46
B+W
Nor was my photographic
harvest going to end up as part
of a 70s-style holiday slideshow,
with friends and family squeezed
into a slightly-too-small room
to endure in warm discomfort
almost 150 shots of the surface
of rocks. No one was going to
see my rock shots and feel the
slightest pang of jealousy that
they weren’t there to experience
their stony facades first hand.
And it wasn’t my intention to
tell any kind of story, either. My
efforts weren’t designed to focus
the world’s gaze on the plight
of an indigenous tribe of rocks,
or highlight some sort of 21st
century Cornish quartz crisis.
No, my obsessive photographing
of rock forms ultimately had no
tangible purpose whatsoever,and yet for that hour the act of
creating pretty pictures was the
only thing of any importance.
I am sure most of us have
experienced similar episodes,
where we have been taking
photographs not because we have
some great idea to share with the
world, or because we believe weare advancing the human race
in some way, but because we
simply have some deep-seated
compulsion and desire to do so.
I have several theories as to
why this might be, and when
it comes to my rock studies
I suspect two things were
happening under the hood.The first is that the act of
photographing without purpose
or consequence is exceptionally
cathartic. I am fairly certain
this is true for a lot of people,
and perhaps one reason why
photography is so popular as
a hobby. Over the years and
across various magazines I’ve
seen plenty of letters from
photographers – some of
whom have been suffering from
depression – who describe
getting out with a camera as a
therapeutic exercise. And I totally
understand that. As long as you
are not under pressure to deliver
to a prescribed brief or timescale,
the act of taking pictures is
a highly meditative process.
Composition, exposure, focus
and all the other elements thatAbove top and below Mindfulness is a term that pops up regularly
in modern culture – it is all about focusing on the present
moment. Photography offers a very similar experience, as
we focus our attention through a lens on what is happening
in front of us. Regardless of the resulting images there is no
doubt that we are present when we photograph, no matter
what it is we are photographing.
The dark, red sanctuary of the darkroom can be a quiet and
reflective space where we can experience the therapeutic properties
of photography. The metronomic agitation of a print tray and ticking
of a clock or timer can become almost hypnotic. It is a far cry from
the glowing computer monitors that most of us live with today.