Suspended Reality

My original motivation for picking up a camera was to record my travels. Then, as time passed, my priorities changed and the pursuit of images became the reason why I travelled. From that point onwards, I think I was on a trajectory towards creating (hopefully) some kind of art with what I do, and I suspect it is the same for you. I would hope as a reader of this blog, you have similar aspirations with your work.

Suspended Lagoons, Lençóis Maranhenses, April 2024

Creating beautiful or ‘art’ pictures isn’t really how I would define what motivates me. I think what I’m really attracted to, is creating a sense of suspended reality in my images. I am not a verbatim shooter, and although I respect and understand that for some, photography is only truthful when the work is not edited (manipulated is such a loaded word), but I have always thought that photography cannot convey reality because how can one translate a 3D moment in time to a 2D interpretation and give a true account of it? It’s just not possible as even the choice of angle of view when made, can greatly influence what the viewer believes.

So for me, I’ve always considered that photography is an interpretation. It is a point of view, and we should all embrace the idea that with our camera, we have the potential to show others ‘our personal interpretation’, or convey through omission and inclusion what we want the viewer to focus on.

I particularly love images where upon initial viewing, one can appreciate their beauty but also, not fully comprehend what is going on. This is why I think I am attracted to abstract shapes and patterns in vistas. Nature does not tend to be orderly, or to show design as if man made, and if I find it in the landscape by careful composition, then I will use it.

If one can frame abstract shapes carefully, or perhaps exclude points of reference that will allow the viewer to understand what is going on (like a horizon, or a clear sense of scale), then the viewer cannot help but hunt for an understanding. The eye will keep searching.

In this shot made in Lençóis Maranhenses this past April, I deliberately shot two lagoons intersecting with the slope of a dune. I was attracted to this composition more so because the intersecting dune slope bled into the surrounding landscape. One does not see the slope, instead one sees two ellipses with a diagonal line intersecting them.

I don’t for one minute assume the picture is a deep puzzle. I am merely trying to convey / explain why I make the images I make. I think it does not take too long to figure out the scene, but by removing a bit of detail here and there (the dune slope in this case), or by having nothing around the edges of the frame to give context, then the lagoons appear to be almost suspended in air, and the viewer’s eye has to ‘look again’ to find a foundation of understanding on which to build a complete picture.

Working your aspect ratio muscle (re-published)

preamble - this post was published in January 2019. I am digging through my earlier posts looking for relevant articles. I have written so much in the past 15 years, and I hope / feel that these are still relevant.

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I’ve been saying for many years now, that certain aspect ratios are easier to work in than others. Choosing the right aspect ratio for your own aesthetic temperament will aid you in finding compositions, whereas working with a difficult aspect ratio will hamper you. The thing is, you need to find out which aspect ratios work for you.

I’m still surprised that so many buy a digital camera and don’t consider the aspect ratio it shoots in. I have always thought that 3:2 is a particularly difficult aspect ratio to work in and choosing a less panoramic format such as 4:3, 4:5 or 6:7 would be easier to help you compose in.

Anyway, the reason why I am writing this post today is to say that by choosing different aspect ratios to work in, you force your eye to move into regions of the frame that you don’t normally visit with your eye.

If we consider the 3:2 format below, I’ve marked the region where most of us tend to spend time with our eye in black. The white areas of the frame are where we spend less or no time looking in.

I like to think of the black areas of the frame as ‘concentrated areas of experience’ with the white areas being ‘areas of little or no experience’.

If you choose to shoot in another format for a while, the different shape of the chosen aspect ratio will force your eye into areas of the frame that you wouldn’t ordinarily visit.

I found with square, my eye was visiting more of the frame, as is illustrated below

Interestingly, I found my eye had less to travel to reach the far corners of the frame than in a 3:2 format. My ‘area of experience’ isn’t too far away from the corners of the frame.

As a result, I started to put objects at the far corners of the frame.

This isn’t something I was ever comfortable doing with 3:2 or 4:5.

After shooting square for a few years, I found that when I did return to 4:5 or 4:3, I found that all those exercises of putting things in the far corners of my square aspect ratio helped me use those corner and edge areas of the rectangle aspect ratio. As in this picture below:

Working with different aspect ratios is a good exercise to do. Move around between them too much and perhaps you won’t learn anything as I do believe you need to settled into one or two ratios for a few months if not years. But certainly it is true for me, that by moving to a different aspect ratio for a while, has changed my photography and how I compose when I have returned to an aspect ratio I used many years ago.

Your visualisation skill is like a muscle. If you don’t use it, you lose it. If you never force your eye into the corners of your frame then I think you lose the skill to visualise compositions that can produce very dynamic work.

A new online class

Pleased to announce I will be running a new online class this November.

November 3rd to November 24th

Using images shot in Lençóis Maranhenses. This is a fly on the wall showing the real-time decisions made at the time of selection and editing, with the view to producing a final portfolio.

This class comes with many ‘primer’ videos, and each week there is a follow up Q&A session.

Camera height

Preamble: this post was originally posted in January 2020. I am going through some of my older posts, as I think many, several years after writing them, are still relevant. I hope you think so too :-)

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I am in Hokkaido this month and I’ve been reminiscing about some of the images I have made over the past few years here, and one in particular required me to be high above the ground to accomplish what I saw in my mind’s eye.

This photo was made by being perched up high. While at ground level, I could see that the collection of trees in the bottom of the frame were clashing / hitting the row of trees at the top of the frame. To get the separation between them in my photograph, I had to go this height:

This is the actual photograph of me making the image you see in this post.

Camera height is often a critical part of composition. OK, my example to illustrate that is perhaps extreme, but I have had many times when I have wished to take photos from much higher than my tripod can reach to.

I have also had times when I have wished to take photos that are much lower than my tripod can compress down to. Going low allows me to compress the mid-ground, and it is also a useful device in removing any clutter or debris that is lying around on the ground. Going low also allows me to move objects that are on the ground closer to those objects higher in the frame. By bringing them together / closer, we can strengthen relationships between them.

Tripods don’t find compositions. They fine-tune them

I think camera height is an important consideration for composition. But I am always surprised to see many photographers doing this:

1. Get out of the car

2. Extend the tripod to eye-level

3. Put the camera on the tripod

All of this, without really considering if the height of the tripod is correct for any possible composition they see.

For me, this is what should happen:

1. Get out of the car

2. Take the camera out of the bag

3. Walk around with the camera looking for good compositions

4. When you find a possible candidate for a good composition, try the composition from different heights: down low, mid-height, eye-level, and of course, from above my own eye-level.

5. Once a nice composition has been found, set up the tripod to assist in keeping the camera in that ‘magic space’ that has just been found. You know - that ‘middle of the air’ place where the composition works.

So for me, having a very tall tripod is really invaluable. I have two tripods. One is over 7 feet tall, while the other is over 9 feet tall. I have used both fully extended many times, and I’ve been grateful to have the extended reach they have.

A word about centre columns

My tripods also have no centre column. For me, these get in the way and prevent me from putting the tripod so low that the camera is almost at ground level. So when I buy a tripod, I always buy one that is very tall, and also has no centre column.

There will also be occasions when you need the camera to be literally sitting on the ground. In these circumstances I take my camera off the tripod and actually sit it on the ground. I sometimes have to make a hollow in the earth to help support the camera to place it where I need to. But I also need to use a viewfinder that allows me to compose comfortably. For me, I have a 45º angle viewfinder on my camera. For you, you can either use your live-view, or buy a 90º angle finder for your camera (Nikon and Canon).

Tip: when working with cameras lower than you are : get low. That means having to lie on your tummy. You need your eye to be level with the view you’re seeing so you can balance it properly. Peering into a camera with your head sideways isn’t going to help.

Camera height is a critical part of composition. I have found many times that the same composition taken at different heights will have a ‘sweet spot’ where the height is just right for the composition to really gel.

When what is outside frame influences what is inside the frame

Preamble - this is a post that was originally published back in October 2020. I am finding much value in digging back through this blog.

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This little area of Hokkaido is rather special to me. There are many rolling hills with bunches of copse together. When I am here, I am always striving to isolate groups of the copse with maybe a few single trees around them, but it’s so hard because there are often more complex, less attractive aspects of the landscape trying to creep into the shot.

‘To me, what you leave out of the frame is often just as important
or more important than what you choose to leave inside the frame’

As simple as this shot may appear, it took quite some effort to do, because I was constrained by a large forest just outside the bottom area of the frame. I found I had to go higher and higher up a hill to get enough clearance, and even then, in order to completely remove the unwanted forest, I had to settle on this composition:

Due to the large forest (just outside the bottom part of the frame) being so close to the little trees, I couldn’t give the trees enough space below them. This forced me to push the two little trees towards the edge of the frame.

At the time of capture, I remember thinking ‘this is a little unusual’, as everything in the frame of interest is really bunched down at the bottom of the frame. Can I live with it?
’

‘I think all you can do is make the shot,
and leave the pondering for another time’
(we are best being editors when at home)

I think all you can do is make the shot, and leave the pondering for another time. And indeed, as I’ve lived with this image over the past two years I’ve grown to really enjoy it. To me, those little trees are so keen to be part of the copse. But they’re almost being pushed out of the scene.

So sometimes it’s ok to put subjects at the very edge of the frame. Sometimes it’s ok to create tension. I just think that it has to look like it was intentional. Otherwise most viewers will assume it’s a bad composition.

I would also like to add that by being restricted to composing this view because I was trying to avoid what is outside of the frame, I was forced to create a composition that is / was outside my normal habits or comfort zone.

Sometimes (if not all the time) restrictions and limitations are a good thing, and encourage an attitude towards innovation.

Steel Dunes, Scrabster, Scottish Highlands, 2024

There is power in ambiguity. The picture below could be of sand dunes, or perhaps a wave caught before it folds over. But the subject is neither. The title above is impressionistic in nature, non literal for sure. And I quite like that you are left to see in it what you see.

All Quiet

Dear reader,

I know I’ve been very quiet.

It may appear as though I have dissapeared. Well, that is usually a sign that I’m busy doing something else. A few things in the pipe line, one of which will be announced this late August / September.

Sorry for the silence. But I am busy.

Over the coming days, I intend to republish some old (but still very relevant) blog posts.

Thank you for visiting.

Make the landscape your own

“I want to get to a point with my photography,
that even if I tried to get as far away from myself as possible,
I would still be there in my own work.”

Everyone starts somewhere. And for the most part, we start by emulating what we like in others work. No matter what discipline, emulation is often the starting point.

As a photographer, turning up to the location of a photograph you love, can teach you a lot of things. Perhaps, the first thing you’ll learn is that the original composition that you admire, isn’t so obvious. The next thing you’ll possibly learn is that the scale of what you imagined the original scene to be is different from the reality. You’ll possibly also learn that you must use the right combination of focal length and distance from the subject to get everything to fit into the frame just like the original.

But perhaps the most important thing you might learn is, even if you do manage to make a shot very similar to the one you are trying to emulate, it won’t be the same.

Some things are a product of timing, and I would wager that the original image you so admire, is special because it was made under exceptional lighting conditions. The originator made the original capture because they were so motivated at the time, or at the very least, you are drawn to the image, not just because of the subject, but because everything else - weather, lighting, atmosphere, all came together to make something larger than the sum of its parts.

Although you may learn a great deal through emulation, it won’t teach you about making the landscape your own. That requires something else entirely, and it’s probably something that can’t be taught.

If you can reach a stage where you are no longer emulating your heroes, but instead, have found your own coal seam to mine, then congratulations. You have just reached a point in your art that few reach. Because finding a unique voice is a rare thing indeed. Many spend a lifetime looking for it.

I’ve given this a lot of thought. A unique voice does not come to everyone. It is an elusive thing, and if you do manage to find a unique look to your work, I am a firm believer that it will only surface over some time.

But that does not mean we should not try.

And I do believe that we should always endeavour to find our own point of view in the landscape. For me, the goal is to be able to find myself in the images I make.

So I think it better to make the landscape your own, and I know that is what drives me forward. A desire to find myself in the landscape. I want to get to a point with my photography, that even if I tried to get as far away from myself as possible, I would still be there in my own work.

The limiting factor lies within me, and not the landscape

It's a classic view these days. But I am always amazed at how beautiful lago Pehoe is.

I’ve been coming to Torres now for 21 years. It's gone by in a blink. It’s an old friend and in a way, I feel i’ve grown up with it.

View fullsize

Sometimes I’ve found I have been in sync with it, other times I’ve felt that Torres del Paine’s difficult weather, and stubborn wilderness has left me realising it will never be tamed. That I will never be able to capture it when the full force of its dramatic weather systems takes a hold on the landscape.

Other times, like in this picture, it’s peaceful and easy to work with. Still, there’s always the hint that if you’re not quick enough, you just might lose the mountains as the cloud line lowers and they disappear for the rest of the day.

When the weather can be so unpredictable, it’s forgivable to make a shot that you have made countless times before. In a way, you’re just grateful to get to see the mountain range on a good day, when it’s in a good mood.

But one has to wonder: am I producing anything new here? And perhaps the deeper question is: and do I always have to?

In a way, if one wishes to push the boundaries of their own art, then I think there has to be an understanding that not all the work will be equal, and some of it might be more about being in the moment than actually bringing anything new to the table. One cannot always invent. Sometimes we have to take joy in whatever we are given, and to just accept and go with the flow.

Torres del Paine is, after all, an old friend. And like all old friends, I think we tend to go into a familiar patterns with them. Our dialog is the same. Same old thoughts, same old themes.

But in repeating our old ways, we may get a glimpse of how we have altered our views, if just a little. Of how, ever so slightly, we may have changed over the course of our relationship.

If I am to look back at my time in Torres del Paine, I can see there are aspects to the landscape I am still attracted to, pretty much like I was during my first visit back in 2003. Some things have not changed. But in other ways, I find myself looking for a more minimalistic view of the landscape.

And it’s not so obvious. It takes work, and while I am working, I am accompanied by the thought that any limiting factor I encounter, really lies with me, and not with the landscape.

Anticipation at Laguna Armaga

On the recent tour to Torres del Paine, we spent three mornings attempting a sunrise shot of Laguna Armaga. The first two mornings we came here, we could not see the famous Torres (towers) which we of course, had all been anticipating.

Instead, I got this shot;

We had a bit of rain, and low lying cloud. It was ‘socked in’, quite heavily, and I’ve been in so many similar situations, that I now know to embrace it. Even though, it has taken me quite a few years to come to this understanding.

Anticipation cannot be avoided. We are, by nature beings that when we are not living in the past, we are thinking about the future. Seldom are we in the present moment.

As a workshop or tour guide / leader / whatever it is that I actually am, I’m aware of seeing the same emotions, the same highs and lows in groups when the weather is not cooperating. It is a funny thing to realise that all of us cannot escape anticipation.

I think that anticipation of a location is similar to pre-visualisation. It can be a hindrance. Expecting a landscape to give you what you want, let alone even be aware of your needs is something we all have to, at some point, understand is a futile preoccupation. We have to learn that it is us whom 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 when we are excited and looking forward, we cannot help but anticipate. It is a form of photographic-hope.

What I think anticipation’s most destructive aspect is on all of us, is its way of stopping us from seeing outside of what we hoped to get. Much like comparison is the thief of joy, anticipation the thief of working with the unexpected. When we don’t see what we want, we will often say ‘there was nothing there today’. Fact is, what we’re really often saying is ‘I couldn’t get past my expectations’.

We have to learn to let go of what we wanted to get, and recognise that there may be something else staring us in the face, which may be just as valuable as the thing we didn’t see.

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 feel excited, then the landscape is exciting. If we feel uninspired, then we think the landscape is uninspired. 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 though how we feel about what we are seeing.

Anticipation cannot be avoided. We are all hard-wired to anticipate. It is what drives us forward. But it can steer us into a cul-de-sac of seeing nothing, when there is something there to photograph.

Learning to understand when anticipation has taken us over may be the first step. Learning to deal with the dissapointment 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 want to get to.

If we can reach this stage in our own development, then we will be more open to discovering compositions that may be even better than what we had first anticipated.