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.

Personal Motifs

In this podcast, I discuss the importance of revisiting and developing a personal connection with certain landscapes or locations in photography.

I emphasise that returning to places that resonate with you can result in them becoming personal motifs, themes that you keep returning to, and that help contribute towards your voice or style.

Transcript:

If you find success with a location and come away with some great images then my advice would be to keep going back. The landscape or location clearly works for you on some level, and there is probably much more to be gained from spending more time there.

I have been making photos now for around 24 years. It is only natural for one to build a history with the places they return to, time and time again, to photograph.

I am not one for going to completely new places each year, and instead I have always preferred to go back to the locations that I have some affinity with. They draw me back, and I know there is always a reason for it.

When I am compelled to go back, I have learned that there is clearly still much photography to be done, and I know that this will contribute in some way to my development as a photographer.

In a way, any landscape that we keep returning to, or that becomes a major part of our photography, is what I would like to call a personal motif. These landscapes contribute to our personal growth, but also they become a calling card to others as to what it is that we do.

In essence, landscapes that keep drawing you back define you. Similar to the saying, you are what you eat, so it is true that you are what you photograph.

Once we recognise that certain key landscapes or locations have helped define our style, or at the very least convey to us what we are drawn to, then I think there is no going back.

I for one recognise that I seem to be attracted to conical silhouettes in my work. It is a theme that I seem to be drawn to when I encounter them. I found that by looking back over my 20 or so years of photography, that they come up time and time again.

I now embrace this.

Ever since I made the conscious act of understanding that what I should defines who I am, it has given me permission to go look for and work with these personal motifs.

And this brings me on to my main subject.

If someone were to ask me if there is one place out of all the places that I return to that perhaps exemplifies this for me, it would have to be the Icelandic mountain Þóristindur. A mountain that started out being one of many conical shaped subjects that I am attracted to has been promoted in my art by being given its own special portfolio.

It clearly has more importance to me than I have understood.

It is one of my personal motifs for I could not imagine my photography without its existence in my body of work. And it seems to symbolise something more than just my attraction to prominent mountain shapes or black silhouettes.

There is something much richer in it for me than I can possibly describe. All I can say for sure is that I think we all need to seek and find our own personal motifs.

They are, whether anyone else notices or not, or even understands or not, what drive us forward.

The Horses of St Marks

While in Venice, I came across statues of the horses of St. Marks. I didn’t have a camera to shoot them with that I could use without a tripod. Since St. Marks would not allow tripods inside, I had to wait a year. When I returned this past December, I took my Hasselblad so I could shoot inside the building.

I don’t normally shoot statues or buildings, but the past year or so, mostly because I’ve been visiting Venice (as a holiday and respite from my usual landscape photography), I’ve engaged in it.

I think all you can do, is photograph the things that speak to you.

I really liked the horses. I don’t really have anything more to say on it, except that I like the bronze look to the final edits I’ve made, which I had envisioned at the time I made the images.

the end sends advanced warning

Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time looking at street photography books, of which I will write later. As part of my looking for new inspiration I found this video about Todd Hido’s work, which I love. It is an interesting mix of landscape and what I would call ‘random street photography’.

There is an element of randomness, imperfection to the compositions which I love. They are a relief to the tightly controlled compositions I tend to strive for.

I always think we should strive for the highest quality inspiration we can find. If you want your photography to move up a level, you won’t get that from looking at work that is on the same level as your own.

Olive

I remember reading in one of Ansel Adam’s books that he was only truly happy about one of his exhibitions because the walls were painted olive.

Adams reasoning was that olive is close to mid-grey, and if one wishes to evaluate the true blacks and whites of one’s prints, then putting them on a mid-grey background allows the eye to have a reference point. I paraphrase Adam’s words. I may have got some of the detail wrong, but I think I got the essence of what he was saying correct.

I often find when putting hi key images against mid-grey, I am able to discern the off white colours more easily. Similarly, the blacks in prints convey the correct depth. Plus any intended colour cast in the blacks is more evident against a grey background. The eye needs a neutral tone with which to reference against.

On a slight side note: I sometimes spend a lot of time hue-shifting the blacks and whites in my images. Black is not always black and I find that sometimes blacks with some blue or magenta in them can convey more depth. Similarly, snow is not white, it comes in all varying shifts in hue as the colour temperature changes throughout the day. I often spend a lot of time tuning the hues of the whites in my work.

I am often told that my images are just white, and they do not have any colour to them. Colour awareness varies greatly from person to person. But you can kill any subtleties in your work if the surrounding colours are too strong.

This is why I have changed the background colour of this very website. I felt that the black background was causing myself and I am sure many others, to be unable to discern the more subtle colour casts in the shadows and highlights of my photography.

Fact of the matter is, that adjacent colour affects our perception of a colour we are looking at. Which can be nicely illustrated in the picture of a bowler hat below. The yellow square (right side of the hat) and the brown square (left side of the hat) are actually the same colour. If you don’t believe me, then I urge you to load the image into Photoshop and copy the yellow square on the right and drag it over the brown square. You will see it transform before your eyes as you drag it across.

So, depending on the background colour of your website, your images may be interpreted very differently. As I think mine were. Folks were not noticing the subtle colours in the highlights because the black surrounding was far too dominant.

If you have the time, and wish to go back to my galleries, you may find that you can see colours and nuances that were not obvious when this website’s background colour was black.

And if you still think my images are ‘just white’, then I am afraid I cannot help you ;-)

The pendulum swing of color

This episode discusses my journey as a photographer and my evolving perspective on the use of colour in my work.

I explore how photographers learn to pay closer attention to their surroundings and notice subtle details, including color. I describe my initial attraction to vivid, dramatic colors as a beginner, but over time, I developed an appreciation for more muted, quieter color palettes.

The podcast reflects on the pendulum swing between these two extremes, with me now finding a balance by incorporating more colour into my work while still maintaining the elegance and simplicity I have learned to appreciate.

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.