Tending your garden

In this day and age, there is still much value in having your own website. But maybe not for the reasons one might think.

Since I put together my very first website in 2001, it has been a place where I have been able to curate my work. Instead of thinking of it as a place to showcase your work, and an outdated mode of presenting one’s work, because everyone is sitting in Instagram these days, it worth reconsidering a personal website as personalised space in which you can play. A sand box if you will.

For me personally though, I consider my website as ‘my garden’. It is a place where I can tend to my photography, sort, curate, try out different presentations of the work, and ultimately, is a place where I can store my current ‘state of being’ as an artist.

I am delighted to find that some of my workshop friends have taken my advice and decided to create their own websites for this very reason. Initially hesitant or against the idea because they thought a website was an aim to either promote or sell their work, they have come round to realising that a website is a great ‘sketching area’ or ‘garden’ in which to tend their craft. One of my workshop friends has gotten on so well with her website that she has found she is also enjoying writing about her work. In a way, her website has become a journal of sorts for her thoughts and current work.

I have enjoyed enormously having a website for the past twenty years. It has helped me see relationships in my work, understand the underlying themes in what I’m doing, and has also provided focus for me in where I need to go next, or where my work is taking me.

If you wish to work on your photography, improve your style, find out more about what you’re doing as a creative person, then putting a website together and tending it like one does a garden, is one of the best things you can do.

In learning to trust oneself

“Comparison is the thief of joy.”
- Theodore Roosevelt

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“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
- Oscar Wilde

I sometimes wish I could provide a workshop in ‘learning to trust oneself’, or ‘developing your inner voice’ or something of that ilk. In my view, far too many people are too busy either worrying about what others think about their work, or feeling insecure about their work, or not trusting themselves enough. This is in my view, why most of us look for feedback from others.


In my view, most folks suck at giving feedback. Even the so called experts.

But most folks also suck at receiving feedback, and don’t know how to deal with any kind of feedback at all. We’re all under-qualified. We either take it all too much to heart, or haven’t developed the skills with which to be discerning enough - to separate the valuable stuff from the noise.

So it’s my contention that rather than looking for feedback, we need to learn to listen to our inner selves. To learn to trust our own instincts and hunches about what we’re doing.

So here’s my take on learning to trust oneself:

1. Most feedback should be treated as frivolous, no matter who it’s from, unless it hits you in some way. Valuable feedback is the stuff that brings inner clarity, where you reach your own conclusions. Otherwise it’s just not for you. It’s hard sometimes to figure out if feedback is noise or of value, until you learn to trust yourself and know inside what is true when you hear it.

2. Valuable feedback often happens when least expected.  This means we have to become critical listeners and critical thinkers to everything we hear around us. Feedback can come at us in many shapes and forms, and from anywhere at anytime. It’s up to us to know when to tune in, and also to know when to tune out.

3. We have to choose wisely what to agree with and what to discard. I’ve heard so much crap over the years. Like the saying goes ‘opinions are like assholes - everyone has one’. If it’s useful feedback - it tends to resonate with you in some way. A light bulb moment. An epiphany. A realisation. A crystallisation. An observation that you realise to be true. Otherwise, it’s noise and best forgotten.

4. Learning to trust one’s own inner voice is key, and is the skill that we need to develop more than relying on other’s feedback. Like Apple said (and I paraphrase here, as I cannot remember the source of this):

‘if we’d designed the iPhone based on customer requests,
it would have had a physical keyboard attached to it’.

More specifically :

‘customers don’t know what they want until you show it to them’.

If most folks don’t know what they want themselves, then how can they give you a constructive review about what you want?

5. Anyone giving you feedback is doing it from their own history / experience. Take that into consideration when figuring out how much of what they’re saying applies to you. If you love their work, and wish to emulate parts of it, then they’re probably a great fit for feedback. If I wanted to get feedback on long exposure work, I would look for someone I like the long exposure work from.

If you’re doing something outwith their experience, then their feedback may not be be as relevant or valuable as you hoped it might. Or on the contrary, it might be so lateral that it results in you having an epiphany. You need to apply critical thinking to any feedback you get. Work into the mix where it’s coming from, and any factors that you think might influence the opinion you are hearing.

In Summary

I believe that folks hold too much value in what others think, and haven't developed the correct skills to filter and interpret / use what they are hearing.

Additionally, most opinions and feedback are poorly formed. So it’s up to yourself to apply some critical thinking, and to be more discerning as to what you choose to take on board. That means learning to trust one’s own instinct or inner voice.

Feedback is only valuable, if you’re able to recognise that it’s valuable.

In my view, spending time developing one’s own awareness and use of critical thinking, is more valuable than someone else’s feedback. Because the most valuable skill one can possess, is to know oneself.

If creating art does one thing well, it allows us the opportunity to explore ourselves, and to learn to trust our inner voice. If you can learn to listen to yourself more, then someone else’s feedback is, at best, a supplement to what you already know to be true.



South Korea 2022

I’m not really a fan of groins, poles, or Tori gates in water. It isn’t my thing.

But I did find these pillars a little out of the ordinary. The rust colour was also unusually appealing. Which is why I think I followed through to actually finishing the work and presenting it here.

These were the only photographs that I made whilst in South Korea last October that I am happy with. They also feel sufficiently strong enough for me to include them on this blog. I see photography as a diary of my life, and my blog is a mirror of that. So here they are.

The follow through test

To me, there are several stages in the birth of images where the process can come to an abrupt end, or to put it another way, becomes still born, and if I manage to get through to editing the work and presenting it, then it has had to stand up to several tests. Here are my thoughts on what they are:

I have to be interested enough to shoot it

Judgement on whether something is of worth has to be present from the very beginning. I don’t just shoot anything, and I’ve found that I’ve become more selective over time (this does not mean it’s a good thing - as I think being overly selective can result in myself missing out on potential images). But I have come to realise that if I’ve shot the scene, I think there is some merit to it.

I have to be interested enough to scan and edit it

I have found myself reject the work when it comes to scanning it.

I have to be interested enough to actually publish it

I sometimes get to the end, and just don’t feel the work is strong enough. I think this has taught me that I often feel that hunch pretty much right through the process and I need to trust it more.

I have to live with it for a few months or maybe even a year

Sometimes our best work only becomes evident with time. Conversely, more often, I find work that I liked at the beginning, can become tiring or I just feel I see it for what it truly is much later: it’s not as good as I had hoped. So it is removed.

I feel connected to the work

I just have to find something about the work that pushes me forward to work on it. If I’m not engaged enough in it, then I think it will become evident during one or a few of the phases mentioned. I do sometimes find I pursue weak work right through to the very end, and still manage to publish it.

As it stands at the moment, I’m really not sure what I think of this work from South Korea. I can’t figure out if I just had to finish it, and publish it, because it was the only thing I found while I was there? Or is my uncertainty because it’s not within my usual style of subjects? I really don’t know. So I really need to live with it for now.

Finding the right colour palette / tonal response

I struggled a bit when I started work on editing the Jujuy images. I often find the start of some new work to be the most precarious part of the process. If I start on the wrong tack, I can head off in the wrong direction. Which is why I do a few things:

  1. give myself permission to change the work at any given time.

  2. edit a few images in the set to see what the overall ‘tone’ or ‘mood’ is. This may instruct that I go back to point 1 with images I edited at the very beginning.

Edit Mk1

Edit Mk2

Before I left for my Norway trip, I had a go at editing this image of Salinas Grandes salt flat in Argentina. The left-hand image is the original. I found I couldn’t settle into where I should go with it. The hue changed a lot during the Mk1 edit, and I settled for the water in the trench being the same as the sky colour. But I felt troubled by the dark horizon. It was far too dominant for me. Which leads me to my third point:

3. If something isn’t feeling right: it isn’t right.

I just didn’t feel right about this edit. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and so I decided to shelve it until I had completed more images from the set. You’ll note from my post from yesterday that I settled on a darker / more saturated feel to the work, and once I had done that, going back to re-edit the image above became much clearer which way I should go about it.

This leads me to my point today: sometimes the answer takes time to arrive at and perhaps more importantly, that accepting that everything is in a state of flux and could easily change is freeing. If you are the kind of person who needs to know now, or likes to regiment their life, then working on art may be extremely frustrating. If you can live with knowing that you may not know the answer to any artistic issues you have, then you’ll do a lot better.

Our biggest limitation is: ourselves. We are often the stumbling block in our own creativity.

I often get in my way.

I find that when I am uncertain of which route to take, it’s best to shelve it and go and work on something else. The answer will come in its own way when the time is right.

Jujuy

The birth of new images, is something that always makes me feel happy deep inside. It is as though they always existed, but were hidden out of sight behind a curtain, waiting for that moment when they would make their entrance.

From that moment onwards, it is as though they have always been part of me.

It is perhaps one of the greatest misunderstandings in photography that we create the work. I have been aware for many years that it is often the work that creates itself. It tells us what it wants to be, and where it needs to go, and if we are good artists, we respond to it and work with it, rather than try to control it.

If we don’t listen, and don’t respond to the work’s natural calling, then a sense of frustration and disenchantment will ensue.

I am aware that my work of late has returned to deeper tones and an increase in colour. I have not tried to steer it this way: I have just tried to respond to where the work feels like it needs to go. But I am left asking myself: why now? Why after so many years of wishing to return to exploring the lower tonal registers is it happening now?

I do not have any concrete answer, but I am wondering if the hiatus of the past three years, the pause in my creativity has been a form of some kind of reset?

With regards to this new work, I am also aware that as much as I am enjoying creating things again, and am happy that I have fresh new work to enjoy, I do not feel there is any progression in style. As mentioned in a previous post: I am giving myself a free pass on this one. I just feel lucky at the moment to be able to create new work at all, so to judge it and put it up for inspection would be detrimental.

In a way, this work from Jujuy is like a regression in style to my earlier work of the Altiplano. I feel a cementing of style, and a continuation of themes once learned and played with many years ago.

And that is fine.

I learned many years ago that progress is not linear, and it is best to work through what you’re creating, rather than to set high expectations of it being something more than it is. This work wanted to go for a more saturated, darker toned look, and so, in the spirit of following its intentions, I obliged.

It’s just nice to be creating new work, and as much as we often leap to a quick judgement of how good it is, perhaps it’s best to put any notions of evaluating the work to one side, and move on to what’s coming next.

I’m all up for keeping on going. I’m keen to build the momentum after several years of stagnation.

Jujuy, Argentina

Taken from afar, I never really grasped the scale of the mountains. When I look at this image, I can visualise myself climbing and wandering these jagged slopes, in an endless quest to reach the top.

illusion

This is excellent, and just pushes the whole idea that ‘seeing is an illusion’. Very funny and enjoyable to watch this, but also very illuminating as to how far we can be convinced of an illusion.

Leaving something in the tank

I’m back in Norway after three years away. Heading to the island of Senja tomorrow for a week of photography with a group of workshop friends I know well.

I still have a portfolio of work created on the island of Senja from February 2020, just before all the lockdowns happened. But I have been deliberately leaving it aside for work on a later date. This is something I do more of now than I once did.

Years ago I would be so keen to work on new images the moment I got them back from the lab, but I’ve found there to be something extremely positive about keeping ‘something in the tank’ for later.

Of course, I’d like to think that this is a mature sign: to keep work back, or only work on it when I am ready to do so. But this all started in a way that I had not planned. Initially it was simply due to too many workshops and finding that when I had returned home, I needed space away from everything. I remember the first time I shelved some work for a few months, I grew anxious as that few months extended into 2 years. The collection of images were from the Isle of Harris in 2014, and I remember wondering if I would ever get round to them. My initial feelings were that if I left them more than several months, I would either forget about them, or the momentum would be lost.

Instead, when I finally did get round to working on them, it was the change in subject (I had been shooting a lot of Snow at the time) and distance that allowed me to look at the work in a very different way. And once I had completed work on them, I felt an overwhelming sense of ‘understanding’ and ‘calmness’ about my photography:

‘there is no rush, just work on the images when you feel you want to’,

seemed to be the message, and I have lived by this ever since.

If we look at musical groups as an analogy to this, many artists when they finish an album have loads of other songs that they wrote during the time of the production of the album, but they never completed them or recorded them. Sometimes artists have songs lying around from several albums ago, that finally make it onto their new album. Sometimes these songs are some of their best work, so it’s not indicative that the work was difficult or second rate. It’s just that perhaps the work didn’t suit what they were previously doing, or they just felt it wasn’t the right time.

The important bit is that being creative is not just about creating work, it’s also knowing when to shelve work that isn’t finished, and to give oneself permission to rework, re-edit, pause, or just shelve something indefinitely.

All work is fluid. The good artist knows this

I like having ‘something left in the tank’ - a few extra portfolios of images that I haven’t scanned yet or edited. I have the confidence now to know that the work isn’t shelved indefinitely, but that I will just choose as and when to edit the work.

I think space has become increasingly important to me.

I feel I need to be ready to work on things, and feel a sense of ‘this is the time’ to do it. Having the precedence of leaving work in the past for a while and getting round to working on it, has shown me that I can trust myself to work on it when I feel I am ready to.

But that’s just me. What about you?

A vocabulary of light

ethereal: extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world

I feel the past five or six years has been an exploration in high key imagery. I think I have mentioned that I’m keen to go back to exploring darker tones and moods, and I was certainly aware that with my new Harris images, there seemed to be a bit of a return to darker imagery and also a reintroduction of stronger colour.

I think that the light one is working in, should really dictate the kind of images that are produced. In a way, we should consider that like a toolset, different kinds of light provide different things to our imagery, and learning how best to work with all these kinds of light is a skill we all have to work at.

Ethereal light on Harris last November.

We tend to shoot what we deem beautiful, and as a beginner I would only work with sunrises and sunsets. Most of us just go about responding to what we think beautiful and of course, that is a fine thing to do.

But I am aware that there are qualities of light outwit my normal shooting habits that if I chose to work in them, I might find some new ground, and an appreciation for.

But it is my belief that we have to take one kind of quality of light at a time. For the past while, I have been focussing on very light delicate soft light, foggy misty light. I have stayed away from hard contrasts from a general belief that the light doesn’t work. Yet I have had a few epiphanies over the past decade where I learned that what I thought would not work, does, if approached in the right way.

In short, learning to understand what different kinds of light are providing our imagery is like developing a vocabulary. It takes time to learn new words, and to understand the subtitles of them, and when to use them in our language.

dreich: Scottish (especially of weather) dreary; bleak.

I would not have attempted to shoot this many years ago, and I have received many comments that this image was quite different for me. I think that was partly due to the green colour (I rarely shoot green, in case you hadn’t noticed?), but also because of it’s dark, dare I say it dreary, bleak mood.

I think I’m playing more in different kinds of light. It’s good to exercise my vocabulary, or indeed to even discover that I’ve learned a new word or two: those images that work but wouldn’t ordinarily be the kind of light you would choose to work in.

We all have our own unique vocabulary of light. I think I know what mine is, and how far it reaches. Question is, do you?

Welcome back to wherever you are

It’s always nice to finish some new work, and doubly so to print it.

For many years I have always anticipated that style, if one is able to have it, is something that surfaces over time. Initially it’s not so clear, there are just hints and suggestions, but as one’s own confidence (and I really mean experience and awareness) improves over many years of creating work that we are happy with, I think ‘style’ if we have it, become more apparent.

I have also thought that progress is not linear. Sometimes we stagnate, other times there are big leaps in our development, or sometimes a radical change whereas other years we may feel we are chasing our own tail. But if we zoom out far enough, I would hedge a bet that most of us can see some kind of long-term evolution in what we do.

I’ve been pretty happy with my progress over the past decade. There have been a few moments where I really felt I had hit some new kind of look to what I do. Those kinds of times are very satisfying where the final result tends to exceed what you had hoped for. They do happen.

But I have also wondered when I might feel that my style becomes more ‘embedded’, more a fixture, and that any continuation in work is really an exercise in ‘more of the same’. I think it inevitable that this will happen. But we really never know when we reach a point where we aren’t going to change much more, and it’s just a case of fine tuning our skills, or whether it is just a period where we have hit a plateau for a year or five.

I think all one can do is just keep creating work, and not to dwell on such matters. After all, I never really ever set out to create the style I have : it just happened. Creativity in my view is the act of submission. Rather than the act of ‘forcing’ or ‘striving’ to get to a pre-determined destination. To move forward, you have to let go, and see where it will go under its own steam.

I feel that the last 3 years have been a stagnation, brought on primarily by the response to the covid thing. It halted any momentum that I had. I still feel like I’m picking up the pieces. I’m not entirely back on the horse as it were, and I still feel a sense of ‘not being fully present’. I think for me, it’s because I have lost trust in the future now. The world I thought I lived in does not exist any more, and so I suppose, I am still pinching myself that I am still here. There were far too many moments where I thought I wouldn’t be. I’m still coming to terms with what happened to myself, and how I feel about going forward. This has impacted me in ways I’m still trying to figure out. And when I write these words, I know that I am speaking for many of us.

So with that in mind, I am giving myself a free pass on the work I’m creating right now. To me, I’m just glad I’m creating new work at all. And I think to have any ideas about where it’s going in the long run, is simply too early to think about. I’m still finding my ground, after being groundless for a few years.

So ‘welcome back Bruce’ is all I can say to myself. And boy, it feels very nice indeed to create something new after all so much wasted time, and years that you and I will never get back.