We have formed
a firm decision that Odysseus
has waited long enough. He must go home – The Odyssey
Susan Sontag’s On Photography is an old but important book. She explains how to understand photographs as you do with a poem or novel. How they are constructed, what is the message, how do they make you feel and why.
The photograph, she said, becomes the purpose of a trip. She was thinking about holidays and tourism when we snap the towers of Pisa, Eiffel, or Big Ben. This links with consumerism and a feeling of acquisition. You want that picture and tick it off, been there and did that; with concerns about authentic experience and what it means.
There’s a difference between space, and place, where the second is emotionally meaningful but the first is not. A place is more than a transitory country, building, or mountain view. I have good memories of France, Spain, Greece from thirty years ago. Sitting in a dusty taverna, asking for a desperately needed ride into town, after walking too far into Cretan hills. They sat with ouzo then invited me into their truck. The hills were purple and the lights, eventually, shone in the distance. It was forty minutes down the track to Paleochora, after a walk taking most of the day.
Another important photography thinker is Roland Barthes, with his book Camera Lucida. It’s strange and not one I recommend for beginner students; but influential so you should know about it. He emphasises the idea of mortality as poignant (pictures of a loved deceased) but also philosophical. Every time you snap a shot, he says, the moment has gone. You don’t capture it but pretend you do. This is irrelevant for a beautiful mountain picture, but philosophically correct.
Applying Barthes to landscape photography leads to an idea he implies but doesn’t illumine. The idea is nostos, the Greek principle of returning home. The famous example is Odysseus sailing back to Penelope, after being lost in distant lands. The word nostalgia is derived from nostos and algos which means pain. You long for the past, home, and applied to photography: for the mountains you remember.
Photographs carry nostos, not death, although Barthes describes the second. We know the moment has gone, but what matters is enjoying the image. This is especially poignant when a view is part of extended experience. Not a tripod capture at one location, but a walk in the hills. The nostos is not only for the view but how you got there, the passing landscape, as an immersive moment not detached tourism.
Photographic meaning fades with time. You don’t remember everything. I look at pictures from twenty years ago, and find unnoticed compositions. I don’t know the view. I know the walk, but not the moment. Editing the shot is then aesthetically the same as any other. There’s shape, shade, colour, sky, grass. I crop, adjust tones, perhaps use a digital filter comparable to optical glass. The difference, compared to other shots I recognised, is that of place. There’s no memory in the forgotten view. I want to go back, because I’ve lost it.
The most satisfying shots are symbolic, capturing a wonderful moment. Even a bad weather picture, unpleasant then but enjoyed now, has a feeling of wish I were there. Two beautiful photographs illustrate the idea. Below Bowfell in the Lake District, after an icy sleep in a tent, looking to the Scafells. I was determined to get a good shot, waiting for rising sun to shine through cloud. It was so cold, once I’d pressed the shutter I set off with a fast warming walk.
The second shot was the ending of a Pyrenees day. I’d camped beside a refuge called Ayous. As always I was one of the last to wake, eat, and start walking. Pyrenees storms are dangerous and typically happen in the afternoon. This is a reason for early starts but I’m not a morning person, and love outdoor evenings. I start late and arrive late.
The skies were overcast, didn’t improve, and became torrential rain. I retreated to a large rock and wondered about finishing. At best, with a soaked tent, clothes, and sleeping bag, it would be miserable. At worst it becomes windy then dangerous because of cold.
The rain lessened, stopped, so I went ahead cautiously thinking about distance, time, a meal at the next hut compared to emergency bread from tomorrow’s lunch. I reached Col de Peyreget at 2074 metres. Still no rain but a view I’d never seen before and haven’t since. The Pyrenees with cloud below, grey skies above, sunless until tomorrow.
I write like this is a magazine column. With research, references, and a lot of time. If you like it, perhaps you would support me.