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).

-

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.

-

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.

Simplifying the Landscape

The episode discusses the importance of simplifying compositions in landscape photography. I aim to emphasise the need to remove or quieten secondary aspects of a scene to effectively convey the intended message.

Transcript:

I've been photographing now for over 25 years, and if I were to use one word to describe what I have been trying to do over that time, whether I knew it or not, it is the word ‘simplify’.

I think the aim for all of us is to convey to our audience what we saw. And to do that, we must spend time making sure our compositions are as effective as they can be. The only way to do that is to remove or quieten down the secondary aspects of the scene. And that takes time, a lot of time, years in fact.

As beginners we tend to ignore what we don't love, and only see what we do. Love is blind as they say, and no more blind than when it comes to photographing what we love.

This explains why we often find there is a disconnect between what we thought we captured, and what we got when reviewing our images later on.

I've learned that complex scenery is perhaps not the best place to start when beginning to photograph landscapes. I think we should choose landscapes that are overly simple. Landscapes that are made up of only the barest of building blocks, namely form and gradation of tone. Some describe these landscapes as abstract places, but I like to see them as simplified places where the distractions and complexities of traditional landscapes have been removed.

They allow me to work on what is most important, namely form and tone.

Whether it is an ellipse, a curve or a straight line, all landscapes have an underlying framework. Complex scenery does a good job of convincing us that this isn't the case, but it always is.

When we can see the landscape's framework clearly, it can aid us in many ways. The most obvious is that image making becomes a lot easier. But I think for me, the most vital role it plays is that of allowing me to disassociate myself from the landscape.

In other words, I am able to abstract the scene more easily,

which makes composing a whole lot simpler. For when I abstract a scene, I am no longer thinking of rivers, lagoons or hills. Instead, I am thinking of the tonal aspect of a curve, of the smooth gradation of one ellipse to another. And I am thinking of symmetry and balance of one shape or one shade against another.

This is why I find Lensois Maranhensis in Brazil such a joy to work in. Deserts, such as Lensois, are nothing more than a framework of lines, patterns and gradation of tone. They are a perfect playground to learn the essentials of composition, light and form, no matter how proficient one may be.

Aomori, Japan

I think each portfolio always has a standout image, whether intended or not. Particularly when not intended, standout images can often have more power than an intended standout image can. I think this is because images like this tend to buckle or go against the flow of the narrative of the portfolio, and in a way, often add a twist or a depth to the personality of the portfolio.

At the time of capturing the horse photo above, it remained etched into my mind. I think this was mostly because I shot it at the time when everything was frozen solid. The snow was sticking to the cast iron sculpture. A few hours later when I walked past it to return to the car, the stippled ice texture of the statue had vanished.

Regardless, I don’t think my portfolio below would be quite the same if the horse image was never made, or not included in the final set. Yet, by adding it, the only thing that makes it belong to the rest of the set is the colour / toning.

Taj Mahal Re-imagined

The following text was included in my monthly newsletter. But I enjoyed writing it so much that I felt I should include it on my blog.

I am thinking today that what is not often said is that photographic ‘style’ comes from a place of having a strong vision, and clarity of execution. If you know what you really want, or ‘see’ where a set of images can be taken to, that is the most important thing in terms of conveying a message. The issue for most, and I include myself in it, is that sometimes we’ve not really thought through what the intention is behind the work. That intention can surface over hours or days whilst we begin to look at new work. Stumble upon a theme during editing and decide ‘ah, that’s what this is all about, it’s about the fog!’, and away you go….

Way back in 2009, before I had even begun to offer workshops and tours, I left my IT career behind me. Due to the credit crash of 2008, I was out of work, and decided to head off to India for a month’s worth of photography. I took my dad with me.

One of the most beautiful places I got to see in India was the Taj Mahal. I had not expected to be as overwhelmed as I was by its beauty. Looking back, I think I was emotional because of the contrast between the poverty I had seen on the streets and the majesty and elegance of the Taj Mahal gardens. After weeks of travelling around Rajasthan, the Taj Mahal was a welcome relief from the intensity of India.

Smog ridden, and with constant heartburn due to the air pollution, I made some images on my Mamiya 7II camera. I was never really satisfied with them, even though I had felt the experience of being in the Taj Mahal gardens had given me memories I shall never forget.

The Taj Mahal gardens were peaceful, despite there being more than a thousand people there with me at 6am.

The colour of the marble was muted, subdued due to the poor visibility. I photographed the gardens and the temple, but did not know how to edit the work when I came home. I was out of my depth, and for many years had parked the images away, assuming them to be failures.

It is only this past month that I have chosen to revisit the original film negatives. The catalyst for this was my good friend and client Sirous. He spent some time with me talking about street photography. I ended up coming home to around seven nice street photography books that Sirous and the rest of my group had discussed.

Inspired to go back to my time in India due to the recent discussions about street photography (of which I love, but don’t do all that often at all), I had a look once more at my images from my time at the Taj Mahal.

Sixteen years later, I looked at the work and felt that I knew what was required to edit them.

It was an interesting exercise for me to do. To go back to older work and re-edit it. I could not escape the feeling that I was reconnecting with who I was back in 2009. I was also acutely aware of how limited my skills were back in 2009. I felt as though who I was back then, was sitting alongside me, watching me as I re-interpreted the work.

The Taj has an ethereal quality to its marble. It glows. And it seems to glow much more beautifully in the smog, which unfortunately is slowly eating it. The smog as far as I understand is acidic and causing great damage to the monument.

I wondered, after completing the new edits, about who I was back in 2009. About my time with my dad who accompanied me on this trip. Time has passed. My father no longer here, himself a memory as much as the Taj Mahal is a memory. I could not help but revisit my younger self and enjoy the time with my dad once again.

I have always said that going back to rework images is to be avoided. I would much prefer to keep moving forward, and to not look back. It comes pretty much from a fear of getting stuck in a perfectionists hell of not being able to move forward. Besides, we never truly ever finish anything. Where we leave it, is more a testament to who we were at the time of our editing.

I was wrong though. Being able to revisit older work, when the time is right, can allow us to complete something that was perhaps out of reach of our abilities at the time.

I know this little re-edit session gave me so much. I got to spend time with my dad again. Time with my younger self. Time to remember a lifetime trip. Time to explore how far I’ve changed as a photographer, and also perhaps how much I have stayed the same.

And an understanding that old images can sometimes offer us something new.

Cloth Samples

Next book project is progressing. Today I received some cloth samples. it’s always best to get some real samples to check against.