Lago Grey, Patagonia 2012

I've only just dipped my toes into my images from this years Patagonia photo trip. Here is a backlit shot of Lago Grey with Paine Grande cast in an orange glow from a setting sun.

I was initially attracted to the rock in the mid-ground - with it's graphic-angular shape and directional lighting. But it was only while setting the camera up on my tripod that I noticed the lower darker rocks. I felt these could be a great foreground detail with their mottled texture. Often black rocks turn to a muddy mess in a scene, but when there is back lit directional light shining on them, it can help lift their tonal values from extreme black, into the lower mid-grey tones. Making it easier for me to record them on Fuji Velvia.

I made this image on my Mamiya 7 camera. I'm aware that  I'm a landscape photographer who feels more at home with portrait-orientated compositions. Perhaps it's the ability to mix a lot of sky in with a lot of foreground that works for my eye. I'm really not sure, but having a mix of aspect ratios to work with has really helped me open up my eyes to the surrounding landscape and consider where each object should be placed.

Looking for the essence #7

I knew something was there. The weather was closing in and the isle of Taransay on the horizon was often being misted in rain. The light was getting low and my exposures were going down into the 10 minute region (due to reciprocity).

When I encountered this scene on last May's Harris workshop, I spent about an hour or more just in this small location, looking for that elusive 'essence' I've been writing about over the past few weeks. The funny thing is, when I do feel I've reached 'it', and made some shots of it - the scene is often etched into my mind (I shoot film 100% of the time - I'm not a digital shooter, so I have to work with the scene in my mind a bit more than I would if I had a preview screen). I think we need to trust the gut instinct about these things. When you hit upon something that is working, it is as if your entire sensory input is being overloaded. I seem to find everything around me becomes more acute.

Here's an image that was shot in the same area just a few minutes apart.

I should tell you that I found the stones in the bottom left hand corner too distracting and as much as I tried to compose with them in, they never really felt as if they should be part of the composition. I'm often not really aware of what it is that's bothering me when I make images. I just tend to go with listening to how I'm feeling inside. I knew however, that it was the white streak of seam going through the foreground rocks that was pulling me in, and I felt very much that this was the 'essence' of the scene I was trying to capture.

Often we're not close enough.

When I moved to the right to try and extract the white rocks, I found that the dark eye patch seen in the bottom left of the first image became more of a 'motif'. It filled in the bottom left hand side of the frame beautifully. I find that with a bit of fine tuning, moving in closer, moving around just by a foot or two, things can 'snap-into-focus'.

Glasgow School of Art

I love architecture. Most probably because of the lines and curves, tones and shapes that an architect has to think about when they design beautiful buildings. In my teens, I thought that this was where I would be headed with my interests, but my grades at school were never that good to get me there.

But I love going for a tour of a really beautiful building. Here in Scotland, we're a bit spoiled, because Glasgow is the home of Charles Rennie Mackintosh. He is to Glasgow (and Scotland as a whole), what Gaudi is to Barcelona and Catalonia. He was a genius who built some very beautiful buildings and furniture.

Tomorrow is my day off, and I felt that if I should go somewhere, and do something that gives me inspiration, and a deep sense of satisfaction - I should go and see Charles Rennie Mackintosh's 'school of art'.

The school of art was designed first and foremost as a 'functional' place for art students.

I never went to art-school - which was a surprise for me,  because I'd always been a bit of an 'art' kid all through my childhood and teenage years and always assumed this is where I'd end up after high school. I still wonder why I never made it to art school, but I'm willing to accept that maybe  I wouldn't be where I am today if I had.

But if I had made it to art-school, I would have preferred to go somewhere where the aesthetic married my own sensibilities and tastes.

Mackintosh's School of art would have been perfect for me. It is a very beautiful building, full of thought and design aesthetics, while also being a place of work - it is filled with contemporary art students.

I love it dearly, and I've visited it several times now.

I think architecture and photography are highly related - both require an awareness of space - as well as of the aesthetic. Both, when done well, can enrich our lives and give us a sense of belonging or 'emotional attachment'.

When was the last time you wandered around a beautiful building, and considered it's symmetry and tonal interest in the same way that you may with the landscape?

As photographers, we are creative people. We get our inspiration from everything around us.

It doesn't have to be visual, but certainly I find beautiful buildings as deeply pleasing (and rewarding) to be around as beautiful landscapes.

I understand the importance of being outside in nature, but I often feel that well designed buildings are our interpretation of nature - they are structured into a tidy, organised way - a way in which we make sense of the randomness of the natural world.

In that sense, beautiful buildings are very much like beautiful landscape photographs. They capture the essence of structure, form and tone of our surroundings.

Sample Slipcase

Last week I received a copy of the prototype slipcase for my book, and also the cloth bound outer casing of the actual Book. The printer hasn't put the inset photo into the slipcase, but you can see the actual book (minus dust jacket) in the front and the slip-case in the background of this photo.

I love the font that Darren chose for the book, and I'm now very excited about the the book's arrival. I should receive four sample copies early september. There will be a special announcement around that time via my newsletter mailing list.

Here's another picture of part of my book collection. Can you spot the new slipcase within these books?

Looking for the 'essence'?

I've been saying for a while, that I really hate to charge in there and edit images as soon as I've made them. I've learned over the past decade that giving myself some time and distance between the shoot and the edit, has helped me be more objective about what it was that I captured. I also feel I'm able to get more out of my editing than I would have if I came home and worked on them right away. It's that proverb about not seeing the wood for the trees. With a little bit of distance, I can see more clearly what the actual image 'is', rather than be caught up with trying to force the image to fit what I thought it 'was'.

I've had a back log of images sitting in a little folder on my desk for about six months or maybe more now. When you run a workshop business, you spend a lot of your time with the clients and very little time on your own work. I perhaps maybe shoot as much stuff as I did, when I was not  full-time. Anyway, I did look at the contents of the folder several months ago, and felt I didn't have any enthusiasm to work on anything contained inside. I think at the time I felt there was really nothing there, but I was also aware that I was feeling a bit tired anyway. So on a hunch, I left the folder in my 'to do' box. I guess I knew I wasn't really ready to approach looking at any images and doing any editing.

So today I found myself just opening up the folder and finding all these beautiful images in there. I'm a bit dumbstruck as to how I could have left these in there for so long, and more importantly - why did I feel 'nothing' for these several months ago? It's a rhetorical question because I always knew the answer - 'I wasn't ready to work on them'.

I know, it probably sounds a bit 'zen' to you. But I really do feel there is a time and a place for all things to be given attention. I didn't feel it months ago, and I listened to how I was feeling and parked the images to one side. Today is clearly the day where I feel it's the right time to work on them, and I'm very taken with the first image of Harris you see at the top of this post.

Regardless of whether you can't wait after a shoot or not to work on your images, it's also worth noting that it's good policy to go back and review the negatives months later, because you may see things in there you passed over the first time. That photo fo Gullfoss you see - never made it to my Iceland book. It never even made it to any scanning stage at the time either because I was perhaps too wrapped up in the more obvious things that fitted what I was looking for. I'm sure there are always golden nuggets of images sitting in our previous shoots, ones we passed over, because we were looking for something else.

Months later, I'm free of any preconceived ideas I had. I'm able to just look at the images, very detached from what I was hoping to do during the actual shoot, and I'm able to take them for what they are.

In Patagonia

As landscape photographers, we need to feel a connection with the places we photograph. We have to surrender ourselves to the smells, moods and feelings of a place and let the landscape pervade our own thoughts. I've been in Patagonia now for just over a week and familiar 'feelings' that I've experienced whilst here on previous trips (this is my 7th time here) have resurfaced. A place can be like that - like a familiar piece of music that you haven't listened to in a while, you are instantly transported back to a mood, a time, a feeling upon hearing it. It's been just great getting re-aquainted with this old friend of mine now. So this week I couldn't help myself, but buy a second copy of Bruce Chatwin's 'In Patagonia'. It cost me around £28 believe it or not, but I had to have it. Reading about Patagonia whilst here seems to be the perfect thing to do and Bruce's book is a great (if highly inaccurate account) of Patagonia. What Bruce does with this book is set the tone of how Patagonia feels to the traveler.

I'll admit that I'm not too keen on the fact that there are many lies contained within the book. His meetings with people who live here are often more fable than fact, but he does do a good job of giving you an impression of a place that is remote, lonesome, possessed, and one which can possess you.

As is quoted in Bruce's book - Patagonia is a magnet for those who's malady is 'the horror of one's own home'. Restless people come here and I feel I can relate to that. As much as I love being at home, when i'm there, I'm often wishing to be away, and when I'm away - I'm often wishing to be home.

If you're thinking of going somewhere, I can think of no better thing than to buy books about the place. Photography books might give you some idea of what is there, but the written word has a better chance of helping you get into the mindset of what lies before you. Maybe it might help settle you into the mental adjustment an undertaking of this magnitude will have on you: going away for a prolonged period of time can be overwhelming. My way of life in Scotland is so far removed from many of the places in the world I visit, and I'm often confronted with having to rip myself away from my home life, to be replanted elsewhere. Reading books about my chosen destination before I go, often helps me with the adjustment and they're also great devices to help me slowly untangle myself once I've returned home too.

In a few weeks I will be back in Scotland, in my old routine, but I will have Bruce Chatwin's 'In Patagonia' to help me slowly disengage from the life that I am leading right now as I type this post from my hotel in deepest Patagonia.

Wishing you were where your heart wishes to be.

Photographs not taken

A degree of restraint is what's required, I feel. This week I bought a copy of Will Steacy's 'Photographs not taken', which promises to be an interesting account of images that photographers chose not to take.

Like music where the space between the notes is just as important as the notes, the space between taking images is just as important as the making of an image.

With so much image proliferation happening right now, I have a wonder if what we're doing is polluting our visual existence with too much sensory overload?

I know for myself, I need space between shooting because in the quiet moments, when images aren't being created, I can reflect, consider and simply enjoy what is around me - I have to live in the moment just as much as I may feel I wish to document it.

An image should exist because it has a reason. In the film Amadeus, the King says to Motzart that he didn't care for his opera because 'it has too many notes', while Motzart responds with 'but I used as many notes as it required'. Our own work should be similar - we should create what we need to create to tell our story, and no more. Having a sense of restraint is a quality rather than a hinderance to our own development as photographers, so long as we're in control of it and can moderate it.

But I often wonder if what I'm doing is going down a path of less creativity. As beginners, we tend to photograph everything, and anything. As our craft develops, we start to become more aware of what we're doing, and inevitably more selective. We focus more on certain things and discard others. I feel that sometimes I restrict myself too much; I have built up a lot of experience of what I feel does not work, so I don't shoot it - which in itself is limiting as I may find new opportunities if I did.

As time goes by, I become more and more restrictive - the number of images is reduced down and down, while I seek something that is really worth telling.

But as much as this is a process of pushing myself forward, aiming to create more finely-tuned, stylistic work, I'm not entirely sure of where it's heading. Maybe all that will happen is that I will create less and less, until ultimately, I create nothing at all?

I degree of balance is required.

We need to monitor ourselves and our behaviour, know when we are simply shooting too much garbage - and it is garbage, because it's produced with less consideration and less thought behind it (and we know it too - don't we?), and know when we are not shooting enough because we're putting up barriers that stop us from being creative at all.

I think Will Steacy's book is about this, but much more too. I think it's really an interesting view on what made photographers - and she interviews plenty - decide not to shoot something. It isn't always down to 'because I didn't like it'. There are more reasons to this I'm sure.

But I think for me, it's a chance to reflect on my own motivations and to question why I choose not to make images.

I'll let you know what I think of Will Steacy's book once I'm finished with it, but if you'd like to buy a copy, it's pretty inexpensive at just £11.25 from Beyond Words

Are you an image designer?

The answer should be yes. All photographer's are trying to instil an emotional reaction in those that view their images.

In this talk, Richard Seymour discusses how design of beautiful things is all about feeling, rather than thinking, but he goes beyond this to discuss how as a designer, he has to win viewers of his designs over in nano-seconds. I feel this is exactly the same thing that all photographer's have to do. All photography is about feeling, and sometimes, we think too much, and that gets in the way of 'feeling beauty'.

Creative people Commit

A few weekend's ago, I was in Torridon conducting a weekend workshop. One of the topics that came up was the abundance of choice that we have as photographers. It's a well worn path of discussion for me, and something I've got very firm views on. I believe that when we have more choice, it does not equate to better creative control.

In fact, I think my motto on occasions has been that 'less is more'. One such instance is in lens choice. I don't believe that having zooms makes for a better approach to improving composition, and that by using fixed focal length lenses (primes) we have a lot of advantages over those who believe that having a zoom will allow them to cover all scenarios.

Let me explain. Primes force you to hunt the landscape. You have to move, to find the right composition and fit it to work with your lens. Zooms make us lazy and we tend to stay rooted to the same spot. We don't engage with the landscape so much. Also, if you are a beginner, then zooms make things more complicated because I believe that if you have, say, 3 fixed focal length lenses such as a wide, standard and telephoto, you get to know them well and in particular - start to 'visualise' in those particular focal lengths. It cuts down decisions and allows you to get on with the task at hand - making images.

It's a complete folly that having lots of lenses, lots of camera bodies, and carrying everything with you all the time - means you're ready for anything. In truth, you've lumbered yourself down with a lot of dead weight, and too many options.

There's an adage 'the best camera and lens you have - is the one you have with you'. If you have one lens, you'll work with it. Get the most out of it. If you have five lenses, you've got to make your mind up which one to use, and until you're really experienced in using them - you'll only add confusion to the process of trying to make good images.

So what is my point?

Well, I've not really got to it yet. So far, you've just been listening to a pre-able, and what I'd like to really discuss is that anyone who's wanting to work on their photography and improve on it, needs to be able to commit. Make decisions and stand by them. Those that go out with all the lenses in the world to capture 'everything' are only distancing themselves from making any firm commitments.

We seem to live in an age where we want endless undo features. We wish to be able to capture 'everything'. Well, we can't be omnipresent. That's someone else's job. Not ours. No. We have to compromise, accept we won't capture everything, and nor will we be able to get everything 'right'. Those that think they can by taking every available lens with them is only fooling themselves.

And my point is: the same for post-capture editing.

I'm always fascinated when I show groups on my workshops the endless undo facilities of LightRoom. Compared to Photoshop, you can undo anything at any time, days, months or years after you edited it - in LightRoom. But you can't with Photoshop. Once you crop and save that file, quit the application - you've lost any possibility of going back in the history, because Photoshop is destructive: it only remembers your edits during the current session. Not for the rest of your life.

So you better get it right.

Or maybe that should be - you better get used to living with your decisions.

I make bad choices all the time. But by looking back at what I did, months, years later, I see that I'm developing and learning. I need to make mistakes to improve. I need to commit and believe that what I chose as a suitable edit - was right - at that time.

So my point is - I don't think having endless undo capability in LightRoom is really that important. Yes, it's nice, but it's not really a feature I seek or feel is vital to any editing application I use - because I don't look back. I don't waste time thinking that I might have got that edit wrong. I make a decision in Photoshop, do the crop and move forward.

I'm aware that during the editing stage, images become photographs. I'm aware that their personalities change. They become something else. Each edit closes a door of what they might have been, and opens a door to what they are becoming. I embrace the future and I'm excited to wonder just which direction the editing will take the image in.

Sure, there's a valid reason for having undo features. I use the history in Photoshop all the time. If I'm not sure just where I'm going, I'll revert, go back a step or two, compare, and see if I think the current edit I'm doing is justified. But once I save that file, I'm committed. I don't look back.

I believe in myself, and my fallibleness too.

It reminds me of each time I make an image on my film cameras. Once I shoot a frame, I know I can't go back and change it. I live with it, embrace it for whatever it may be, and whatever it may become, once it's scanned and loaded into my digital darkroom.

No, to think you have endless undo possibilities, and can 'go back' at any stage is for those who lack conviction, or confidence in their own artistic-leanings.

Perhaps the message in this post is to trust yourself.

Accept that you won't always get it right, that anything we do in photography is a learning process, a stepping stone towards better images in the long run.

After all, a good artist is one that is open to growth. And growth only happens when we open ourselves to letting things go with the flow and being free enough to see what might happen, and not worry too much if what we create appears to be a failure (I would argue any failure probably holds a lesson for us).

Maybe you feel this posting doesn't apply to you. Maybe you feel you've achieved a level of 'perfection'. I think one attribute all creative people should possess is that of humbleness. If you feel you're creating perfection, then maybe you're in more trouble than you really know.

I'm certainly aware that I'm on a journey and that what might seem good today, may feel wanting tomorrow. But I don't hold myself in high regard and nor do I give myself a hard time about my decisions. I just try to let things flow. Everything is of its time. I try to be kind to my own creativity. If I'm kind to it, then it will be good to me.

Creativity is a constantly learning journey. Being extremely kind to your mistakes is really important. But also holding true to your convictions at the time of the edit is really important too. The images show who you were at that moment.

So for my money's worth - I'm not too bothered about having that undo safety net that Lightroom offers. It's a distraction on the path of creative learning. I make my decisions, I live with them and only by living with them, I learn. But in order to learn, I have to commit.

When impressions don't match results

When I'm out making images, I have to trust my intuition - it's part of being a film shooter - I can't see what it is I've captured until the films are processed much later. I would say though, that after shooting film for over 20 years now, that I feel I've got a fairly good grasp on how well things are going at the time of capture.

But there have been a number of occasions of late, where I feel that what I created, once home, and reviewing the transparencies, did not equal what I thought I was achieving at the time. In some instances, the final images have surpassed what I felt I captured. This was evident last summer when I visited Iceland. I had a terrible head cold and felt that the entire shoot was a disaster. So much so, that I came home early, feeling very despondent and assured that the whole shoot had been a disaster.

When they returned, and I finished work on them, I discovered I had this collection of imagery:

I was a little overwhelmed at just how well the final images turned out, and in particular, how the images are perhaps some of my personal best work, despite my belief at the time that things weren't working for me whilst on location.

I'm curious as to just what it was, that helped me make such a strong collection of images, despite my belief at the time that the images were no good?

I feel, that we should always be willing to review not just our work, but also ourselves. I little bit of introspection - or self-awareness is no bad thing, and in fact, I think it's perhaps the most important thing in photography. We often overlook the most important ingredient in image making - ourselves. I've written about this on several occasions now, and I've even gone to the trouble of writing an ebook about it too.

So I'm no stranger to being surprised by my own efforts - a creative person should find himself surprised every now and then, and if he isn't - it's maybe because he never re-evaluates himself, or the work he's created.

Above is a contact sheet for my first escapade to the Lofoten Islands last March. I feel this too, is a very strong body of work. The only difference between this and my Iceland shoot, was that I knew I was capturing something of merit at the time.

So this year, I've been to Lofoten twice. I'm in the middle of editing the final images from two shoots - one in February where we had the most spectacular light and plenty of snow, and a second trip in March where the snow was fast disappearing and I didn't feel that enthused about what I was capturing.

Again though, I'm surprised. The latest (and most disappointing shoot) seems to be providing the most thought-provoking images out of the two shoots. Which is not what I anticipated.

I think there are perhaps numerous reasons why we should have such a disconnect between what we anticipated and what we actually get. I'll try to cover some of them (as I see them) here for you. Maybe you'd like to suggest some others that I've missed?

1. Lack of experience is the obvious one. But as I've said, I feel I've become pretty proficient at what I do, but there are still those moments where my vision seems out of sync with my ability.

2. Being overwhelmed by the experience of simply being there. Some places are more pleasant to shoot than others. But this has little impact on the final image. A rainy day can make the whole experience feel worthless, yet we can still come home with some surprising images. Part of this is because we have to learn that the quality of light that we find pleasing and enjoyable to be in, is not the same as the quality of light that a camera prefers to record. Camera's like low contrast light.

3. Energy levels. If you feel like crap, you can't really be that objective about what it is that you're doing. If you're unexperienced, you  will most probably let it influence your shoot as well. More proficient photographers (although not immune to this), can often still come home with good images because of the amount of experience and technique they've built up.

But i'm wondering, if you're not entirely there - if you're feeling sick, or your mind is distracted, and you still come home with good images, then what is going on? Is perhaps the illness taking your mind off things a little? Is it acting as a distraction? A distraction that allows the mind to think more laterally, and come up with things it ordinarily wouldn't?

Your comments are welcome.

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