Thoughts About Landscape Photography

As landscape photographer, I enjoy the solitude and the silence of those rocky, lonesome places, and in fact find solace and comfort there.

Many years ago I spent a summer climbing in the Cordillera Huayhuash in Peru. One evening, on the glacier below the west face of Yerupaja, I sat on the ice outside the tent and looked up at the sky. It was long after sunset and there was a faint glow there. It took me a minute to realize that this was the light from stars that could not be seen individually, and the silence was so profound as to be indescribable.

It was quite comforting, actually, to not be burdened with the trappings of our mechanized society, and to just be. Perhaps we are seeking and finding a similar experience that we attempt to portray in our photographs of these lonesome places.

What are some of your thoughts about landscape photopgraphy?

--P

While I can't say I've had quite the experience that you describe, I would bet that most of us have something like that we can relate to. For me, I can think of certain nights backbacking in the Sierra, or being somewhere on the Plains with nothing for miles, or maybe that special place along the coast. Speaking for myself, many of the images I take try to evoke that feeling. One way to do that is to compose it so that the hand of man is not evident, even though it might be right next to you. I think the images that do it best for me are those of a grand landscape taken at night with the multitude of stars overhead.

Peter

Preston, interesting post. Your first and third paragraphs ring very true for me at this point. However I'll give you a very different perspective for your second paragraph.

Instead of being an outdoorsman looking to capture the emotion that I felt in the outdoors, I was somewhat the opposite. I was closer to a city boy, beginning to toy with an SLR. But after I while I realized that it wasn't the streets of the SF Bay Area that truly inspired me -- instead it was images of backpacking and climbing in the Sierras, something that I had never done before. I use a camera to intensify and capture that sense of wilderness that I discovered was missing from my life.

I too have had similar experiences to what Preston described. At those times one of two things usually happens. I either put the camera down and simply exist as Preston describes or I often slip into "the zone" and achieve a higher level of photography through what I believe is spiritual attunement to the land and God (not trying to start up the spiritual debate here.) My point is that I and I suspect others reach a sort of Zen or higher state of consciousness(Each person would likely describe it slightly differently depending on their personal beliefs and understandings.) For me, when I slip into that zone, time takes on different meaning. Usually the only thing that keeps me aware of time is the sun tracking through the sky. If its night photography (often without the moon) the time passes in a flash. This is a profound state of consciousness for me where I become one with my camera and the environment. This consciousness is not easy to achieve and I have found that if you seek it, it does not come. However, it will sneak up on you when you are open to it and have the time to accept it. I often find that the ocean and the mountains help me to get to that state of consiousness. I tend to feel at peace in these places which I believe allows me to get in the zone more easily. It brings a whole new meaning to the "Zone System"

Again, if you are offended by my writing of what for me is a spiritual moment, I do not wish to debate with you. I don't intened to force my view upon you. Rather, I am sharing a small piece of my perspective on landscape photography and why I photograph. If you have a sincere question, I am glad to answer it. I hope that everyone who reads this post will be able to experience this type of existence at least once. Whether you consider it spiritual or something else entirely matters not, just enjoy that moment when it comes.

Your experience and thoughts mirror mine. I'm old and fat now, but I still enjoy (require) alone time in the wilderness. In my younger days it was backpacking solo, but now I enjoy canoeing solo through the beautiful swamps and streams of Florida. It is a healing experience as well as still a learning one as well. Sitting alone on the bank of a river watching the stars or floating silently through the swamp at night is so peaceful, allowing time for introspection and growth. For me, it's a necessity. Shooting landscapes is a part of that, but a small part for me. While I'm shooting my thoughts are on that alone, and while I enjoy being outside then, it's just not the same, if that makes sense. Looking back on the images later does bring back the feelings and peace and tranquility though, which is nice too.

I've had an experience that at least superficially sounds like the one you described, Preston.

I was at White Sands National Monument in late September a few years ago and on a nearly windless, cloudless evening I hiked due west, deep into the trail-less, track-free Heart of the Dunes, about 90 minutes before sunset one evening. After wandering around for awhile, making use of the increasingly improving angular light in the incomparably gorgeous landscape, the sun sank behind the mountains, and I packed up my things and began to make my way back toward my car in the twilight. After trudging over a rise I looked ahead of me and saw the most incredible earth shadow effect I'd ever witnessed unfolding in front of me. Pausing in a relatively flat interdunal area, I just stopped and looked as the colors in the clear eastern sky deepened. As I stood there, I became intensely aware of the silence. There was no wind; there was no human or animal presence, other than myself. In the quietude of that spot, there was this remarkable visual event, in what amounted to a natural amphitheater, taking place, and I was, simultaneously, acutely in tune with what was going on and almost frozen in my tracks, afraid that if I made a sound I would destroy the phenomenon.

At some point, I summoned up a modicum of poise, just enough to retrieve my camera, meter, focus and fire off a single shot. And then I just stood there, trying to soak it all in, emotionally and intellectually, until the effect began to fade.

The image serves as a kind of trigger, enabling me to return to that experience in my mind's eye. Tony Kuyper described this once as being "inside the rainbow." It's something I have yet to re-encounter in the field. Part of me thinks that I'll be better able to take advantage of it, photographically speaking, if it happens again...and part of me hopes that I have the good sense not to try.

I can relate Preston. There are moments and places where the rest of the world falls away, including the need to photograph. The simple act of using a camera is an intrusion. I haven't been to your spot in Peru to compare, but I've found similar "mental landscapes" in many locations. But as you point out they're away from people, including their sounds, tracks and jet contrails.

As much as I enjoy White Sands National Monument for example, I only find the ultimate enjoyment in the wake of windstorms when the old tracks are gone and new visitors haven't yet ventured out of their motel rooms.

Preston,

Great topic and written very eloquently. My thoughts and experiences are very similar to everyone's here. Of course there is a great difference being in those remote places where the "silence is deafening," but I'll put out a slightly different outlook that I actually think about quite often.

For me, I can get to that state in my backyard. Simply by getting lost in a beautiful sky or the wonderment of the moon and stars. It's the beauty that surrounds us no matter where we are that I try and tune in to. Sure, the "mechanized society" exists in my backyard with power lines, a strip mall behind my house, a 1/2 mile from the Police station, dogs barking....... but I can still find solace in that fiery orange sunset or studying the veins in a leaf backlit by the sun. My landscape photography most often isn't about where, but what.

Lon

Preston,
Thanks so much for this thread and your thoughts. I too have found that silence in the wilderness to be captivating. I often think its the sirens sweetly singing, tempting us to find those truly wild places. Creating images from those experiences is magic. Keep exploring.
Best Regards.

Brief perpsective: Didn't Thoreau say.. " And I went out into the woods to be alone."
Guess that pretty much caps it for myself !

~ Jeff Wiles
www.jeffwilesphotography.com

As much as I enjoy the true wilderness and solitude in nature, I also believe that landscape photography can get very one-dimensional if you are only capturing the grand scenics. Now, this is a very controversial statement - and I know many of us single-mindedly focus on "true" landscapes. Without the context of habitats (wildlife) or human beings (I dont mean tourists, but local people and culture or history) or story of adventure/exploration, I increasingly find the traditional style of landscape photography is somewhat limited. Just my opinion - but completely agree with those special moments that you can only find by being out there. I have tried to explain those moments to others who never had such experience - but no words or images can fully do that

My photography skills are still way below the standard mean in the bell curve.....but there is nothing so nice as to find that special spot, put everything down, everything out of mind- and just let the moment happen. My best naps ever have been right next to small cascades/streams whose gurgle just leads me
off to dreamland. And I am always "on the clock" worrying about how much time I have to get this shot and thinking about the next shot...so slowing down and "clocking out "is what it' all about for me.

I'm not much on words, that's probably why I enjoy landscape & nature photography, I don't have to say a lot out there. But this quote sums it all up for me, I can't remember by whom.
"The land nurtures us in many ways, in our modern world it is easy to overlook Nature's role and lose it behind layers of technology and the pressures of society. Nature offers us many rewards unconditionally to every living being, whether or not we accept a responsibility for protecting it. That realization has enriched my enjoyment of the wild, and keeps me whole in my later years."

I can relate to Mat's thoughts. Although, I have always been in love with nature and the outdoors, I never spent the quality time there before photography. Once I started spending that time, I realized what a huge void I had in my spirit! For me, I enjoy photographing almost anywhere, but it is the special location that takes me to the deepest levels of my own spirituality. When I am wandering through the giant redwoods, or some of the areas around Yosemite Valley alone in the early hours, I find myself being filled, rejuvinated, and healed. I stop, take in a deap breath, I am part of my environment, and it is part of me! This for me is pure freedom, that is what I find I appreciate the most from my endeavors.

Chris

For me, what you describe is nice in moderation. I like to be challenged. Discomfort keeps me engaged. I like not only photographing weather, but weather itself. I like a hot day, or a cold day. I like wind, rain, and snow. I am so accustomed to the roar of the surf and the howl of the wind that profound silence would scare me. Even in the winter the birds and sealions are calling. In the depths of the night, I can hear the surf from many miles away. Solitude is nice but not really necessary. Action and energy can be absorbed from the landscape of our coastlines which never rest.

Good thread.
I use landscape photography as a tool I suppose. Although I get a lot of satisfaction from finding a great scene and photographing it, just being there is what I'm really after. Before photography it was fly fishing.
The grand scenics are nice but I'm most moved by serene forests and tumbling brooks. I grew up exploring these types of environments and getting out to photograph these scenes is a definite reconnection with my roots.
Often I'll finish shooting a waterfall or stream and pull out my pad, sit on a rock and just look, listen, breathe great air and reflect. Usually that's the best part of the outing. Fly fishing was good but photography is better, I can take it home and recreate the emotions and thoughts I experienced and hopefully share it with those who are interested.
I used to get a little frustrated when I'd share an image with someone and I'd get a "ho-hum, yeah what's the big deal" response. But I soon realized, they weren't there, they don't know, they can never know. They have to have their own moments in the landscape.

There can be a spiritual side to landscape photography. But, Spirituality is not a recent phenomena. Living in a world where the vast majority of the night sky has been wiped clean by the lights of nearby cities, and where most of the crossing lights are man-made satellites, space junk, airplanes, etc, rather than pieces of asteroids, is a very recent phenomena, a blink of the eye on the scale of life or geology. But a very deep part of our brain has a strong connection to our ancestors, virtually all of whom looked at the night sky just as Preston did, ublemished by humanity's mark. I think that what Preston described is an inherent part of all of us.

Getting out and seeing the awesomeness of creation is a spiritual and healing thing for me. I bring the camera as an excuse to make a living, to be out there more. It is not about the photo for me nearly as much as what I get to see and experience that is beyond words and sharing a little of that with others as a privileged service!

Stan summed it up nicely. We all have that inate instinct to connect with the natural world. It's primal, and it's part of us all.

As nature photographers, and in most cases lovers of the natural world in general, we embrace that part that's ingrained in us more than a lot of others. And we seek out the natural places that are likely to provide us with those spiritual experiences, or moments of "zen" if you will. And when we're lucky, it all comes together, in those rare moments of serendipity and we capture the moment in a photograph. And if we don't, we always have that image in our mind's eye. That, I think, is the most powerful image of all.

To me the connection (actually a series of them) is the heart of successful landscape photography. I have to connect with the place and the moment before raising the camera. If a photographer is shooting for his/her own enjoyment and the photo captures that connection, it's a success. If other viewers find the same connection or another of their own, the photo is a success. Break the connection chain, and the photo doesn't work.

I really appreciate everyone's thoughts, here. The main theme I see is the connectedness that we find with nature, regardless of where we are, and whether or not photography is part of it.

I do agree with Hank, in that photography is not a 'spectator sport'; there must exist a connection between the photographer and the subject, and that connection should be evident in the photograph. The interesting piece of this is that Hank may feel a connection to (say) the softly lit sage in the foreground, while I connect with the mountain peeping out of cloud in the background. The photograph still 'works', but our reason for why it works differ.

Any further thoughts?

--P

I'm seeing what might be an interesting trend. I know several serious photographers who have dumped all sales efforts due to the state of stock and print markets,. And they're having the time of their lives since doing so.

Looking at their past and current work, I'm speculating that they lost their connection, but have rediscovered it after dropping their financial ambitions. Is it a stretch to wonder if others' work and enjoyment will improve as they shed the financial distractions?

Since it's been a while since the last post in this thread, I thought I'd bring up the topic again. I am curious as to the toughts of our newer landscapers.

--P