The Comfort of familiarity in the landscape. Good or bad?

The Comfort of familiarity in the landscape. Good or bad?

To begin with this thought, I had to consider the meaning of comfort within my photography.

Perhaps this feeling comes from a place of needing comfort, a place to connect, something familiar in an ever increasingly unfamiliar world?

I think comfort of familiarity in the landscape refers to the sense of security and peace that comes from being in an environment that feels known, predictable, and connected to past experiences.

Landscapes that evoke familiarity might be those that remind us of our home, our childhood, or places we've visited often enough to recognise their details. It can be the rolling hills of a rural countryside, the predictable waves at a beach, or even the trees in a local park where one has spent years walking. Places we have grown up in, walking with family and friends. These memories etched into our soul.

This familiarity fosters a feeling of belonging and stability. It may be the smell of woodland in spring or the rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the shore, over time, have become intertwined with our personal memories or daily routines. These landscapes offer a sense of continuity and assurance, helping to reduce stress and promote relaxation.

Yes, the familiarity of a landscape can influence creativity, but in complex ways. On one hand, familiar landscapes can provide a sense of mental calm and stability, which might be conducive to certain forms of creativity, like reflection, writing, or problem-solving. When we're in a place that feels comfortable and safe, it might help clear away mental clutter, making it easier to focus and tap into creative thoughts.

However, can too much familiarity can sometimes have the opposite effect? If a landscape or environment feels too predictable, it may lead to mental stagnation because there are fewer new stimuli to spark fresh ideas. Creativity often thrives on novelty, change, and the challenge of navigating new perspectives, and unfamiliar environments can push our brains to think in different, innovative ways. For example, being in an unfamiliar city or in a nature setting can introduce new textures, sounds, and visual cues that might prompt fresh ideas.

Do you find that your environment helps or hinders your creative process?

I have been thinking about this question over the last few weeks. Personally I enjoy the familiar, that sense of comfort and connection to a place. Knowing a location intimately with local knowledge can bring flexibility. I believe my work has benefited from this thought process.

However on a recent trip away from my usual environment and locations I had a chance to explore a new landscape. While at times with new sensations and feelings it felt overwhelming, the senses struggling taking it in. But there was also the excitement of a new place. As a group we wandered a birch woodland, and as if just for us, a blanket of mist rolled in. The heart raced with a mix of anxiety and excitement, hoping to find a picture in the unknown. Taking a breath and wandering among these old trees, slowly compositions started to show themselves. It was an interesting exercise as the skills used at home had travelled with me and the flow of photography began.

This image below was one made on this visit to this new place, if only for an hour or two. I enjoyed the process, the practise, looking back at these twisted branches am reminded of that wonderful trip. New experiences and new friends. It has suggested to me to not be afraid of the new, the unexpected, to embrace, enjoy and just see what we see. Stepping out of our comforts could be ideal for stimulating creativity.

The story of the woodland

The story of the woodland is rich and deeply woven into the landscapes we explore. It is this very narrative that fascinates us as photographers. We often find ourselves pondering about the life of these enchanting places we visit, contemplating their history, the struggles they have endured, and the resilient survivors that stand tall amidst changing seasons. There is truly nothing more pleasing than witnessing the play of light reflecting from the delicate leaves of a silver birch, or observing the wet oak leaves gleaming vividly on a misty morning. It is captivating just to behold the endless shapes, the twisting and turning of the trunks and branches of each unique tree, all intricately shaped by the environment in which they live and grow.

In these stories, we begin to understand that the small moments we see and capture document the life of the woodland. The changes. The idea that the woodland doesn’t stop or care about the human world, yet constantly evolves, is a powerful metaphor for the cycles of life. It also touches on how we, as humans, sometimes focus too much on fleeting concerns while nature moves forward regardless of our presence or struggles. The constant renewal within destruction is a stark reminder of how everything has its own rhythm, outside of our control or understanding. It's humbling to realise that the woodland's story is ongoing, and we are only a part of that larger, ever-changing narrative.

Peaks and Troughs



It’s a Monday morning. With the day free, I have just taken a walk along one of the many gritstone edges I explore often. These are wild and wonderful places. They are not remote: the urban environment is just a few miles away. But come early and these places feel isolated. They offer respite from the noise of daily life. 

The conditions are a little dark today. Heavy rain showers have been passing through, but the high winds are carrying the clouds at speed so it’s an ever-changing scene. Just beyond the howl of these gales, you can make out the comforting call of the skylarks or the wail of a grouse. It’s here among this landscape that I feel very much at home.

Taking shelter, in a little shallow as the coffee warms, I sit and watch the sun break through the gaps in the clouds, God’s rays touching the land. As the sun illuminates the landscape, making pools of light across the distant fields, the colours and textures change on the lichen-clad rocks. With conditions difficult, the camera has been tucked away as I am not really feeling the urge to make any pictures. On occasions like this, not taking a photograph, I used to think of these trips out as failures — not creating. Now, sitting here watching the light, they are far from that. 

When I first began photography, I relied heavily on referencing the work of others to discover new locations. With time being a precious commodity there was a pressing need to optimise my efforts in order to amass a diverse collection of photographs. Embracing this approach paved the way for a steep and rapid learning curve, where minimal input yielded substantial early rewards. However, I must emphasise that my early endeavours did not necessarily boast a high level of quality. At the time, I basked in the illusion of their excellence, bolstered by kind words from family and friends. Looking back now, while I hold onto fond memories, I cringe a little when I revisit the outcomes. Nevertheless, each of these outings served as an essential stepping stone in my continuous journey of learning and growth. However, while my early efforts did bring a certain amount of enjoyment, I realise now I was just going through the motions, a tick list of popular locations. Looking back on these images, I feel they lacked something more personal. Taking my photography forward to a more individual and personal perspective certainly was a challenge. In doing this by moving out of my comfort zone, I would sometimes hit a wall and feel deflated, falling into a low with my work.

In his book The Dip, author Seth Godin describes almost everything in life worth doing is controlled by a “Dip”: “At the beginning, when you first start something, it’s fun. You could be taking up golf or acupuncture or piloting a plane or learning the harmonica or doing chemistry. It doesn’t matter — in the beginning, it’s interesting, and you get plenty of good feedback from people around you and plenty of early wins and progress. Over the next few days or weeks, the rapid learning you’re experiencing keeps you going. Whatever the new thing is, it’s easy to stay engaged with it. And then the Dip happens….” 

Reading Seth’s thoughts, I believe what he presents perfectly relates to my photography. His words put into perspective the feelings and challenges I have faced in the ups and downs of my work. 

Over the years, I have had many of what you might call “Dips.” I have often thought of them as peaks and troughs in my work. They have been tough to deal with and overcome. It would be easy to give up in one of these moments, but I have learnt to realise that more often than not they coincide with a change in my photography. If you have taken pictures for any length of time, I’m sure you have experienced similar feelings — the highs and lows, these peaks and troughs. Perhaps weeks or even months pass by without creating work of note. Nothing quite seems to come together, no matter how hard you try. In these moments, we can feel like we have lost our eye, questioning if the ability to see another picture will ever return.

The fear sets in and we can begin to question our skills and feel like a failure in our craft. These negative feelings can become all-consuming and we must learn to deal with them to progress.

In those earlier days of quick learning, we absorbed the details of shutter speed and exposure, drawing from the experiences of fellow photographers to propel our craft forward. As we gradually carve out our unique identities, we inevitably encounter these more demanding and transformative phases. Embracing this challenging juncture, known as the “Dip,” is paramount for our growth and progression in the realm of landscape photography. However, climbing from this shallow and into the next steep learning curve can leave us deflated as things start to become a little more difficult. Here, we can choose to stay in our comfort zone — give up — or push through the challenges we face. Opting for the latter may initially feel like a step backward to move forward, but embracing the challenge has the potential to open doors to greater creative rewards in the future.

Dealing with the “Dips”

So, in one of these moments, I have learnt to reduce my expectations. I still enjoy time out, perhaps even going without the camera. Head out in any conditions and without plans; take notes, write about the experience of the sights, sounds, and smells — slow down and really take in the environment. I’ve found removing the pressure to create opens my mind to view the landscape in much more detail.

Stop and ponder; study the light — the way it falls across the scene and how it reveals shape, texture, and form. There is so much we can learn from pausing. Let our inner curiosity take over. There is a valid and compelling rationale for embracing this approach regardless of the current phase we may find ourselves in, emphasising its heightened advantages during challenging times. I strongly advocate for immersing ourselves in the natural world, venturing outdoors, and relishing the moments spent connecting with the environment. In this slow lane, I believe subconsciously the cogs have been turning, processing these thoughts and feelings. Solving problems and building an understanding of ways to improve and see differently.

Take this image of a fallen branch photographed in a period of creative lull. Venturing out for a walk, this little scene caught my eye. The soft light revealed all the subtle textures, colours, and shapes. I knew this picture would not make a portfolio picture. However, by slowing down and studying, I spent an enjoyable time working on different compositions. I began to think about the life of this tiny environment, battered by weather, a square meter of the world teeming with life. Through quiet observation a subconscious connection was made to the place and conditions: learning more about the life of the woodland, in turn, re-invigorated my passion to create.

Through this process, I try to make more images that connect personally, perhaps away from popular locations. These may not be to the satisfaction of others and may even bring criticism. In a time of social media, it may not be surprising that seeking popularity, likes, and recognition are drivers for photography. However, does this come at the expense of stifling our own creativity and growth? My advice would be to remove such pressures; be brave when making images, experiment and see where this leads. Starting small projects also helps. I’ve found having focus really can hone our attention to a specific body of work. It can be a very personal thing, allowing us to experiment and build a collection of images based around thoughts, themes, or just our local environment. The collection of images may never be seen other than on the screen of your computer, and this is fine. However, be self-critical: analyse what works and what doesn’t.

Like these images of trees reflected in water. Wandering without intent became a chance encounter with a new location.

I created a series of pictures from this space. No expectations, enjoying the slow pace and quiet time, experimenting with shutter speed and composition. It was an enjoyable couple of hours, finding somewhere new and seeing images I hadn’t expected.

Looking for trees with a different perspective pushed me out of my comfort zone, challenging me to think creatively. The act of taking time really opened my mind to seeing and observing. With no pressure to come away with a photograph, it was a freeing experience.

I find that with no expectations, I really become absorbed by a scene. Noticing how the light falls, particularly at different angles and viewpoints. These subtle conversations with the subject always bring something new and increase my understanding of the subject.

I have used these methods frequently. I personally feel that I am still very much at the beginning of my photography and these techniques help my skills grow. This excites me as I know there is room to improve and see the world in ever-changing ways. I think, if we become static and safe, photography will become boring.

So, let “Dips” become part of the process. If we can learn to accept them — embrace them as changes in our work — and, when they arise, take the time out to reflect on where we are, I believe they can certainly help our thoughts and improvement.

Over time, I have learnt to not let the potential of what I used to see as failure — missed opportunities —overshadow the experience of just being out. If we can change our mindset to one of enjoying the privilege of being in nature, thereby removing the external pressure of pleasing others, we will open up to more creative and expressive image-making and better enjoyment of the adventure.

If we think of a missed opportunity in a negative way, that experience is often remembered as a bad or lesser one. Instead, we should take a positive approach and appreciate the fact that we were there in the moment of that exact time, embracing the lessons it brought, and using them to fuel future opportunities. By reframing our perspective in our peaks and troughs we can transform what initially seemed like a setback into a valuable learning experience, enriching our journey forward. Ride out the Dip! 


Written for NPN. August 24.

Find solace among the hills.

I've always found solace in the embrace of the hills. Urban landscapes, while at times unavoidable, don't hold the same allure for me. True tranquillity, for me, resides in the serenity of open spaces and hushed surroundings.

I am fortunate to reside on the outskirts of the Peak District, a truly diverse and captivating landscape. Nestled between two sprawling urban areas, it serves as a sanctuary for those seeking respite from the hustle and bustle of city life. Since my youth, I have fostered a profound connection with this place, with cherished memories of family walks and adventures with friends introducing me to its rugged hills and defining gritstone edges. As the week's demands dissipate and the anxieties subside, leaving the confines of urban life behind, the rolling hills and the promise of rejuvenation come into view. Each step forward, boots laced and bag packed, brings a palpable sense of relief and release. I do believe this is the power of nature.

As we look back on the past, we often find ourselves reminiscing about simpler times. With each passing year, life seems to become more much noiser, with the clamour of the world drowning out softer, more meaningful voices. Media coverage often emphasizes strife and divsion, further amplifying the discord. However, as we age, our outlook shifts and the tranquillity of nature offers respite from these clamours. For me, landscape photography serves as a vessel, preserving the timeless allure of the Peak District and evoking the nostalgia of my early years.

Looking for Trees.

We have had one too many grey days throughout January and into February. Typically they can be difficult months to navigate, not only photographically but generally in our day to day.

As we wait the anticipation of spring, slowly moving from the winter slumbers, days begin to lengthen, edging quietly lighter and energy returns. Right on the edge of winter we recently had a bright and frosty morning. Packing the bag I headed out for a walk. In the early hours of the day, unsurprisingly the Peak District was already busy with people out making the most of a rare sunny morning.

There was a chill to the air, cold and frosty. Pockets of mist lay silent in the valleys. With the usual places busy, I decided to explore a place I had been wanting to visit. It sits at the bottom of a valley by a river and the place was thick with fog, hanging heavy in the air. After plenty of rainfall, the water was raging, flowing fast with a deafening sound.

As I made my way along the rivers edge, the mist and fog began to lift, the water slowed and the noise of the river eased, gently being replaced by the birdsong and soft breeze through the trees. Down muddy paths, over old wooden bridges, I past farmland with grazing sheep huddled together to keep away the mornings chill. Wonderful willow and alder trees lined the river bank, making a little nod towards the water flowing beneath.

Walking by the river, although a beautiful morning and great conditions in the little pockets of woodland, nothing was catching my eye. ‘Looking for Trees’ was proving difficult. I took a seat by the waters edge, watching the play of light in the moving flow. Trees above my position mirrored back, creating lovely shapes in the motion of the gentle waves. Finally I'd found my trees.

I created a series of images from this space. Enjoying the slow pace and quiet time, experimenting with shutter speed and composition. It was an enjoyable couple of hours, finding somewhere new and seeing images I hadn't expected. ‘Looking for Trees’ with a different perspective.



Go with the Flow.

How can we achieve more personally expressive images with our photography? It is a question that's on my mind often and one that challenges us to keep improving and evolving in our work. As people, we constantly change and evolve, based on our life experiences, the people we meet, and the people we lose. These feelings and emotions mold us and create who we are in the present. They are actually fundamental to our personality. All these elements shape us, and shape the way we see the world.
The lives we lead can be chaotic and noisy. Society these days has more ways to grab our attention, and not always, I would even say most of the time, for the better. It can leave us with very little left in our attention span, so where and who we choose to lend our attention is important. Particularly in photography, the more conscious we are of our work, the better we can enjoy the experience. I find that when I'm out in the landscape, firstly I take time to adjust to the environment. I listen and observe. I leave the camera in the bag and just take a little breath and enjoy. It is in many ways a meditative state, living in the moment allows us to really immerse ourselves within Nature. This approach serves to help my photography become more expressive and more personal. This experience is as important as trying to make a photograph. So, by being present and connected with our surroundings, we can capture images that truly reflect our inner thoughts and emotions.





The Fear.

Prior to going out with the intent to look for pictures, I can often get the "fear" that I won't see compositions, that I will have lost the ability to see. My last picture made, was literally the last! I'm quite an anxious person by nature, so these feelings generally can be common in my mind. Of course, this doesn't stop me from venturing out. We must fight the fear! Thus, I strap on the boots, pack the equipment, and head out into the unexpected.
The closer I get to the outdoors, away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, these feelings gradually dissipate. Once immersed in the environment, I find it curious that, after feeling the cloud of doubt, sometimes a picture can show itself. Many have asked me how I find a picture, and it is such a difficult question to answer. It can depend on our mood, as some images reveal themselves more obviously than others. I always believe that we should let the landscape find us. It could be just a passing glimpse as we wander, suggesting that there is something worth exploring. Perhaps it's tangled up in a wider view, teasing us to stop and explore further. This is where the joy lies.
From the moment we become absorbed by the scene, stopping, slowing down, and living in the moment as if time is standing still, we realize that the landscape doesn't always give up the view easily. Sometimes, we have to accept defeat, at least for the time being. We can hope that maybe next time we pass this way, the view will become clear. However, just occasionally, we find the view that first showed itself, and our hearts beat a little faster. It is in these moments that the true enjoyment of photography lies, trying to work out the puzzle that the landscape presents us with.

Exhibiton.

Recently I had the chance to exhibit work at the Dronfield Barn in a collaboration with Chris Nowell. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience from planning to the hanging of the work. It was a chance to really look at my images and examine how they work differently off the screen and onto the wall. It was chance to take images I hadn’t printed previously and see them in greater detail on paper. A huge learning curve. I print all my own work up to A3 using my canon Pro 10 and after many years settled on two papers from Fotospeed, a semi gloss Baryta and a wonderful matt platinum etching paper.

The exhibtion lasted for a week and the biggest highlight was to meet all the people that made an effort to vist the Barn. Making a connection in person to like minded creatives was a real joy, not just photographers but artists and painters alike. Talking about image making and different creatives processes has certainly helped my thoughts on picture making in the future.

I would like to thank anyone that came. It was very much appreciated and I look forward to connecting with you again!

More than a photograph.

I often ask workshop clients why they take photographs. It's a question that may not have previously crossed their minds, but one that I believe is important to consider. When I pondered this question for myself, truly reflecting on the reasons behind my photography, I found it to be a valuable exercise in my artistic growth. It's all too easy to succumb to external pressures and allow them to hinder our expression and creativity. There is no right or wrong answer to why we take photographs; ultimately, our pursuit should bring us happiness and fulfillment. However, if we become too fixated on pleasing others, seeking comments and likes, the resulting pressure can be stifling.

Life is hectic for all of us, filled with the ebb and flow of successes and challenges, up and downs. Photography is an escape, a release valve for all the built-up pressure we face. It grants us a moment of respite, allowing us to embark on a journey of exploration. As we immerse ourselves in the act of creating, our brains come alive, sparking connections and fostering positive experiences. If we can move away from the external pressures, our work can begin to take on a much more personal approach. Slowly we can develop our own style, build up a collection of work that brings greater satisfaction. And though there may be no simple shortcuts or quick fixes, it is precisely this challenging journey that brings us immense pleasure and gratification, for it is through the process of making mistakes and learning from them that we experience real growth and progress as creative individuals. The act of photography is much more than just a photograph!


After the light.

This scene will be a familiar view to many. The “Kit Kat” stones are a popular focal point from this rocky outcrop with stunning views into Derbyshire. The jovial name, belies the history and brutality of this exposed landscape. Around 2000 years ago this place was probably an iron age hill fort, perfectly positioned for a natural defensive structure high above the valley, but also perfectly positioned for the harsh elements of nature.

I visited on a cold, wet and blustery November morning, wrapped in winter clothing I was pretty content and warm as I searched for a composition,  my mind wandered thinking how difficult life here would have been in winter 2000 years ago. 

Although cloudy I was treated to a colourful sunrise, a slither of a gap was just enough to allow the red colours of the rising sun through illuminating the wet gritstone rocks. The light was glorious but brief. Seeing in a new day can be a short but exhilarating experience. With fast moving clouds the weather soon became much bleaker, a grey soft light blanketed the landscape. 

I felt I hadn’t really captured anything particularly worth while with the early colourful light and began to observe the changing conditions. Although now there was no direct light, the sunlight illuminated the rocks like a giant softbox creating depth and texture. Rain clouds began to roll in and the atmosphere began to build. 

This popular scene, well photographed, can leave me feeling a little underwhelmed creativity. The composition in not overly original, however I still enjoyed placing the elements within the frame and using the light. 

This bleak and almost monotone image actually relates to me more. It really reflects the many cold and windy mornings I’ve experienced here. It also connects me to the life that people would have experienced here in winter. I can only imagine how difficult living here must have been back then. Quite different to enjoying this landscape for pleasure. My images of the Peak District can often be a little nod to the history of this place. Taking a moment to reflect on the people that once called this place home.


The Beauty of Imperfection.


The photograph below was taken a few years ago. It was shot handheld while wandering a location one late summers evening, a reaction to the conditions. It was a beautifully warm end to the day although a little windy, with the low summer sun burning through the canopy. When I first captured this image, I felt I had messed up photographing this quiet view struggling with a few technical issues. However, over the years it’s grown on me, with repeated views and minor edits it has become a favourite - those initials flaws became a wonderful reminder of that evening walk; the emotion, the smell, sounds and warmth of summertime. A unique moment of time.

Throughout learning the craft of photography, I have realised that technical perfection is not and shouldn't be the primary function of a photograph. All too often I have focused on the technicalities when making images. Of course sharp, correctly exposed images are a baseline, however, this should not come at the expense of adding emotion and feeling to the picture. The term perfection is a very subjective thing. It could be argued that actual perfection is impossible to attain. As a society, it seems more and more we seek perfection. Perfection can give rise to pressure and lead to being unhappy. The phrase to be a perfectionist does not necessarily mean one’s images are perfect, it perhaps just suggests we care about the process, motivation and dedication required to master the craft.

While thinking about this subject and my image, I began to link my thoughts with a popular topic of discussion at the moment, AI. There are many opinions around as to where this technology will lead us. It can feel overwhelming. Suggestions are we are either on a path to Nivarna or oblivion! It is a discussion that would probably need a whole new post.

Looking through the prism of photography, certainly the pace of development is frighteningly quick. With the use of AI technology we have the ability to create any image in “perfect” conditions, devoid of “imperfections” through keywords and computer power in minutes. We can produce wow images without leaving home. Already, commercially, we have software and apps that are usable to create viable images. However, with each advancement it does feel like the layers of skills required are being peeled away to just the push of a button or a prompt on a keyboard. With regards to photojournalism, when viewing pictures we shall now always have to have one eye on AI and have stringent regulation for authenticity. AI leads me to question what is the future of image making? I think it is acceptable to say that AI is not photography, after all the meaning of the word photography is ‘to capture or to draw with light’. Therefore, in my opinion, AI created images are not photography, but a form of digital art. I believe the wording we use is important to describe and differentiate between these visual communications. With a little honesty and transparency this will allow both forms of creation to sit happily side by side.

And back to this woodland scene. I think the lack of perfection, the reality of being out in nature is what will keep the uniqueness and longevity of our beloved pastime; it adds a touch of our own personality and emotion. As landscape photographers, it is the experience we need just as much as the image. With a potential influx of “perfect” scenes, will the viewer eventually come back to crave the real, the human imperfection, the ““unique moment” in time and enjoy the experience that was seen through the photographers eyes? When out again, I want to embrace imperfection, just as in our lives, lack of perfection is what makes things interesting. So head out and enjoy the perfect imperfection in everything.

As featured in Outdoor Photography Sept 23.

Familiarity & Patience.

I have visited the location, below, every summer for the last four years or so. It’s littered with dry stone walls and meandering paths, zig-zagging among long grasses and green waist high bracken. Something about this place draws me back. Although, on each visit I’ve failed to make any photographs I’m happy with, every trip here has brought a familiarity. Treading the paths has brought a little more knowledge; bringing a connection to place and a stepping stone to capturing a picture.

The evening looked promising and I spent time wandering and looking for compositions. I had nothing particular in mind and I find the practise relaxes me into the steady flow of enjoying the walk and picture making. I have always liked these stone walls that cut their way through the fields, broken once in a while by old stone gateway posts. There is a lovely connection between the stone of these walls and the imposing gritstone edge high above. No doubt they are of the same; crafted from skill and hard work, both serving and being part of this wonderful landscape.

I settled on this scene, the grasses and bracken look just right, with the stone wall leading the eye through the picture. I knew the sun would set to the left of the picture and create some much needed side light. There was one problem. I felt for this picture to fully work, the sky needed drama as it took the top half of the view. As I stood with camera in position, above me the sky was clear blue. I decided to wait it out, but as the sun become lower it looked like, once again, this location would offer no results for my efforts.

Reluctantly I packed up and headed back to the car.  Driving away I noticed a change, clouds had begun to build. Cursing my lack of patience I returned, hurrying back to my intended spot. With minutes before the sun disappeared behind the hills, I managed to take this frame. Although rushed and initially thinking I missed the light, I was reasonably happy with the end result. I often tell clients to have patience with a scene, something I didn’t adhere to here. However, with an element of luck and familiarity of the place it just about paid off. Next time, however, I will have a little more patience.

Peak district landscape photography

Podcast.

I recently had the pleasure of chatting to Matt Payne on his wonderful Podcast about all things photography. You can find the details on the link below. If you produce a podcast please get in touch, it would be great to talk photography ! :)

https://www.mattpaynephotography.com/gallery/uk-peak-district-matt-oliver/


State of Grace.

Photographing woodlands is a very popular genre of photography. It's easy to see why. Time out alone among trees can be such a pleasure, you could say mediative. The sounds and the smells; the experience grounds us, separated from the hustle and bustle of daily life. We can slip into a state of flow, fully focused. I once heard this feeling called a "state of grace", a wonderful way to describe this mindset.

Unfortunately, for myself at least, being in the flow is something I have to work hard at to achieve. Often I choose a location and my mind wanders to the prospect of conditions elsewhere. It's a source of frustration and doesn't lend itself to being completely relaxed and immersed in the act of taking the picture. As landscape photographers, we can procrastinate over the weather and the location, being indecisive, creating a noisy mind. Trying to master this mindset better, leaving the FOMO behind can be as much of a learning curve as photography itself. Woodland photography certainly lends itself to achieve this state of mind and the image here was one of those rarer occasions when everything came together.

Autumn was in full swing, my mind was not thinking of any place except this spot. I had perfect conditions and a scene that caught my attention. The landscape in front of me seemed to be sharper, the noises of the woodland clearer.  A gentle breeze blowing through the canopy above, the birdsong creating a perfect sound track to this simple act of taking a picture. I spent a good hour focused on the small patch of woodland, enjoying every minute trying to piece together the elements and unlock the view. My mind was quiet and completely clear.  I've found that letting the landscape find me rather than planning and worrying about trying to be in the right place at the right time has led me to create images I am happier with. It can create a fully immersed state. These times are rare, but when we can achieve this mindset the joy of photography can be much more expressive.

The images I take are a collection of memories; the experience, the sounds locked into the picture I have captured. When we find our "state of grace", looking back at the photograph can be amplified bringing back the memory as clear as the moment I was stood with the camera.

The trick is to try and remember this the next time I pack the camera for a trip out

Article for Outdoor photography magazine March 2023.

A Winters Morning.

A surprise cold snap back in early March brought about lovely frosty winter conditions. Soft light and mist combined together beautifully under the pinkish hues of the hidden rising sun. The only thing to decide was were to go. My indecisive mind wouldn’t quite land on a favoured spot so I drove around feeling a little anxious as the unexpected conditions of the morning evolved. My drive eventually brought me to a moorland area covered in an icy hoarfrost.


A Winters Morning.


At first my mind wandered wondering If I had chosen the right place, imaging what it would be like in one of the many other places I could have chosen. I have leant more and more that once accepting the decision always quietens the mind and leads to being more productive and creative. Its easy said then done however!

Little and large.

Hoar frost on the moors.

A couple of enjoyable hours led to making a series of images. Once in the flow of photography I really enjoy having this time to observe. Removing the pressure of place we settle into our surroundings and become curious to the details. We can walk and observe, breathe the air and listen to the sounds. I find this all helps to create and produce work. These images are meant to be seen as a collection rather than as individuals, and I find that I learn a lot on these little outings into nature. I look back and they are wonderful memories of a winters morning.

Ice patterns.

The Meeting.

Mind the gap.

Cling to.

Amongst the trees.

Keeping Curious.

Curiosity is what keeps my interest in photography. It’s the one factor that above all has kept the longevity of my passion for the subject. When we are out exploring its the curiosity that pulls at us to see whats around the next corner or over the brow of the distant hill.

With childlike curiosity & wonder we can explore our photography as if we see for the landscape for the first time, it encourages us to experiment to see what works and what doesn't. It opens our eyes to see with originality, to take in the wonderful world.

Like the decaying tree trunk, probably older then myself, battered with storms, warmed by the long summers. Its history is full of interest, with curiosity we explore every lump and bump of the amazing bark. In this little piece of the world, a square meter, its probably teeming with life, organisms living together in a mini eco-system.

Taking time to pause, work on this subject was a real pleasure, in a quiet corner of the woodland with the breeze and the birds. It's no grand landscape or epic light, but to me its essential to learning the craft of photography. It's looking to see.

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Many thanks for taking the time to read the post!

Before Dawn

The gaps between day and night, just before sunrise is a uniquely special time. Any one who has risen early for photography, and no doubt anyone reading this has, knows about this time. Otherworldly quiet, absolute peace, you can’t quite put your finger on it, but it feels different to any other time of day.

Its addictive once you’ve experienced it, tough to get up and out but theres never any regret. When the air is still on a foggy morning, all the senses seem heightened, the noises crystal clear, the chatter of birds, perhaps the odd bark of a dog, carried conversations of others enjoying this time. The colours more vivid, the textures of the landscape viewed in more clarity, a wonderful moment.

This collection of images were captured over a series of foggy mornings. Before sunrise, perfectly still.

Field Notes I.

I first came across this scene back in 2019 thinking there could be some potential to make an image. The old twisted oaks and millstones are something I like to look out for while exploring. The sense of history is fascinating, clues on how the land has been worked and now how it is being reclaimed back to nature.

I'll often take a phone snap while out searching, its a good reminder of places and allows you to plan out compostions. Its taken a few visits to finally capture anything of note here. The images below are the best interpretation have achieved so far. A misty morning helped add the atmosphere and I really enjoyed the view in full green.

Luckily the mist lasted for a good hour or so and allowed me to work the scene without being under too much pressure, it would occasionally disappear then gently drift back down the valley and into view.

The wider view is the composition I finally decided on, allowing the viewer to get a real sense of the place, the mossy millstones, the pathway offers a route through the image framed by these fantastic twisted branches. The view then descends down into the wooded valley below.

Scouting locations is part of my learning curve for landscape photography. Putting in the miles to reccie places can sometimes offer rewards when the conditions are right. It can reduce the panic and allow you to be more confident when composing, taking time to really refine one scene.As always many thanks for taking time to read the words and view the photographs.

Matt





Memories.

Many thanks to anyone who reads my posts. Often they are just fleeting thoughts that pop into my head and I enjoy the creative process of distilling them into words on a page. Its therapeutic, and helps organize my feelings and ideas about photography.

I'm certainly no expert when it comes to writing, its something I practice and hopefully each time learn something and become a little more experienced, very much like photography!

Todays images are two taken in the Peak District, nothing particularly grand or dramatic about these photographs, however in the process of editing them they bring back the experience and feelings of the morning.

Sunrise is getting early and getting up and out is becomes more and more difficult, I hadn't been out at dawn for a while so I was looking forward to the trip and feeling energized. I walk this spot fairly often, and as predicted the weather was clear and warm. Just a hint of mist gathered in the valley bottom, the morning was quiet and peaceful, no noise from the roads with just the bird song filling the gaps.

I was initially disappointed in seeing the forecast ring true, and we set out on our wander under no pressure or expectation. Reluctantly I got the camera out but once in the flow of setting up I began to make a couple of images as we made our way across the gritstone edges enjoying the warm sun.

I wasn't till a few weeks later when I downloaded the pictures and started to edit these photographs that the impact of the mornings walk connected with me. I really had no expectations in producing something particularly good, however the sense of comfort reliving that morning through the images felt good.

Where am I going with this. One thing I am realizing is I must enjoy these moments, that quiet day, the warmth and the free time to walk with Ralph was a real pleasure. Having images to remind me of this day is very special to me, its a great way to keep things in perspective and look after the mind and body.