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- Breathing Light Issue #57
Breathing Light Issue #57
On finding your life map in your photographs
In this Issue
1. Taku Mahi Toi o Te wiki-My Image of the Week
2. Korero Timatanga-Frontispiece
3. Photographer's Corner-On finding your life map in your photographs.
4. Waiata mou te Ata-Poem for the day
5. Fevered Mind Links (to make your Sunday morning coffee go cold)
6. Koorero Whakamutunga-Endpapers
My Image of the Week
Taku Mahi Toi O te Wiki
Mackenzie Pass Road, Mackenzie Basin 2023 | Fujifilm GFX 100, GF 45-100/4
" The beloved is inside you and also inside me. You know the tree is hidden inside the seed. Let your arrogance go. None of us has gone far. Inside love there is more power than we realise."
I sometimes wonder if the best way to practice being a landscape photographer is to sit, look and watch the passage of light across a day, to photograph with your eyes and mind rather than with a machine. There is something glorious and joyous about sinking your soul into the wonder of the natural world. The wonderful thing is that the more you open to what is before you, the more you will receive.
Over the years, I've realised that the best days are when the weather is in a state of Between. It's hard to make great works (well, it is for me) when the light is bright, white-blue and directly above because it fills in all the nooks and crannies in the landscape and flattens everything out. Standing out in a rainstorm has its possibilities and also its difficulties. It can also be a rather unpleasant experience.
On Between days, which are neither super-bright-summer nor dark-wet-winter, the weather is in a state of transition, of constant movement. I often find at times like this, my pulse begins to race, and a certain tension is in the pit of my stomach. I'm well aware that photographer-time, a series of individual moment-frames rattling through the projector gate of my perception, is challenging me to find the moment, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth in a single frame. There is an absolute joy to be found in being outdoors when there are breaks in the clouds and puddles of light find their way across the landscape. It is fun to track them and calculate where they are liable to go, then be ready for them when they arrive.
After days of watching the horror of Cyclone Gabrielle tearing the North Island pieces, we decided to go on a roadie. Sarah left it up to me to organise the route, so I decided we would spend a couple of days and quirky Oamaru and then find our way to the Mackenzie Basin, with its vast open-mouth skies and a landscape terraformed by canals and dams.
We drove up the Waitaki Valley and crossed the river at Kurow. Then, over the next hour or so, we picked our way up to the Hakataramea Pass through a seer and austere landscape of rocks and grimly-clinging grasses. Eventually, we emerged to see the landscape spreading open-fingered away before us. Throughout the trip, I had watched the scythe edge of the cyclone curling across the sky, reminding us that it was trying to do its worst even down here.
When we finally descended onto the plain and drove north, I watched the storm doing its level best to reach into the basin but being defeated by the ring of hills along the basin's eastern rim. The clouds boiled in impotent fury and yet could find no way in.
Then I saw them.
Puddles of light marching down along gravel road. I pulled over and waited. We had time. They marched in single file down the road like obedient soldiers, and all I had to do was wait for them to reach the perfect part of my photograph.
Then I realised that the photograph was in some ways prophetic. I was looking down the long road to storm clouds on the horizon and facing the stormy realisation of my own mortality. Of course, I could not see beyond the hills, but somehow the directness of the road and the joyous pools of light gave me a sense of optimism.
All is well, the Voice was saying to me.
All will be well.
Koorereo Timatanga
Frontispiece
Pukaki Canal, Mackenzie Basin 2023 | Fujifilm GFX 100, GF 45-100/4
“Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.”
Atamaarie e te whaanau:
Good morning everybody.
In my last issue, I promised you would only have to wait a week or two for the next issue of Breathing Light. Unfortunately, that hasn't quite happened because life has gotten in the way. My apologies, especially to those of you who have reached out and asked me when they can expect the next issue to enjoy with their Sunday morning coffee.
It has been something of a rollercoaster ride with my health. In the last fortnight, I have been in and out of ED, including being taken by ambulance to hospital in the middle of the night with a hernia that has threatened to strangulate several times. The hernia, an umbilical one, while diagnosed seven years ago, took it upon itself to turn feral. Thank God for Sarah, a highly trained and hugely experienced nurse who realised it was more than a stomach upset and shipped me off for urgent attention. I'm not sure that issue fifty-seven would have resulted if I had continued with my stoic stupidity (or stupid stoicism). Unfortunately, because I don't have health insurance, I can't get it immediately sorted, and I need to wait for a space to open up at Kew hospital in Invercargill. Fortunately, they have moved me up the priority queue and had me fill in all manner of paperwork, and I'm now waiting to be called up. Hopefully, the operation will take place in the next few weeks.
It did get me to thinking that most of us tend to think we are immortal, that we will last forever. I'm mindful, however, of something somebody once said to me when they asked me if I knew the mortality rate amongst humans. The answer is 100%.
It's been a time of deep reflection, taking stock, looking through the back catalogue of my life and realising what an extraordinary journey I have had.
Hindus talk about the four ages of man, each lasting roughly 20 to 25 years.
The first stage is called the Nursery stage. It is all about learning. From the moment of our conception, we are constantly learning; about language, relationships, the world and our place in it, gaining knowledge and qualifications to see us into the next stage. We are coming to understand and train our mind, body and spirit.
The second stage is called the Householder stage. This is where we begin to build our nest and establish our place on the earth and in the scheme of things. It's all about home, career, children and making a life for ourselves.
The third stage is the retirement stage, where we begin to reflect upon the life that has gone before us. This is where we may reflect upon our journey thus far, wondering who we are, what life is about, what we have done and perhaps how we may give back. Our children will potentially have left home, and we begin to become aware of our mortality and wonder what we will do with the time that remains for us. The finish line is a lot closer than the starting gun. Of course, the answers will be unique to each of us, for there is no one like us has never been nor will ever be.
In the fourth stage, we may take stock of all we know and who we are and begin to find ways to share the wisdom we have gathered. Of course, one of the most joyous ways of doing this is through our grandchildren, and it's not unusual for a deep bond to form between grandparents and grandchildren, in some ways a deeper one than we may have towards our own children.
The power of nature
I know many of you have gone through terrible difficulties with the weather over the last few weeks. Day after day, those of us here in the Deep South, where the weather has been hot, sunny, and calm, have looked with horror at what has been happening in the North Island. Floods, carnage, destroyed homes and lives and deaths. Cyclone Gabrielle has wreaked utter havoc. Papatuuaanuku, our mother, the earth, is far from happy, and her pain is showing. I am astonished that there are still ostrich people living in those areas who believe climate change is a conspiracy.
I wonder what we can do as a photographic community to help. Perhaps if we put our need for approval to one side, we can use our gifts and skills to draw attention to the wonder and interconnectedness of the world around us, of which we are an integral part.
Photographer's Corner
On finding your life map in your photographs
Cattle stop, Mackenzie Basin 2023 | Fujifilm GFX 100, GF 45-100/4
“We are no one else. We are ourselves. We must be that, with no regrets, if we wish to be happy. If we keep going forward, following our own natural, intuitive, and sincere path then all things will have a tendency to align with what is a good intention..”
Anyone who has come to one or more of my workshops will have heard me say this again and again and again:
Every picture you make, have ever made or will ever make is a self-portrait. Every time you press the shutter button and study the resulting image, you are looking at yourself in the mirror. Even your mistakes (if you consider them such) are a self-portrait. Every picture you make reflects a story about you. Every image you make is an opportunity to learn more about yourself and your Self. For many of us, the prospect of making postcards of our life journey may be genuinely terrifying. And yet confronting and coming to terms with that may be the door that opens into a room truly our own.
The Magnum photographer, David Hurn, says we have only two decisions to make in photography: where to stand and when to push the button. He is quite right. There are only two decisions. However, I do not believe it is that simple. You see, photography is an act of selection and choice. Whenever we pick up our cameras, we make choices, leading to an image pointing directly back at us. As someone wisely pointed out, whenever we point our finger away from ourselves, three fingers point back towards us.
Think about it for a moment. We take our camera out of our bag because we have a reason to do so. Something has drawn us to make a picture. Our choice of camera, lens, focal length, and aperture will all affect the image we create. Where we choose to stand will also determine what we record on our medium, be it digital or analogue. Our emotions at the time will also impact the type of picture we make. If we feel happy and contented, we tend to make happy and contented pictures. If our mood is less than optimum, the images we create will tend to reflect those feelings as they should.
When we press the button, something inside us has told us this is the” right” moment for the exposure. Even landscape photography, which seems relatively benign, is a continuing succession of moments racing past us. Anyone passionate about sunsets or sunrises will know that the light is constantly changing, not to mention the movement of trees and water. If we are drawn to photograph waves breaking on the beach, we will look for that moment when everything makes sense and feels right. And we might well ask ourselves why we need to photograph breaking waves. What does that tell us about ourselves and where we are in our lives? Only we can answer that. If we choose to.
And often, if we are alive to the possibility that our photographs may be a visual map of our life journey, we may begin to look at them more closely, scrutinise them more deeply, and learn about our unique path through the woods.
I do believe that the purpose of life is life. I do believe that the purpose of photography is to learn more about ourselves. Every picture we make is a lesson waiting to be absorbed. If we choose to go there.
Think of your pictures as a visual record of your journey. But, unfortunately, most of us these days don't put our pictures in albums, preferring to leave them twiddling their thumbs in the dark recesses of our hard drives. And yet there is another way.
Many years ago, I explained the concept of journalling to an elderly person in one of my workshops, pointing out that making pictures, putting them in an album and writing down her thoughts about them might be a lovely thing to do. Several years later, I met her at another workshop. She proudly pulled out her latest journal (one of several she had created) and showed it to me. It had photographs, postcards, bus tickets and lots of text. It was a stunning creation.
“Wow!” I remarked. “This is truly beautiful. You have put an enormous amount of work into this. Do you mind me asking why?”
She looked at me for a moment, smiled and said:
“you know, I'm not going to live forever. So this is my way of leaving a legacy for my children, grandchildren and those who come after. After I am gone, and they wonder who I was and what my life was like, they can look through the journals and find the answer. They will know who I was.”
Waiata Mou Te Ata-Poem For the Day
Guest Poet Harry Thomas
Sunrise, Hokianga 2016 | Nikon D810, Tamron 70-200/2.8
" The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others. "
This week, there is no poem from me, not that I lack something to write about. However, this week I'm going to step aside and offer the space to the amazing Harry Thomas, who, to my mind, is a Poet Laureate in training. Harry has been sending me his poetry (the fool!) for the last few months, and I've been loving what I see. It's so good to watch somebody coming through the ranks with their own voice and style, and a great honour for me to share it with you. Not only that, but he is a fabulous calligrapher and artist as well.
It gives me great joy to share this poem with you.
Seasons
Glory to the sun, Amon Ra!
Tirelessly reigning in radiance.
The light is long –
Unmatched in warmth.
Slowly as the day’s light fades
Mother Modron begins to walk the forest.
Colours red, yellows, brown –
The ecology feels the change.
With frosted cloak, the time to sleep.
Warm the Hearth, the earth will keep.
The dormant cells of living biota –
Overwinter.
As day’s light lengthens
New life begins to take.
Till the land, admire the growth.
Aware to all awakenings –
Alert and present.
Fevered Mind Links (to make your Sunday morning coffee go cold)
The Birth of Venus, painted by Sandro Botticelli in 1485, is one of the world's most famous and beloved paintings.
But it was completely forgotten for nearly four hundred years because nobody thought it was any good.
So... what changed?
— The Cultural Tutor (@culturaltutor)
9:33 AM • Feb 23, 2023
EndPapers
Koorero Whakamutunga
Spillway, Benmore Dam 2023 | Fujifilm GFX 100, GF 45-100/4
“Someone is sitting in the shade today because someone planted a tree a long time ago”
A lot of vultures have been coming home to roost here in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Climate change and Cyclone Gabrielle have exposed our infrastructure's fragility, resulting from decades of shortsightedness and underinvestment. As you might expect, the politicians are scrambling, pointing the finger at each other (as politicians do). Even if I wanted to (and I do) make a journey to the Far North, I couldn't. The roads above Auckland are shattered and impassable in many places. Five of our six interisland ferries are out of commission, again the result of doing things on the cheap for short-term financial gain. The news media are doing their best to put us all in fear and panic.
So, I am looking to the plants in my garden for their wisdom. After weeks of sulking, my tomato plants have suddenly decided to load themselves down with fruit. Hopefully, they will ripen before winter. If not, I may be making a lot of green tomato chutney!
The cherry tree at the front of my garden, the metronome of the seasons for me, is letting me know that, as the sun heads north, it is dragging Autumn into town. Several of the leaves have yellowed, and the shadows the lengthening. There is condensation on the windscreen of my car and, for the first time this year, a light dusting of snow on the tops of the mountains to the west.
In the next few days, I hope to go up to the beautiful park at the top of town and wander among the trees to spend time with their wisdom.
There's a lot to be said for the wisdom of trees.
As always, walk gently upon our Mother and be kind to each other.
He mihi arohaa nunui ki a koutou katoa
Much love to you all,
Tony.
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