There’s always a photograph to be made…

Pyramid Lake, Alberta, Canada

I have recently returned from attending an organised photographic tour in the Canadian Rockies where lakes, mountains and water-features of all types were (rather obviously) the predominant subject-matter. We were blessed (or rather, from a purely photographic perspective, cursed) with sunny, warm weather and blue, mostly cloudless, skies and this made for challenging and at times frustrating conditions for landscape photography. I will try and find the time to write a trip report later but for now I just want to make the point that there is always a photograph to be made, despite unpromising weather and a location that I did not find particularly inspiring.

The location is Pyramid Lake just outside Jasper from where Pyramid Mountain can be seen reflected in the still waters. It sounds perfect but the shoreline was unattractive and mostly devoid of interesting foreground and the dawn glow failed to materialise on the morning we chose to visit. In short, I was struggling to make a composition. I walked along the shoreline in both directions vainly searching for an interesting viewpoint and I had pretty much given up when I saw this relative of the European dandelion. ‘Finally!’, I thought and proceeded to explore the compositional possibilities with my digital compact.

The result is what you see here, possibly my favourite image of the trip. I liked the perfect sphere of the seedhead with its tiny droplets of dew and played this off against the reflections, thrown impressionistically out of focus by the closeness of the lens to my main subject.

So the moral is, when inspiration is lacking, don’t give up! There is always something to shoot even if it wasn’t what you originally intended.

The perfect landscape shot…

An imperfect landscape image…

A headline on the cover of a photography magazine caught my eye recently. “Compose the perfect landscape shot”, it read. A quick look inside revealed the usual advice about leading lines, rule of thirds, etc., etc. What the article didn’t reveal was anything about how the ‘perfect’ landscape photograph might look or, indeed, why you might want to make such an image in the first place. For me, and I imagine a lot of other people, if we were ever to produce such a thing there would be no point in bothering to make another image since any photographs after that would, necessarily, be inferior! It’s the striving to do better each time that keeps us going.

But what is perfection, anyway? Surely it’s very personal. There are those whose idea of perfection is consistently winning competitions at their local photography club. For others, it lies in making an image of a famous landscape ‘icon’ that is so technically proficient it garners unending praise on Flickr or other photo-sharing sites. For me, the ‘perfect’ landscape image is one that completely communicates everything that the photographer is trying to say; it’s about having a message and the means to put it across effectively. It’s about personal vision and this makes perfection a very elusive thing. How can you create the ‘perfect’ image  if everyone has their own ideas about perfection? The answer is, you can’t. There is no such thing.

Of course, if you approach landscape photography with a checklist and manage to tick off every single item then that’s a sort of perfection. Except that is more akin to, say, accountancy than art.

Teal and orange

A little bit teal and ever-so-slightly orange picture of a sunlit mountainside reflected in a rock pool.

The other day, I came across a blog post complaining about the ubiquity in modern cinema of  the colours teal (a sort of cyan-heavy blue) and orange. As this was something that I have been subliminally aware of for a while without really being able to put my finger on it, I couldn’t resist reading further.

Of course, this contrast between warm and cool tones has long been a mainstay of colour photography as it heightens the sense of atmosphere while offering a pleasing contrast; indeed many great images rely on this idea. However, in today’s world it seems that anything that works well quickly gets overused and, as the linked article shows, soon becomes reduced to a risible cliché. So I was curious to see if the colour-combination’s prevalence in the cinema has wormed its way into the consciousness of landscape photographers.

It didn’t take much research to turn up more than a few examples. The ubiquitous coastal sunset formula is, of course, most suited to this approach. Rocks glow orange against a cyan-enhanced sea. I say ‘enhanced’ because a common feature is ‘blue surf’ – something I have yet to see in reality – and the sky is ablaze with orange light but seldom red. On one sharing site I saw a picture of a moated castle, walls glowing orange in the sunset light against, you guessed it, a very cyan sky.

And just recently, whilst browsing a popular British photography magazine, I happened on a picture of an often-photographed part of Scotland. The caption explained some of the Photoshop techniques employed – one of which was a saturation adjustment to give the scene ‘more of an autumn feel’. Well, it might have been the reproduction and therefore not the fault of the photographer, but what in reality would be brownish yellow autumn grass was rendered a bright shade of tangerine. And the sky consisted solely of shades of magenta and cyan. Teal and orange in a scene where more subtle colours would, in nature, predominate.

Why is this a problem? Well, just as in the cinema, if overused, this could become the only colour-combination seen. And that would be a terrible thing. Nature’s colours are delightful, varied, subtle and cover the full spectrum. I love greens and reds and yellows and magentas. Even teal and orange in moderation. And this is what I like to see in landscape images. Thankfully we aren’t there yet but where pervasive popular media leads, others follow.

Since it’s very easy to sneer at images in which a good concept is taken to extremes, here’s an example of how this colour combination can be used to brilliant effect. I make no apology for once again borrowing an image from David Ward’s portfolio of astonishing work:

Budle Reflections, David Ward

Photography: What’s it about?

Cement Works, Gole di Breggia, Ticino, Switzerland

“Photography is not about the thing photographed. It is about how that thing looks photographed.”

Gary Winogrand.

I showed the above photograph recently to a non-photographer and she immediately told me she didn’t like it simply because it was a picture of an old cement works. In fact, she then decided she didn’t like the remaining images in the set, despite them representing my best efforts to make a visually interesting and varied group of shots, as they were just images of an ugly building. When viewed out of context, it was not even possible to see where some of them were taken, they were so abstract. Yet the subject matter was deemed non-photogenic and therefore the images were unworthy of attention.

It then occurred to me that people, more often than not, judge an image based purely on how they perceive the attractiveness of its subject-matter. It’s the same effect that blinds people to badly-focussed, poorly-exposed and sloppily-composed pictures providing that the image is of a loved one. They simply don’t ‘see’ the photograph; effectively it’s a window – perhaps one in need of a good clean – through which they see what they want to see. Could it be that it’s only other photographers and artists who are more concerned with the image itself than the reality it represents?

When I looked at this part of the factory, it was the varying patinations of the three different materials (metal, concrete, wood) that grabbed me as much as the placement of the different elements. Composing this took a good half-hour of tiny adjustments and careful consideration of details (should I include the door-handle? Do the horizontal lines at the top really work?) to bring together. So it was by no means a grab-shot. I wanted to show a sort of formal beauty in a very unlikely setting.

Here’s another image:

Trapped Rock, Val Verzasca, Ticino, Switzerland

I consider these two to be very similar in intention if not in subject matter. Both are abstractions; both received a great deal of care over the relative weighting of the different visual elements and small details of composition; both were taken in similar lighting conditions. Yet one is of wild nature and the other of a brutal, purely functional, industrial structure. Needless to say, the same person much preferred this one.

Maybe the cement-works image is more self-consciously ‘arty’ and therefore to be treated with suspicion? Or perhaps there’s something deeper at work here: the perception that landscape photographs should only show unsullied nature and that an ugly industrial building is not a valid subject?

That’s not my view. If it’s there, in the landscape, why shouldn’t it be as valid a subject as attractively-patterened rock, for example?

Is landscape photography stuck in a rut?

I ask this question because just recently I have been spending some time researching the Romantic period in painting. Anyway, without further delay, let’s take a look at the evidence for the prosecution. The following three pictures are by the Norwegian, Hans Gude:

'Høyfjell', Hans Gude, 1857

'Efoybroen, Nord Wales' Hans Gude, 1863

'Vinterettermiddag', Hans Gude, 1847

Notice the use of light and composition – even the choice of subject and viewpoint. I think you’ll agree that any of these could, in concept at least, be from many of the better landscape portfolios on Flickr (or other sharing sites, for that matter). Although Gude’s compositions are much more subtle than those often exhibited on the ‘Net, it might appear that representations of the landscape haven’t really changed in 150 years. Some might even say we’re slowly going backwards. Now, I do appreciate that there are many places – even in Europe – that have barely changed in that time and that there are only a few viewpoints from which it’s possible to make a pleasing composition but, taking that into account, where’s the creativity and innovation in modern landscape photography? Do we all secretly hanker after a romantic past where sunsets were rosier and picturesque Welsh bridges were still being crossed by people on horseback (even if they are somewhat out of scale… ) ?

Gude’s work was praised for its naturalism and truthfulness in its day yet it still manages to look fresh to modern eyes, jaded as they are by countless nuclear sunsets, radioactive meadows and chemically-cyan surf (this last is a pet peeve. Since when has surf ever been the same colour as the sea?)

Of course, there is plenty of innovative work in the landscape genre – Andrew Nadolski’s ‘End of the Land’ project, David Ward’s mesmerising work on small-scale scenes and Jan Töve’s intricate Nordic landscapes to name but three examples. And Joe Cornish, who has been strongly influenced by the Romantic school, is pushing the art forward with his cleverly-conceived and subtle compositions and the fresh, modern presentation of some of his more recent digital images.

Yet, at the more commercial end of professional landscape photography – and even more so on the amateur side – the 19th century seems to be where it’s at, stylistically. Could this simply be that photographers are reacting to their customers’ tastes? In many cases I’m sure this is so. Or maybe it’s down to the mainstream photographic press which has never really been able to see beyond this style? Probably a bit of both.

It is, I think, rather depressing that very little seems to have changed in landscape imagery – unless you are willing to dig quite a bit deeper. The vast majority of landscape photography still seems to be in a style which was innovative 150 years ago.

Pick of the year

Gole di Breggia

One of the things I like to do at this time of year, in common with a lot of people,  is to attempt to put the outgoing year in perspective with a short review. I usually do this by selecting up to 12 personal highlights from the past year’s crop of images and this year, for the first time, I thought I’d expand on my selection with a supporting article here.

Rather than go through each picture individually, I’m going to organise things by location and just single out one or two photographs from each place to talk about in a bit more depth (the highlights of the highlights, if you will. )

Gole di Breggia. My first trip of 2011 and an unfamiliar place as well. To go there and make two strong compositions from a short stretch of river after only my second visit makes it a very special location for me. Of course, the geology is fascinating and unusual with much potential but it was still highly satisfying to realise at least some of that potential.

 
Gorges du Doubs. This, of course, is not a new location for me and, fittingly, three images from this spot make it into my pick of the year. Even though I know it well, it’s still very satisfying to return from my visits with portfolio-worthy images. The shot of young beech (although it could be alder or, possibly, hazel – I’m no expert in such things) contrasting with fallen leaves, in particular, makes the cut because it was one of the few occasions when I feel I have created an image with a degree of depth. People have commented on the philosophical contrast between new growth and old, fallen leaves as well as the fresh colours but for me it’s more about shapes and transition: the swirling forms of the new growth overlaying the transition from browns to greens going down the image. Adding extra dimensions to my photographs is something I strive hard to do so it’s particularly gratifying to think I might have succeeded on this occasion.

Cumbria. The pink rock at St. Bees Head was a real find. I went to St. Bees more out of curiosity than from any real desire to find interesting subjects so it was rewarding to encounter this beautiful pink sandstone. I made an initial scouting visit with my small digicam followed up a day later with the big camera. The shapes, texture and colour in such a small area of rock were really quite remarkable.

My trip to the English Lake District also yielded a small number of other portfolio-worthy images, of which my absolute favourite has to be the last sheet of 5×4 film I exposed on the trip. I was feeling at a bit of a loss as nothing I tried seemed to work and, just as I was about to call it a day, I decided to take one more look around. The little scene below all but called out to me from around 100m away. After that, it was just a matter of finding a stable location for the tripod and framing up. The colours were the big attraction but I also liked the way the moss hugged the top of each slab of rock, producing repeating ‘waves’ of vivid green. Sometimes you just need to be at your wits’ end before inspiration has a chance to strike…

So that’s my modest round-up of another year of photographing the landscape. All that remains now is to wish my reader a happy and prosperous new year!

The Larch

Larches and a mountain

Living in Switzerland, as I do, it is very tempting to make photographs that depict the great Swiss clichés of neat, flower-bedecked chalets with dainty brown cows contentedly grazing in impossibly green fields; the Matterhorn reflected in a mirror-smooth lake; or the Swiss answer to Yosemite: the Lauterbrunnen valley. One of the things I do to avoid these obvious temptations is simply not to visit the places where such things might be found! The other thing I do is to shun the wider view. But, as the image above shows, there are exceptions. And one exception I make is my annual October pilgrimage to the mountains to photograph larches in their autumn colours. Being native to the Alps (although they can be found further north at lower levels), they put on a magnificent display in those places where the lower slopes of mountains are covered with vast larch forests.

Larch bark: attractive textures

As the only deciduous member of the conifer family, the larch is a unique tree. Come autumn, the needles slowly change from green to lemon yellow to a russet brown before finally falling to the ground. A mountainside glowing in a yellow blaze is quite a sight to behold, although this year my visit appeared to be a little early for peak colour as trees at lower altitudes were still green. No matter. The trees located further up were already showing some lovely colour. But it’s not just the foliage that is intriguing. Larches have bark that is every bit as knobbly and textured as that of pine trees and this also makes a great photographic subject – particularly if there’s the chance of incorporating a knot-hole or other sign of individuality into the composition.

Larches from a distance

In November, I shall be heading to the English Lake District – another area where larches can be found – but it is the Alpine larch forests that most impress me and those found in the Engadine and neighbouring regions of Switzerland are the finest to be seen anywhere. So I make no apologies for indulging my fascination for this most photogenic of trees at this time of year and will continue to seek out the perfect larch photograph. Each year I feel I get a little bit closer to that goal…