Photographs serve many purposes. I will not set out to bore you with a tedious list of these because I don’t want to patronise you. However, I do want to discuss the personal connection to our photography and dive into the feelings and emotions that hide within those most special images of ours.
Before I start, I am not claiming to be some enlightened purveyor of the artistic and emotional depth of photography. Quite the opposite. I’m just thinking through the keyboard, trying to learn more about myself. Writing really helps me.
I cannot tell you what your photography means to you. Nor would I even try. However, in reflecting on what those certain special photographs mean to me you may reflect on your own work. I honestly believe if you connect with your photography on a deeper level you will get so much more from the pursuit of what constitutes a good or pleasing photograph to you.
I was hapharzadly looking for some missing keys the other day in my house. I had, inevitably, searched the entire house until I went into one of those drawers we all have, you know, the ones with things we don’t know what to do with, but yet can’t seem to part with. In the bottom of this drawer was on old photograph from over a decade ago. It was roughly folded and fraying at the edges. Upon unfolding it I found myself just sat on the floor. An upwelling of sadness, loss and nostalgia.
And no, I won’t be sharing the photograph with you. It is mine and will be utterly meaningless to you. Like an externalised, crystallised memory that only I have the key to. It’s not for you. Sorry. However, it made me ponder the true meaning of my own photography - specifically those images that mean the most to me - my favourites, as it were.
And it dawned upon me: the photographs I connect with the most deeply are those that remind me of what I do not have.
Of course I would never ask anyone else to accept that this is a true defining feature of our favourite photographs. However, due to my mental state, life situation and culmination of the happiness and trauma from my life it transpires that the images I connect with the most depict something that is missing.
When I say something missing, I mean something I no longer posses, or something I desire to have. I don’t mean material possessions, rather emotional possessions or a more peaceful state of mind. Desires of the heart and mind stamped into two dimensional space by the camera. The camera that knows all our secrets and only tells them to us. Or to those that possess the key to unlock our photos. Like visual diary entries.
Whether they are crafted high art or snapped on an iPhone, photographs have the capacity to hold those truths of our self. Ethereal possessions from a past time, or future realities we wish to live in. I miss you so much.
The image above Float Together, and the image below Breathe are two of my most cherished photographs. In Float Together I feel a terrible loss and longing. Like I am trapped in a place I do not wish to be, with the horizon sprawling out in front of me, unreachable. I am unable to escape and cannot make the journey alone. It really does make me feel very sad.
The image Breathe (below) was made during a glorious late October morning in the northwest highlands of Scotland. When I made it I wasn’t actively thinking about feeling a sense of isolation nor a desire to be in a place (mentally and geographically) that I am not currently in. No. I was thinking about how beautiful a morning it was to be in this location at this time with the cool mist and warm sunrise, working together to create once-in-a-lifetime conditions for landscape photography. It is only after I had edited and printed the image that I started to consider why I connect with it so much. This is when the emotions develop - after being in the contemplative dark room.
Again, I am not trying to be pompous or preachy about photography. I am not trying to suggest everyone has to form a deep emotional connection with their photographs to enjoy them, nor am I suggesting that every photograph is a vault of locked-away emotions. Sometimes, photographs are just a bi-product of being out in the landscape, city or woodland with a camera, and all that really mattered on those days was being there, not the final product.
However, it is difficult to deny that the images that stand out to us is often due to the emotion locked within them, or the memories they bring flooding back. Not all of my landscape imagery reminds me of what I do not have. Some of them are just pleasing compositions, landscapes and conditions - and are intrinsically beautiful as such. I would be a charlatan to claim that all images have emotional depth… but some of them just do. And it is so valuable to consider them. Well, at least I think so!
I really enjoy the writing of Mark Littlejohn, it’s grounding. His meandering captions are always a pleasure to read. He has recently been fascinated by kelp and has made some really evocative photographs of their many forms and shapes. However, not to put words in Mark’s mouth, but (from reading his writing) I do not get the impression that he is on some grand introspective journey. Nor is he getting bogged down in the discourse of technique or style (of which I am unashamedly guilty of). The impression I do get is that he is just enjoying being on the beach, taking photographs of kelp and embracing the inclemency of the conditions that grace the Northwest of Scotland. Please do seek these photographs out on his Instagram or Twitter pages.
The reason I mention Mark is that it is obviously true that not all photographs have to have some deep existential meaning. Nor must we have to introspect to artificially make our own work more purposeful. However, for those images that really do connect to something deep within us, I strongly believe that we should dive into the reasons they affect us so much. You may learn something about yourself as an artist, which may even lead you on to a path of creating truly meaningful art.
I recently put out a question on Instagram asking other photographers if there was a special photograph in their life and what that image really means to them. I had some very thoughtful, raw and emotional responses. I will not share the names of the photographers.
“I have an image that I took last spring. I took it at the height of my mental health struggles. Everything was in turmoil and I was falling apart. I had not got help yet but was forcing myself out to go shoot as it’s good for the mind and all that.
The image is of a small tree with spring leaves trapped in a torrent of water. I remember sitting on the side of the falls and thinking how resilient this tree was and what it was enduring.
The shot is not technically perfect, but that’s what I like about it. The tree is moving slightly, but to me that’s significant. To me the image is about the struggle of the tree to resist the torrent. But there is also hope; the spring greens symbolising rejuvenation. It’s a combination of turmoil and hope.”
The meaning of this photograph has clearly affected the photographer, in a way it may not for others that view it. I doubt every photograph will affect this photographer in the way this image has, and that’s what I’m trying my best to describe. Special images have the ability to change how we think and feel. Another photographer has a different connection to their images, which they describe below:
“Almost every photo I take holds emotion that no one will feel. I was at that spot in that moment and had whatever emotions I had at that time. Looking at the image again reminds me of them. And those emotions are mine alone.”
Another photographer has an incredibly raw connection to their photographs:
“I don’t think anyone can feel the same depth of emotion, or anywhere near the same, that I do. Whether it’s family photographs, iPhone snaps, or my ‘serious’ photographs. Sometimes after downloading and reviewing I cry. I’m not sure exactly what that’s about but I’m okay with it being a mystery.”
I think it’s safe to say from these responses that photographs can really hold deep meaning for us. This is nothing new of course. I am not writing this as a scientist would publish a journal on a newly-discovered subatomic particle. Millions will have said or considered what I am saying. This writing isn’t about discovering something new about photography. It’s about discovering something new about myself. That’s why I write and that’s why I take photographs.
As Sean Tucker so eloquently considers in his book ‘The Meaning in the Making’ I am finding my own ‘logos’ - finding order in my inner chaos. Through photography and introspection. And for me, this is played out against the backdrop of the landscape. It has been therapeutic for me.
And, as I am reminded by the folded-up photograph found in the bottom of an old drawer, I am convinced my expression at this moment is about what I do not have. I do not have calm. I do not have the freedom to live the life that I want to live.
Before escaping one must first realise that they are trapped.
I can see now.
I am finally ready to start living.
All because of a few photographs.
James
