In dialogue with the landscape. A reminder to myself.
Summer 2025.

There’s many clichés surrounding the notion that an object must “become an extension of one’s body” for one to truly master the activity at hand. This cliché is applied less often, but still frequently to, the use of the camera than it is to, say, a baseball bat in, well, er, baseball. I felt the full force of this cliché a few weeks ago when I switched to a new camera system. I took my new piece o’ kit for its first outing, and I immediately felt awkward and disjointed. Frustratingly, my mind and heart felt ready. They were open to noticing and gleaning, but my body was not. I couldn’t quite figure out how to change my aperture quickly enough, or how to turn off the setting that refocussed the scene each time my nose pressed against the rear LCD, along with a whole myriad of other technical issues my once digitally literate but increasingly luddite brain couldn’t figure out fast enough. 

In Stephen Shore’s memoir Modern Instances he draws upon an analogy between the Alexander Technique – put very simply, an actor having to learn how to walk in front of an audience they know are watching them – and the use of a view camera. Of course, before the actor goes on-stage, they don’t ever question their ability to walk, but as soon as there is a trigger that moves the mind from a state of unconscious action into conscious, in this case, the introduction of the stage and audience, the connection between mind and body is distorted, and one must again learn how to walk. 

Of course, it didn’t take too long for me to iron out these technical difficulties and bring mind, body, and spirit back into equilibrium. It was the following week by the time I went back out again. This time, I felt I was ready. Open and prepared to receive the gifts the land wanted to offer me. But here’s the thing: photography is often viewed as a solitary endeavour, but very rarely is it. Photography – and, for the lack of a better word, landscape photography – is a conversation, a debate, a discourse, a dance, and it takes two to tango. Sadly, on this occasion, my dance partner didn’t want to participate. Or, perhaps, I wasn’t ready to let them. 

The next day I went out again, but this time with fresh intentions. The previous day, I intended to make work. I wanted to make work. I felt inspired. This new day, I did not. Instead, I simply wanted to be a part of the earth. A cog. An active participant, but not a disturbance. I planned a decently long hike for myself, and slung my camera over my shoulder. The key difference this time is that I’d convinced myself that I had little intent to use it. I wanted to have a private conversation with the land. And this is what we did. It started offering me its gifts: flowers I hadn’t noticed the day before, edible fruits ripe and hanging within arm’s reach, birds of prey circling above, insects with colours that felt new. Every turn I made, every decision to crouch or stand tall, to stand onto the tips of my toes and peer over the gate, felt right. 

“I’m in dialogue with the landscape”, I thought to myself. I felt that we trusted each other. As this trust transitioned to security, I moved the viewfinder of the camera to my eye more regularly – often, unconsciously. This beautiful dialogue continued until, just like my journey, the light of the day, came to an end. I quietly said my thank you’s and got back into my car. 

Photography is a funny medium. Everyone knows about the observant photographer. The photographer who wanders the streets of a busy city like a fly on the wall. A voyeur. There is always something worth photographing in these places, and it is often you that needs to be prepared for these moments: batteries charged, lens cap off, comfortable shoes on. But in the natural world, you can be more prepared than you’ve ever been in your entire life for something, and it still won’t be enough. If the land doesn’t want to help you, to show you, you’re going home empty handed. And you know what? That’s just as good. A deeper connection is being forged that in time will result in a more fruitful and meaningful dialogue.