I'm a portrait photographer

It's been long overdue. I'm a portrait / street photographer as well as a landscape photographer. And it's been a good few years since I made any portrait shots. My trusty Contax 645 film camera has been gathering dust, and in this time, I've been focussing very hard on building a photographic workshop business.

Everything needs balance. Too much landscape work, has left me hankering to go out there and make some new portraits. Only thing is.... I'm not exactly sure where to go. I have the whole of July free, and also December. Ladakh has been on my list for a long time, but I feel a sense of inertia in booking flights there for this July. This makes me feel as if there may be another story waiting to appear and take my attention. Bhutan is also somewhere I would love to go, but I've not had much free time of late to research it. The climate is a vitally important ingredient in making portraits. Rainy season works best for people shots as the light is soft and diffused. Summer harsh light is the least attractive.

I guess right now, I'm looking for inspiration. I seldom have time these days to wander through other peoples portfolios: running a business, and working on your own photography is very intensive, sometimes too much so. I love it, but I think I'm needing to take a break, look around, see what's out there, and forge a new direction. Got any suggestions?

Moonlight as inspiration

I've been buying a load of photography books of late. And one of them that I've just placed an order for is Darren Almond's Nocturne. Darren seems to be obsessed with making images during the full moon phase.

It's no secret that I'm much more interested in images that convey an otherworldly feel. But it's not simply because I think they have a different aesthetic to images that were made during the more normal social limits of our human existence, but more because I feel images shot outside these boundaries touch upon the unknown.

Darkness has always been a mystery to man. It's a place where perception and reality become distorted and dreams or imaginings occur. And for photographers who deal in the nocturne, there is a fascination with capturing what we cannot see with the naked eye, but feel within our souls.

What has been hidden is of great fascination to me. Cameras can peer into the darkness for minutes or hours and render the most invisible things visible. I think that's why I love these images by Almond: they touch upon what we feel when we're outside on a moonlit night.

A moon-bow seems to be such a beautiful thing, that I would love to witness one. I'm sure that moon-bows happen a lot, and yet, I've never seen one. Rather than hunting down the spectacular - such as the aurora borealis, I'm sure we could become just as inspired by making images of places that have been touched by moonlight alone. Surely this is just as fascinating an area to work in?

I like Darren's work very much. It has a naturalness to it that I can believe in, while at the same time, it takes me to another place in my mind. I hope his book lives up to the anticipation that I have for it.

Through my own sense of inquisitiveness, I'm much more interested in the unseen and what might be lurking therein.  It seems that a moonlit landscape has that aspect to it, and for this and many other reasons - is a wonderful thing.

Stories of Diaspora

I think that as photographers we are, at the core of our natures - inquisitive about our environment. Or at least, I feel we should be. For a while now, I've been thinking that it's all very well to make beautiful images, but beauty is perhaps not enough in terms of our own progress and development of our art.

I might put forward the idea that to create beautiful images alone could be a shallow endeavour, certainly from the point of view of how we progress and move forward. Surely we have to feel something for our subjects in order for our art to 'grow'?

With this in mind, I find these days, that going to a location simply because it is 'stunning' is not enough of an attraction for me. There has to be depth to the subject at hand. I have to have been pulled in and inspired in a way that I want to tell a story about it. And photographers tell stories not just with one image, but often a collection of them.

I'm particularly fond of portfolios, where the collection of images contained therein, feel cohesive, and hopefully tell a story (be it in the mood they convey - through colour and tone, or more literally).

This week, I was handed a copy of 'Ragas & Reels' by a co-worker who shares my office space here in sunny Leith, Edinburgh. Ash is originally from Rajasthan, and told me of his father's book. He described it as a portrait of an indian's view of being indian and also Scottish at the same time. The cover intrigued me, because I always like it when someone finds a story in overlapping cultures. In this book of poems and images, we have just that - the cover alone tells me that this book is about indians finding a home in Scotland and the overlapping embrace of two cultures.

I think it's great when someone finds a subject to explore, because it gives the photographer a direction - a channel in which to focus their photography: going out there aimlessly making images is enjoyable and I see no problem with this, but there does come a time when there feels as if there has to be a reason for what you do, and we are all eventually looking for a story to tell.

On the subject of diaspora, I do find it intriguing how cultures merge and evolve (or not)  through migration. Less so from a political point of view, but more so from the contradictory aspects that must surface for those who move into a new country. I mention this, because the Scots (of which I'm one of them) have landed in just about every continent since the 1800's. One area I feel I have a deep connection with is Patagonia - there's something familiar about the place for me - climate wise, it's not too dissimilar from the north west of Scotland, and sometimes the pampas remind me of the bleak far north of Scotland as well. So it was with surprise to discover that there are a lot of Scottish Chilean's. Yep, Patagonia has a great deal of Chileans of Scottish descent who emigrated there in the 1800's as sheep farmers.

I have to ask myself: is the landscape familiar because I can recognise part of my homeland of Scotland in it? Does a sense of a place come from those who worked it? - it's an inquisition that I often find myself wondering about while I'm there (a yearly occurrence for me). I'd like to think there is a spirit to the landscape that has been formed by those who lived on it.

Maybe some day I might tell a story of it through my own images. But I do find the concept of little books such as 'Ragas & Reels' inspiring, because they allow me to see a relationship between photography and where we are.

Do Children make more truthful images?

It's been four years now, that I've been self-employed as a full-time photographer. In that time, I've made the transition from looking upon my own photography as a passion / hobby to something that is at the core of my identity and is also my work.

I was told by a few friends who are photographers, that there is always the danger that turning any passion into a job, can kill that passion. It's true, this is a real possibility and I've had periods over the past four years when I've felt as if I'd hit rock bottom in terms of inspiration, simply because I was working too hard, making sure I was making a living, and spending most of my time teaching others, but not making many images myself. There has to be a dividing line and if you are to venture into something you love doing as a job, you need to make a distinction between 'work' and 'hobby'. It's taken me a while to get there, and part of that process has been to realise that each year, I need to set time aside for myself, for my own photography. It's a hard balancing act to do, when you're always thinking about ensuring you keep making a living, and is not, as I'm sure others assume, an easy life.

So I've been on the lookout for some inspiration. I'd dearly love to put my landscape work to one side for a while, and focus more on making images of people. The last time I did this was in 2011 in Ethiopia, and my real 'blaze' at making people images happened in India and Nepal in 2009.

A good friend of mine mentioned that there is a children's charity called Amantani, based in Peru, who's primary aim is to help Quechua children with their education. Often walking miles each day to get to school, Amantani have been looking for funds so they can house and educate the local Quechua children and prevent them from walking many many miles each day to and from their school.

I decided to look into Amantani a bit more, and I stumbled upon a little photographic gallery (which they have kindly allowed me to reproduce here). The work was really beautiful. I thought, wow - I'd love to go there and work with these children if I could get images like these. They are fly on the wall documentary images. But what struck me most, was that they were taken by the children themselves.

I find it truly inspiring to think that little girls and boys made these images. It's made me wonder - do children in general make more truthful images?

I think they do. Or at least, they must do. I can hardly imagine a child being full of pre-conceptions, and if anything, their eye's must be closer to their hearts and to what they feel, than the average adult.

And the thing is, I really want to get involved. I just don't know in what way as yet, or indeed, if it's a possibility, but it's given me inspiration, and any creative person should follow what inspires them.

One thing is clear to me though, the images captured here were made in the least self-conscious way. I'm fully aware that anything I could do, to document what these children experience each day as part of their Quechua lives, would only capture the surface. For one, I'm not a child (well, I do have some friends who would dispute this) - it takes a lot of effort to blend in, to become invisible. I'm so envious.... if only I were 7 years old again, maybe I could create images as honest as these are.

If you'd like to see the children's original photographs, or find out more about Amantani, then please go here.

And if you would like to donate, please go here.

Baffin Island

A few days ago, a friend of mine showed me this video. [vimeo 33516816]

What a spectacular place Baffin Island is. Remote, wild, I'd love to traverse the frozen sea just like these guys have done. It reminds me so much of my time on the southern patagonian ice field.

But I'm also struck by the high production values that go in to making a movie like this.

I dislike the term 'post-processing'

It's like saying you're doing your washing. It lends nothing to the respect that any good image deserves after the shutter has been clicked. The term 'post-processing' could just as well be a way of doing a tax return on an incomplete image. It's a truly horrible phrase, and one that I feel should be removed from the dictionary of any self-respecting photographer who cares about his art.

The birth of an image requires care and attention. It is a long process - one with no defined beginnings or endings.

The conception of an image may start the moment you set foot out of your car, put your wellies on, begin that hike into the moors. It may have begun much earler - while you were dreaming the night before the shoot you eagerly anticipated. And let's not forget the point at when an image is complete. This step too, is ambiguous at best: I've never really known when my work is done on many of my images. It may be at the point of the shutter being clicked, or it  may be after a week or so of living with it in my digital-darkroom. Sometimes, I realise months later, it was nowhere near complete and is still unfinished.

I make this point because I don't think we should make a distinction between our time out in the field, and our time behind our computers. I think the word 'post-processing' helps create a divide, and it's unhealthy. It encourages the idea that any work done after the shoot, is an after thought. For some, it instills the attitude that their approach out in the field *should* be different from their approach once home behind their computer. But most importantly, it encourages one to separate the creation of an image out in the field, from the work that is done once the image is back in the studio.

I see no separation.

Image creation and manipulation are one and the same. I compose in the field; I recompose (by cropping) in the digital darkroom. I think about shapes and tones in the digital darkroom; I do the same whilst out in the field too. I think about the scene in 2D in the digital darkroom;  I've taught myself to look at a scene in 2D whilst out in the field. There is no separation. In fact, I'd say that there is a symbiotic relationship between my time out in the field and my time behind my computer. Things I learn behind my computer screen, feed back into my time in the field, and my time in the field influences the time I have behind my computer screen. Again, there is no separation.

While I am out in the field making images, I'm thinking about images. I have learned to abstract scenery into a photograph while I am on location. I have also learned what I can do with certain tones, contrasts I encounter out in the field during the digital-darkroom work. I see textures and tones in the landscape and I think about how they can be transformed, brought out, enhanced or subdued in my digital-darkroom. I do this on location. And because all of this is happening at the same time, there's never any post-anything to be done. It's just a continuous flow of creativity.

My main reason for bringing this up, is not because I feel it the term 'post-xxx' encourages us to become emotionally distant to our work (it does), nor the fact that it makes us think of photography as two different approaches (it does), but mainly, because I think a lot of photographers think about 'scenery' whilst out in the field, and they think about 'images' once back at home: there is an unhealthy contextual shift in attitude to ones work the moment we move from location to computer. Our approach and attitude to our work should not change, regardless to where we are or what we are doing, if we wish to be better photographers.

There should never be any dividing lines in art - images evolve. To assume that our time out in the field is one of two clearly defined steps, encourages ourselves to put limits on what each of those stages involves. It's creative pigeon-holing. Images are born and grow in the most surprising of ways, and by keeping an open mind, we let them go where they want to go.

Let your creativity flow by removing confining terms such as 'post-processing' from your artistic vocabulary.

Digital Darkroom Workshop Announcement

For a while now, I've been wishing to teach photographers more about how to 'interpret' their images during the post processing stage of their image creation. Like Ansel Adams, I do not believe that the creation of an image stops at the moment the shutter was fired. Learning to 'see' whilst out making images shouldn't just stop at the point of capture. Learning to 'see' is an extremely valuable asset in assessing images for post editing. What do we do with our work, how we manipulate it, should come from a strong sense of vision. We should be able to see themes, patterns, relationships within our images and know that these are the essential building blocks of our editing sessions. To do that, we must understand what is going on in our images so we can bring about our message.

Digital Darkroom Workshop Announcement

Starting this November, I am introducing some Digital Darkroom workshops, with the primary focus on learning to 'interpret' what is there, and how best to apply your tools of your choice to suit the nature of each image. The emphasis is on learning to look at your own images and know how best to approach them during the editing stage.

I must stress that these workshops are not about learning Photoshop / Lightroom or Aperture. Instead, they are about teaching you to interpret and understand what is going on in your images, and how best to approach them in the editing stage.

These digital darkroom 'image interpretation' workshops will be based at my office, situated in Edinburgh, Scotland. The workshops are weekend affairs, starting on the Saturday morning at 9am and finishing on Sunday at 5:30pm.

To find out more, click here.

Silver & Light - Collodion wet plate process

I've been interested in the Collodion wet plate process since I was introduced to it by a client last year whilst on the isle of Harris running a workshop. If you've not heard about this process, then I strongly urge you to watch this video to the very end. What appears to start off with someone making crystal-meth, is in fact the intro to a beautiful video about someone who is so passionate about creating images, he has converted a van into a massive camera. Each image he makes with the Collodian wet plate process costs him around $500 USD. Yep, that's right $500 USD.

[vimeo 39578584]

I would dearly like to thank Alex Learmont, who came on my Eigg workshop this April, for bringing this video to my attention. Alex is an artist himself, and it was so great to share some thoughts on photography with him and the group I had on Eigg.

I'm so keen to try out this process myself.

I think there is something inherently beautiful about an image that is captured once: when the negative and the image are one.

Ian Ruhter, who is featured in this video, defines himself as an alchemist.

Well, isn't that what all photographers really are?

Aren't we really magicians, creating an illusion? I think so - an alchemist uses chemicals to change the appearance of a substance.

Ian Ruhter shows the majesty and mystique of the photographic process to the full. In the good old days of silver halides, we were all alchemists, turning light into shapes and tones on paper. Only, with the Collodion process, Ruhter and others are doing it with metal and glass.

Before I end this posting, I would like to say that there are many photographic workshops here in the UK that deal with the Collodion wet plate process. From what I understand (very little to be honest), the plate has to be wet for it to work, so the materials have to be taken out into the field (which is partially why Ruhter takes a van out into the wilderness with him - the main reason is scale). Anyway, Alex Boyd, who is currently residing on the isle of Skye, is offering Collodion wet plate workshops. My dear client Anne Thompson has been on one of Alex's workshops and highly recommends it. Worth checking out.

Photographic Talk, Dundee 22nd April

If you would like to attend, you can simply turn up before 7:30pm. The society would appreciate a small donation - £2, and if you can let yourself be known to the treasurer Stuart Dodd on the night, that would be great.