I read with great interest David duChemin’s July 5th post on his thoughts about sharing, or ‘over-sharing’ as he puts it, and how he thinks some of our new ways of connecting can, and have, affected the photographic process. David raises some interesting questions about the value of photography and how the nature of social media has accelerated the pace of photography, and does that increase in both producing and sharing photographs have a negative impact on the process itself. I would say in many ways, yes. Even as we are making photographs, we are now predisposed to be considering when and how best to share them, get them into the photographic stream. As David says in his piece, we all like to share and welcome comments and messages that tell us others are looking at our images, but that has with it a sense of immediacy, a feeling that is contrary to some of the reasons we make photographs, and art, in general. The phrase that really caught me, though, was: “But I do not love those things the way I love the quiet making of a photograph, the private wrestling with the muse that happens while I write a paragraph or a book. I don’t love those accolades the way I love holding a print in my hands the first time and knowing I made this new thing.”
That phrase of David’s made me think about some of my own experiences making photographs, the “quiet making” of them. There is also the quiet consideration of images where for a time they are just resting, waiting to be discovered. The act of making photographs can be a solo, meditative experience, whether shooting landscapes in a remote area or watching a street corner in a busy urban area. For most of us it is the landscape, escape from distraction.
In 1988 I was in Peru, and like most travellers, made the trek to the Inca ruins at Machu Picchu. Arrival is usually around midday and the area is covered with tourists, visitors and travellers. As the noon sun beat down on the mountains, cameras were ablaze in less than dramatic lighting conditions. I opted to find a shady spot behind a wall (within the ruins), and rest while I waited for the light to change. By late afternoon when the sun started to drop the thousands of people were gone, few spending the night at lodging nearby. As I began another walk through the ruins I was keenly aware that there was almost no one else around, perhaps a few in the distance, so for the most part I was alone. A solo, meditative moment, with no concern for the after (what will I do with this image). The photograph shows the silence, the calm. On the staircase (lower right) sits a lone figure, thus establishing scale.
Machu Picchu, Peru ©RILEY
The following year, 1989, I made my first of many trips to Canada’s arctic region, landing in Cape Dorset on Baffin Island (eastern arctic, province of Nunavut). When I was not in my temporary studio making portraits I was out on the land, travelling by snow machine, sleeping in a tent, trying to capture the vastness, the subtlety of the landscape. I often thought about one of my mentors, a painter/sculptor, John McCombe Reynolds (or Uncle Mac as he was known). I learned about portraits by photographing his busts. Sculpting requires meditation, putting a project aside at times to allow for consideration or reworking.
John McCombe Reynolds, sculptor and painter (self portrait)
Mac was a landscape painter, too, and painters have such a strong sense of the delicacies of the landscape. Again, a slow process sometimes to get the vision onto the canvas. So I often thought of him when looking at the arctic, trying to compose, to see. Soft light on an overcast day, gentle pastel colour.
I could spend a long time in one spot, appreciating the quiet. Like David says: “the quiet making of a photograph”. As many of the early images were film, time would be taken to pour over contact sheets, considering each frame as film was precious (and expensive). Even in the early stages of digital photography we weren’t producing the quantity that we are now, and there was no place to rush to for sharing. It all took time.
arctic landscape, Baffin Island ©RILEY
arctic landscape, Baffin Island ©RILEY
Iceberg on the horizon ©RILEY
Arctic moon ©RILEY
Open water, Baffin Island ©RILEY
Sunrise, Cape Dorset ©RILEY
The same process of looking, seeing, and contemplating occurs everywhere. The photo below was taken in Kenya, on the road to Lake Magadi. I would always stop at this spot, breathe deeply, take a quiet moment. I did this a number of times before I made this image, always waiting for the right day when the photo would appear before me. As with the previous images, these are not ‘new’, they didn’t find their way into the technological stream with any urgency. They are shared when the time is right. We must not always cave to the pressure that one must share quickly. I know many successful photographers who do very little social media, bucking the trend. What is paramount is making good, or important, images and maintaining balance in your life.
On the road to Magadi (Kenya) ©RILEY