‘Encased in Bubble-Wrap’:
A Sense of Wholeness
I don’t know when I first became aware of this ‘sense of wholeness’ and the manner in which it boosts my mood and wellbeing. I imagine it occurred in a subtle way – fleeting ideas slowly intermingling and coalescing. But looking back it seems so obvious – the way that a story inherently collects a group of images and keeps them together, like a party of children all holding hands. It’s as if there’s an all‑embracing, caring way that a story can understand the essence of an experience, bundle up every aspect and encase it in bubble-wrap – making it crystal-clear and visible, and thereby keeping it alive and ever-present.
‘A Flavour of St. Aidan’s Nature Reserve’
This idea must have existed subconsciously for several months but then one day a ‘sense of wholeness’ was obviously explicit because I wrote:
The story-images represent everything about the outing we took to St. Aidan’s Nature Reserve this week – about its ‘whole’ – starting a few days ago with the initial plan, the child-like excitement and anticipation, preparation, imagining what I might see, driving there, being there, eating cake(!), taking photographs, rummaging in the edgelands of the carpark looking at plants, chatting with strangers, driving home. Then it continued in‑house, downloading the images, ‘meeting’ them, tuning-in, choosing, editing, writing the stories, printing them – all of which brings me to this point, the opportunity to hold the story in my hand.
Its physical presence increases my focus – encouraging me to reconnect with the experience, re‑trace its different stages and to reflect upon the process in its entirety. There’s a sense of wholeness which is mindful, meditative, soothing, contemplative and well, simply beautiful. And I can sustain this – reengage with it constantly – by adding this story‑image to my informal gallery on the side of the staircase and ‘talking’ to it, acknowledging it, every day.
And now, unasked, I can hear music playing in my mind’s ear – Fiddler’s Dram are singing, “didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor”.
Well yes, we did, I tell them.
And it’s a wonderful memory.
‘Noticing the Neighbourhood’
I’m minded of times past when I held a very different view – a different approach to my photography – the polar opposite of this ‘sense of wholeness’. Then I'd select a few images when I returned from a photo-shoot and from that point onwards, all my attention was directed solely towards those few – with a level of scrutiny that was made at the expense of the original outing, forgetting it and the wealth of other photographs I’d taken. Moreover, this single focus – this singularity – became further intensified in post processing where, for example, the image below took hours of editing in Photoshop, and several revisions. And by that point I was only thinking about the image – it had become entirely isolated from its origins, its context and sadly, in this case, from my intention to honour a friend.
‘In Memory of Kate’
Fountains Abbey, North Yorkshire
However, storytelling photography is the antithesis of this insularity and separation. I remain attached to the entire body of images throughout – connected with the meaning, the origins and the context of them all. I work on them collectively as a body, and the outcome – the story – displays them together. Whereas the soundbite for my ‘proper’ (traditional) photography could be ‘Product Only Product’, now it’s ‘Process Plus Product’ – they’re both invaluable, in balance and harmonious.
It’s about the ‘whole’ – a ‘sense of wholeness’ – not just about the outcome. And it’s this “shift in perspective toward valuing innate qualities” – rejecting ‘wall-worthy’ and embracing ‘smile-worthy – that has had (and continues to have) such a positive impact on my wellbeing and resilience.