Digital Photography and Churches
St. Cuthbert's Window,
Durham Cathedral
We’ve visited scores of churches, cathedrals and monasteries over the years and I’ve taken several thousand photos; we’ve been to Dunkeld in the north, to Southwold in the east, to Exeter (both the most southerly and westerly) and dozens of places in between.
Well strictly, the Abbey of Saint Etienne and the Abbey of Sainte Trinite in Caen, St John’s Co-Cathedral in Malta and the old mosque of Ibn Tulun in Cairo took us further south – but I was largely thinking about Great Britain.
Yet, despite the number we’ve visited and the frequency of these visits, I’ve never really understood this ecclesiastical interest – or even what prompted me to draw a map pinpointing every single location!) – because it’s not about religion or being God-fearing. But, unlike my botanical photography, I’ve never tried to fight against it. And now, thanks to this lockdown project, and a better understanding of the ways in which photography operates in my life, I can tell you it’s like green therapy (without being green!)
It’s about connecting with good times from my childhood (the church was Mum’s domain). And about fleeting moments – transient like butterflies – when sudden spots of light burst onto the walls of the southern aisle or onto the stone-flagged floors; and those very rare glimpses of motes in a sunbeam – dust-light I’ve heard it called (although nowadays churches are too clean for dust, too dry for mould spores and usually it’s a trail of incense) – so maybe it’s about light therapy.
And it’s about wall paintings in Pickering and Paston; and respect for our ancestors, long-dead masons and worshippers, and for my photographic forebears (Frederick Evans amongst them) and their sepia prints. It’s about the confidence and expectation of tranquillity; it’s a sanctuary on turbulent days, soothing dis-ease. And there’s the other-worldly acoustic resonance – so maybe it’s sound therapy too.
It’s about all these things, not just the history, because castles don’t hold the same magic. We’ve visited a lot of them and they’re historically interesting, visually photogenic, but nothing more.
With churches it’s about slowing down, taking stock, seeing, breathing, being at ease. And that’s what my photography helps to reinforce.
And I can add that the magic works remotely too. As I was writing this morning, recalling visits we’ve made and images I’ve taken, a moment’s Covid-anxiety was quelled as if we were there in the cool, tranquillity of a favourite church – a small one – Ripley maybe, or St. Olave’s in York.