Rum, Scotland 2022.
Photographed on Fuji Velvia 50 film, pushed quite hard in the edit. Hence the film grain, which I find particularly pleasing.

 I have been attracted to the more wilder landscapes of Scotland for many years, and I’ve had to give it some thought as to why these places attract me. I think each landscape we fall in love with is personally relatable in some way. We either see something of our childhood in it, as I do with the Scottish Highlands, or we see a longing for something. I have a hunch that my family holidays as a young boy left an impression upon me. Both my parents are highlanders, and each summer we would leave the confines of our new town home for the highlands. The contrasts between new town dwelling and vast highland plains with shifting light was, and still is, stark. When I am in the highlands, I feel I am a Highlander, and my city-lifestyle is all but a faint memory. I feel a timelessness here and perhaps a deeper connection to my family’s history.

 But coming here to visit, is a different endeavour to that of coming to photograph. A beautiful landscape does not guarantee a beautiful photo. Good photographs have to be earned. With the shifting light, constant threat of being rained upon, and of being blown away by fierce winds, the highlands are challenging, but when the elements conspire to produce a good, if not great photo, then favourable results can be extremely rewarding.

 A photographer’s work is never done. Each visit just confirms that there is still more to uncover. More mystery to be solved. In a way, I find this inspiring, and also surprisingly comforting as well. Each time I have visited a landscape and produced a few images I really like, they are often far different from anything that I had hoped for, or envisioned. This illustrates that there are many more surprises up ahead for us all as photographers. So much potential is still waiting for us to explore and uncover. And many mysteries waiting to be peeked at, if not entirely solved.

And it is with this final comprehension, that I believe we should all revel in the anticipation of what images lie in store for us.

Make the landscape your own 3

One of the ways we can make the landscape our own, is to photograph locations that are lesser known. Of course there is always the skill in photographing well known places in an original way to consider. But I think the best way forward, to find your own voice, is to go to places that are less obvious, or perhaps personal to ourselves.

Over the past six or seven years I have shied away from spending time on social media platforms because of the glut of images that are being uploaded each day. I do not say this with judgement of others: do as you please of course. But for me, I would much rather find out about a landscape or a location in a more organic way.

Finding out about places this way, alleviates me from being overwhelmed by photos of it. Because I am aware that the more photos I see of a place, the more difficult it is to see it ‘my’ way.

About eight years ago I sat in a hotel in San Pedro de Atacama, chatting to a couple from Brazil. It was new years eve, and they had turned up on a Harley Davidson tricycle. Tassels included :-)

During our chats, they told me about Lençóis Maranhenses national park in Brazil and about how beautiful it is. When I returned home, I decided to look it up, and like most places I try to research, I rarely see well executed landscape photos: the default seems to be standard tourist shots. This goes to confirm my view that most of the world has not been photographed well, if at all.

It took me a few years to get round to going to Lençóis Maranhenses. I never seemed to have a gap in my schedule and I felt I was taking a chance on it, because the photos I had seen of it were not that inspiring. I had to ‘see beyond’ what was being shown to me and imagine what it might be like if I tried to shoot there at sunrise and sunset.

Visiting the national park, I found it to be more photogenic than I had imagined. In fact, I thought it was amazing and captivating in a way I could have only hoped for.

This to me, is an organic approach to finding your own landscape: going with your own hunch. Taking action from a conversation, or a cue from something you saw somewhere.

But perhaps the best way to make the landscape your own, is to work on places that are personal to you. Over the years that I have been photographing Iceland, it has become a very deep and personal relationship for me. I first visited the country in 2004. It is now almost 20 years since I first went, and I am confident that my relationship with the country has only deepened as I have kept returning.

And when I have returned, I always seem to find new places that resonated with me. Such as the interior. I had a hunch for a while that it might be my kind of thing, and so I started to go into the interior about 2015.

I feel some of my best work has been made in this landscape, and in terms of ‘making it my own’, I think the landscape here has defined me as a photographer in many ways.

I feel there’s far too much following others in the landscape photography world. We are social by nature, and we tend to follow the herd. In making the landscape our own, we have to be more independent in our seeking out places. Because that is how our photography will ultimately be defined.

Eigg Workshop

Just home from a week away on the isle of Eigg here in Scotland. I would like to thank everyone who attended - they came from far and wide - Seattle and near Sydney Australia.

It is always a real honour to think that folks would like to come this far to spend time working with me on photography. Such a lucky person I am.

Many thanks to David Estape Izquierdo for sending me this image of myself and Ron MacDonald on the beach at Laig bay.

I am finding the workshops at the equinoxes quite physically demanding for myself - long hours from 5:30am till around 8:30pm each day, and as much as I love coming to Eigg, I am aware that this year, and 2024 will be my last with groups here. I wish I could run the Eigg workshop during the winter when sunrise and sunset are more easy to handle, but due to the unpredictability of the weather, and therefore cancellations of ferry crossings, it’s too much of a risk. Hence why 2024 will be my last year on Eigg.

Thanks to everyone who came this week. There were a lot of jokes, and everyone was very good fun. I don’t think I’ve been with such a die-hard ‘hard-core’ group of people in terms of using all the available time to make images.