Landscape Photography Part 4

Part of viewing a landscape photograph is not just its initial impact, but how you absorb it over time.

If there's nothing specific in a picture, an abstract for example, you tend to try and read it like you would a book, starting at the top left corner and working across and down in a sort of diagonal fashion. I have always thought it's how the mind is conditioned after we learn to read, subconsciously you use the same technique when viewing a picture. It also makes me wonder if it's any different for those whose language tends to run in opposite directions, i.e.: right to left and top to bottom etc.

With landscapes, what the mind wants to do is get into the picture, go on a psychological tour, explore the scenery. You don't want any barriers that prevent you from discovering what's in the distance. OK, you may never ultimately know because you'll not get any more information than has been captured in the picture, but the mind can play games and make up its own views.

In the second part of this series I pointed to a painting by Charles Evans that used a balanced composition and at the same time allowed the viewer to walk through the scene and on into the far distance. Study it closely again here (without any lines on it this time) and try to think about where you want to walk. There is no obvious path, but Charles has created one in the dip in the field:

A trick he has used is to put some shadows on the left and believe it or not, those shadows cool that area and force your mind away and towards the lighter side. The centre and right bank seem warmer and we all like a bit of sun, but that bank would also be harder to walk along and so your mind chooses the centre course. It's a brilliant composition.

What we don't want to see are barriers. Take the example below (and before anyone complains, it is but an example) of the railway arches over the new Jubilee River. In the first instance I've taken the picture from the wooden bridge downstream and included the fence. What you might think of as a typical holiday-makers' snapshot to show Aunt Flo:

In the following shot, I moved forward to eliminate it. Now study both shots carefully and decide for yourself which is the picture that allows you to walk through? The fence tells you to keep out:

I saw a picture once on the BBC's Digital Picture of Britain of a nice scene working between two Lakeland hills and dropping to one of the main lakes in the distance. It was perfect barring one little detail, a dry stone wall cutting straight across the front of shot. The whole thing shouted 'This is private, keep out!' and it stopped me from enjoying the view.

Take a look at another popular artist's work, well he's one of my favourite artists, Joe Francis Dowden. There's a fence, but it finishes one third the way along and you can get around it easily through the corn field. You then want to walk down to the tree line and along and around and just carry on walking. Well I do anyway:

Look again, there's a river down there too so maybe I can wet a line if I had my rod and reel with me. This painting opens up plenty of opportunities and Joe tells me he uses a camera to record the scene first before returning to his studio to paint it.

Here's another painting from Joe where he introduces a barrier in the form of the gate and hedgerow. Thankfully he has had the forethought to give us a style to climb over it and don't worry if your limbs aren't what they should be, it's your mind that's doing the climbing here. The style invites you over it:

Notice again a little shadow area on the left and the style in the light. You can't always engineer that like an artists can as it depends so much on the light you have available and the direction it comes from. It also depends on the time of day when you view the scene, a little earlier or later and it could look entirely different.

Shadows do work to move you away and by using them you can turn an ordinary shot into a really interesting one. Of course painters can create them easily, but it might mean you revisiting a scene later in the day or on another day in the hope of capturing the light just right.

Take a look at this picture by member Mark Edwards of Nymans, a devastated old family house and estate:

The last glimmers of the sun's rays are catching the stonework really nicely, warming and transforming it into a beautiful honeyed gold and throwing interesting shadows onto it from nearby trees. The shadows on the lawns in the foreground move you forward to where it might be slightly warmer in the sunshine. As I said to Mark at the time, though, maybe five or ten minutes earlier and those two central topiaries in front could have had sunlight on too, then they would really have shone through.

It's a lovely evening shot though and maybe he'll get another chance on another day to try again. Nice cerulean winter sky as well.

Another one of mine (for you to criticise) further emphasises the point. Here the overhanging tree, which is also in it's own shadow, helps to frame the scene and focuses attention on the path running into the distance:

There's very little of merit in the shot I'll admit, a barge and landing stage in the middle distance and the Thames on the left, but these often make the most satisfying of pictures to paint from. I bet Joe Dowden would create a really nice picture from this little scene.

You can certainly feel yourself wanting to walk on to try and find something more interesting, Boulters Lock is further along.

Exceptions to the rules

There are times when shadows beg you to remain in them. There may well be things to explore beyond, but the sweltering heat of the day and recorded in the picture makes you want to stay in the shade. Such is this picture of 'Django' taken in the Parque del Retiro, Madrid. The music was nice as well:

This picture by member Davy Jackson of what he calls 'The Slant' (I can only think it is a local name for the hillside there) is yet another that breaks the rule of having no barriers. What drew me to this was the posts and chains.

However, they do blend in with the lamppost and what I particularly like about them is they stop you from falling over the edge. I mean, you don't know what's on the other side, it could be a 3 foot drop to a soft sandy shore, or it could be a 30 foot drop into deep water.

It reminds me so much of the quayside at Antwerp where there are no such barriers or chain fences, it's a straight drop of 30 feet or so when the tide's out to a raging river Schelde. With Davy's posts and chains, the picture actually benefits from them and there's always the red lifebelt (nicely positioned - third in, third up, roughly) there in case you're drunk enough to fall over anyway.

It's quite charming and simple in its concept. Nicely done, Davy.

So when you are looking at a scene, study it to see if there are any obvious pathways that you can follow and that nothing can get in the way of you exploring them. Look also for any shadows on the floor that you can take advantage of to help steer the viewer through the picture. More importantly, take lost and lots of pictures from many different angles, right or left, high and low, because you may only be there the once.

Note: My thanks to Mark Edwards and Davy Jackson for allowing me to feature their photographs and Charles Evans and Joe Dowden for allowing me to use their paintings. Also thanks to Django (if that really is his name) who is most likely unaware that he is now famous and probably couldn't care anyway.