A rainy day in Palm Springs, 2024.
Long ago I wrote a thesis for my photography masters on photography and memory. As much as my tutors hated the idea,“because everyone does that.” They were right, but there is a reason why so many photographers make images based around memory because its part of who we are.
Photography and memory will always go hand in had. Not because we can recreate memories using photography, but because we can make photographs that help us remember.
A Sonoran Soaking.
Salton Sea 2024
There is often a feeling of self doubt when embarking on a new project, or in this case a new section to my desert project. The fact that this is part two adds another layer of trepidation after spending two years photographing the Mojave, a body of work I am most pleased with. Setting out into the Sonoran Desert during a torrential downpour, did not fill me with glee, and neither did the flash floods that followed. However, after battling through the waters and almost being washed away (“Oh, its not that deep!”), the clouds made way for some moody and satisfying events.
Boots now cleaned, and panoramic camera laid out to dry (how that thing is still going is a miracle), the second chapter has begun, and its not half bad.
Somewhere in Arizona
An old college friend once said to me, “I won’t make a photograph unless someone pays me.” The sad part was that he never made a photograph since then. As is often the case, you need to spend money to make money. A simple photography scenario would be, to sell a framed print you need to make a framed print, and that can be expensive. If we include other related costs, such as travel, equipment, accommodation, we may become terrified at the expense and never make another photograph, but that is the price of creative freedom.
The moment you choose to make money from your photography is the moment it costs you.
Don’t move, speak, or fall in love.
As a young lad I photographed everything and everyone and may of continued to photograph everyone, had I not met my wife. I remember the day I first saw her portraits. They were so good that on a romantic trip to Paris, I decided that I just could not compete and turned my photography solely onto things that did not move or speak. What may have been the most romantic city in the world had become a place I would photograph void of people, and in this instance void of romance, much to the disappointment of my better half. There are times when I wished I still photographed people, but I’d still rather photograph things that don’t move, speak, or have eyes.
A hot smelly old friend.
Leaving Middle America, December 2023
With Middle America now but a distant memory, I focus my attention back to the big stuff and part two of my desert project, The Deserving Oasis (working title). As much as I loved being in the Mojave (Fridays Rainshadow), this next chapter takes place in the Sonoran Desert, a very different beasty indeed. In 2002 I spent the best part of twelve months working in the Sonoran desert around the Salton Sea. Every Thursday I would head out from LA with ten 8/10” dark slides and spend the day sheltering from the intense heat in the abandoned structures until the sun went down before making some images (usually ten), and then driving back to LA bathed in sweat, dust and a baked on smile. The heat of the Sonoran made everything difficult, but the results always made it worthwhile. This time things will be a little different, mainly the camera, (my knackered old panoramic), and perhaps a better idea of where things are (no GPS last time). But my hope is that my hot, smelly old friend hasn’t changed too much.
Favorites.
Christmas Day, New Mexico, 2023.
For as long as I can remember, my favorite photograph has never been someone else’s favorite, but of course, its not just me. The conundrum is that if we just photograph for ourselves, then who is going to buy all our favorite photographs? All too often I see photographers making a book which they edit themselves and then wonder why no one buys it. Of course there will be people who like what you like, but that might not be as many as you think, if it was we would all be rich and famous. In the art world there is plenty of room for good work, but there is also plenty of room for bad work. All it takes is one person to say the right thing and a career can take off for someone leaving the rest of us jumping up and down with frustration, but that’s objectivity for you.
We will always feel a little deflated if someone doesn’t like what we like, but the trick is to not care. After all, the only opinion about your own work that matters is yours. My late father once told me, “You can spend your whole life trying to please the bastards, but you never will. Don’t waste your time or their time. Just be your own man.” I think this applies to anything you do in life, especially photography.
The Story
Being introduced to a new university photography degree program today made me realize how long I had been practicing as well as teaching photography. Having spent many years shooting film, my work is now a mixture of celluloid and digital and a different mind over the young ones who perhaps don’t know what film or a wet darkroom is. But having worked at a fair few establishments I have learned that the same issues arise wherever you are, they just come in different forms. All we need to do is remember that photography is just our way of seeing the world and nothing more. How we present it, is a whole other story..
It was the worst of times and the best of times.
1.Mustang, Indiana. 2.Trucks, Indiana. 3. Crossroads, Ohio. 4.Crosses, New Mexico. 5.Iceland.
My guess is that most photographers get to the end of the year and look back on what they have done. Some will have shot thousands of frames, Some a few hundreds, some not so many, and some, none at all. The late, great, Ansel Adam’s claimed if you got 12 good images a year (with an emphasis on good), you were doing well. Although this is something most would ridicule these days having no understanding of large format cameras and the struggles thereof.
For me this has been a good year photographically for reasons I will go into, but the downside is that it has also been the most tragic. We only need to look back through the history of art to see that so often, adversity makes way for great art, or to put it another way, no one goes out with a camera on a sunny day feeling happy and produces something thought provoking.
Indiana is possibly the strangest place I have ever been to. In a land where everyone seems content and happy with their lives, for me there was always a feeling of impending doom. Maybe it was being a thousand miles from the ocean, or IMO a poor quality of life for many there, but I was never able to put my finger on it. I think this image does a good job of showing a once better time. The classic car, now rusty and falling apart, as is the house with descending fog and humidity on a daily basis. There was always a sense of this is it, it was once good, but its not getting better.
Another image from Indiana made on the coldest day of the year (-40f). This image does a good job of showing the harshness of the winters in Middle America. I did not see a single other person on this day. “Only an Englishman would go out with his camera while everyone else stayed inside.” I have always liked the idea of photographing harsh environments, but despite being to a few places of extreme weather, this really was something else.
During the road trip to Middle America from California, I began shooting black and white. After a decade of just color, it was a bit of a revelation and I felt like an artist again. At a time when digital had become about who has the most megapixels, it was great going back to a more pure, hands on approach, and the nostalgia of the great American road trip. This was one image where everything fell into place. The light on the sign and the shadow on the road, together with the stormy sky made for probably my favorite image of the year.
All I will say about this image is that there was lightning strikes all around me and I was standing in an open field.
It had been more that 10 years since I last visited Iceland. The first time was in the mid 90’s and it was there that I started shooting color film for the first time. Going there this year I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to shoot and how I wanted the images to look with this image ticking all the boxes.
Overall I have produced what I would consider some of my best work. The bright vivid colors of my earlier work are no longer, but this is something that has been gradual over the years. The techniques have not changed and the cameras remain the same.
It was the worst of times and the best of times.
Lets be fancy.
I’ve never been a fan of camera worship and will tell anyone starting out, the camera is a tool. But of course there are exceptions. The Leica for instance not only looks different, but it feels different. Even so, doing a picture of my camera felt awkward and something that belongs on Instagram. I am not one for bragging rights and the status that comes with owning an expensive camera. All one has to do is look at my large format film cameras to see that..
In the past few years I have noticed a spike in camera worship, especially with mirror-less cameras. They are smaller, have less parts, and perhaps more affordable, but they are certainly no better than an SLR, and have, in my opinion many undesirable features, such as a digital viewer rather than actually looking through the lens.
The camera will always be a box with a lens. Everything else is just an add on.
The Minds Eye.
Paris, England, and a prison in the 90’s.
After a lot of traveling and staying in all kinds of odd places in the past two weeks, its nice to settle for a while and contemplate ones past, and perhaps, future efforts. Traveling from East to West by car is always inspiring, the feeling of a tourist always looking in, magnified.
I spent a large part of the 90’s working in darkrooms and would often go to work in the dark, work in the dark, and then go home in the dark. As depressing as this my seem, I was constantly immersed in photography from all over the world and would often be taken to a place, in my mind, as an image appeared in the developing tray. This came as no surprise having sold prints to clients because they have been to a particular place, or were reminded of a particular place and time in their lives when viewing a certain image. The power that photography gives us to travel without leaving the house, or darkroom, is something I will always hold dear.
Go West
You can only miss a place once you leave it, that said the Western States have a calling that is hard to describe. It’s not just the landscape that is different. There is a feeling that anything could happen and everything is moving. Photographs feel historical and the future looks brighter.
Making any images on the road is often tricky as you often don’t have the time to wait around for light to change or spend all day looking for good compositions. But often the real joy in photography is having no agenda, just a camera and the process of looking. Its a wonderful thing..
Go West Life is peaceful there
Go West In the open air
Go West Where the skies are blue
Go West This is what we're gonna do
Drive
Mojave 2020
The invention of the motor car paved the way for photographers in America and the road trip was born. Nowhere else in the world can one get in a car and just drive thousands of miles with the freedom to go pretty much anywhere. Throw a camera in the mix, its easy to see why I made the US my home.
Since my early beginnings as a photographer I have been making road trips with a camera. The first photograph I ever made was on a return trip from Scotland with camera given to me on my 10th birthday. Years later when I passed my driving test in the UK, the first thing I did was grab my camera, borrow my fathers car, and headed for the mountains. Thirty years on, the destinations may have changed, but the drive remains the same.
Where’s my plant?
There are often times when I'll make a photograph that has nothing to do with my photography. It's just a record of something that exists. But often, these images, over time, can become something more. I made the image of the 'plant theft' sign because I found it funny that someone loved their plant so much that they made a sign. But looking at it now, I did make it at a time of day when the light was nice and composed to show the sign at its best. The image below is similar in that someone made a sign, albeit much more aggressive, but again, the light is nice, as are the clouds. I am not stating for a moment that these snaps should find there way onto a gallery wall, but there is something appealing about this kind of imagery.
I have always found signage interesting because we can interpret it as funny, aggressive, passive-aggressive, nonsensical, clever, and sometimes just plain silly; therefore, they may have something to do with my photography after all.
The camera as a tool.
Panoramic 617 film camera. Still works.
For anyone wanting to buy a used camera, I would always tell them never to buy one from a professional photographer. This is especially true of landscape photography, where cameras are subject to rain, mud, snow, and sand. My 617 panoramic camera, (now more tape than actual camera), has been dropped in the ocean, bounced off rocks, driven over by a jeep, and thrown out of a moving car (well actually dropped while trying to photograph a storm). The idea of spending tens of thousands on a camera and then going on a landscape jolly is something I prefer to avoid. No matter how careful you are, the wind may blow, or the tree limb snap when you least expect it. But at the end of it all, the camera is, first and foremost, a tool. It was never intended to serve as a pendant of wealth and prosperity, as some cameras often do.
The joy of photography will always come from creating something. From that special moment when we know we have something good, to seeing an image published, or on a gallery wall. I will always have a bee in my bonnet for camera manufacturers and their ploys to have you buy their latest piece of plastic. There is nothing worse than someone spending oodles on a camera because they believe it will make them take better photographs. Actually, there is; spending oodles on a camera and never using it.
Don’t Ask.
Caddy Scrapyard, 2020
I always encourage students and youngsters to contact photographers they admire and obtain firsthand information. It was a big deal back when I was at college as you had to either write a letter or get them on the phone pre-cellular. What always surprised me was that I always got a reply. In fact, two of the photographers are still on my mailing list, and over the years, I have kept up communications with them, which was particularly helpful once I began lecturing and teaching. But the one thing I learned was that you could never just ask a photographer, how do I get a job? Or how do I make money from photography? Maybe it's because a photography career is not as straightforward as other jobs, as there are many routes into the profession, but it's still money in and money out.
I remember asking a photographer how they achieved such a dramatic effect in their lighting, to which they replied, "Why would I tell you in ten minutes what has taken me ten years to perfect." This response may seem odd in an online digital age where everyone's a photographer and has a YouTube channel. But twenty years ago, you had to invest time with a photographer before asking such things. One must also realize that many photographers want to stand out. To do so, you cannot throw your tried and tested methods around for others to use willy-nilly.
It is true, particularly in a student environment, that you will always get asked a 'how to' question. Having been on both sides of the fence, I always refer to the day I asked my favorite landscape photographer, "What advice do you have for a photographer trying to break into the market?" His response was to "open a candy shop." Since then, I have never asked the question, but would probably give a similar response.
Elvis has left the building.
Having spent three winters in Middle America, the thought of heading back West is a joyous one. Despite an abundance of photographic material in a place I came to refer to as Middle Earth, I have never felt a connection to the place. For the first time since moving to the States, I felt like a foreigner, especially when locals have no idea where I am from. But then again, why should they? Unlike the West, I doubt there will be any calling to return, despite the joy of zipping around and photographing old barns and rusty wrecks.
How I came to be here is still a mystery and a day has not passed when I didn't ask myself, what am I doing here? Despite this, I have amassed more photographic work here than anywhere else. No matter where you are, there will always be something to photograph, even if it's just to say I was here or I was there.
The image above was made on the day of my arrival in middle America, and I took it as a sign of hope. Sadly, there was none, and Elvis has definitely left the building, as have I.
I, am an artist..
Death Valley, 2017
Nowadays, the term photographer is just too broad a title, especially considering the vast range of ‘photography’ it can cover. From images made on 8/10” film (above) to the tiny camera on an iPhone, to compare such devices is as vast as Death Valley itself (see above), albeit they produce the same thing: a photograph made by the photographer.
If I call myself a photographer, I will be asked to take pictures of weddings, kittens, and my neighbor's doll collection. If I say I am a landscape photographer, the conversation usually stops there. But even 'landscape' is too broad a title as one imagines rolling hills, flowing streams, fluffy clouds, and maybe a rabbit in a field, all of which I do not photograph unless they are hills littered with dumped cars, streams full of pollution, or rabbits driving old motor cars.
Long ago, it was easy as photographers only photographed three things: Landscapes, people clothed or unclothed, and inanimate objects like a manky pepper. Back then, the term photographer was enough because, unlike today, hardly anyone called themselves a photographer.
As a result of everyone now being a photographer, the term artist is often used to describe someone working with photography, or rather Fine Art Photography, as their medium. Perhaps a good solution for someone like myself, but I wonder how long it will be before everyone calls themselves an artist.
The talent-less Mr Rigsby
November 2023
When I was 14 years old, I spent a week with the local newspaper photographer for my work experience. Having already had access to the schools darkroom, I had spent a fair amount of time shooting and printing mostly black and white landscapes and jumped at the chance of seeing the workings of the newspaper. Mr Rigsby, the main photographer, was a lovely chap full of worldly wisdom and good advice for a young cocky wanna-be photographer such as myself. I had secretly expected a little bit of excitement, maybe a murder or a car chase, but the most exciting story of the week was the county's oldest dog turning twenty-one, a scruffy border terrier whose name I forget. As my week ended, Mr Rigsby handed me several rolls of blank film and told me, "Just remember son, you cannot make a living photographing landscapes." Well, respectfully, he was wrong and would later eat his words when I had an exhibition at the local library and sold a print for twenty pounds. Huge profits aside, my week with Mr Rigsby was a learning experience in that no matter how wise you may be, you should never assume anything, especially when it comes to photography.
These days, my work is a far cry from my early black-and-white landscapes. They are often color, shot at night, and not very pretty, but always for sale. Mr Rigsby would not approve.
No one can do what you can do.
The Flowery Room 2012
How we feel about a photograph often changes over time, as can the narrative. When I made the Flowery Room series during my master's, I had no desire to experiment or find new ways of approaching work. I wanted a straightforward approach, working in a familiar way.
Much to the despise of my then mentors, who suggested I experiment with photographs of kittens, I wanted to do a project on memory. It was not an attempt to recreate a memory but to produce work that would help me remember places I knew as a boy growing up in the north of England. Having visited my homeland recently, after a ten-year absence, I can see that the places above have changed dramatically or are gone completely. My original idea had worked, although it did take a decade to realize.
Doing this project was undoubtedly a life lesson to stay true to what moves you to photograph. After all, no one else can do what you do.