My Hokkaido Story

Looking for cohesion and working with portfolios in mind can aid style and visual development. In this video i discuss images I made in Japan in Autumn of 2023.

And here is the gallery of the portfolio that I created in Autumn of 2023. I think there is a very strong set of cohesive images in the first nine images. But maybe due to being keen to show you what else I experienced, I have diluted the set with further images that maybe don’t gel as well.

Since these images were created, I have returned to Hokkaido this past Autumn. I often find that the very first trip to a new location is more or less the starting point for some kind of evolution: the more you go back, the more focussed the work may become.

Transcript

I think that individual images are fine, but they are much more interesting to me when they belong as part of a set. Particularly if the set of images have high cohesion. For if the images are highly related, be it aesthetically or perhaps thematically, then I think the resulting portfolio can be more powerful than some of its parts.

But creating sets of images is not easy for most photographers, and I think that very few photographers ever sit down to arrange their work into groups of related work. This, I feel, is a great mistake, as we all can learn something about our photography in the process, in addition to learning about the actual work itself.

When collating or grouping images together, I often find relationships where I had not noticed them during capture. For instance, whilst in Hokkaido during autumn of 2023, I had not envisioned a dark set of images while shooting. It was only during the editing and selecting of the work that I saw many of the images had a dark element to their compositions. It took me around three days before I realised that there was a dark theme to the work. But once I'd figured that out, I was on my way towards the final selection you see here.

But there are potential problems in creating groups of images or looking to get such tight cohesion in one's work. And that is when you try to make images fit together that simply aren't meant to be together.

I often think that images tell you what they want to be, and you just have to listen to them. They tell you what they are.

It can be a little restrictive if you try to force all of the work you've created to look too similar. I sometimes worry that I will kill the essence of what each image is if I force them to comply too much, to make them belong too much as a set.

As a response and solution to this, I tend to sit on the images for days because I have learned that I am not always in tune with the spirit of an image immediately.

If I've made a bad choice, it tends to become obvious over a few days or perhaps a few weeks. Good ideas tend to be silent and do not jar, but bad ideas tend to get harder to live with over time.

Then there are those sets of images that just do not belong to your thematic set.

This recent Hokkaido trip showed me that there were a clear set of dark images, but also a few other sets of images that did not seem to belong together.

One set was off farmland in the centre of Hokkaido, and I felt it required a different approach. Another set was based around a set of dead trees. I did not see a way to make these three sets of images coexist as one larger set.

It seemed they belonged apart.

But I do like working with collections of images. I've discovered so many things. For instance, I really enjoy working with very small sets. Maybe three images at most. It allows for more clarity. It helps me rationalise the edits and approach.

By keeping the subgroups at three images, the intention behind each edit becomes much clearer, and much simpler to execute. And I don't find myself straying off into the long grass too much.

But I cannot deny it. I came home with far too many images, and most did not work as one large set.

It all became much easier to understand and tackle, once I realised that there were subplots within the main plot of my Hokkaido story.

Making things Happen (creative process)

The creative process can be boiled down to these three things:

1. intention

2. attention to detail

3. expectation of result

  1. Intention

    When I am making photographs in the field, all I have is an intention to find new compositions. The remit does not get any more detailed than that at first because ‘I won’t know what I’m looking for until I find it’ is very much the drive in any creative effort we start out in. There has to be this open-remit to consider anything as an option, but once I do find something of interest, there is an intention to make something of it.

  2. Attention to detail

    when I stumble upon something that interests me, or that I feel I wish to invest some time in making images of, then this is where attention to detail comes in. The subtle change of the tripod by a few inches that gives an improvement in the composition. The attention given to the edge of the frame and the removal of distractions around the frame. Whatever you wish to call this stage of making images, we are really giving focus to the intention.

  3. Expectation of result

    This is perhaps where ‘visualisation’ is used the most, although I think that we are visualising all the time. When we see something of interest in the field, I think we automatically cannot help but conjure up an idea in our mind’s-eye of what the final result will be like, even before we’ve approached our subject, even before we’ve set up the tripod and camera, and even before we’ve made any cursory views through the viewfinder of the camera. We are already living with a target in mind, one which is fluid, open to being re-adjusted as we find that the composition comes together in its own way.

For any creativity to happen, all three of these must happen, and all three use a varying form of mindfulness to execute.

New Work

I have a new page on this very website titles ‘current’. I have uploaded eight new portfolios this week. They are a backlog of work created in 2023 and all of last year.

My reason for publishing them all at the same time, is that I wanted a very clean way of presenting them all together on the same webpage. I have written many times that I see my website as a sort of garden, a place where I collate, sort and tend my imagery. It is a dream factory for me, where I can allow myself to feel, notice and see evolution in what I do.

I notice patterns, themes, relationships, stylistic attachments that I have, certain motifs that I keep coming back to, or maybe the surfacing of new ones? Sometimes it’s just that I feel I’m noticing that the work is more relaxed, perhaps enjoying a return to more colour? A shift. A sense of something happening.

Regardless of internal thoughts and feelings, the fact is, it is nice to conclude an entire year. It allows me to feel ready for this one.

Working with Atmospheres

If we are looking for more dynamics in our shooting, more possibilities, then we really need to shoot in all kinds of weather. Scotland, where I’m from, has such changeable light, that often one can be forgiven for thinking it’s a limitation, or perhaps a simple frustration. In a way, it’s actually a blessing: things never look the same twice, and if you’re willing to get the camera a little bit wet, you can open up your photography to so much more possibilities.

Transcript:

The conventional view is that we take photographs of subjects, and all we need to do is work on where to place them in the scene to get a good composition.

Light is often considered an important part of the scene, but is rarely considered to be the main reason for the photo. Coming to a place where there are no definite subjects, no iconic mountains, no iconic trees, no iconic views to photograph, can lead many to feel lost, and be lost.

But looking for a subject, in a way, is a form of security blanket. Many of us feel unanchored and uncertain if we do not have one, but a good subject does not guarantee a good photograph.

If the light is not good, or there is no atmosphere, then the picture will be lacking in emotion. It will feel static and dead. Instead, we must learn to consider the light first. If we can work in a location that is devoid of tangible, physical subjects, then we will be forced to study and make do with the light alone.

And to make things a little more challenging, to get the best light, one must learn to work in different weather systems, from dry to inclement, as we seek different qualities of light. Getting comfortable working with your camera in the rain is essential. if you wish to have access to the atmospheres that are available to you.

I have found working in bad weather to be where the most interesting light can be found. If we only ever shot in dry days, we are leaving out a whole index of atmospheric possibilities. Our pictures will be very one-dimensional.

The light in Scotland can often be very changeable as one low-weather system after another races across the Scottish landscape. It is its strength, not its weakness. I often come to the Scottish island of Harris in November. The island is in the north of the country. It's small, remote and on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean During November it is often buffeted with one advancing low front after another.

Being here is a lesson in learning to work with the light as you pursue those fleeting yet very emotive atmospheric scenes you will for sure encounter. Everything is much more dynamic in November.

I tend to shoot exposures of two to four minutes here as it allows me to blur the fast moving clouds that race across the landscape. Shooting long exposures collapse detail upon detail. Water and sky textures are often reduced or removed entirely and we are left with scenes of gradated tone only.

This landscape excels at atmospheric light. It is a minimalist playground of luminance and colour, because there is little in the way of foreground or background subjects with which to lean on. There is no security blanket. No iconic subjects that may divert your attention away from what is most important.

Instead, you are left to work with the essential elements of light and shade alone.

When it becomes a job

Just today I hit a brick wall, and I have decided that the best thing for me to do, is to stop trying to do what I’m doing, and go do something else instead.

About a week ago, I decided that it would be really nice to go through my backlog of images shot in 2024 and 2023, and edit them for inclusion on my website. I reasoned that it would be good to publish all the portfolios together in one go, because of layout issues on my website.

It all started out very well, and I’m delighted with the set of images I’ve created from Lencois in 2023 (I have a backlog going back to 2020!). I also enjoyed editing my new Hokkaido autumn images and feel very happy with those as well. And I also edited some beautiful winter shots from Harris.

It was all going rather well until today when I started to notice it is flipped from feelings of joy to feelings of it all being a slog. What turned out to be a creative burst has gone, to be replaced by feelings of work, and it’s taken me a day to realise this is what has happened to me.

I can never edit work to order. I’ve got to feel enthused about what I do, and so rather than keep to the schedule of having the work done before I go to Japan, I have now accepted that the best thing would be for me to park it. Because the creative muse has left me, and go out into the sunshine and do something else for a while.

It’s a fine line balancing business with commerce. I have been self employed now for more than 15 years, and I have always felt that the way to be the most true to what you do: is to do it when I am into it, and when I’m not into it, it’s best for me to put the tools down and go and do something else to help me recharge.

So I think my intention of having a whole new web page devoted to 8 portfolios is going to take longer than I assumed, and that is, now that I have realised that the creative muse isn’t with me any more, completely fine.

The biggest battle is often in realising that you’re not in the creative burst you thought you were, and the 2nd biggest battle is to accept that it isn’t working for you right now, and to halt all work, and go do something else instead for a while.

Happy New Year

I’m ensconced at home, sheltered from the rain and wind of the first day of the year. Busy playing ‘catch up’ on all the images I made in 2024, before I go to Hokkaido later this month.

This past November, I ran two workshops on the isle of Harris. The first week was full of rain and fog, and the second week was mostly wind and snow. It was the first time I had plenty of nice sessions shooting fog on Harris for an entire week, and then when the snow came, it too, was most unusual in hanging around for the majority of the week also.

It has been nice to experience some real winter conditions in Scotland this winter, even though it is not common to have snow in November. Wishing that there will be more snow this winter time in the Scottish Highlands, as I think the Highlands of Scotland should have snow. It can be a wild landscape and more so beautiful when the hills are covered in snow.

Valentina

I’ve been thinking for a while now, that I’ve had the honour and pleasure of meeting so many distinctive clouds on my travels, and that perhaps, I should document them? Perhaps I should collect all these clouds into a portfolio. Perhaps I should also name them.

Valentina, Brazil, 2024

I seem to be attracted to singular, lone clouds. Of a particular shape.

It is maybe too early to tell just yet, but I can’t help but wonder that maybe, just maybe, I am being followed by the same cloud…. If I keep collecting images of my lone cloud visitors, I think I will eventually know the answer to this one ;-)

Wishing you many beautiful cloud encounters in 2025, either of different varieties, or perhaps the same one ;-)

Inner Confidence to be an Artist

I think learning to listen to oneself, and to trust one’s own judgement, is greatly overlooked as a core skill to have as a creative person. So often we seek validation from external forces around us, be it friends, or competitions, or whatever. I think this is all very natural and everyone does this at the beginning of their creativity for sure. But in this video I consider that learning to trust one’s own judgement, and to learn to live with the decisions we make, is one of the core skills any experienced artist inevitably develops.

Transcript:

As a beginner, we often crave feedback and wish to know what others think of our work.

I think this is perfectly natural and to be expected.

As emerging artists, we are on a path to finding out about not only the art that we are creating, but also too, who we are as artists. We need to understand ourselves better and one way to find out is to seek the opinion of others.

We all need validation about our efforts, particularly in the early stage of our creative lives. Feedback and having an audience can be very helpful in giving us confidence in what we do. Because until we know who we are, I think we need to find our confidence in the validation given to us by others.

I have realised though, over the years of producing work and of having a small audience, that feedback varies enormously. In addition, not everyone is skilled at giving good feedback and most beginning photographers tend to lack the skills with which to deal with the feedback they are given.

In a way, learning to be an artist involves learning to deal with feedback constructively. It will be up to you to figure out what you need to become more discerning about the feedback you receive. Knowing when it is of value and when it is not will become something that you'll need to navigate your way through. This will only become apparent as you mature and gain a sense of who you are as an artist.

You see at some point you will no longer be crushed by feedback that may have done so years ago. You'll be able to take anything you're given and look at it with a more objective eye. This will only have become possible because you've developed an inner confidence in yourself as an artist.

And when I speak of confidence, I do not mean arrogance or cockiness, and I do not mean a heightened belief in one's own abilities. The confidence I speak of is of knowing oneself, of having a realistic handle on your strengths as well as your weaknesses, and in being comfortable in the knowing.

Having gained this inner confidence, you will now have one of the greatest skills anyone can possess, that of knowing who you are. If you develop this inner confidence that I speak of, you'll be better placed than most to gauge where you are going and what it is you need to do next.

And even if you're not always 100% sure, as no artist ever is, you'll be comfortable in knowing that ultimately not knowing is part of the deal of being an artist.

Great care in the Execution

Behind every good piece of work, often hides a mountain of effort.

If the work is successful, then enormous amount of care, thought, deliberation, reconsideration, delays, reworks, and great care in the execution of the work will be hidden from the viewer.

 

‘I could do that’, are often the words said by someone who has limited experience. The work they are looking at succeeds in casting an illusion over the lay person that it was effortless. Whereas, for those who have experience know only too well that for work to be successful, requires more effort than is apparent.

Rest assured, that anything that was created by someone, which we like, had a mountain of effort applied to it. It had what I would call ‘great care taken in the execution’ of the work.

Yesterday in my post about the town geometry photographs, I mentioned that I spend the least amount of time in the image capturing, and most of my time in the ‘finishing’ of the work. I may spend just a few minutes capturing the photos, but if one were to zoom out and look at the execution of the work from start to finish, the length of time applied to the work increases towards the end of its execution. I will often spend weeks deliberating about an edit adjustment, a luminosity change in the final image, whereas the initial edits were done in a few minutes.

I think this is rarely talked about. For most work to get to a mature level of completeness, the creator has often spent a lot of time and effort on it.

Being a good artist, or creating better work, does not, and should not imply that the work becomes easier to create. I am often asked ‘how many successful images do I get on a roll of film’. It is the wrong question. The question should really be ‘how much thought and effort goes on in the background, to create the work that we see?’

The question of ‘how many successful images do you get to a roll of film?’ hints at the assumption that becoming a better photographer, means you’re able to shoot more successful images. When in fact it was just a case of ‘shooting whatever interested you, to try out different ideas’. The care and effort were actually in selecting, editing and presenting of the work. That is where the greatest of care was taken, and to assume it’s all about just capturing good compositions is too over simplistic.

So today I wish to say, that if anyone wishes to be a better photographer, it will often be found in the great care that was taken in the execution of the work. To the inexperienced, this will sadly be hidden from view. Good work tends to look effortless. Good ideas tend to seem ‘obvious. But it is worth knowing, that for everyone, no matter their level of ability, always great care, and an inordinate amount of time and effort is taken, to make the work look as best as the photographer can make it.

If you are struggling with decisions about what to do with your edits, then know that you are not alone. Everyone, including even those that you admire or are world famous, are not exempt from this. The difference perhaps is that they know they must work at it, and to create anything of any value, great care must be taken in the execution of the work.