Your photography may be good, but can it stand the test of time? For me, I think that's something to aspire to : often the best work is the stuff that lasts and lasts. But don't you think we're living in an age where we're more concerned with things being 'immediate' ?
So if I were to ask you this, I'd like to know what your thoughts are?
Q. Do you think your photography has a timeless quality to it?
Q. Do you think HDR will be 'timeless'?
Q. What constitutes 'timeless' photography?
My friend Peter Freeman - a fine photographer who has worked for the National Parks of the Lakes in northern England for a long time, said to me last week that 'Photographers are drawn to the edges of things'. It's been reverberating around my brain all week.
I'm on the isle of Arran this week to do some photography but also to research the island. I've found it a challenge to photograph here - it's always a drain on me for the first encounter - I feel I have so much to do, such a high mountain to climb. And then as the week progresses, I become more familiar, at ease even and then I begin to 'understand' the landscape. It took me 2 days before I could even take the camera out of the bag.
But I've been struggling with myself: often I find myself the biggest hurdle to get over when venturing somewhere new. I find it hard traveling alone at times. Here too my friend Peter says that 'photographers have to be at ease with themselves and like their own company'. I know what he means - it does help, but sometimes I don't feel that way. I guess when I'm feeling out of sorts, or needing the company of others - I should just abort the trip and head for home, because I'm simply 'not in the mood' or 'frame of mind' required to be making images.
And then yesteryday, I found two gorgeous spots out in Arran and completely lost myself for a few hours. It was magic.
It's been a week of trials though : firstly, a local had placed some big logs in a layby so people (like me I presume) wouldn't park in the layby across from his house, and when I took off, I didn't see the bits of wood and it ripped the radiator off my car. So I have no cooling system and the car is dead. But I do have a courtesy car at the moment - a clapped out BMW from the 70's I think.
I've wanted to research some of the glens and mountains, but I haven't been able to do so - because I have a recurring issue with Sciatica. For some reason, it's pretty bad this week and it means I want to gnaw my right leg off from time to time.
But I think what keeps me going, is that I've had some terrific help from the locals in finding the 'real' Arran, and the Kilmory bunk house has been a great place to stay. I head for home tomorrow, and in some ways I'm glad to be going, but I also know I will be back here.
Do you: 1. Create your images to satisfy yourself first and foremost?
2. Feel you have to make images, rather than want to?
3. Are you hard on yourself?
4. Does recognition matter to you?
5. Do you care what others think of your work?
I could answer each of these questions very easily - because I often find myself asking them. I have trouble figuring out just 'why' I do what I do, but I do know that I feel I have to.
I'd love to hear what you think about these questions and what you'd answer, and why too.
This is image #26 in my series of ‘Making of 40 Photographs’.
Some people are enigmatic and I found many of the exiled Tibetan's in the Tinchuli region of Kathmandu to be exactly that. 
Basing myself in this part of Kathmandu allowed me to venture down to the Bodnath stupa each morning. I got familiar with the Stupa and the congregation that gathered here each morning to pray. A few days would pass and I'd start to see familiar faces - not only did the prayer wheels spin round and round, but so to did the same congregation circumnavigate the great Stupa day after day too.
And I was there each morning - playing my part too - trying to capture some of these Tibetans during their prayer - and it wasn't easy.
I love reportage, although I feel my photographs aren't really in this vein, every now and then I do make something in that sort of line. In this photograph you can see an old lady with a green shawl. I followed her for perhaps an hour; the Tibetans are a canny lot - and will discreetly place you out of their sight and their minds. Not through wishful thinking did I choose to become invisible to them: they chose to disregard me in their morning pursuit and this was hard to take. I'm an open person and I love the interaction, the exchange and the feeling of being welcomed into the lives of strangers - if for a brief moment.
So I started to think of the Bodnath Stupa as a place to observe, to shoot from afar, which isn't my usual style at all - I prefer to get right into a scene with a standard lens and shoot from perhaps a few feet away.
But I think listening to your 'emotional intelligence' is paramount : the Tibetans didn't want to get involved with me, and I recognized and respected it. You really have to be more than just visually aware when making pictures. You have to understand and empathize with your subjects too.
This is image #25 in my series of ‘Making of 40 Photographs’. I think this is an apt picture to show you, after my post over the weekend about Michael Kenna - an artist whom I greatly admire for the simplicity and space in his images. Particularly those of Hokaido.
I'm finding as I progress with my photography, that I'm looking for simpler and simpler compositions. As a beginner to photography I looked for beauty in a scene only to discover that it wasn't enough - the composition had to be good and the light - of course, had to be right too. Now twenty years down the line, I often find I make images because the simplicity of the scene demands it. This is almost a reversal of what I would choose to do when I started out.
Like a form of Haiku, a picture can be broken down into simple components of shape, colour and tone and I think this image of the Salar De Uyuni is a perfect example of that. It works on two levels : the colours are pretty monochromatic, and the space in the composition is simplicity in itself. For me, that chromatic quality lends for a less-distracting absorption in the image. I'm drawn to the duo-tones of the distant mountains, like little triangles all lined up on the horizon. Plus I feel that the diagonal line across the sky makes the shot for me.
We were camped on Pescado Island, a little spot right in the middle of the largest salt plain in the world so I could reach the Salar for early morning and late evening shooting. But I made a point of leaving everyone else on the island so I could be alone on the Salar. Photography is not often a social act, and apart from having the thrill of being on the salt flats by myself with no other person, or support vehicle around me, it would give me a chance to connect with the stillness and space of the location. It's a real thrill for me to do this.... be alone. I find that when I'm out there on my own, I seem to find my awareness is heightened, and that has a direct impact on my photography.
I stood in this location for a couple of hours, never bored, watching the distant storms come and evaporate, shooting telephoto and wide angle, but often preferring a wide angle field of view.
On a technical note, the Salar is bright. Very bright, and the sky for a change would be less bright than the ground. I was a little bit confused as to whether I should use a grad filter or not and I recall using one for this shot. But I metered the ground and exposed +1 to +2 stops otherwise the ground would have been underexposed. With film (as always), I'm forced to visualise the scene in terms of dynamic range, and that is something I love very much about the process.... I feel the image is created in my imagination.
And that's a good thing.
Michael Kenna has a very inspiring video up on his web site.
This video shows me someone who is committed to his work. He's an artist.
This is image #24 in my series of 'Making of 40 Photographs'. Chasing an image is just what it is : chasing and I really hate to chase images because it often means that I'm already too late. There's got to be a bit of the fortune teller in being a photographer in order to get the image you see in your mind and when something is happening, that's usually when you should be tripping the shutter.
I think as photographers, we go around looking for a 'moment' and it's our aim to be ready for it too. But I'm always aware that there has to be a pre-emptive phase to what I do.
Take the shot above. This was made in a UNESCO world heritage town called Baktapur in the Kathmandu Valley, Nepal. I'd been wandering the streets of Baktapur in the early morning smog when I came upon two little girls being led through the street dressed like the girl above. They were a captivating site and as I say : I felt I was too late. Seeing them walking through the street stirred up a panic and frustration feeling in my gut because I knew it was going to be hard to stop them, to convince their parents to let me make an image. So I left the scene and went back to my hotel to let my mood recover from loosing such a potentially great image.
But often serendipity comes calling and later on that same day, I entered a court yard only to find the same girls seated for some kind of ceremony. Everyone around seemed to be waiting. I seemed to be accepted because anything that I did in the courtyard was taken with no great surprise and I found myself getting close to the girl above - perhaps a foot or so away from her to get this portrait. She just seemed to be so relaxed and obliging.
But the point is : the image came to me. I didn't come to the image. I can't force an image to happen when I command it to, and that morning, I'd been trying to do exactly that. It's a form of Karma - I'm sure.
I offer this second image to give a little more perspective to the arranged group in that little court yard I stumbled into. I actually have no memory of making this shot, but it's one of my favourite images.... which I find interesting because I can't really connect it to any memory of my trip.
I'm just back from Torridon, where I had a very enjoyable weekend conducting a photographic workshop with six enthusiastic photographers.
Michael, who was on the course, has been in touch today to tell me he's written a review of the weekend.
I always come home from a workshop with something new that I've learned myself.
It's easy I guess for folks who haven't been on a workshop to assume that the teacher is the 'all-knowing' one, but that simply isn't true. All I can do is pass on what I know, and how I do what I do, but other than that, the trip is a setting for folk to get involved and discuss ideas and try new things.
The trip becomes a melting pot of ideas and for me - that's great. I love to see everyone get involved - it's a much more engaging exchange if everyone is contributing and as my friend Andrew said : a workshop is successful if the group are up for putting effort into it.
This weekend, we had terrible weather and as much as I thought it might be a 'wash-out', the attitude of the group was extremely positive and we went out - regardless of the conditions - and came back each day with a lot of very surprising and powerful images.
So I thought I'd show some images from the weekend:
John took this at Loch Claire on Saturday morning. It had been tipping down most of the night and when we left in the morning, the sky was full of rain and it didn't look like things would improve, but John was positive and said that things could change : and they did. We had a very beautiful morning at loch Claire and it just goes to show that if you don't go : you don't get. So no matter what the weather - you have to go out and see what happens.
Mabel shot this near Sheildaig at the edge of upper loch Torridon. I think the 'soft focus' effect was created by her camera and filters being so wet from the previous days shoot - and it has a Charles Rennie Mackintosh feel to it.
Teresa shot this not too far away from Mabel's Rennie Mackintosh photo, and this just goes to show that exploring your location can really make a huge benefit. I noticed throughout the weekend that Teresa was 'an individual'. If the group were at one spot, she was often at an entirely different area. The crop I feel is due to me showing the group different crops and this is something I borrowed from Andrew Fackle who was on my Eigg workshop. It just goes to show that one thing leads on to another.
Louise took my advice about looking for foreground interest and she found it in the colour of the red kelp seaweed at Upper Loch Torridon, despite it being a rather miserable day. Very soft, overcast light often makes vegetation and seaweed colours 'sing'.
Stephen really went to town looking for leading lines in this location. I've shot at this spot a few times in the past, but the light on this occasion was dramatic. Windswept horizontal rain was predominantly the order of the day and everyone was soaking, but happy. From my perspective, I always worry that folks feel they're being forced to go out in driving rain to make pictures, but what I find funny is that it's often hard to get them to come back to the van with 'just one more shot left to make'..... being the usual reply I get from them. Love the leading in stream Stephen.