Fine Art Photography and 'Being There'
Fountains Abbey, North Yorkshire
I've been looking closely at fine art photography for a couple of weeks now, and the idea of 'being there' has become a recurring theme – integral to my appreciation of it.
It all started with me glimpsing a photo of Fountains Abbey; that was all the trigger I needed, and I was minded of the times we’ve been there – parking the car, walking through the Water Gardens and along the banks of the Skell, till I find the view of the abbey that I want. I’m visualising myself standing there, with the camera in my hand (or it’s on a tripod) and I’m remembering the sounds of water on the weir, dogs barking, families chatting. In my imagination I can feel the breeze, the warmth of the sun – or the winter chill (this is Yorkshire, you know!) Landscape photography is a multisensory experience if I let it – if I relax into the moment.
And that's the point about photography; it always starts with ‘being there’ – the camera and I have to be present, in front of the subject we're photographing. It gives me the opportunity (if I choose to take it) to engage with the location, to create a bond with the landscape – strong enough to be memorable. And I've noticed that the memories of ‘being there’ have felt precious over the last few weeks since lockdown has been limiting my access.
For the camera, however, there's no concept of 'being there'. For the camera, photography is restricted to the ‘sight’ of the scene; it has no interest in the sounds and the smells; the history of the abbey – the significance of the water supply, for example – and all the other things which are woven into the ‘sight’ I see around me. The magic and the essence of the scene are ‘lost in translation’ – as if the camera and I speak different languages – and the captured photograph lacks the spirit; it feels predictable and slightly dull.
And so this is what Fine Art photography means to me; the opportunity to close the gap between the photographic record and my emotional response, address the disconnection; the chance to recreate my sense of ‘being there’ – not leave it, a half-forgotten memory, unexpressed and unacknowledged.