Technique versus emotion

How we respond to a landscape

Hello, I’m Gill and I write a photography blog inspired by the landscapes of Suffolk and beyond. Please subscribe to read more of my writing and visit my website to view my images.

River Ore at Sunrise

This week I received an order for some greetings cards depicting Shingle Street, a small hamlet on the Suffolk Coast. The order came from a gentleman in his 90’s and when I emailed him to thank him we got into a conversation about the cards and the memories they evoked. The gentleman in question used to live at Shingle Street and some of the images on the cards were taken right outside his house. He no longer lives by the sea but the cards brought back some lovely memories which he was kind enough to share with me.

I love the idea that my photography connects with people on an emotional level - it is one of the greatest compliments I could ask for and I love hearing peoples stories about the landscapes I have photographed.

Shingle Street is an amazing place. When I first started photographing it 15 years ago the beach was quite different in appearance to today. But although the shingle has shifted and the shape of the coastline has changed the essence of the location remains the same.

Shifting shingle

I have written about the location in my blog before and I have also journaled about arriving here for a winter sunrise when I wrote about the observations I made walking this beach. I have included the words here because I think they help build a picture of the location.

Trudging across the beach in the half light of dawn I am aware of the shingle crunching beneath my feet. Sea worn pebbles slide and meld together creaking under the soles of my walking boots. Each step leaves a footprint that charts my journey along the shore, evidence of my visit etched in the ground, clues to my presence for those who come after me.

Ahead the sea stirs lazily beneath a silvery sky, dark and mercurial it rises and falls with the rhythm and intensity of sleep. Gentle waves caress the shoreline bringing with them tiny fragments from the deep. Discarded shells, mermaid purses, and scraps of pink and green seaweed hint at the diversity of life beyond this beach.

I bend down to pick up a whelk shell from the strandline, its bleached white casing a stark contrast to the amber and golden hues of the beach. I turn it over in my hand so that its flatter side is facing down obscuring the shells entrance. It’s bulbous shape fills my palm spiralling in three distinct sections upwards to touch my fingers, its smooth exterior wet with the sea and cold to the touch. Tiny ridges run along its length, etched in the surface, visible but not deep enough to feel. A jagged hole gapes in the top of the first chamber allowing me to see inside the whelks home, cleaned and scoured by the elements, all traces of its former owner expunged.  The calcified casing a fragile and broken reminder of the animal that once inhabited it.

I place the shell carefully back on the beach adding it to the end of a long line of similar shells which stretches across the shingle in a sweep of curves and spirals.  An unexpected addition to this wild beach, the shell line has been a feature here for as long as I can remember. Created by two friends in times of illness when the beach became a place of healing and the line a symbol of their journey. It is tended regularly and morphs and changes with the passing of time as transient as the beach upon which it sits. Stories of man and nature intertwined in a testament to life and friendship.

The beach is littered with such stories. They give us a glimpse of other’s interactions with this place, of wild lives and moments in time we cannot know but can only imagine from the elements left behind. These things connect us with those who have gone before and help tell the story of this constantly changing landscape.

As the sun rises and spills its warming light across the beach I turn for home, leaving my footprints in the shingle, a tiny addition to this coastal story.

Shingle Street Shell Line

Shingle Street is a place that inspires creativity. I bring many of my workshops clients here and over the years it has developed into a bit of an iconic photography location which I have seen interpreted in many different ways. Some people immediately understand the landscapes here but others look uninspired and tell me that they just don’t get it.

Having been a teacher for several years I have come to the conclusion that there are two different types of photographer  - those I would class as technical photographers who are extremely knowledgeable and precise with their method and composition and emotional photographers who are more reactive and willing to experiment with whatever the environment throws at them. Each has a very different way of working but as a general observation I would say the emotional photographers are the ones that understand a landscape like Shingle Street more easily.

Dawn on the Lagoon

I came across a quote by photographer Michael Kenna this week which I feel alludes to this theme.

In photography, it’s not difficult to reach a technical level where you don’t need to think about the technique any more. I think there is far too much literature and far too much emphasis upon the techniques of photography. The make of camera and type of film we happen to use has little bearing on the results.

We all have to learn the technicals when we start our photography journey and I remember thinking that apertures, shutter speeds and the exposure triangle was a bit of a dark art. But I found, as I progressed, the technical side became more intuitive, I didn’t need to think about it as much and I was freer to respond on a more emotional level to the landscape that inspired me. As soon as I did this my photography improved enormously.

I am not saying that there is anything wrong with being a technical photographer - strong technique is a must for good photographs but technical images without personal connection run the risk of feeling soulless.

Shingle Street Lagoon

Shingle Street has become well known for its wide open skies, its wild landscape and its minimalistic compositions where the sea and shingle are complimented by a single cottage on the beach. Sometimes I think we have seen these compositions so many times that is is hard to look for something different.

But if you search beyond what has been done before, explore the landscape and really connect with what you are seeing on an emotional level there are numerous other images that can be made here.

Spring

Ebb and Flow

Sunrise

Autumn on Shingle Street

Going back to my card order, I love that my work connects me with people I would not otherwise have met. I love that it allows me to hear their personal stories and understand how they connect with the same landscapes that I have photographed.

For me this is what landscape photography is all about - responding to an landscape and sharing the result (which is hopefully good enough to bring out an emotional response in the people who view it).

My photography is not about how I use a camera, but more about why I use one and what I want to say with it. I am definitely an emotional photographer and my images are crafted with love for the landscapes they depict.

I will leave you with another quote, this time from American artist, designer and educator, Corita Kent

Art does not come from thinking but from responding.

I would love to know what your thoughts are on this subject. Is technique alone enough for make compelling images? Are you a technical photographer or an emotional one. Please add a comment below if you would like to join the conversation.