On selling prints

‘if I had to choose images that represent who I am as a photographer,
then which ones should I choose?’

The simple process of deciding which images of your own work to offer as prints, can be a form of curation, or at the very least, invite one to consider their own body of work. Especially to ask oneself ‘if I had to choose images that represent who I am as a photographer, then which ones should I choose?’

A recent print order. For some unexplainable reason, print sales this past few months have been very active for me.

Just this week friends were asking me if I planned to do another exhibition. I did one eight years ago when I turned 50, and I think doing another when I am 60 is something I should certainly be looking into. I think everyone should exhibit their work. Firstly, the curation process will allow you to learn more about your own photography and perhaps to see themes in your work that you were not aware of.

I have found over the years of offering prints, that the ones I feel represent me the most (the more graphical abstract ones), tend to be the least popular. I mention this only to illustrate that one should never try to second guess their own audience, or what will sell well. My advice, would be to follow your own heart in what you love about your own work, and choose the images based on that alone. Doing so not only tells everyone who you are as a photographer, but more importantly, you’ll tend to attract the right people, namely those that get and dig what you’re doing. Stay true to yourself. Always.

Copyright & AI

This relates to any creative work. Tech firms are using the intellectual property of all creatives to train their AI models. This is effectively theft.

Old haunts show us how we may have changed

“To know a place, one must be more than simply familiar with it.”

Although landscapes are evolving moving things, with changeable weather, varying atmospheric conditions, and different seasons, there is a degree to which one gets to know a place if they keep returning.

But whether you can ever get to know a place entirely, to know all its moods, to experience all its seasonal faces is unlikely. There is always something kept back that you will most likely, never experience.

I say this with the understanding that I have been coming to Torres del Paine national park since 2003. Not every year, but certainly enough times now that I have lost count of my visits here. Although I would not say I know the place enough to fully understand it, I am at least familiar with many of its attractive view points. Familiarity is different in my view, from knowing a place. To know a place, one must be more than simply familiar with it.

What I find most intriguing about returning to a familiar landscape is that it can act as a reference point for the changes in my photography over the years.

In the most obvious way, I look for different things now than I once did. But also, I recognise now, that some of the features I wished to capture back in 2003 and failed to do so, were simply never going to be possible. At the time, of making images for just 3 years, I did not have the experience to know that something was not possible.

For instance, the mountain range faces north yet the sun for most of the day moves behind it. The mountain range is always backlit. The only way to make the mountains work for you is to hope for a cloudy day as cloud causes the light to scatter everywhere and appear to come from all directions. When it is not cloudy, light is extremely directional. If you’re shooting towards the light on a cloudless day, then you end up with backlit subjects.

I did not have the basic knowledge to understand this back in 2003 and I suppose in a way, I didn’t want to understand it either. I was more driven by an idealistic view of what I was hoping to shoot. The amateur in me hadn’t learned to submit to what the landscape offers. Instead I was very much hoping that the landscape would give me what I was hoping for.

As the years have gone by, I have learned that it is best to go with what the landscape offers. Turn up with as few preconcieved ‘wants’ as you can, as they only serve to get in the way.

Another way to put it would be to ‘get out of your own way’ when making photographs.

I am less in need of sunset or sunrise light. These were attractive reasons for shooting Torres del Paine that were a big draw for me back in 2003. Not now. These days I prefer to go with the natural nature of a landscape and In my view Torres del Paine is a monocrhomatic landscape of greys with colourful hints and shades of turqoise in its lakes.

I am more drawn to its natural muted palettes of it’s granite and gabbro-diorite rock. I love how the muted rock colour acts as a neutral reference point, to showcase the beautiful coloured lakes of the national park: Nordensjkjold’s greenish turqoise, Pehoe’s radox blue, and lago Grey’s grey. Along with its black beaches, Torres del Paine is a monochromatic study for me, with just a dash of lake colour.

And yet that is not what I originally came for.

So, this is my 22nd year coming here and I am wondering if I will see anything new in the familiar vistas I have visited many times? I think the answer is that something new is always on offer. It’s up to me as to whether I will be receptive to seeing it.

That remains to be determined. All I know is, that often when I think a landscape has changed, the real truth of the matter is that the landscape has changed very little. What has instead changed, is often how I am seeing it. This is often the most evident in places where I keep returning, and returning, and returning over the years.


Pre determined outcomes kill creativity

“Photography rewards the unexpected instant,
rather than the careful planning of what might very well not come”

I read this in a manual today, for some audio equipment I am learning. I adapted it for photography because I think it is relevant for any creative endeavour.

The difficulty being, that as a beginner, we often need rules, or goals with which to work with to get us some place. But real artistry comes from leaving the path of rules and expectations, and going with the creative flow.

Rather than being the one to guide the work, we should really let the work guide us.

Similarly, tyring to get out of something you arranged, or that has fallen into place, is pretty much all about you fighting against the current of your own life.

I chose to come to Torres del Paine a few days before a tour I am running here, to camp. I wanted to do this for a few reasons. Mainly it was a way of reconnecting with my 35 year old self when I first came here in 2003. But also, I dearly wanted to come and do some lone photography. It has been 18 years since I last did any here.

On paper, the attraction of being alone was something I yearned for, but once I got here, I really felt like I could do with some company. I tried to change my plans only to find out that it would be difficult to do so. So I had to stay put. In hindsight, this was me fighting what was already set in place. As they days have progressed, I’ve noticed that staying put turned out to be the right thing to do. I am where I should be.

I am here at the very end of the season. The staff have told me I am the only person booked in. They were surprised that someone chose to come to the park so late in the season.

It is baltic here. Snow on the ground, and it is very clear to me that they are all waiting to go home at the end of a very busy season (bear in mind that their seasons are reversed - they are now heading into winter time, whereas in the northern hemisphere everyone is now looking forward to enjoying their summer).

And so, a silly 57 year old Scot has turned up, and I suppose they feel they need to look after me. One has offered me their sleeping mat (because as the staff member has pointed out to me “it’s colder than you might have thought it would be”).

If this wasn’t enough to make me realise that there are a group of concerned individuals looking after someone who clearly shouldn’t be here, another member of the camping staff has taken it upon himself to approach me and says “ you have used more than half of your fuel, but you still have more than half of your stay to go”. He is offering to use a petrol can while at the nearest town (95km away) to fill up for me.

And so, I reckon, that despite me wanting to curtail my trip camping and to head back to civilisation, I am where I should be. I am amongst friends, albeit new ones.

Accept the help when it is offered, is perhaps something we should all take heed of. It’s not about pride, it’s not about being self sufficient. It’s about letting someone, even a complete stranger, show you that they care about you. It is also a way of integrating into a small social system. You contribute by accepting help, by letting others know you are approachable and someone who can be worked with.

Where I'm at

Tonight I just arrived in Puerto Natales. It is a lovely little town on the outskirts of the grand Torres del Paine national park. I am here for some private time for a week with my tent and camera.

I cannot help but be reflective today. My first visit to the park was back in 2003. That’s 22 years of my life which has passed by in that time. And I am seeing contrasts with whom I was back then and whom I am right now.

( I won’t bore you ;-)

In eight days, I will be meeting my group for my Torres del Paine tour in winter time. All the photo tours have left. All the tourists have left. Everyone comes here for the autumn light, but for me, it’s about the winter light. I have two hotels opening up specially for my group coming (everywhere is now closed. Background info: by the end of the summer, all the service staff are ready to go home).

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Wherever you are, if you are dreaming and wishing of being some place, I do hope you can make it so. We only really have a very little time. Time, is our most precious comodity.

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But time is not the most precious thing we have. The most precious thing we have is our connection to others.

One can be distracted by the lure of travelling: the landscapes you dream of photographing have a very strong pull upon us. If you have those urges and leanings, then you should really try to satisfy them. For sure.

But as someone who travels a lot, I can now safely say that the most precious things in my life is are my friendships and my family.

I am fortunate to have gone through the tunnel of dreaming and wishing to be in exotic places, to learn that although these places add and give me something rich, the really important thing in my life is the friends and connections I have.

I write these words, knowing all too well, that they may be misconstrued, misunderstood. I can only write them, having gone through the process of doing so much travel, that one realises that what is most important.

Still, we have to dream.

And I do not wish to suggest you should not follow your own dreams in case you lose your friendships. Dreams are important. They are vital.

Following our heart is the most truest thing we can do, if we wish to get closest to who we truly are.

But to follow one’s dreams does not mean we are guarnteed to find true happiness. Instead, what it does allow us, is to be able to figure out what is important in our lives. As the saying goes: regrets are mostly about what we didn’t do. Not what we did.

In my view, the more I travel, the more I realise my family and friends are crucial to me.

Cherish your connections and tend them well. Everyone you know is unique. We are privileged to know the folks we know. They add colour and depth to our lives, and they are what give us the foundation we need, to help us go travelling, and to follow our dreams. Because when we return home, they are always there to greet us.

Stay close.

White Canvas

I’ve been wanting to write an updated e-book about aspect ratios for some time.

Last year I put together a rough outline of the points I wish to cover in the new e-book, but I simply ran out of free time to work on it.

This week I began work on the new e-book and I’m now grateful I had a delay in writing it. Sometimes, I think that delays allow me to let an idea simmer in the back of my mind. I often gain more clarity about the points I wish to cover, and how best to go about conveying them.

I think the title for the new e-book once finished may be ‘White Canvas’.

The more I think about aspect ratios, the more I am convinced that we should avoid rules when composing. Instead, what we should learn about, is the deficiencies of the human visual cortex when working with different ratios. If you can understand what is going on there, then it may help you understand how to work with certain ratios more easily, and what practices you need to employ to get the most out of all the ratios that we commonly use.

I hope to include some exercises in the e-book. Our eye tends to be rather lazy, often heading towards the central area of the frame. It takes some practice, and effort to learn to walk the edges of the frame, and to visualise the entirety of the scene in the mind’s eye.

Anticipation at Laguna Armaga

On a recent trip to Torres del Paine, Patagonia I spent three mornings attempting a sunrise shot of the famous towers from the base of Laguna Armaga. Due to low-lying cloud and fog we could not see the famous towers, which we of course had all been anticipating.

Over the years I've been in so many similar situations that I now know that I should really try to embrace whatever I'm given, but it hasn't always been easy for me. It has taken me quite a few years to come to an understanding with the landscape, that I must learn to submit to it and run with what it gives me.

Surprisingly, I think I got a shot that was possibly much better than anything I could have imagined, or more importantly, than I could have anticipated.

Anticipation cannot be avoided. We are, by nature, beings that when we are not living in the past, we are thinking about the future, and seldom are we in the present moment.

As a workshop and tour guide / leader, or whatever it is that I am, I'm aware of seeing the same emotions, the same highs and the same lows in groups when the weather is not co-operating.

It is a funny thing to realise that all of us cannot escape anticipation. I think that anticipation of a location is much like pre-visualisation. Both can be a hindrance. Expecting the landscape to give you what you want, let alone even be aware of your needs, is something that we all must, at some point understand is a futile preoccupation. Eventually we must learn that it is us who must submit to the landscape, as it will not submit to us.

But anticipation does have its benefits. I am 100% sure it is not entirely a destructive mental process. If we do not anticipate anything, then this may suggest boredom or a lack of engagement.

I think that when we are excited and looking forward, we cannot help but anticipate. It is, in my view, a form of photographic hope. What I think anticipation's most destructive aspect is, is its way of stopping us seeing beyond what we hoped to get.

Much like comparison is the thief of joy, anticipation is the thief of working with the unexpected. When we don't see what we want, we will often say "there was nothing there". In my view, it's very much a roundabout way of admitting that we couldn't get past our own expectations.

I often think that the creative process is the art of working on one's own personal hang-ups.

The landscape tends to mirror back what we are feeling. If we are feeling excited, then the landscape is exciting, and if we are uninspired, then we think the landscape is uninspiring. But the landscape just 'is'. It is neither boring, or interesting. It just exists, and what we are dealing with is our own personal way of working through how we feel about what we are seeing.

I suppose that learning to understand when anticipation has taken us over may be the first step. Learning to deal with the disappointment of not getting what you wanted may be the second step. Thinking there may be something else to find and deciding to let go of previous wants is ultimately where we all want to get to.


Overcoming Creative Inertia

I believe in the importance of finding inspiration in a single image to overcome creative inertia. As I reflect on the process, I notice how portfolios become more rounded as more images are added. I also notice that strong ideas tend to lead to a quick emergence of themes in my work.

Sometimes, when I get home from a trip and review what I’ve shot, it can appear at first, as though there is no theme to the work I’ve made. That is certainly how I felt about a set of images I made whilst in Aomori, a region in northern Japan in January of 2024.

The degree of skill required in turning what may appear on the surface, to be nothing more than a collection of random visual thoughts, into something that has a consistent stylistic message, cannot be overstated. It is something I care about deeply. For if I feel a theme is not present, then I will often struggle to begin work on editing the images from a shoot.

Inertia may consume me if I find I am unclear which direction to take the work in. The antidote, I have found, is to find inspiration in the lone image. If I can find one single image that is inspiring to edit, then this may be the only catalyst that’s needed for me to begin. And interestingly for me, with my Aomori images, it was not a landscape image that drew me in. It was instead, an image of a mural that I had shot in a Buddhist temple, that gave me the start I needed.

From there, I worked on a further two mural images. There was something pleasing about their warm golden colour and the beauty of the scenes they depicted, that helped me group them into a set of three images.

At first though, these murals appeared to be at odds with the surrounding landscape of beautiful frozen lakes and trees that I’d encountered. I chose to work on the winter scenes in isolation so as not to be confused or influenced by the murals I’d shot. Once I had completed work on them, I then chose to put them next to the murals to see how they felt as a collection.

I was surprised to find they sat comfortably next to each other, and I believe upon reflection, it was because they are of complimentary colours.  The cool blues of the winter snow scenes compliment the warmer yellow hues of the murals. Blue and yellow are opposite each other on the colour wheel.

I often feel that portfolios tend to grow in terms of personality as we add more images to them. Their nature, or personality becomes more formed, more rounded as we continue to develop the collection.

But I am no fan of large collections of images. I much prefer small portfolios of an uneven number. Six images is often enough to convey a story. Nine is nice also but beyond that, the story may start to feel unnecessarily complex, or I will find the set contains too many images that are similar.

In terms of layout, six or nine images lay out well in columns of three. This suits my aim for things to be concise, and for the work to be clear of intention.

I have often thought that when an idea is strong, things tend to flow. Work will come together quickly. Songwriters often say for their best work that  ‘the song seemed to write itself’, and I think that when we are working with strong ideas, a theme will quickly present itself. You just have to find that one lone image, to help you find the way in.

Scars on Land

How we view the landscape, can be shaped by the choice of words we use to describe it.

The word scar for instance has negative connotations. It is often used to convey damage, fault, or something that is permanent which cannot be repaired. We use it to describe emotional damage as well as physical.

I’m often conscious that my choice of words can influence how I feel about a place. Often the feelings come first, and I hunt for a word to describe my feelings. Other times, the words come first, and an emotional reaction is derived by the words I chose to describe the place.

Much like long exposures record the passage of time, scars are a recording of the landscape’s formation. There is something in this for me. I am drawn to knowing that there is history. I am intrigued even, because I realise, I will never know the full story of what happened here.

But I’ve come to see scars in the landscapes as something more than just a mark, a trace of the landscape’s formation. They can be wonderful composition motifs, pleasing or perhaps providing tension to the scene I am recording.

I have re-imagined what I think the word scar means.

They are natures drawings, often loaded with aesthetic beauty as well as many other things.

Some more photogenic than others. Some more meaningful than others. I find myself drawn to them, and I can’t really get to the bottom of why. All I know is they satisfy my visual curiosity for building compositions that are meaningful to me in some way.

I think this is why I am drawn to the interior of Iceland. It is a young landscape. The traces of its formation are apparent, if not in understanding, for I am no geologist, but certainly in terms of graphic artistry. I often feel as though I am looking at the underlying structure of our world. Stripped back to the essentials. It suits my aesthetic for the minimal and graphic. But it also suits my need for connection. For understanding the landscape.

Landscape photography is not just about looking for the graphic aesthetic. We are looking for connection. Often, I think I am hunting for a visual home. A place of familiarity. I am a Scot, and the weather, quality of light and muted colour palate present in the Icelandic interior makes me feel as though I am home in the Scottish Highlands. There is a lot of similarity, even though there is a vast difference in age by several hundred million years between the two landscapes. Iceland’s landscape is young. The oldest parts being roughly 20 million years old. Scotland’s landscape is approximately 480 million years old.

And yet I feel at home. So much so, that when I return to my homeland of Scotland, I find it much easier now to imagine where the glaciers one stood. How each valley was formed by vast tonnes of ice scraping and sculpting the land. I see traces in the scars left behind. And this brings me back full circle to realising that scars on land are somehow more important to me than I had once realised.

Royal Photographic Society

Last night I gave a presentation for two hours to the Royal Photographic Society. I covered my Bolivia images, Icelandic interior images, Hokkaido and Scotland.

I was initially reluctant to go - I rarely do any public speaking and felt I would make a mess of it all. But despite initial nerves, I’m really pleased I didn’t cancel. I feel I got a lot out of doing the talk. There were a few things I learned about my own work during the talk, but also, found some of the comments from some of the audience extremely encouraging. There was a nice observation about some of my images looking a little like a Rothko painting (very nice indeed).

I wish to thank the RPS for considering inviting me - especially Mark Reeves. There are so many photographers these days to choose from, so thank you so much. It was a very nice evening on several levels, including meeting some old friends there.