Light Friday July 29, 2005
From a real body, which was there, proceed radiations which ultimately touch me, who am here; the duration of the transmission is insignificant; the photograph of the missing being, as Sontag says, will touch me like the delayed rays of a star (Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida 1993: 80).
Einstein used it in his famous equation about relativity, and it’s one of the vital components of life. It features in some *kinds of meditation, by accessing dimensions of non-physical radiance that have a causal, prior relationship to the physical world. It’s a metaphysical principle having – according to the spiritual teachings of Theosophy/Alice Bailey, a maximum speed of travel far greater than the 186,000 miles per second defined by physicists. And at a more mundane and external level, it’s the privilege of photographers to work with it directly: light.
Sometimes, light is itself the reason for taking a photograph. There are two times of the day when it can be particularly lovely, and every professional knows this and uses it to get the best possible images: early in the morning, and at sunset. The colour temperature is at its warmest, typically a lovely hue of soft yellow or gold, and the angle of the rays is at its most horizontal which emphasises texture, details and shadow. A scene can be drab and banal at midday, but beautifully photographic with better lighting.
It’s a romantic idea I enjoy that you photograph light, might seem an odd thing to say, but I have examples and it is literally correct. The picture below is a Lake District fell next to Ullswater. The moment lasted about 10 minutes as the sun set behind a mountain, throwing its warmth onto the grassy banks against a darkened sky. I’d literally run to get these shots, and had to sneak onto one of the harboured boats used for pleasure cruises. Sadly, I didn’t have time to find the best composition (the shadow on the left spoils the picture), but I have made a mental note of the opportunities this location presents and next time will be better prepared.
The next photo is from another part of the Lakes, the Eskdale valley. Again it was the transitional moment when the sun begins to set, shadows stroll across the hills and dusk fills the air. I’d returned to my B & B from the day’s walking, and happened to peer out the window of my room and saw this lovely vision: this is called Harter Fell, the small mountain marking the entrance to Eskdale from the East, and visible along the length of the valley. Sadly again I had no time to explore compositions, after jumping into my car and racing along the valley for a viewpoint. And ten minutes later this luminous orange light had gone, Harter Fell looming in the sky unimpressed, with a shadowy mantle of grey.
Both those photos were taken from valleys, which can be peaceful and lovely but not especially dramatic. I enjoy them, and they were certainly worth capturing, but I also know if I’d had some leisure to explore possible viewpoints and compositions, I could have made even better images. Maybe find a foreground rock, or even some water in the second image, to add detail, interest and beauty and take full advantage of the exceptional light. But I can’t predict, and don’t control the light.
The detail which interests me is not, or at least is not strictly intentional, and probably must not be so; it occurs in the field of the photographed thing like a supplement that is at once inevitable and delightful; it does not necessarily attest to the photographer’s art; it says only that the photographer was there (Camera Lucida: 47).
Light is romantic, and symbolic. It suggests that life has something in reserve, and always will – an ‘elsewhere’, with every moment that passes. The ‘elsewhere’ is partly in time, the hidden semantics of photography, partly in space, and is symbolised by light.
For landscape photography, my ideal menu is this:
1) A harmonious composition of curves, shadows and textures. That doesn’t have to be in mountainous scenery, but high level fells offer the best opportunities.
2) Snow, which often provides the very best kind of picture and in the UK has a novelty value so we appreciate it more.
3) Russet colours, which are usually transitory compared to the year-long greenery.
4) A setting or rising sun to illuminate, colour and dramatise all the above.
On this next occasion I got it right, not by careful planning but because I happened to be there, ambling down a track after a walk up to Helvellyn in February 2004. It’s one of my favourite photos, and one further comment to make is how it’s quite a simple picture, abstracting a few details from a huge panorama. Quite often, this is the most effective aesthetic strategy. The overall effect was exquisite, much of it derived from the warm light from the setting sun. A wonderful moment.
