Books and more books........

Books have become one of the major vehicles for publishing serious photography. In reality they always were of course and in the early days of my photography were almost the only place I could see the work of the photographers I admired. 

Part of my studio bookshelves

I still have all those books, bought at the time and some have become quite rare and sought-after first editions. The monetary value now is not important - except if I ever lost them and wished to replace them I suppose. I quite often browse the ABE books website to look for a book or check some of the silly prices my early editions would now cost me to replace. 

Equally important I think are exhibition catalogues, although they fulfill a slightly different function. As a reminder of the exhibition, a vehicle for an intelligent discussion of the work and good reproductions of at least a part of the exhibition, they can be substantial editions.

'Great Little Tin Sheds of Wales' catalogue, 1984

Reproducing photography well has always been an expensive business. very few books ever see the light of day without financial support from somewhere. Increasingly this is in the form of the photographer themselves with the rise in self-publish via Blurb or a similar digital publishing outlet. 

I have been lucky over the years to have had books and catalogues published to accompany most of my major one-person exhibitions. Also fortunate in that some individuals whose opinions I respect have contributed written material to them. In all cases this has added positively to the publication.

'Celtic Light exhibition catalogue, 1988

Editing is not easy. Selecting what to exclude is difficult as inevitably many 'favourites' have to be left out. likewise your opinion can change about a body of work while the editing process in ongoing and your selection and maybe even design, shifts.  

Sometimes the final edit for the catalogue or book has to be made so far in advance due to deadline and printing pressures, that it's a fait accompli even before final choices have been made for the exhibition edit and display. Looking back now, 20-20 hindsight is always great of course, there are a number of changes I would have made to various publications given more time. 

'Northern Light', exhibition catalogue, 1993

Of course, this applies to almost every creative  endeavour. Given unlimited time everything might be improved. Unfortunately if that were the case very few publications would ever see the light of day. They would be in a state of constant editing and updating.

Costs have a large bearing on choices too. The 'Cader Idris' book was costly due to the four colour printing of the platinum prints. Add to this the duotone printing of the black and white images it became a five colour print job. I was very fortunate to receive Arts Council grants and support from the printers themselves but nevertheless, there was a limit. 

Cader Idris book printing, 1997

In retrospect I would have made the images larger on the pages but as always, compromises had to be made to work within limited budgets. The compensation was that the printing was superb. As the printers were very supportive I was allowed 'on press' to sign off the first pages as they came off the press.

Cader Idris book printing, 1997

Scary. Huge, five or six colour B1 presses ready to roll, plus a second press printing the cover, printers hovering, waiting for the OK. Once I was happy they gave me a big, black magic marker to sign one of the sheets. At that moment everyone sprang into action, buttons were pressed and the presses rolled into action. Too late now to ask for changes!

Cader Idris book, 1993

A good experience and a great way to learn something about the technical processes involved. I believe that to have at least a reasonable working knowledge of the printing technicalities at every stage is a help to designing the final product and an aid to the editing process. This can also help with the making of prints or scans for the reproduction process. While it does not replace in any way, the expertise of a good printer whose opinion should be listened to, it does help if you understand the process. It can also help bring down production costs if maybe a part of the process can be brought within the scope of the photographer. This helped with the publication of a later catalogue and book. More on those again........

A postcard from North Wales

Following on from yesterday's notes, I have always been fascinated by why certain places become tourist centres and droves of people flock to them every year. North Wales, an area with which I am very familiar has more than its share. I am also equally interested in the visual representation of these places and how they change, or even don't change that much over time. 

Aberglaslyn Pass, in flood. Dated 1932

View from Aberglaslyn Bridge

Many of these places began to be popular for depicting visually with the rise of the picturesque movement in art towards the end of the eighteenth century. Much earlier than that most landscape paintings had 
been allegorical in the style of Claude or Poussin. It was only after the middle of the eighteenth century that representations began to be at least reasonably topographically accurate. With the rise of Romanticism and the Picturesque movements, artists sought out those places that appeared to conform to those ideas and ideals. Scotland, the Lake District and North Wales with their mountains, lakes and rivers became popular for the peripatetic artist. Later, the arrival of the railways along with photography saw these traditions transfer themselves to the new medium.

Aberglaslyn Pass

Some the key components that defined a 'picturesque' view were a bridge, river, trees framing the view, hills and/or mountains. Later a little 'human interest' in the form of bucolic characters or figures were deemed necessary. 

Aberglaslyn Pass

Aberglaslyn Pass

With the rise of tourism in these regions, brought about by easier transport links to the cities and the tradition of summer holidays as a break from factory and industrial work, we see the rise in popularity of the picture postcard. Many of the
images we see from that time simply repeated the same viewpoint over and over again as if the definitive view had been discovered early on and never deviated from. Slight variations can be seen from time to time. The collection of postcards here span many decades but most use the same or very similar viewpoint and composition. 

Pont Aberglaslyn

To a large extent, the more conservative postcard publishers rely on the 'safe' and most bought views, as a guide to commissioning repeat printing or newer versions of the scene. This, in turn dictates what is seen of a particular place and what makes for a 'point of call' on a visit or holiday.



The scene of these postcards from my  collection is one I pass on a very regular basis and the pass itself still remains a popular driving, walking and picnic point for tourists. This, despite the romantic view being depicted in these postcards and 19th. century photographs by Francis Frith and Roger Fenton being, to all extents and purposes now, gone. 

Roger Fenton, Pont Aberglaslyn, Wales. Stereo card

Francis Frith, Aberglaslyn, The Pass. Albumen Print

The picturesque stone bridge has been replaced by a modern structure. The 
bridge is an important motif in many 
topographical paintings and early photographs as it defined a use of or at least an association with human intervention and passage. It was a symbol that was used repeatedly in the tradition of the picturesque, in many cases included and selected over more romantic and wilder views of the same scene.  The trees lining the banks of the river which runs down through the pass have grown to such an extent that they now block the view rather than framing it. 

The classic view that has been depicted for at least two centuries, is then, to all extents and purposes gone. The image lingers however and the place still attracts the visitors. This, even though it is now possible to drive over the new bridge and be totally unaware of the view that has been the subject of so many representations over the years. 

Pass of Aberglaslyn from the bridge, contemporary view

Pont Aberglaslyn, contemporary view

Does it matter? It may be that many visitors expectations are dashed by the reality rather than the expectation. On the other hand there are places where the visitors still flock to based on things that never were in the first place, not just changed over the years. Not far on from this spot you arrive in Beddgelert, which has relied on much of its trade since Victorian times on the opportunity to visit the 'invented' grave of a mythical dog. Visitors still flock there despite the fact that they must be in the full knowledge that the story is a myth and the supposed grave was erected by an enterprising Victorian hotel owner. Does it spoil the experience or add to the flavour of the region? Answers on a postcard please.

Wish you were here..........

I have been fortunate over many years in having the opportunity to travel to some wonderful places. Most of the travel has been work related, photographing, teaching, masterclasses, conferences or exhibitions. People often ask, because my photographs of the landscape tend towards those prosaic elements, if I enjoy or appreciate the 'grander' scenes. 

Lake Huron, Ontario, Canada.

View from the Empire State building, New York

I suppose I am lucky to be able to spend time to 'stand and stare' when I'm photographing for my exhibition work and appreciate the detail, the minutiae. Having the space and time to be able to absorb the entire experience of being in these places is important for my work. However, that does not preclude or exclude my appreciation or enjoyment of 'the moment' when I arrive at somewhere, either by design or chance that I can appreciate for its beauty or 'tourist appeal'. Having studied the landscape and its place in art history at an academic level and having made bodies of work dealing with the landscape at its place in society has not made me cynical towards other attitudes to it. Nor has it made me less appreciative of my good fortune to have the opportunity to view those visual 'icons' that for many, define the place visited. 

Traunkirchen, Austria

In many ways, I am able to separate the two very different visual experiences I encounter when I am wearing my two different 'hats' and appreciate both on their own merits. I think it would take a very tough and dispassionate kind of person to regard some of the wonderful places I have experienced with a dismissive cynicism. There is a difference between academic deconstruction and discussion of the landscape but  only regarding this as 'legitimate'. To have the ability to appreciate and understand both aspects and also to be able to contexualise these appropriately is a bonus for me. Whenever I land somewhere new I inevitably browse through the tourist shops to examine the postcards to see what is regarded as the definitive views. I suppose this combines both elements of my interest. I want to see and appreciate the classic views as much as anyone but I also want to put those elements into the context of what I have already seen and studied of that particular geographic area. 

Vermont, USA

This applies particularly to those places where I may be working.  To fully understand somewhere I am studying and representing in my own style and with my own attitudes I think that it's necessary to study the wider picture. Hopefully though, and I think I succeed in this, I can do that, then move on, make my photographs without spoiling or diluting my 'tourist' experience. What do I do with those 'tourist snaps' I take? If you have read yesterday's comments you will know - I put them in the family albums of course.

Nostalgia ain't what it used to be.

My Dad's folding Kodak and family photographs

I am always grateful to my father for fostering my interest in photography. He bought a camera at the same time that he joined the Royal Navy at the start of WW2 and used it all the way through on his extensive service and travels. He then used it afterwards on family occasions. I still have it and huge numbers of his photographs. He was lucky to have access to film throughout his war service as it was rationed in the UK. He was friendly with various ship's photographers who kept him supplied.

A day out on the bikes, 1948/9

A day out on the bikes, 1948/9

After the war and during my early life he documented what every family did with a camera then - the high days and holidays. I treasure them both as family memories and documents of another time. I grew up with the documenting of family occasions as being taken for granted. Importantly these prints were kept safe - as, even more importantly, were the negatives. I still have those too and they are in good condition. I know that they are largely out of fashion today but I love both the concept and the artefact of the family photo album. I still keep them, take pleasure in sticking the prints in and then, every so often browsing the contents to jog memories. Dating and identifying characters and locations at the time is important. It's too late after the event. 'We will always remember the date etc.' is fatal. Time flies and details are forgotten. 

I love the permanence of objects such as this if they are cared for. While I have always been a supporter of the democratic nature of photography and don't have a real problem with the proliferation of images today, I still think they should be cherished. I do worry that so many images now are deleted, not archived properly and not stored safely in a digital archive that we will lose a great part of our social history. It's not always possible to say at the moment of taking any photograph what it's future significance might be. 

Caernarfon Castle, 1950/1

There are also times when new technology can come to the aid of the old. While all my Father's black and white prints are still in good condition, (they must have been well processed and kept), His early colour prints have faded. This, despite being kept in albums in the dark. Until fairly recently colour print technology dictated that the dyes used were fugitive and for that reason major museums and galleries were reluctant to purchase colour prints for their collections. 

Coach trip, Caernarfon Castle, 1950/1

However, my Father wisely kept the negatives safely and they survived well. I remember him telling me that he had to send the exposed film off to Kodak in Rochester, New York for processing, as in the years just after the war very 
few places here undertook that service for amateurs. Scanning the negatives on a high-end scanner brought them back to life. The 1950's colour adding to the nostalgia. In many ways they are 'throw away' snaps but I find the social detail fascinating. The clothes in the austerity early fifties in the UK, the pre-war coaches and what would have been a memorable and rare holiday for my family.

So a plea. Please save your family photographs. Do print them out, you can't rely on hard drives or 'cloud' technology, they are not in your control. Believe me, you will miss them if you lose them.

Magic moments.

Writers often talk about starting a new book and the terror of staring at the first blank page. For landscape photographers maybe it's all about the first field trip, or maybe producing the first image that seems to work. In every body of work there seems to be a turning point where things begin to come together after slow or false starts. It's the time when the ideas become clear and the direction the work should take emerge from the images and a style and strategy to take the work forward sort of pops out at you. 

I remember a few such moments, some are there out in the field while photographing and some happen back in the studio when looking at work prints from a recent field trip. Sometimes it may be a chance happening or conversation that simple changes your mood and mindset. 

An example of the first was when I was struggling a bit with the 'Wildwood' work. I had made several field trips to Ty Canol forest in Pembrokeshire but found the resulting images too typical of what everyone imagined an ancient forest to be. 

Ty Canol Forest, Penbrokeshire, Wales

The images of the ancient oaks and mossy rocks were very 'Tolkienesque' and did not evoke the kind of intrigue that I wished from this body of work. I finally abandoned working in that forest and chose to work in places that didn't appear to have any sense of order and where the images didn't necessarily present themselves as complete and already framed as in Ty Canol. In other words one had to 'hunt' and work a little harder to make sense of it all. As with all bodies of work there were the first images in this new place and strategy that marked the change and the trigger that opened up the possibilities. Some remain after the final edit as being relevant to the overall body of work and some 'bite the dust'. One of the earliest that remained in the series and also made both the exhibition and the book was this image of Pen Gelli forest.

Pen Gelli Forest, Pembrokeshire

An example of an event that triggered a change in fortune for a particular body of work happened to me in Ireland in about 1987. I had been having a hard time making work for no apparent reason, although the weather had been appalling for over a week. I work in pretty much all weathers but there are times when it does preclude doing anything worthwhile. It had been one of those weeks. I was in the west of Ireland, the Connemara region of Co. Galway and I was almost at the point of despair. Miles from anywhere on a bleak coastal road, the only traffic we had seen for days, on the days we could see beyond the mist, was a pony and cart with a family travelling along.
It was probably on the wettest, mistiest, bleakest day that I was at the point of giving up. Not even a pub for many miles to retreat to with a Guinness. I was still trying though. Under the wet focussing cloth heavy and clammy with the rain and mist I was struggling to make sense of something on the steamed up ground glass that was running with water. It was then that I was aware of someone standing alongside me and I lifted up the focussing cloth to see. A man with a bicycle had appeared out of the mist from nowhere. Man and cycle both looked of a certain vintage. Both well used, shabby appearance held together with baler twine. The man was quite short with a long coat against the rain that almost reached to the ground and wrapped around him with plenty to spare. The only thing peeping out from the bottom were his boots and cycle clips. The wrapping was held in place with more baler twine. All topped by a hat of uncertain type, vintage and colour. To be honest, I wasn't in the mood for polite conversation. I am often approached when I'm using the large field camera by people asking why I use "an old plate camera" etc. etc. etc. I then have to go into long explanations; "it's not old, it's not a plate camera, yes they are all new state of the art lenses" and so on. Today I was definitely not in the mood. He looked up at me, "good day sir". "Oh, good morning". "Now then sir, tell me this 'ting now, why in God's name are you way out here in the rain with that big wooden 'ting?" Pointing to my camera. I was thinking the same thing about him and his bike. Oh dear, I thought, here we go. "Well, I'm undertaking a project photographing both the Welsh and Irish landscapes which will be shown jointly in an exhibition touring both countries". "Well now sir, that's a grand 'ting". 'Now tell me this sir, what do you think of those wonderful cloud pictures - his 'equivalents' made by Alfred Stieglitz?" 

Alfred Stieglitz, 'Equivalent Series, 1925-'28

My jaw dropped, I wasn't expecting this. "Oh I love those, very modernist and went quite against the trend at the time in the USA". The conversation about the American modernist tradition in photography between us went on in similar vein for some time. He then bid me farewell. "Good day to you sir, God bless and good luck" and off into the mist on his bike he went. Had I been taught a lesson never to judge anyone or anything by appearance? Within moments, the rain stopped, the mist cleared and the sun shone. The rest of the trip was a great success in terms of my work. To this day I wonder if it really happened. Where did he come from? Where did he go? Did I just imagine it? No matter, my luck changed and the project went well. 

The meaning of art

The recent re-opening of the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, plus the news that apparently the only painting to be replaced in its original spot is Rembrandt's 'Night Watch'. Or to give its proper title; 'Officers and Men of the Amsterdam Kloveniers Militia, the Company of Captain Frans Banning Cocq', 1642. The news took me back to my first visit there in 1962, just a few weeks before I left school and started work. One of the teachers who took us, grabbed my shoulder and said, 'You like a bit of art Davis don't you? Then get a load of this......' I was sort of gently frog-marched down various corridors until I was standing in front of the famous painting. I was mesmerised. My interest in 'art' and painting had begun really the year previously when the same two teachers had taken a group of us to Paris. 

Me in Paris, 1961. No idea who madam is!

After the obligatory visit to the Louvre, I had become very taken by many of the French landscape paintings there. On returning from that trip, I began to pay regular visits to the national Museum in Cardiff which held a wonderful collection of French Impressionist paintings. Hence my teacher's insistence on getting me to see something he thought might broaden my knowledge of art. He was right. 

Peter Galassi - Before Photography: Painting and the 

Invention of Photography, 1981

However, I probably didn't realise how right he was to foster my interest in art until many years later when I began to make those connections between some of the work I had seen in museums and the history of photography. I found that I understood the influences that some forms of painting had on the early photographers and how some painters long before photography were making images and using viewpoints and image constructions that would be mirrored by photography over a century later. The painting by Thomas Jones of a 'Wall in Naples' 1782 which was in the National Museum of Wales collection was used by Peter Galassi for the cover of his book (above). Things began to come together.

Gendarmes, Paris, 1961

The Paris trip did more for me than this. I felt empowered with this new enthusiasm for things visual. Although I had been photographing for a year or so by now it wasn't a very serious part of my life but my eyes were opened in Paris and I gained a new confidence as long I was behind the camera. Emboldened, I wandered around the city capturing scenes that were new and fascinating to me and things I had only previously seen in books. I was, of course, very fortunate to find things

Gendarme, Paris, 1961

I was passionate about and my niche in life. My eyes had been opened by exposure to art and artworks and I really did now see the world in another way. I was also lucky to have gained, in a small way, the ability to capture portions of this with my camera. In those days I was something of a rarity owning a camera and making my own prints etc. The truth is that even then I had no idea of the impact that it would have on my later life life, or just where it would lead.
 

Be prepared......!

I have talked before about the logistics and dangers of taking photographic equipment abroad. I try very hard to be organised and prepare for every eventuality. I was a scout a long time ago and 'be prepared' was the motto. Taking large format cameras about with their attendant lenses, tripods, film and various accessories requires almost military logistics. 

10" x 8" camera on location in Sardinia 2000

So, together with all the equipment and all the ancillary requisites there is a lot to think about. You also have to be prepared for possible damage or mechanical malfunctions. I always have a few lenses of various focal lengths so if one should pack up for some reason I have others. Using a wooden field camera also means that glue, screwdrivers and gaffer tape can fix most things if the worst happens. A 10" x 8" field camera also has one extra extremely vulnerable component - the ground glass viewing screen. Over many years I had never broken one, but I always, always, take a couple of spares with me, safely packed in foam in an old film box. 

One week into the last of my field trips to Sardinia, in the mountainous Barbagia region all was going well. Exhibition was promised by the Associazione Culturale and venues booked both there and back in the UK. Grants from various sources had been arranged and received for the work and just needed the last week's work to complete the project. I stopped at a possible location, opened the boot of the hire car, unwrapped the camera from its protective swathes of focussing cloth and stared in disbelief at the sight of a shattered ground glass. Not just a crack which could have 

been coped with, but a complete shattering. A dozen slivers of glass was what I was left with. OK, slight problem, reach for my spare glass and a small screwdriver and ten minutes work has me back working again. It was then I realised that despite my careful planning and packing, I had left the box with the spare glasses in on my bench in the studio. I had failed to pack them. Disaster. In the wilds of Sardinia, on a weekend there was no chance of a replacement glass. Even in the UK it would probably taken two weeks to get a replacement. 

Barbagia, Sardinia, 2000

So, trip over, exhibition off, might have to refund grants to arts council and British Council etc. etc. etc. These were the thoughts as I drove back down from the mountains to the village where we were staying. Then I had a wild thought. I made my own spare glasses that were back at the studio so I could, given the materials, make one here. In the hotel room was one of those ubiquitous framed prints that adorn the walls of hotel rooms everywhere. I thought that if I ripped that out, salvaged the glass, found a glass cutter I could cut it to size myself. I then needed some grinding paste, the kind used by garages for valve grinding would be fine. All this on a sleepy saturday lunchtime in the wilds of Sardinia. An outside chance, but a chance nevertheless. 

On the drive back, by some miracle we passed a tiny village with an open garage and a mechanic working on a car inside. Apart from forgetting to pack the spares glasses I had prepared in other ways. I had learned the Italian for 'my camera is broken'! 'la mia macchina fotografica è rotto'. I just knew it might come in useful! The bemused mechanic clearly thought I was a madman, dashing about his workshop opening cupboards while clutching a wooden camera and shards of broken glass. Of course I hadn't learned the Italian for 'I need some grinding paste'! My Italian didn't stretch to that. 'Ho bisogno di un po 'di pasta di rettifica'. Yes I know, it's too late now! Anyway he got the idea and produced some very fine rouge that was just too fine. So I apolgised for disturbing him and went on my gloomy way. 

Back at the little hotel / cafe where we were staying and had also  stayed on a previous trip, the locals in the bar were surprised to see me back in the middle of the day. They were used to my routine. Out early, back only when the light went for film changing, drinks in the bar and dinner. Puzzled looks were greeted with my best Italian again, 'la mia macchina fotografica è rotto, La Sardegna è finito!' They all gathered around, took my camera off me, passed broken shards of glass around and argued among themselves. I settled at the bar with a beer resigned to the trip being ruined. After phone calls were made, a firm hand guided me and my broken camera into a car outside. (Not the one with the bullets holes I have described earlier). We drove furiously around the village and up the hill and I was guided into a large shed. 

Barbagia, Sardinia, 2000

As it was bright midday outside my eyes through my tinted glasses were unable to see a thing for a moment. When my vision cleared I was standing in a large workshop with timber, partly made up windows and coffin boards stacked to one side. Grinning at me was, I assumed the joiner / undertaker. I wasn't quite sure what service I was being offered. After earnest conversations between him and the driver which I didn't understand he produced a sheet of clear plexiglass and showed it to me. Ah, I said, really struggling with my Italian now, 'but it has to be ground'.....'ha bisogno di essere terreno'. 'Basta aspettare un attimo signore'. So I waited patiently. He then carefully measured my camera up, cut a piece of the plexiglass to size, checked it, then produced an orbital sander and proceeded to rough up one side. He saw my smile as I realised that this might work and handed me the sander to finish it as I wished. So, from disaster a little while before, here I was, making my own unbreakable ground glass in a strange Sardinian's workshop surrounded by windows and coffins. Our friend from the cafe and the workman were grinning broadly as I worked. When I was satisfied with the level of grinding, I beamed and thanked them profusely. I also realised that there would be a cost to this but it wasn't of great consequence as the cost of not having a replacement would be far greater. 'Molte grazie signore, quanto ti devo'? Much shaking of heads and protestations. 'No no, tu sei il famoso professore dal Galles fotografare il nostro paesaggio. Felice di aiutare'. I didn't argue! Back at the hotel it was ten minutes work to replace the broken camera with my new, unbreakable viewing screen. Not quite as good as ground glass but served me well for the rest of the trip. I always keep it now with the other spares as a reminder of the kindness shown to me out there. I haven't broken one since though.......