In this issue

1. My Print of the Week

2. Frontispiece

3. Listening to Old Gods

4. The Wind and William Turner

5. Fevered Mind Links (to make your Sunday morning coffee go cold)

6. Endpapers

My Print of the Week

In many ways and on many levels, Piopiotahi/Milford Sound is and always will be a wahi tapu (sacred place) for me.

It sits at the end of one of the ara tapu (sacred paths), which crisscross Te Waka Atua (Mita Waitaha for the South Island) like an invisible kupenga (net).

One legend (of many) has it that an atua (god) named Tu-te-raki-whanoa shaped Milford Sound using his ko (digging stick). He practised on the other thirteen fjords, beginning with Te Puaitaha (Breaksea Sound) to the south of Te-Rua-O-Te-Moko (Fiordland). With each passing attempt, he worked his way north, improving his technique as he went. When he finally created Piopiotahi, he had got it right.

Piopiotahi holds a special spiritual significance for me. Somehow, as I stand facing Maunga Kiore/Rakaihautu/Mitre Peak, I feel a profound sense of belonging and oneness with the place's wairua (spiritual energy).

Everyone wants to go there on a fine, sunny day.

And everyone should. Its beauty is extraordinary.

However, you only need to do it once. Those of us who know and love the road and Piopiotahi look for the wild, wet, rainy days when Taawhirimaatea is pushing clouds of rain cattle in from Te Tai-o-Rēhua (the Tasman Sea), forcing them up against the walls of the Main Divide.

Then the mystery and true wonder of Piopiotahi shows itself. Waterfalls appear from nowhere and cascade like tears down the black sides of the cliffs. The wind whips the fjord's waters into a raging foam and makes the spewing waterfalls turn and blow uphill.

We went into the terminal to see if it was worth going out. Our captain, Kahurangi, looked at me for a moment.

"Absolutely. It will be amazing. I am picking the Four Sisters will be going hard out."

And he was correct. As we bumped our way down the fjord, sliding along the shimmering blackglass walls, there they were, four waterfalls gushing over the cliffs. I had never seen them before in all my trips out on the water. I didn't even know they existed.

Never mind worrying about the weatherproof nature of my camera or the rain slithering down my spine; it was time to make something meaningful.

So it is time to do something to celebrate the 30th issue of the newsletter (more about that below).

This week's print offer is for one print only of the Four Sisters.

A2, printed on cotton rag paper, signed, tubed and shipped to you.

FREE.

That's right.

FREE.

No charge.

My gift to you.

Freight included in Aotearoa/ NewZealand. An offshore winner? We can talk about that.

So how do you get it?

Well. There is a slight catch...

1. Email me ([email protected]) in English, telling me about YOUR wahi tapu, your sacred place, what it is, where it is and what it means to you.

2. Write from the heart.

3. Please keep it to a maximum of 150 words.

4. If you are a photographer, you are welcome to enclose an image.

5. Get it to me by 8 pm next Wednesday, March 23 NZST.

The winner will be published in issue 31.

Judge's decision/no correspondence etc...

I look forward to hearing from you.

Frontispiece

Our thirtieth issue

Atamaarie e te whaanau:

Well, here we are.

The thirtieth issue of Breathing Light.

It has been 7 1/2 months since I first decided (or perhaps it was decided for me) to begin publishing in this way.

A few days ago, I went back to the earliest issues to see what had changed. Had anything changed?

Quite a lot.

The issues have continued to evolve, becoming more complex and perhaps reaching in the spaces I would not have contemplated going near when I began.

They are even evolving stylistically. Case in point: I'm not sure if any of you have noticed that now the images have a double matte around them. One day, while looking at the newsletter, I realised that the picture somehow faded into the background and that a matte would provide a slight finishing touch.

It is as if the newsletter is beginning to grow a life of its own. But, as I've said, I don't know what it will be about until I start writing. Or it tells me.

I think each of you helps me. I know you're there, and I feel a strong obligation to allow the best newsletter I can for you. We are, after all, family, all individual knots in the Great Net. There are now nearly twice as many subscribers as I had initially, with only a tiny handful of people who have decided that Breathing Light isn't for them.

Every week or so, one of you sends me an email saying that you enjoy it or, more importantly, it's what you need in these troubled times.

And that is enough.

More importantly, I love getting feedback about what is or isn't working for you. So please don't hesitate to be critical.

And for those of you who are interested, I have two handy tools that help me get it done.

Grammarly, which sits beside me while I write, makes spelling, grammar, and syntax suggestions. Often we argue about what is the correct word or phrase. Often it tries to override my writing style. I suggest it relocates to a different geographical location and practices reproduction from time to time. Mostly I agree with it.

The other tool I use is Dragon Naturally, which converts speech to text in real-time. It struggles when I write in te reo Māori, so I constantly have to teach it new words (and, in the process, improve my vocabulary and pronunciation). Interestingly, I note that Microsoft has just bought the corporation for some phenomenal money, and I think I know why. Microsoft Word has its own dictation function, but frankly, it is crap compared to Dragon. I can see them rolling Dragon into their proprietary voice dictation software sometime soon.

Bobbing for apples

I wondered how I could celebrate our thirtieth issue and give something away as a prize.

As you know, each week, I share my print of the week and an offer to pick one up at a very reasonable price.

This issue is a little different. There is only one print available, but I'm going to give it away to one of you. I guess it isn't going to include the few of you who don't quite get around to reading it until later in the week.

Anyway, check out the print of the week section, and if you're interested, drop me a line and maybe an image. I'll feature the winner in the next issue.

Listening to Old Gods

The Old Gods came by last week for a bit of a chat.

They do that from time to time, especially when I am veering from The Path. Unfortunately, I tend to do this more than I should, so they come by more often than they may want to.

That is the price I pay for my stubborn disobedience.

When they do, I know it's usually going to be somewhat ouchy because they want to point out some of my shortcomings, which I'm doing my best to turn into long comings-with minimal success.

They usually turn up around three in the morning, shake me up and then drop some "understandings" upon me. In fact, I appreciate the attention because I know they have my best interests at heart and a clearer sense of where I should be going. In a way, I think of them as a kind of over-the-horizon radar, which can see further than I can and tends to divert me from doing truly stupid things.

As opposed to doing stupid things.

The lesson had to do with how I view my work and value it.

Two rules in professional photography:

Rule one: the client is always right.

Rule two: see rule one.

That makes it easy in many ways. If you've done a great job, then two things are likely to happen; they'll pay the bill because you've delivered them what they wanted (sometimes more than they asked for), and there is every chance they will use your services again.

It's a little bit different for amateur photographers because how do you decide whether you're any good or not? For some of us, it's about winning competitions and awards and/or likes on social media. So many people want to rank themselves against their peers, and having photography letters after your name gives you that sense of achievement that so many want/need.

However, for an artist, it's a little bit different. Actually, it's a bit of both. When the art dealer asks to sign you up, you know that your work has reached a significant level in many ways. But, more importantly, because art dealers are first and foremost all about sales and income, it signifies they have decided your work has what it takes to succeed in the market.

But what happens when, despite that reassurance, your work still doesn't sell? Does that mean it is no good, the wrong market or simply that it is "ahead of its time"? Perhaps you haven't found that one key, that mentor that will make your work desirable and purchased. Despite his prodigious talent, painter Jean-Michel Basquiat was sleeping under a paper bag in the park until Andy Warhol found him. Then his rise was meteoric. However, it is unlikely that somebody like him will discover we artists.

So it's not unusual for artists to have angst fests and wonder whether their work is any good. It's tough when you're trying to make your living from doing so, rather than having the mortgage paid by your Significant Other. And there are plenty of artists who do just that. They have the freedom to do the work they want because somebody else is picking up the tab.

It has certainly been that way for me. For a long time, my vindication for the quality of my work and its significance has been measured by the sales I have made. And they have been precious few and far between. Even here, where I offer an excellent deal week after week, nobody picks it up. Well, only one so far.

Does this mean that my work is no good? Does it mean it is derivative? Have I wandered into a place with more rabbit holes in the Central Otago paddock? Do I continue beating my head against a wall (of my devising), or is it time to spray and walk away?

Despairing of my ever understanding the lesson, the Old Gods decided it was time to drop by with a spiritual base bat.

It's not about you, they began.

Uh Oh! I sense a lesson about ego and pride coming.

Sure enough.

Where do you think your abilities come from? From us, through your ancestors and tupuna. All of those other lives and dreams come to one point.

You.

I began to squirm.

Read your artist statement. It is about beauty and the natural world. It is about showing people the wonder of Te Taio. It is about awakening them to their responsibilities by showing them how simply magnificent it is. It is about showing them what is really going on behind the labels they choose to pin on everything. And that is your mahi, that is your Kaupapa.

So stop getting hoha because they love your work on Facebook but won't contribute. Are you starving? Are you hungry? Do you lack anything?

Well, no…

Yours has been and is a vibrant life. You have everything you need. Just keep doing what you do. And remember that you cannot see over the horizon. How do you know that one of your pictures brought a little joy to somebody's heart and changed their path?

Don't worry about it. Just do you. That is all we ask.

Remember: we are you, and you are us.

I felt myself emerging from the undergrowth of my self-mischief and stepping back onto the path.

Poem of the week-The Wind and William Turner

The Wind and William Turner

The warm watery-eyed wind has come,

stumbling purselipped from the west,

pompous and full of circumstance

to paint the freshly ground canvas of the day,

driving grumbling cloud herds east

into the softswishing pastel fields of morning,

layering thick slathers of grey grimbrowed pigment

onto the translucent yellow underwear of the day,

and lacy fineries of airbrush overbrush strokes to remind us

of his easy easel mastery.

As an afterthought,

he paints in

unravelling twists of sunglowed geese

and,

because he can’t leave his inkwell alone,

he washes in a tautly-strung rainbow.

O really?

(I raise an eyebrow cautiously).

Well, you do better, he grumps

and stumps hunchbacked away

reminding me

that you never finish a work.

You only ever abandon it.

Fevered Mind Links (to make your Sunday morning coffee go cold)

Kerouac at 100 — theamericanscholar.org

I was 20 years old and up in the mountains of Morocco, staying with a family in a two-room hut on a hash farm. Sweating in over 100-degree heat, with pesky flies keeping me from sleep, there was nothing I could do to escape the discomfort.

Animal sounds are a marvel of evolution. We can’t afford to drown them out. — www.vox.com

The air around us is vibrating with sonic lessons, says an award-winning biologist. All we have to do is listen. Earth can be a noisy place. Humans are especially efficient at filling the environment with sounds, from speech to music to heavy machinery.

Deep Perception — creativeguide.com

CULTIVATING THE ART OF SEEING: Why must we learn to see? Can we learn to open the gates of perception? We have lost something very special: the ability to engage life richly and fully through a concentrated, directed awareness.

The Unfinished Story of the World: Richard Powers’s Advice on Life and the Antidote to Cynicism — www.themarginalian.org

Perhaps the gravest violence we can do to ourselves is to live out our lives believing the world to be a fixity handed down to us by the authorities of history and life to be a matter of taking immutable givens.

Daylight Saving and the Politics of Time — getpocket.com

The ancient guide for uncertain times — www.bbc.com

It was a life of difficulty. Born into slavery, at one point his master broke his leg, leaving him disabled. Eventually freed, he spent the next 25 years pursuing his calling – only for his career to be outlawed by the dictator in charge. He fled abroad, an exile and in poverty.

Reading Thucydides in a Time of Pandemic — theamericanscholar.org

Misery loves company.

Last minute dinner sorted: Cook lemon & thyme chicken with pea and potato mash tonight — www.stuff.co.nz

One food even the fussiest of eaters will almost always accept is chicken. Here, chicken breast – the least offensive of all parts of the bird – rises above its bland reputation with enough citrus and herb to please the palate without startling anyone too much.

My Struggle with Cézanne — www.newyorker.com

Some of us don’t like the inarguably great artist Paul Cézanne as much as we know we are supposed to. I, for one, have struggled with him all my art-loving life.

End Papers

So, when the rabbit holes beckon in a darkened world, what can we do to bring some light into our own lives?

Perhaps the answer is to spend a little more time on our own so that we can find our unique way along the path.

People often ask me if I go out to photograph in a group or whether I do my best work when I'm on my own.

Don't get me wrong, because it's great fun to go out with other photographers, hang out on some corner of the planet, and make photographs together. However, if I look back across my work body, my best efforts inevitably come when I am flying solo. And, because I'm comfortable in my own company, there is no problem with that (as long as there is a flask of coffee somewhere nearby).

Case in point. A small story.

It was late in the afternoon, and we were returning to the Milford terminal after a glorious cruise on the fjord. My favourite cruise company to travel with is Mitre Peak Cruises because their boat is small and the service is fantastic. I know all the crew, and inevitably, while my friends are hanging out the back going mad with their cell phones, I will sneak off to the wheelhouse and hang out with the captain.

This particular afternoon, as we slowly made our way back to the dock, Graham, their wisest and most long-serving skipper, turned to me and said:

"you absolutely must stay here another forty minutes or so. After that, the sun is going to go behind mitre peak, and it will be stunning. You totally have to wait for that!"

I wasn't so sure. However, he was insistent to the point of being vehement.

I wasn't sure I would follow his suggestion because I was conscious that my friends were tired and wanted to get back to Te Anau. However, I put it to them, and they were OK to wait until I was done.

I wasn't going to ask them again.

So I wandered down the breakwater to the end and parked myself on the bench facing the mountain.

It was blissful to be there on my own, with nobody else around, and only the sound of waterfalls and birds to keep me company. It was enough to simply be and to wait for whatever might happen.

The minutes passed, and, sure enough, the sun slid down the arc of the sky and slid in behind the mountain.

It was time.

One of the great joys of photography for me is when I raise the viewfinder to my eye and enter into another world, both spiritually and literally. I think all my other senses shut down as I become one with the subject being shown to me by my camera.

It is as if I am a great cathedral, taking part in communion, with my subject as the priest, my camera the chalice, and me as the communicant.

There is something deeply spiritual, respectful and humbling about being able to take part in such a wondrous ritual.

Ah, there you are.

Finally, I've put my finger upon it.

Photography is far more than gear and buttons and awards, much more than ego and hubris.

Perhaps it's about entering the temple of nature as a pilgrim and paying one's respects to the wonder of it all.

Enough.

E te whaanau, love, light and blessings to all of you.

Stay safe, stay positive and avoid the rabbit holes, of which there are many.

Ka mihi nunui arohaa ki a koutou

Much love to you all