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.
