tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39954736125684641242024-03-13T10:18:51.776+00:00Rob Hudson Photography.Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-68414953703147405382015-11-13T17:57:00.000+00:002015-11-13T17:57:40.059+00:00This year's Christmas card.<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The Christmas cards have arrived, and
as usual I have printed one of my own images. As you might imagine with my
photographic output finding a suitable image isn't always that easy! What would
you like? The tortured mind of war from Mametz Wood? The scene of a murder?
Even the abstract expressionist trees of Songlines only barely measure up on
occasion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">This little fellow came and sat with
me early one evening as I was waiting for the last light to fade at The Scene
of a Murder. I was amazed how tolerant he was of my presence. He was only just
out of arm’s reach, yet I was able to move both myself and the camera on the
tripod twice, manually refocusing, opening up the aperture and notching up the
ISO as it was now very nearly dark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I even managed to get some photos of
him without the little branch that intrudes from the right, but they didn't
feel right. They weren’t as sharp as this one, but more importantly the bird’s
posture was different/wrong. And that little branch is part of how I've
envisioned this place for the series. Elements intruding into the frame
unexpectedly have a proud and honourable tradition in photographic history,
even to the extent that some claim it to be part of the photographic language.
Plus I really didn't want to make a ’natural history’ photograph, one that's
all about technique, but empty of any underlying meanings or stories,
personality or connection to place. Perfection just doesn't interest me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">To you it probably looks like a
photograph of a robin, and it is really, but at the time, and in that place it
felt profound. It felt like absolution, resurrection or some such term. I'm not
a believer so don't really have a good grasp of these type of phrases, and if
anything religion operates at the level of metaphor. Suffice to say I felt a
forgiveness, a cleansing in the presence of this little bird in a place where
such terrible things had happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It’s, as close as I'm likely to get
to a religious experience this year, and so I hope it'll make a suitable
Christmas card. Even to my Christian friends who I think I can hear
tutting at this heathen and his warped understanding of their belief. Most
of you reading this of course won't be receiving one, I'm sorry I can only
afford so many! Yet I hope there's something in this story that you can carry
within, that might like the presence of a tiny bird make the world a better
place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-91113020576267619862015-11-06T17:09:00.000+00:002015-11-06T18:37:58.643+00:00The Floods by Joe Wright. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It's not often I shed a few tears
when opening the post, not even for those unexpected bills that seem to haunt
me, writhing spectral like in the mists of half memory. Opening Joe Wright's
book The Floods was a different matter. Even the packaging for this handmade
book showed great care, attention to detail and the all-important personal
touch. It could do little but set me wondering what lay within.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In truth I knew a great deal of the
photography already, having followed his project from its inception, on social
media and via email, right through to the bookmaking process itself. It didn't
spoil the surprise so much as give me a feeling of personal investment, all
part of Joe’s careful use of the crowdfunding technique that he set up to
cover the costs. That's just the physical costs of course, in no way could they
cover the investment of time, effort and inspiration which resulted in the
beautifully finished book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">All this of course means nothing if
the content within doesn't maintain the momentum. Design is lovely, but it's
icing on the cake. The meat on the bones (to mix my metaphors into a thoroughly
disgusting recipe) is the photography itself. Having said that, the design here
adds to the pleasure of consuming the photography. As soon as I opened the
cover to find a translucent page through which I first glimpsed the imagery,
and on which are printed the words “Nature has its own order.” I knew I was in
for a treat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">If you know me, you'll know I despair
of photographs of misty trees. It's become a terrible cliché, often pursued to
the exclusion of all else. It's come to symbolise that popular strand of
landscape photography which is more about impressing others; and conformity to
the tired visual language of the crowd than any real personal exploration of
the landscape. It's landscape photography as big game hunting, and is as empty
as any trophy hunter hanging the heads of his prey on the wall. Fortunately Joe’s
book transcends this cliché despite the subject matter, or maybe because the
subject matter isn't actually misty trees at all. Because this is an
exploration of Joe’s metaphorical backyard, the ’edgeland’ near his home. And
no subject is ever a cliché in itself, it's our approach to it that makes it a
cliché, in this case he transcends the cliché to produce something fresh,
vibrant and new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Edgelands as Robbie Cowen reminds us
in the forward (which is an excerpt from his wonderful book Common Ground) are
those places that surround us in our predominantly urban lives. They are places
“where human and nature collide...These spaces reassert a vital truth, nature
isn't just some remote mountain or protected park. It is all around us.
It is in us. It is us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">They are places frequented by dog
walkers, joggers and cyclists, not the photographic big game hunters of the
reserves. I believe that is important, these places aren't the natural home of
the landscape cliché or even acknowledged beauty spots for the most part.
Indeed they are often used and abused in equal measure by the humans that
frequent them. Fly tipping, vandalism and other such antisocial activities
aren't rare, yet nature finds a way, somehow despite the abuse, to reassert its
vitality. They're ironically often more wild than the monocultural agricultural
land they often abut, more so frequently than the national parks that are so
carefully ’managed’ to set them in some form of idealised man made past, that
so often neglects the nature they claim to protect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">This ’wildness’ is often simply seen
as an impenetrable thicket, a confusing tangle of branches and leaves, plants
and animals. We are so used to the idea of the managed ’parkland’ that it can
come as something of a shock. It is overwhelming, dense and detailed. And that's
a tough job for any landscape photographer to express in conventional forms of
visual representation. As Joe says this “represents the antithesis of the
idealistic English landscape.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">He takes us deep into the tangle, but
mitigates this, both through mist and the reflections at the tree’s roots, it
becomes about pattern. As the patterns are mirrored in the reflection and as pages
are turned and patterns repeated, that feeling of being overwhelmed is
converted into something akin to the hypnotic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13pt;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Snapping my fingers to wake, and lend
a conscious critical eye, which is not that easy to accomplish after such a
spell has been cast. But I must for the purposes of a review find things to
suggest that may have improved the book. There's not much, I enjoyed the
company of the words in the first half which I found lacking in the latter
part. I don't know why they stopped, they just did. The guiding hand of those
phrases lent an insight and appreciation to the photos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Counterintuitively, in the second
half of the book, as the mist clears we feel more overwhelmed by the detail,
deeper into the thicket. I don't just mean as a result of the resolution of his
10x8 negatives, although that helps, but that the land is perhaps revealed in a
truer sense. They maybe lack the beauty of the earlier misty images (stop
sniggering at the back), but we are drawn deeper into the confusion of the
wildness, it is darker, somehow drawing this viewer in deeper. It's a more
threatening place perhaps? I think it would have been a good idea to further
develop the scope of the images, to focus on details maybe? It might have
broken ’the spell’, that hypnotic journey, but it might also have deepened our
understanding and appreciation of this place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">These are all minor criticisms and
are easily offset by the sheer joy of that final-but-one plate opposite Eddie
Emphraum’s end piece. Where another translucent page reveals to us something of
the photographic process that Joe used to make these pictures. It mimics the
ground-glass plate onto which he would have focused, a wonderful surprise and a
wonderful ending.</span><span style="font-family: "candara"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">There's more pics below.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #3e003f; font-family: "candara"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And you can <a href="http://www.joewrightphotography.com/the-floods/#" target="_blank">buy it here</a>. I recommend you do!</span></div>
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-34415286313349332762015-06-03T09:29:00.000+01:002015-06-03T10:54:14.132+01:00Death in Venice: A review of Helen Sear's 'the rest is smoke...'.<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I'm in a former convent in Venice
looking at a Monmouthshire wood, there are numbers painted on the trees, and
this is intercut with a young woman in a red dress circling the trees, her hand
reaching out for the trunks. After a while I realise the numbers are counting
down, and I start to intuit the meanings behind these images.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Helen Sear's “the rest is smoke...”
is a rumination, a distillation on the temporary nature of existence which is
currently being exhibited at Santa Maria Ausiliatrice for Wales at the Venice
Biennale. The title comes from an a tiny Latin inscription circling a recently
snuffed out, still smoking candle in a painting of St Sebastian by Andrea
Mantegna that hangs in Ca’ d’oro on the Grand Canal. Roughly translated as
“Nothing is stable if not divine, the rest is smoke”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It starts with a big flashy (in both
senses of the word) video installation entitled “In the company of trees”.
Visit a beech wood on a sunny day and you'll recognise that flickering, as the
light penetrates the canopy of thin-fingered branches their leaves forever
moving on the breeze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Life is embodied in the form of the
young woman in a red dress circling trees in a wood. The red numbers on tree trunks
counting down to zero are marks for felling, the death of the trees. Stills of
the young woman, the trees and the red painted numbers are interwoven in a
palimpsestic projection. It hints at and builds to a bigger picture of
something concerned with our own and our environment’s temporality. And that's
perhaps another concern of the former ’temple’ in which it is situated.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In the Pre-Raphaelites, who’s work
Sear’s has been likened, red is the colour and symbol for lust. That's not the
case here. Sear’s use of red symbolism indicates youth and vitality and perhaps
the freedom of liberation, which is in stark in contrast to the inherently male
gaze of those ’crazy’ Victorians.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">All photography is perhaps a ghost
story. The effect here is something akin to a multiple exposure broken down to
its constituent parts and reassembled to merge and flicker in unexpected ways.
That figure ghosts in and out of the frame, merges with it and, at times
disappears in a calming, natural interlude. Yet the inexorable path to zero, to
our and the trees’ imminent demise, soon resumes to haunt us once again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The exhibition is made up of five
rooms, some of which feel like an afterthought. I don't necessarily mean that
as a criticism; although it doesn't hold together as a complete whole, it does
represent the piecemeal way the human mind works. Sear talks about breaking the
narrative to form a greater whole. This isn't storytelling, that's not complete
story of the way visual art works, we are dealing with ghosts after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">As we exit the first room with the
main video projection there's a fine quote on the wall of an anteroom by John
Berger relating to how people have historically measured themselves against trees.
In height for example or in the mimicry of trees in columns and there's plenty
of the latter in Venice and supposedly in the building which houses the
exhibition (it was too dark to see them).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The next room, perhaps the least
convincing, contains the fairground like attractions of a (computer generated?)
reflection of trees moving in a pool and a video diorama of birds feeding at a
bird-table. This small scale acted as something of a relief after the big brash
projection, but I found myself wanting to move on, perhaps too quickly. Size
subconsciously imparts importance and even if we know better, we sometimes
accept its message.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Next, a spectacular sized black and
white photograph of trees stacked-up horizontally after felling. It's the end
of their existence as living things and it is printed onto perhaps fifty narrow
metal strips leant against the wall of an otherwise monochrome room. We’re
reminded of Berger’s words once again as the plates represent upright, vertical
trees or perhaps planks in both size and scale. The focal point is always on
the cut part of the trees, and it's as if the trees have left an impression on
the metal that felled them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Anyone who's used ’layers’ in
Photoshop will also know a ’stack’ as an inherent part of that process of
creation, this also relates to the video editing process of ’In the company of
trees’ and indeed the creation of this piece itself. The city of Venice is also
built on piles of wood, trees driven into the mud to form its precarious
foundations, so another link becomes apparent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The penultimate room has photographs
of greened, mossy stumps and that final number zero rendered as a red circle.
At first it feels like a full stop and unconvincing as either document or
commentary. But after a short while I realised that it works in contrast to the
monochrome stack in the previous room and that the colours seem to hum in
relation to one another.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It's in the final room where the
exhibition becomes whole again. A single image backlit in yellow illuminates
the small room. It's an image of a field of oil-seed rape, clear felled of
trees, that has been overlaid with a second image of twigs which we are told
mimic the arrows piercing Saint Sebastian in the painting by Mantagne. Those
twigs are red again, referring back to the red dress of youth and vitality and
the numbers in the video projection. But these are now the red of pain and
suffering, the canonisation or sanctification of the trees and hints at a
possible afterlife in the religious sense. It’s an image that illustrates
absence more than the substance of what it depicts. We’re in the realm of
phantoms, ghosting again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Before I conclude I have to admit to
feeling somewhat conflicted by the sheer expense of this enterprise. Wales’
funding of £400,000 seems like a lot of money for one photography exhibition in
the context of the generality of public funding for photography in my home
country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The (otherwise excellent) book
accompanying the exhibition credits the involvement of 38 people other than the
artist. I certainly don't believe either artists or curators or gallerists
should be compelled to work for free, far from it, but I do question a cast of
that size and the funneling of so much funding into one event.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">How do we measure the efficacy of
arts spending if it's not either in support of individual or groups of artists
and the community in which they work? I’d question if it is “of contemporary
relevance to Wales", that oft repeated line, a catch all for rejection of
public funding with which so many artists are painfully familiar? Of course it
isn't, it’s universal, it is addressing the bigger picture, and is probably
better for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It should be noted that much of the
funding will come from the British Council and presumably European sources.
It's not from the photography budget per se, but has gathered around itself
funding from other sources. Maybe this is more of an illustration of how
generally photography is treated as a second-class citizen in public funding,
but I seriously doubt any of the other arts are accustomed to such generosity.
The exhibition will tour Wales after it has completed its six-month run in
Venice. Also - and this is important - it is free to enter, unlike the eye
watering €25 a head to enter the main Arsenale/Giardini sites of the Biennale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We also shouldn't forget that the
main curators Ffotogallery (the “national development agency for photography
and lens based media in Wales”) are, for once, promoting an artist working in
Wales, something they have been widely criticised for failing to do with
sufficient frequency.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The Venice Biennale seemingly
attracts funding like almost nowhere else. To put Wales’ £400k into context;
the brand new building for the Australian Pavilion alone cost an astonishing
AS$7million from “philanthropic sources”. The exhibition inside was excellent,
incidentally, but have we gone a little mad?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">That main Giardini/Arsenale area is
only a tiny fraction of what comes under the umbrella of the Biennale; the
whole city is seemingly one big gallery (and this in a city already stuffed
full to overflowing with galleries and churches bursting with old masters).
From opulent palazzos on the Canale Grande to disused churches and little rooms
off little explored ’calle’, almost all of the remaining Biennale is entirely
free to enter. And it is a wonderful thing, if only more cities had so much
ambition. For that reason I'm pleased the Wales ’pavilion’ is on the outside of
the main site, it's more democratic, more accessible and free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Having said all that Sear’s “the rest
is smoke...” is another wonderful thing. It is compelling, intriguing,
perceptive and profound in a way that so much of the other art I saw at the
Biennale simply wasn't (though not all). So congratulations should properly be
made to those involved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I'd urge you to go and see it when it
returns home. Sear’s “the rest is smoke...” genuinely steps up to the big table
of the arts. If it sometimes fails to measure up to its own ambition, this is
perhaps because that ambition is so great. And I'm not about to criticise that
when we need more work with eagerness and commitment to stretch our minds and
helps us see anew. Sear brings a depth to her rumination on the landscape and
our relationship with it that I can barely remember encountering before. It should
be on your must see list if you have any interest in art, the landscape and our
short stay on this little blue planet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 17px; text-align: start;">St Sebastian by Andrea Mantegna, courtesy of Wikipedia</span></td></tr>
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-23713800775854346212015-04-01T17:15:00.003+01:002015-04-01T17:15:38.418+01:00An Easter Tale: In Pursuit of Spring and Edward Thomas’ photographs from 1913.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">As I write it is almost exactly 101 years
since the poet Edward Thomas cycled from London to Somerset. Navigating via the
cathedral towns of Winchester, Salisbury and Wells over an Easter weekend
during the tail end of winter, in what was a late Spring. It was, he said
“A north Easter". That journey was to become the basis for his prose
work ’In Pursuit of Spring’. And amongst his archive at Cardiff University are
some remarkable photographs made along the journey, most have never before been
published. You can see the route taken on the map below; Alison Harvey at the
University’s archives has geotagged the spots photographs were taken along the
</span><a href="http://www.zeemaps.com/view?group=1378866&x=-1.853179&y=51.202597&z=9" target="_blank">route</a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkg5mFAE3kiA6WgNz4ZY3XgpL4GDgd-NXpV94trwlnIOj0GQkAc65NU7jCyagFzumhBiUOg6a-CRusLbUs83kwF_5GbuGetjUkJ5kgn7WFaA2DzRCVl6j2u3YRjeS57k6n_Vy2P-BpmWJt/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkg5mFAE3kiA6WgNz4ZY3XgpL4GDgd-NXpV94trwlnIOj0GQkAc65NU7jCyagFzumhBiUOg6a-CRusLbUs83kwF_5GbuGetjUkJ5kgn7WFaA2DzRCVl6j2u3YRjeS57k6n_Vy2P-BpmWJt/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" height="275" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Image courtesy of Zee Maps.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About two years ago while researching
Edward Thomas’ poetry as possible inspiration for a photography series I was
lucky enough to visit the University's Edward Thomas Archive. Surrounded by
boxes of manuscripts, notes and letters I was shown a small brown battered
Manila envelope labeled with Thomas’ home address and ’53 photographs’. Inside
there were actually 60 brown, faded photographs most noting on the reverse, in
pencil, the locations along the route.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi338UVjPPLmB0BKaibpSf4b9a4RKyhW00wCf7ATHOiWOrnggjL-wx9UnCIId_tic_5SduolQtAtXYQD3hJ5viHdRdZIiLu82_BqTxCufn5PQtORLekIxvbDFgsMaZ2hP_2apZN3qBu7hHl/s1600/Envelope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi338UVjPPLmB0BKaibpSf4b9a4RKyhW00wCf7ATHOiWOrnggjL-wx9UnCIId_tic_5SduolQtAtXYQD3hJ5viHdRdZIiLu82_BqTxCufn5PQtORLekIxvbDFgsMaZ2hP_2apZN3qBu7hHl/s1600/Envelope.jpg" height="312" title="Envelope containing Edward Thomas' photographs 1913." width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The envelope containing Edward Thomas' photographs from In Pursuit of Spring, 1913.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was entranced, my literary studies fell somewhat by the wayside as, try as I might to concentrate elsewhere, my attention was continually drawn to these visions of the past. They are not only images of a lost era, but an era that was about to change suddenly, dramatically and irrevocably in only a few short months' time. And that change was to be witnessed as much as any by Thomas himself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The power of this tale lies in its moment in history, Easter 1913, just before the outbreak of the First World War. While there were suspicions of war, Thomas was certainly unaware of the terrible tragedy that was about to engulf the world. Thomas cycled west to rediscover a joy for life and an appreciation for nature as the seasons changed to one of hope and renewal.</span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is not yet spring. Spring is being dreamed and the dream is more wonderful and more blessed than ever was spring. What the hour of waking will bring forth is not known, catch at the dreams as they hover.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Turner's Tower, Hemington, Radstock, Avon.</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Escaping the claustrophobic confines of the city, and sheltering from the rain under the awning of a pet shop, his companion (or altar-ego) The Other Man buys a caged bird only to set it free a few moments later. There's a metaphor here for the escape and freedom of the journey and perhaps for the caging effect on the mind of the onset of war. Cycling into the uncertainty of a rain swept countryside "</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the road was like a stream on which I floated in the shadows of trees and steep hillsides".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As Thomas cycled west his mood lifted as the weather improved and the seasons began to turn. Where, finally in the Quantock Hills of Somerset "on a glorious sunlit road the million gorse petals seemed to be flames sown by the sun", Spring finally arrives. He had found Spring and was “confident that I could ride home again and find Spring all along the road."</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vIRQgnzpqVBXxOwtObSR08LyHu3c4uSb8VZOCaLp8PqLlTGy_XQShZJQBPRYEq4n2EsZvzEwomHic8HTmDEgrMa1L_VAecWQWNm08NyoGrd1y1lGCEy80aYAZJOe6Y19LAE_8TW51Gz9/s1600/Nr+Croscombe,+Wells,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vIRQgnzpqVBXxOwtObSR08LyHu3c4uSb8VZOCaLp8PqLlTGy_XQShZJQBPRYEq4n2EsZvzEwomHic8HTmDEgrMa1L_VAecWQWNm08NyoGrd1y1lGCEy80aYAZJOe6Y19LAE_8TW51Gz9/s1600/Nr+Croscombe,+Wells,+Somerset.jpg" height="298" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nr Croscombe, Wells, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In Pursuit of Spring was to be one of Thomas’ last prose works. Encouraged by his friend, the American poet Robert Frost, he became convinced the purer literary form of poetry was his future. Despite his four short years as a poet, Ted Hughes later declared Thomas to be the "Father of us all", meaning modern poetry, and poetry with a strong connection to the natural world in particular.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi55GYpxoNIf4DpQtjLJQuhXWRIZWY2FE25euwwWJrCL-5CroRBimbAtlhyFB1UMGvAzodZeiRRdxwtgi-kOSXIFgp2_rm9YIquI6Dsrh66xhoQqLIsgBMIPnNRFwtG8RNrH78vTonuIheq/s1600/IN+ET's%2Bhand%2BTinkerswood%2B-%2BTinkiswood%2BSouth%2BWales.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi55GYpxoNIf4DpQtjLJQuhXWRIZWY2FE25euwwWJrCL-5CroRBimbAtlhyFB1UMGvAzodZeiRRdxwtgi-kOSXIFgp2_rm9YIquI6Dsrh66xhoQqLIsgBMIPnNRFwtG8RNrH78vTonuIheq/s1600/IN+ET's%2Bhand%2BTinkerswood%2B-%2BTinkiswood%2BSouth%2BWales.jpg" height="300" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">In Edward Thomas' hand "nr Tinkerswood".</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">One of the mysteries of these photographs is how two appear to be from Tinkiswood burial chamber in South Wales. How they made it into this selection of photographs is unknown, because it wasn't part of his route for In Pursuit of Spring. Despite being virtually opposite Kilve on the South Wales coast, a little inland from Barry, there's no evidence that Thomas crossed the Bristol Channel at this time. Written in Edward Thomas’ hand on the reverse is ’Nr Tinkerswood' which is how it was known until acquiring its non-racist recent name in the 1940s. I've included them because of the associated legend that anyone who spends a night at this site on the evenings preceding May Day, St John's Day (23rd June), or Midwinter Day would either die, go raving mad, or become a poet. Which seems rather apt in this context.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edward Thomas.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When war broke out the following year Thomas struggled with the question of whether to enlist. Despite being, at 37 years old and married, exempt from the requirement to do so, he joined the Artist’s Riffles in 1915. His decision is often attributed, in part, to his friend the American poet Robert Frost whose book <i>The Road not Taken </i>was intended as a gentle mocking of indecision. Perhaps Frost (who had returned to the U.S.) underestimated the pressure to enlist in the UK and the febrile atmosphere surrounding the war. There was also a considerable government propaganda effort that must have swayed the mood of both Thomas and so many of his contemporaries.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When asked why he'd enlisted, he reputedly picked up a handful of soil, and said simply, ’For this.’ Today that gesture feels shockingly nationalistic, but perhaps that is an illustration of the skewed patriotic sentiment generated by the war, as wars have a tendency to produce. Indeed, Thomas had had bitter arguments with his nationalistic father and the poet Ralph Hodgson had accused him of being a German sympathiser. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">He died on the fields of Arras on another Easter; Easter Monday, 9th April 1917. At 7.36 am he was killed by the concussive blast wave of a shell as he, reportedly, stood to light his pipe. A concussive blast wave doesn't, as we might imagine, blow a person to pieces, but it sucks the air from their lungs and stops their heart. Life was literally sucked out of one of the English language’s greatest literary talents, as it was from so many millions.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The photographs themselves speak strongly of travel, of movement through the landscape. They are of (car free) roads and paths, views, and buildings discovered along the way. Far better literary experts than I have tried and failed to tie the photographs to passages in the prose. Which leads us to wonder at their purpose - were they an aide memoir a method of illustrating his journey to friends and family, or simply a record made from the joy of photography and traveling itself? Perhaps a mixture of them all.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The authority of the photographs lies as much with who made them as of the depictions within images themselves. They are ’journeyman’ photographs, in the both senses of the word. Yet, of course, one of the joys of photography is its accessibility, its democracy. And in 1913 it was becoming widely practiced and Thomas had only taken up photography two years previously.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNnIX0vMYncZP6vAGNp1ORjYboH1um7kiRy5Tj8gSHmbHdZuibC_cq5MsqXisoA3bnuuUUS3BVE98i1VJjKwLOuHv9oGZgXjabm46wnYWauGakDSo3icib30TtwtsIOh7xv2MlH7nu80F/s1600/Blank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNnIX0vMYncZP6vAGNp1ORjYboH1um7kiRy5Tj8gSHmbHdZuibC_cq5MsqXisoA3bnuuUUS3BVE98i1VJjKwLOuHv9oGZgXjabm46wnYWauGakDSo3icib30TtwtsIOh7xv2MlH7nu80F/s1600/Blank.jpg" height="400" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="293" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To profess the images as art would be to risk the veracity of history. And, yet, the question of what is the art of the photographic record or document is one that goes to the heart of photography itself. As Gerry Badger wrote of Eugene Atget “one can be enveloped in reserves of poignancy, for which the extensively modest functions of the imagery...do not prepare.”. And I think there's as much poignancy for us for that lost era before the First World War as there was for views of Atget’s pre-Haussmann Paris.</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is something in Thomas’ photographs of what Walker Evans describes as the ’projection of the person’. They reflect his passions and preoccupations, the English countryside as seen by that particular poet. If they are common preoccupations, those shared widely, then that is in part what the photographer who doesn't apply himself fully to the craft will generally produce. Despite that there is undeniable photographic skill here, and if it is necessary for every good photographer to be part poet, at least Thomas had that advantage already.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivieHq0PztCWwKC3ZMhMwVxdVMBx-e-f11Mhiwi_4EgV3Gyyd2qIsGC2ct-86BCigV7vGHDZfdlkbUtWcSSjRFrtYQeRKQHyvV_Sc5oi0mddHbQngJf-wBg-QCstEwOr4-AP50QyMaTKab/s1600/Castle+St,+Bridgwater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivieHq0PztCWwKC3ZMhMwVxdVMBx-e-f11Mhiwi_4EgV3Gyyd2qIsGC2ct-86BCigV7vGHDZfdlkbUtWcSSjRFrtYQeRKQHyvV_Sc5oi0mddHbQngJf-wBg-QCstEwOr4-AP50QyMaTKab/s1600/Castle+St,+Bridgwater.jpg" height="295" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even the visual failings add to the poignancy. The darkness of some of the early images (a result of poor weather or technical errors?) creates for us, with the benefit of hindsight, a feeling of foreboding. As the journey progressed and the weather improved the photographs noticeably lighten. This was surely not intentional, but it does add to our viewing experience from the perspective of history. These are shadowy glimpses into the mind of the photographer and history obscures as much as it adds the false perspective of time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Indeed, the majority of the images were made at the end of his journey, 30 (out of 60) of those identifiable were made in Somerset. So it seems that as the weather improved and his mood lifted he was happier making photographs, as the growing happiness is also revealed through his prose.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRB8Z1dbJ7epDwfdGfh3Byfmt8Jlkzb8TmQiU8M8BxVtKnDgXRDxEy72tD_xJP-YQaCpiSzZxc0qceYzAGZMl1zEKz5vBmx1eCLuvD-iwDPHDQWEo3Zjbba66ni4junhOafeMmud3hYVm/s1600/Glastonbury,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRB8Z1dbJ7epDwfdGfh3Byfmt8Jlkzb8TmQiU8M8BxVtKnDgXRDxEy72tD_xJP-YQaCpiSzZxc0qceYzAGZMl1zEKz5vBmx1eCLuvD-iwDPHDQWEo3Zjbba66ni4junhOafeMmud3hYVm/s1600/Glastonbury,+Somerset.jpg" height="400" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glastonbury.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYY3wM9IpZlvPR4xEXGUNPyjiDyrX_lqx1CZC1It7bBWbkFlt33olwIlnMW8p0NQtJvrythYMvP224HxdtK0iu4p7Jg3qtO0YOFUKe5MaoApzctBMA7YW8RiHSsP-QgMT5pJj9w5BrJJh/s1600/Appears+to+read+The+Darns+nr+Salisbury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYY3wM9IpZlvPR4xEXGUNPyjiDyrX_lqx1CZC1It7bBWbkFlt33olwIlnMW8p0NQtJvrythYMvP224HxdtK0iu4p7Jg3qtO0YOFUKe5MaoApzctBMA7YW8RiHSsP-QgMT5pJj9w5BrJJh/s1600/Appears+to+read+The+Darns+nr+Salisbury.jpg" height="295" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Appears to read "The Darns nr Salisbury".</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We will never know the internal motives of these images, we can only speculate. Perhaps they were the result of the simple joy of looking? I’d suggest they illustrate a more personal relationship with the land and the journey itself because photographs are inescapably personal. Even if we try to make them otherwise our choices in subject, framing and atmosphere define them as ’ours’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Of course he should be better remembered by his poetry, such as In Memoriam, written only two years later, at yet another Easter, in 1915:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><i>The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><i>This Eastertide call into mind the men,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><i>Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><i>Have gathered them and will do never again.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that is the final connection with Easter for this story; the Easter of 1913 when he set out In Pursuit of Spring; The Easter Monday 1915 of In Memoriam; and the Easter Monday, at Arras where he died. Easter, of course, is when we traditionally celebrate The Resurrection, and it is perhaps fitting that Edward Thomas’ words and now his photographs outlive him.</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">All photographs by kind permission of </span>Special Collections and Archives, Cardiff University, and the Estate of Edward Thomas.</b></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I've added the remaining images below, please click on them to enlarge. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA5V7ghn8gawuaMdXg20prv1BxbE7j97BTBYlGyqjHNQwnh_-1yjWtL52HkGZNUPwb2iGEj4azjaEyG0SlaNHxhNyr9CJOjv08BfbTn78PXc4YKnDeU98L5njpDMmulYXGMjAkIFrOA2f/s1600/Above+Nettlebridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA5V7ghn8gawuaMdXg20prv1BxbE7j97BTBYlGyqjHNQwnh_-1yjWtL52HkGZNUPwb2iGEj4azjaEyG0SlaNHxhNyr9CJOjv08BfbTn78PXc4YKnDeU98L5njpDMmulYXGMjAkIFrOA2f/s1600/Above+Nettlebridge.jpg" height="228" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Above Nettlebridge.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9HycEbnl0otnzO7P0guG_OdA1Zf2SK8pk0pDgUQ-zhc3oTrF8wBw8xL3D6PS5mDvBa7dssEFesXexRXLzOr87gyHw5ZimmWjEbkEh1IWrDWl6dTEjW3Rbj5t6jp8kIcx8czIyJRrj0gMt/s1600/Appears+to+read+Warren+nr+Laugton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9HycEbnl0otnzO7P0guG_OdA1Zf2SK8pk0pDgUQ-zhc3oTrF8wBw8xL3D6PS5mDvBa7dssEFesXexRXLzOr87gyHw5ZimmWjEbkEh1IWrDWl6dTEjW3Rbj5t6jp8kIcx8czIyJRrj0gMt/s1600/Appears+to+read+Warren+nr+Laugton.jpg" height="232" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Appears to read "Warren near Laughton".</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNAsXKDz-OJO3jvTu9TbyzyE-ktm__TbQN6fjMGdXxK7c-OK9Yf7EWp-wCgckosADF2LIPOMY5c80P_26MDxoPebZI9Mv22PR9uQOmtgaP-E2lRWUsBdcdLJrgZ9StlFp7emQvIsTU9RW/s1600/Approaching+Edington+-+Bridgwater,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNAsXKDz-OJO3jvTu9TbyzyE-ktm__TbQN6fjMGdXxK7c-OK9Yf7EWp-wCgckosADF2LIPOMY5c80P_26MDxoPebZI9Mv22PR9uQOmtgaP-E2lRWUsBdcdLJrgZ9StlFp7emQvIsTU9RW/s1600/Approaching+Edington+-+Bridgwater,+Somerset.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="233" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Approaching Edington, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-F2NmwIhFSc9Q1VJopYVoGKQ8LU9hp_-nDeoRHklQcP923jPf8F5pPTlmp0ZC19ebsO9iKfFImZdWXqxTa_KzGp_iNftK6Tp30mQkBT3f54VxKcxv5f3j8gpilw4UOcMXgAIVV483Qt1p/s1600/Arlesford,+Winchester.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-F2NmwIhFSc9Q1VJopYVoGKQ8LU9hp_-nDeoRHklQcP923jPf8F5pPTlmp0ZC19ebsO9iKfFImZdWXqxTa_KzGp_iNftK6Tp30mQkBT3f54VxKcxv5f3j8gpilw4UOcMXgAIVV483Qt1p/s1600/Arlesford,+Winchester.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="235" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Arlesford, Winchester.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezyMwa94K4k3E2RR33FUjJXkZXX1RUaJMWzPwj4zrVoHckFXBq7FJEGnocrhSK9wycskwKeNH_yhdCdwZHAuS__M5TXPnMoQgXiL5-qiFc4I0TYRZMJQ6gHXlpusMatUq6NFnJ1855XK_/s1600/Bishops+Sutton,+Hampshire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezyMwa94K4k3E2RR33FUjJXkZXX1RUaJMWzPwj4zrVoHckFXBq7FJEGnocrhSK9wycskwKeNH_yhdCdwZHAuS__M5TXPnMoQgXiL5-qiFc4I0TYRZMJQ6gHXlpusMatUq6NFnJ1855XK_/s1600/Bishops+Sutton,+Hampshire.jpg" height="240" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Bishops Sutton, Hampshire</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitko56i1IUOz3GFAUa3hGE_M5G_XpB68bOPyRPPFQeDLzeVD5IHGQsTDyIOZ3vKuchQwSF8cC0CrwGk56DXtNlSigehnT3GKw_3RDpK61fTL3Kh0X_WFwCfy3i9QQSXN_Kv7b30RJC5Fdw/s1600/Blank013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitko56i1IUOz3GFAUa3hGE_M5G_XpB68bOPyRPPFQeDLzeVD5IHGQsTDyIOZ3vKuchQwSF8cC0CrwGk56DXtNlSigehnT3GKw_3RDpK61fTL3Kh0X_WFwCfy3i9QQSXN_Kv7b30RJC5Fdw/s1600/Blank013.jpg" height="232" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_2Y1Z_bl8Z5lT0KBMo7qqIqiA7Oe622XBU5BuUvHRiXwIodUJLeLWnpUMQsiBLe5WI9tjgoZTJGquwbww48aMYkNEdZgclfmb8H9JNixMWCpc52_fjicv9JiT8MaNLzPGcP_8Wua1A3Q/s1600/Blank023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_2Y1Z_bl8Z5lT0KBMo7qqIqiA7Oe622XBU5BuUvHRiXwIodUJLeLWnpUMQsiBLe5WI9tjgoZTJGquwbww48aMYkNEdZgclfmb8H9JNixMWCpc52_fjicv9JiT8MaNLzPGcP_8Wua1A3Q/s1600/Blank023.jpg" height="236" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3TCC2kbMZez-8a3F4fHBEvzSk7xgtdC7Lk6LrTK6BwIHHrsz5D03vBJfjYmCnPU7e-wVkYnk2Pg8KCjnJQNq3z9hqx6zr0KAUgx-3PaT5-7DuhCEHLUcMCubTs35k1758k5WBq1yXWdA/s1600/Blank037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3TCC2kbMZez-8a3F4fHBEvzSk7xgtdC7Lk6LrTK6BwIHHrsz5D03vBJfjYmCnPU7e-wVkYnk2Pg8KCjnJQNq3z9hqx6zr0KAUgx-3PaT5-7DuhCEHLUcMCubTs35k1758k5WBq1yXWdA/s1600/Blank037.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="244" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl78sak7uFC-RWTrl3mwUnIovr35hN-bs465scYEqF4_6tsH90ba2EigrNxB69fCrt1UJ5ueivC0MUKVseyIEhUD_WMo7hZSlIu8DetHzZuhFEXX2wS9wwqlwHUfR-6BILd3i0CfLa24dz/s1600/Blank041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl78sak7uFC-RWTrl3mwUnIovr35hN-bs465scYEqF4_6tsH90ba2EigrNxB69fCrt1UJ5ueivC0MUKVseyIEhUD_WMo7hZSlIu8DetHzZuhFEXX2wS9wwqlwHUfR-6BILd3i0CfLa24dz/s1600/Blank041.jpg" height="249" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDoRnHfXu8bwvbpL8nBRvKoJ_YFFiSIfLr9meMH-l_R5RugW5iKZ1wHSdKv3h30tROGV_N4QNMfSdh3RS4xcIAcXZlXWoMj-YlFiUNn3CGvzHcm0DzELiKD8R7aTzr-J4Jn1dw4eOFNQcL/s1600/Blank033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDoRnHfXu8bwvbpL8nBRvKoJ_YFFiSIfLr9meMH-l_R5RugW5iKZ1wHSdKv3h30tROGV_N4QNMfSdh3RS4xcIAcXZlXWoMj-YlFiUNn3CGvzHcm0DzELiKD8R7aTzr-J4Jn1dw4eOFNQcL/s1600/Blank033.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="248" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ocSwiQcCRbHK4bNgotrT_IQgMPjLhyA3Izx7At-xW7AbBo8BCezKi3VYZtEfpAIUUOKmNSiYyskuhKtzc2jvvuyz9zLZcXgyN8y6XeGU59ZjS6CG3U3ZKIu4H2gDqBpdBworf_iHZvcJ/s1600/Blank042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ocSwiQcCRbHK4bNgotrT_IQgMPjLhyA3Izx7At-xW7AbBo8BCezKi3VYZtEfpAIUUOKmNSiYyskuhKtzc2jvvuyz9zLZcXgyN8y6XeGU59ZjS6CG3U3ZKIu4H2gDqBpdBworf_iHZvcJ/s1600/Blank042.jpg" height="228" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWDTPHJ-xjwxnKBSJ1fJvf0lVtxSsRWpAnSQZ6SzR1jron3AvvfcXe7Op2ekEQZ1QYWn-sOkeQBQ-ux_CXmp2suvae5hVQRs96SGITiwSmyyKwslAX5KfJcxm9hDL5RYIGEvgoLrOvftp/s1600/Blank045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWDTPHJ-xjwxnKBSJ1fJvf0lVtxSsRWpAnSQZ6SzR1jron3AvvfcXe7Op2ekEQZ1QYWn-sOkeQBQ-ux_CXmp2suvae5hVQRs96SGITiwSmyyKwslAX5KfJcxm9hDL5RYIGEvgoLrOvftp/s1600/Blank045.jpg" height="239" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_jCM89MS5NWrUPonBGDMZMUYed6rQaXQqHpjz_7f-nITsAiK2KmvCGPwchfiBJdcDP8AZPgXqrybZnsKqNy_r2U034HRGDSlfmu4Xk5nBoke5IpDCneavs5qk887_7yuoHeh2inr4Lv-u/s1600/Blank046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_jCM89MS5NWrUPonBGDMZMUYed6rQaXQqHpjz_7f-nITsAiK2KmvCGPwchfiBJdcDP8AZPgXqrybZnsKqNy_r2U034HRGDSlfmu4Xk5nBoke5IpDCneavs5qk887_7yuoHeh2inr4Lv-u/s1600/Blank046.jpg" height="232" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fQXbHb8sG8dR2kv3b2yHzxIyjjWj2hVqgxo-nnpU4-eSdx3wvNLlfmRhxBo71bmvuJEMnlnyLzTTfVdNYQnYw2KvWa5rtLH9i44pbm7AzoqjQ-nrG8chRIqLJ0DHQM67RN8Py8cdYgNs/s1600/Blank047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fQXbHb8sG8dR2kv3b2yHzxIyjjWj2hVqgxo-nnpU4-eSdx3wvNLlfmRhxBo71bmvuJEMnlnyLzTTfVdNYQnYw2KvWa5rtLH9i44pbm7AzoqjQ-nrG8chRIqLJ0DHQM67RN8Py8cdYgNs/s1600/Blank047.jpg" height="236" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIPFv1pRPvg8pTZA5SDN4bnxMD2tVSsioXNO06JrWsV3G3Edb7zyrF3sqNrAOX20kh18MM9kc3nnemY5Hhc2JRdRGbARPjYwwSmaxICLRZiH3JYzIgf68ixOCPpd9z2Jp-Fz3FL_HQrqv/s1600/Blank+-+Salisbury+Plain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIPFv1pRPvg8pTZA5SDN4bnxMD2tVSsioXNO06JrWsV3G3Edb7zyrF3sqNrAOX20kh18MM9kc3nnemY5Hhc2JRdRGbARPjYwwSmaxICLRZiH3JYzIgf68ixOCPpd9z2Jp-Fz3FL_HQrqv/s1600/Blank+-+Salisbury+Plain.jpg" height="224" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CIL43zuJ7h8kJQv7RwSsMaamUXxXqx9DRpg-n783MIO-jYLz1P85VGabzYXd_ZGhXrrVazxwAJKn552xwbss3zAEL0HpV9hFOc5NLYxWVwy-80JT-kiY61RI2rUYmUx2L2WAYDU_pZHm/s1600/Blank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CIL43zuJ7h8kJQv7RwSsMaamUXxXqx9DRpg-n783MIO-jYLz1P85VGabzYXd_ZGhXrrVazxwAJKn552xwbss3zAEL0HpV9hFOc5NLYxWVwy-80JT-kiY61RI2rUYmUx2L2WAYDU_pZHm/s1600/Blank.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="235" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blank.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCvNRdyOzflTTzGFgobpSPrvCR5-WPrVP35_4FESoIfmexxJCZaXDLW0_BpnRF5kdssUhdNRUhGYVKRm0bJY6Xd11xM5GsdmVCBEHO_fEfXVY1v2_CVarEEGa6QRiJDPsfeRHcWO6abB4/s1600/Bradford+Canal,+Wiltshire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCvNRdyOzflTTzGFgobpSPrvCR5-WPrVP35_4FESoIfmexxJCZaXDLW0_BpnRF5kdssUhdNRUhGYVKRm0bJY6Xd11xM5GsdmVCBEHO_fEfXVY1v2_CVarEEGa6QRiJDPsfeRHcWO6abB4/s1600/Bradford+Canal,+Wiltshire.jpg" height="231" title="Edward Thomas 1913" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Bradford Canal, Wiltshire.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vyE0f0y7t3XCmD25244iD4qcprkMtGIXaKMsvqHdcm7cN0nvz60AWWb0U0kAA7S_a4DiTbh8S_mkcAvDGokxYe1GET8mr0aC7qmAFvBu3vJpqqQwZz6G-mfHCAllbro_n6yr_K1vGNFN/s1600/Bradford+on+Avon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vyE0f0y7t3XCmD25244iD4qcprkMtGIXaKMsvqHdcm7cN0nvz60AWWb0U0kAA7S_a4DiTbh8S_mkcAvDGokxYe1GET8mr0aC7qmAFvBu3vJpqqQwZz6G-mfHCAllbro_n6yr_K1vGNFN/s1600/Bradford+on+Avon.jpg" height="239" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Bradford on Avon.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLejIYbQNp3LWRRJJU2pyslOxmvw-2Nj5Ho4GAigyhgik4t1YYZQu6Ky_dwmugJD3v8AWY16QLmbhDGTzNYgIAsINna_BedINe2A32fHpc6w_r9eOpF-4qxa1YiaxlZ9wanm_cNhnuWJBS/s1600/Brook,+near+Timsbury,+Bath,+Avon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLejIYbQNp3LWRRJJU2pyslOxmvw-2Nj5Ho4GAigyhgik4t1YYZQu6Ky_dwmugJD3v8AWY16QLmbhDGTzNYgIAsINna_BedINe2A32fHpc6w_r9eOpF-4qxa1YiaxlZ9wanm_cNhnuWJBS/s1600/Brook,+near+Timsbury,+Bath,+Avon.jpg" height="232" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Brook, Timsbury, Bath, Avon.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisaEh6y-wt4bSFPh_rjGOy_NtaFcKTh3bnU9Kp_Yjuq0oISvgDJBaroDiHpXF6QwralZ-cyXSnJ-CSPYR2YAsoquprwHQahjyz9TRZBQY9TbFvdAC4kBHk1IpYKMB8FRcHHTM2KwebLSbt/s1600/Croscombe,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisaEh6y-wt4bSFPh_rjGOy_NtaFcKTh3bnU9Kp_Yjuq0oISvgDJBaroDiHpXF6QwralZ-cyXSnJ-CSPYR2YAsoquprwHQahjyz9TRZBQY9TbFvdAC4kBHk1IpYKMB8FRcHHTM2KwebLSbt/s1600/Croscombe,+Somerset.jpg" height="239" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Croscombe, Somerset. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEOny-LrVAOXYNKEIIAV7cSghRDcPKyz7FUDdY6xNXPnrYFm-I5eCaH3MnrkIw72KyW22jDao3lx4M8Skj1DNtFcwLghiXx0G_gzCUB4CGGyh0H4wBI9Gb-ed_Y2yvLvm82zckxFlRxXBq/s1600/Croscome,+Wells,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEOny-LrVAOXYNKEIIAV7cSghRDcPKyz7FUDdY6xNXPnrYFm-I5eCaH3MnrkIw72KyW22jDao3lx4M8Skj1DNtFcwLghiXx0G_gzCUB4CGGyh0H4wBI9Gb-ed_Y2yvLvm82zckxFlRxXBq/s1600/Croscome,+Wells,+Somerset.jpg" height="243" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Croscombe, Somerset. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zUYvv5MRVerqhzA_E_tLFPXzOdM4fBce080lSiywg1-GKIXf1SeliPaJ2DnJgpeLvKfukrJMSJvMow8j8wJnzTevxpOofMBrxCl854q3qdMby26llKY1zbDYuZ059kTCx1m561DCj2uj/s1600/East+Quantoxhead,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zUYvv5MRVerqhzA_E_tLFPXzOdM4fBce080lSiywg1-GKIXf1SeliPaJ2DnJgpeLvKfukrJMSJvMow8j8wJnzTevxpOofMBrxCl854q3qdMby26llKY1zbDYuZ059kTCx1m561DCj2uj/s1600/East+Quantoxhead,+Somerset.jpg" height="236" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">East Quantoxhead, Somerset. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxG8x2vxmHrZ_6Gc1bVdMkiJfbepuEQ8DVzlnBnYgjpDhdg6ik7VG6PbYrh_-EOli6w_eslWgtPbhFcT13EKXj__6qGqDWE5OJtfdgf7kDQzRg78Civcf8Y3yzKX7K8NIZQTRDI7IXE_t1/s1600/Edington,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxG8x2vxmHrZ_6Gc1bVdMkiJfbepuEQ8DVzlnBnYgjpDhdg6ik7VG6PbYrh_-EOli6w_eslWgtPbhFcT13EKXj__6qGqDWE5OJtfdgf7kDQzRg78Civcf8Y3yzKX7K8NIZQTRDI7IXE_t1/s1600/Edington,+Somerset.jpg" height="232" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Edington, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNa-K2A3H138Ty8rG4qhLMenLiHHO7Wl9x7Km6dhyphenhyphenc5N0USMInDOV1pFO9x1lSEKLWwi3KhdG2dJgs2CwzfrxabdgFRt5K3SF6r9_hzgGgX5KpVUnYwYRnNijX8ZStfrpvvwC-1krOVUpr/s1600/From+Polden+Hills,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNa-K2A3H138Ty8rG4qhLMenLiHHO7Wl9x7Km6dhyphenhyphenc5N0USMInDOV1pFO9x1lSEKLWwi3KhdG2dJgs2CwzfrxabdgFRt5K3SF6r9_hzgGgX5KpVUnYwYRnNijX8ZStfrpvvwC-1krOVUpr/s1600/From+Polden+Hills,+Somerset.jpg" height="245" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">From Polden Hills, Somerset. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7LfpC4pDKxip1oN7XtrIrWVP7yN0yOiKlNSVh8M2lt6Sos7djdrKnC1L-_ukvOMcqu55GdmukTe-r57ET4ma-NzP1G26GEzuBsT-C03Kp3Bj4MKEWpGb9bXV3CJJbid2WzRiCUSaoukY/s1600/From+Poldens,+Somerset2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7LfpC4pDKxip1oN7XtrIrWVP7yN0yOiKlNSVh8M2lt6Sos7djdrKnC1L-_ukvOMcqu55GdmukTe-r57ET4ma-NzP1G26GEzuBsT-C03Kp3Bj4MKEWpGb9bXV3CJJbid2WzRiCUSaoukY/s1600/From+Poldens,+Somerset2.jpg" height="239" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">From Polden, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOoRx5seTlLNdPx-RWlap9ZgrKCXJ3LlzQ5PZxb7bkY6uepUwYRsSiWvMSOtBq8DasAfU-SYXL4sisZ6i5WwWPSimXlF3k9cV53hydbwAUTnKhQoqTuOV3VA-XK_lNWKMnhleRkCi6aYx/s1600/From+Poldens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOoRx5seTlLNdPx-RWlap9ZgrKCXJ3LlzQ5PZxb7bkY6uepUwYRsSiWvMSOtBq8DasAfU-SYXL4sisZ6i5WwWPSimXlF3k9cV53hydbwAUTnKhQoqTuOV3VA-XK_lNWKMnhleRkCi6aYx/s1600/From+Poldens.jpg" height="237" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">From Polden, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfsPk8TP_aAkOA-x8IRBQb7xDCcxXtPB4L0KOAjvlr_K-rp8nKFEmDAzCcu3z0N9hKrNrJJGt6YOvyD8eGpMRF146B8fZXGUdCl_aJg4b1vRmCmnfn5PTOL-KFT0Cn9AVBYnRPelNxuwiO/s1600/Glastonbury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfsPk8TP_aAkOA-x8IRBQb7xDCcxXtPB4L0KOAjvlr_K-rp8nKFEmDAzCcu3z0N9hKrNrJJGt6YOvyD8eGpMRF146B8fZXGUdCl_aJg4b1vRmCmnfn5PTOL-KFT0Cn9AVBYnRPelNxuwiO/s1600/Glastonbury.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="237" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Glastonbury.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzL0F_mb6WQ7Yqiwmigl5f9lFMLcyqoTgGOq5sdz2cGl27Of-aROXRJnHaiO_bN8qdPbu-IXsjCULsMc2CDBbf4y58gNDeAzclOaKWDkh6JXFpuVLlVWUwVD89-Gjg6jrXr5z1QvFT6xbM/s1600/Headbourne+Worthy,+Winchester.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzL0F_mb6WQ7Yqiwmigl5f9lFMLcyqoTgGOq5sdz2cGl27Of-aROXRJnHaiO_bN8qdPbu-IXsjCULsMc2CDBbf4y58gNDeAzclOaKWDkh6JXFpuVLlVWUwVD89-Gjg6jrXr5z1QvFT6xbM/s1600/Headbourne+Worthy,+Winchester.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="241" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Headbourne Worthy, Winchester.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeg7yNdx030YUuIjs0eHLNutzuYrgVcaaQRH9rCYQxXrpSNCUwD5f8x5X7KK0Y2enFbgt_JT2nKa1qUXtivueVsBlTs0UD7GvXA-4HM63c_wfv9mWyhuRrRt4amKMq3OuQKOrCY-4n30K/s1600/Kilmerston,+Avon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeg7yNdx030YUuIjs0eHLNutzuYrgVcaaQRH9rCYQxXrpSNCUwD5f8x5X7KK0Y2enFbgt_JT2nKa1qUXtivueVsBlTs0UD7GvXA-4HM63c_wfv9mWyhuRrRt4amKMq3OuQKOrCY-4n30K/s1600/Kilmerston,+Avon.jpg" height="241" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Kilmerston, Avon. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCK_4rNyamakRY-lv-yg6PXTlDAXK0ViwwTRyfor5NPFyGzS2yI7br3_jgPcjNP6CDnoiE2IdZIZUY1cgi49yGCPS7Yy3b1a3OM3yxtJoaqcePUSplQImN76IBpjOWdArHJUdIb9-hjCN/s1600/Kilve+Priory,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCK_4rNyamakRY-lv-yg6PXTlDAXK0ViwwTRyfor5NPFyGzS2yI7br3_jgPcjNP6CDnoiE2IdZIZUY1cgi49yGCPS7Yy3b1a3OM3yxtJoaqcePUSplQImN76IBpjOWdArHJUdIb9-hjCN/s1600/Kilve+Priory,+Somerset.jpg" height="232" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Kilve Priory, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxxBtP8g8TP3JOC5JIx1GOtftt8CV-awhnXoUDm0YaTDR20qcHoHOlQOWYA0nHnfFdKLE9Gcp2PRPL28PRZS-yTGZsSrQEeqbtV54zyLCtKX5RiZWP6FQuAZOk6JkACK2kQsU3w_GVSA-/s1600/Leatherhead,+Surrey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxxBtP8g8TP3JOC5JIx1GOtftt8CV-awhnXoUDm0YaTDR20qcHoHOlQOWYA0nHnfFdKLE9Gcp2PRPL28PRZS-yTGZsSrQEeqbtV54zyLCtKX5RiZWP6FQuAZOk6JkACK2kQsU3w_GVSA-/s1600/Leatherhead,+Surrey.jpg" height="238" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Leathered, Surrey. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCBElnS5Rpb1EnBH5weKNHadY_lSTnBQ87QI1Y5mmSNSrkkwV65htKBmkNZw0JLAeJ2xC8fnuD1ZErXILPlhG9ETu8MegN6YquihQrphTTBgXJ93vRnSB_vYuFYZAOUj7Ef6wnzZlZsc3/s1600/Mendips,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCBElnS5Rpb1EnBH5weKNHadY_lSTnBQ87QI1Y5mmSNSrkkwV65htKBmkNZw0JLAeJ2xC8fnuD1ZErXILPlhG9ETu8MegN6YquihQrphTTBgXJ93vRnSB_vYuFYZAOUj7Ef6wnzZlZsc3/s1600/Mendips,+Somerset.jpg" height="234" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mendips, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1anNYGK1BFsUEHQ2e_U5ipAGHfjj1yZTGNJNZXFnZbMmA79ymZb1P4nUmadqdF_XYw545t1gHsN_y5VbYFoxOa_CTxAv0uu-V1dW4AemYJAvLRDjFL5WNyihRayVMhovplE5lr9g4lhxt/s1600/Near+Froyle,+Hampshire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1anNYGK1BFsUEHQ2e_U5ipAGHfjj1yZTGNJNZXFnZbMmA79ymZb1P4nUmadqdF_XYw545t1gHsN_y5VbYFoxOa_CTxAv0uu-V1dW4AemYJAvLRDjFL5WNyihRayVMhovplE5lr9g4lhxt/s1600/Near+Froyle,+Hampshire.jpg" height="237" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nr Froyle, Hampshire.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetHlajn_hf68bxUk1AIg3QBjP5ehfJfyyaHbkCu8sMlicr4hjMXhjXbI9PYt3UoRW5Z-iCNAxvYafxpgoUY0KY-FgxnlVn-UPp2qTu_yQxzQC6yXEfQ22PaPgrNFlVV2sZgF41yMjsnb_/s1600/Near+Shapwick,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetHlajn_hf68bxUk1AIg3QBjP5ehfJfyyaHbkCu8sMlicr4hjMXhjXbI9PYt3UoRW5Z-iCNAxvYafxpgoUY0KY-FgxnlVn-UPp2qTu_yQxzQC6yXEfQ22PaPgrNFlVV2sZgF41yMjsnb_/s1600/Near+Shapwick,+Somerset.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="237" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nr Shapwick, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHU4F8yyb1arAfjegqIwFKZO0l76kJMfvD11gH4nuC1PpHQSwsBzsHuYFw1DA8oQiYcp6e8eXrWTlO02N8QHSKEZ-XG-U8Ohbmh3MjjTxEzCd9s62i8W393NYd047MDmOmCLghOa3lfbxa/s1600/Nettlebridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHU4F8yyb1arAfjegqIwFKZO0l76kJMfvD11gH4nuC1PpHQSwsBzsHuYFw1DA8oQiYcp6e8eXrWTlO02N8QHSKEZ-XG-U8Ohbmh3MjjTxEzCd9s62i8W393NYd047MDmOmCLghOa3lfbxa/s1600/Nettlebridge.jpg" height="231" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nettlebridge</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLi7P8uobHaiaJ47n1BDHZNIXQo5UCstEC5sAVq8oUi8-tlMxGC1an-30gpeniLkRlJM4OYed6Ge-ngHJeUHAjb_8PqUB4unv51tH7EzbP3DOgwfmCH6fBL-OyU77zj_60RF2H8kLa6MbW/s1600/Nr+Ashcott+past+Walton+or+at+Shapwick,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLi7P8uobHaiaJ47n1BDHZNIXQo5UCstEC5sAVq8oUi8-tlMxGC1an-30gpeniLkRlJM4OYed6Ge-ngHJeUHAjb_8PqUB4unv51tH7EzbP3DOgwfmCH6fBL-OyU77zj_60RF2H8kLa6MbW/s1600/Nr+Ashcott+past+Walton+or+at+Shapwick,+Somerset.jpg" height="236" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nr Ashcott past Walton or at Shapwick.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCh8aTHGu-Xt8YIQA6VeNrNg37L6zqnBa75mMfAbaX2dCk1iLOs6UuHLZyAj5Gj_nbUcjarhWWCFS34FQBuGaF6OFXUsEDK1WMCTLObURb0H245EwD9Dh7rmf2zx8aRo1UzqQcfwYRr1fd/s1600/Nr+Grimstead,+Wiltshire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCh8aTHGu-Xt8YIQA6VeNrNg37L6zqnBa75mMfAbaX2dCk1iLOs6UuHLZyAj5Gj_nbUcjarhWWCFS34FQBuGaF6OFXUsEDK1WMCTLObURb0H245EwD9Dh7rmf2zx8aRo1UzqQcfwYRr1fd/s1600/Nr+Grimstead,+Wiltshire.jpg" height="240" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Near Grimstead, Wiltshire.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9gZjCXtSx0el_oMf3LMhxuCBKcTbRPnBSOyQOMlq85OBR2NnZNmrN2wJQG8-q2GYQ39DHmrbUj3SEYLqilHCLoKLsH99vhLTnTFrM4XgRrJ1B0_Rntg8-k_U-T6Q2GZcWppvgkN-qc-m/s1600/Nr+Kilve+Priory,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9gZjCXtSx0el_oMf3LMhxuCBKcTbRPnBSOyQOMlq85OBR2NnZNmrN2wJQG8-q2GYQ39DHmrbUj3SEYLqilHCLoKLsH99vhLTnTFrM4XgRrJ1B0_Rntg8-k_U-T6Q2GZcWppvgkN-qc-m/s1600/Nr+Kilve+Priory,+Somerset.jpg" height="233" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nr Kilve Priory.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mUjURN2co01tUZR6nf_Qto-2a7cqQevmiQqwnBFgW-Et31SgsvkEqybk1HC-Q_zHzYxYVNiYuTdUvkDYYJBCsLq6QHkks2NlIkM_24JobvS-dcrKlgRoTSBFBYo52SvCUC2XxkryQG1p/s1600/Nr+Kilve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mUjURN2co01tUZR6nf_Qto-2a7cqQevmiQqwnBFgW-Et31SgsvkEqybk1HC-Q_zHzYxYVNiYuTdUvkDYYJBCsLq6QHkks2NlIkM_24JobvS-dcrKlgRoTSBFBYo52SvCUC2XxkryQG1p/s1600/Nr+Kilve.jpg" height="231" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nr Kilve.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGnGSUI4IiGYOHAsTf3PCyy8ohWk_HpSXJgTD3zzN76Hdy4FIxJ1OZayHqeHpPjPO-BcA0Mra-QdS6fTBAVke5PjINkgxkwYszuDPkX-xpC6Zs_18vFqyDTOHxkmEUsFox_e0oPN6O1ot/s1600/Polden+Hills,+Shapwick,+Bridgwater,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGnGSUI4IiGYOHAsTf3PCyy8ohWk_HpSXJgTD3zzN76Hdy4FIxJ1OZayHqeHpPjPO-BcA0Mra-QdS6fTBAVke5PjINkgxkwYszuDPkX-xpC6Zs_18vFqyDTOHxkmEUsFox_e0oPN6O1ot/s1600/Polden+Hills,+Shapwick,+Bridgwater,+Somerset.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="235" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Polden Hills, Shapwick, Bridgwater, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8n7pDac6x8f3zkqyXaayzjpdFEQmG7OaUJ2tlQUK2gu4DPp4Xhqdb5-j0tsDthXoesoCDu2W3PUPmnVe8BS0NId7Apse8CnKKmKbYPhuSICnaIdzzX4Yf6u1wbV_LoIgNU_NmLP5kT6q/s1600/Quantocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8n7pDac6x8f3zkqyXaayzjpdFEQmG7OaUJ2tlQUK2gu4DPp4Xhqdb5-j0tsDthXoesoCDu2W3PUPmnVe8BS0NId7Apse8CnKKmKbYPhuSICnaIdzzX4Yf6u1wbV_LoIgNU_NmLP5kT6q/s1600/Quantocks.jpg" height="240" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Quantocks.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3Q6f0KHy7R-FXlpcCax6NxU6ofnb7JTk6AQPMu2bGvKp7mp6EEKCYugeOtxy6F2DU0I9_aysYiBpJ-KdAvuBwcGJ-HdnvOk9fEpSY8d6KawgEQqXTzJKb0TwFE4Ca3zPCR6VzCD2B_a0/s1600/Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3Q6f0KHy7R-FXlpcCax6NxU6ofnb7JTk6AQPMu2bGvKp7mp6EEKCYugeOtxy6F2DU0I9_aysYiBpJ-KdAvuBwcGJ-HdnvOk9fEpSY8d6KawgEQqXTzJKb0TwFE4Ca3zPCR6VzCD2B_a0/s1600/Road.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="235" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Road.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjFgaDpvFxpwk0hMSC4E6j66n8FSBVjcQppvv_e3G0goXHv384bEEnwFaKN0BB66GNezXTIeyoRwwLAM7t3RqQnHQf-KZOzmw2jDgz2g3hr6Hqb5ZI_MtVGk326xOkCWT2Lw5wIIUA4AY/s1600/Rudge,+Frome+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjFgaDpvFxpwk0hMSC4E6j66n8FSBVjcQppvv_e3G0goXHv384bEEnwFaKN0BB66GNezXTIeyoRwwLAM7t3RqQnHQf-KZOzmw2jDgz2g3hr6Hqb5ZI_MtVGk326xOkCWT2Lw5wIIUA4AY/s1600/Rudge,+Frome+Somerset.jpg" height="237" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Rudge, Frome, Somerset</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvnuMY7pK95J3ZZpDsArWPJfDTPGZzwcChDLrEL-zd319q1Lrrp0DVBquhlEdrzqjcS8XviBRY4eovUjM7ZXV7hK8pyxEcRdBmnk3IHXIafHeNkMJ1uLH5uq5FLhmEu5EV7en8W_9-nYu/s1600/Rudge,+Frome,+Somerset+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvnuMY7pK95J3ZZpDsArWPJfDTPGZzwcChDLrEL-zd319q1Lrrp0DVBquhlEdrzqjcS8XviBRY4eovUjM7ZXV7hK8pyxEcRdBmnk3IHXIafHeNkMJ1uLH5uq5FLhmEu5EV7en8W_9-nYu/s1600/Rudge,+Frome,+Somerset+2.jpg" height="235" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Rudge, Frome, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMbEUzcVZYG7MD1TunyfVQolTr2XRSaj9PkLW-HMvhIefTDuSOPNq_ZHwRr6OlURu1XjtiMcn1dE2BF916mnEBw4qAuWgQja5isojfC4FXZnkQEojTERlzXH2htYCkw27ys0nRqk9Qiuv/s1600/Rudge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMbEUzcVZYG7MD1TunyfVQolTr2XRSaj9PkLW-HMvhIefTDuSOPNq_ZHwRr6OlURu1XjtiMcn1dE2BF916mnEBw4qAuWgQja5isojfC4FXZnkQEojTERlzXH2htYCkw27ys0nRqk9Qiuv/s1600/Rudge.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="234" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Rudge.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22qsmWJT6u1lhiSucg0mrFzkxB_3FDLpB-WSSf2ym27fOUFwhaeKMDSEnCxuch4t_CWS0zGyCbA4r8paj_s3jjgqi-T5d_znHOA9HVEsPDXEB_63_5aD_M-1q_7NkuOVp33nmdDYihSNz/s1600/Salisbury+Plain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22qsmWJT6u1lhiSucg0mrFzkxB_3FDLpB-WSSf2ym27fOUFwhaeKMDSEnCxuch4t_CWS0zGyCbA4r8paj_s3jjgqi-T5d_znHOA9HVEsPDXEB_63_5aD_M-1q_7NkuOVp33nmdDYihSNz/s1600/Salisbury+Plain.jpg" height="233" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Salisbury Plain.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6GK5XvKdHIKCeBHkLqCzDG1V-8RJ6dsWDTKF4seIs-xcWqsNaz19TIicccDO1N74-8sb0zsVZFMf2NBqZFsTAjsENxQyYtFVBgO2Ihb7iEMjsWkU3gVTVF2tYuv8XyvDlC-ftl2016kM/s1600/Shapwick,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6GK5XvKdHIKCeBHkLqCzDG1V-8RJ6dsWDTKF4seIs-xcWqsNaz19TIicccDO1N74-8sb0zsVZFMf2NBqZFsTAjsENxQyYtFVBgO2Ihb7iEMjsWkU3gVTVF2tYuv8XyvDlC-ftl2016kM/s1600/Shapwick,+Somerset.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="223" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Shapwick, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JT2wWVpW4vWS0wiAfa4DiSy7sYpXRMNUTLJyVJ_sbWALly3WdTaCro7ltXw1mBxDjFs7c0Hx8weM0X3JMqk9QCPGldMKiZoy-rPLjz0-IydC8_Ge91zjl9MD91urcDHgJtiuLY4LezJo/s1600/Swell,+nr+Taunton,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JT2wWVpW4vWS0wiAfa4DiSy7sYpXRMNUTLJyVJ_sbWALly3WdTaCro7ltXw1mBxDjFs7c0Hx8weM0X3JMqk9QCPGldMKiZoy-rPLjz0-IydC8_Ge91zjl9MD91urcDHgJtiuLY4LezJo/s1600/Swell,+nr+Taunton,+Somerset.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="235" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Swell nr Taunton, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2h0Tt-69FWKntssp15QKNQ9_QjvqG9y88KSpZmmyEr06qUBnXhTarR1kDivvpf4Bz-ZMkqmkRv3mAkb8aROHfasPYKA-UEnyL-LD4L-vJM-sYyDjfNgl75zdvU3l6sKFPkSsxizm-jO_L/s1600/Swell,+Taunton+Somerset+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2h0Tt-69FWKntssp15QKNQ9_QjvqG9y88KSpZmmyEr06qUBnXhTarR1kDivvpf4Bz-ZMkqmkRv3mAkb8aROHfasPYKA-UEnyL-LD4L-vJM-sYyDjfNgl75zdvU3l6sKFPkSsxizm-jO_L/s1600/Swell,+Taunton+Somerset+2.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="237" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Swell, Taunton, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYd_HxPJlhlAO6HRbAOgsaZS_j0VY35TY1zE4OZ2AHzzX1LGeoPI2WC_zjJlvr73dPBGS2567pjKDeDlYtu5YjdfYLklcIfeXGZSI0Cg3SvBxA2BAptdupkFURiak_dtlHpDb88kXc6lHT/s1600/The+Hog's%2BBack%2C%2BSurrey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYd_HxPJlhlAO6HRbAOgsaZS_j0VY35TY1zE4OZ2AHzzX1LGeoPI2WC_zjJlvr73dPBGS2567pjKDeDlYtu5YjdfYLklcIfeXGZSI0Cg3SvBxA2BAptdupkFURiak_dtlHpDb88kXc6lHT/s1600/The+Hog's+Back,+Surrey.jpg" height="240" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Hog's Back, Surrey.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBZUmUa_pePscQa3HQqKWkbsSsRpD3GHo94pbCS3MpaIdqUaTrV6weCu7FwYKp1caS-2pyUBmQ-tfRr_daD1RwF6TTG-hRLSfgnzngZnHfEJVygmAy_WEsbOTkbOPopOSaLYxp8GQnN-N/s1600/The+Quantocks,+Crowcombe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBZUmUa_pePscQa3HQqKWkbsSsRpD3GHo94pbCS3MpaIdqUaTrV6weCu7FwYKp1caS-2pyUBmQ-tfRr_daD1RwF6TTG-hRLSfgnzngZnHfEJVygmAy_WEsbOTkbOPopOSaLYxp8GQnN-N/s1600/The+Quantocks,+Crowcombe.jpg" height="236" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Quantocks, Crowcombe.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzxLkwrkiQdqMW01Ghyphenhyphenzg09zw03GowWQA-fQbI9vikGvGGUbmpXl_XXJp8QrpvSydYo-wp3-Denwz-zO3ni4WF2M8Gs_KbxcjaphkUoY7hasdb7qerMSEiwW-lrhzRMPAhqWlqhLbhEMgG/s1600/The+Quantocks,+Crowcombe+read+-+Coleridge+mentioned.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzxLkwrkiQdqMW01Ghyphenhyphenzg09zw03GowWQA-fQbI9vikGvGGUbmpXl_XXJp8QrpvSydYo-wp3-Denwz-zO3ni4WF2M8Gs_KbxcjaphkUoY7hasdb7qerMSEiwW-lrhzRMPAhqWlqhLbhEMgG/s1600/The+Quantocks,+Crowcombe+read+-+Coleridge+mentioned.jpg" height="242" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Rear of above, mentions Coleridge.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ItYxP2K0uPPxSHl0Mbus1t9L0oPzN4rWIV98lr7Fx-XkCc4zTZd-2VhyxRrTycsZIrTtcbBjODZxw6-Rhy2PP7IE4KX7tGhqQ5Wh4hO0APCbM7tlKuPjXRi0VDQ5v9a3YZFb4IOWgl4h/s1600/Walton,+Street,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ItYxP2K0uPPxSHl0Mbus1t9L0oPzN4rWIV98lr7Fx-XkCc4zTZd-2VhyxRrTycsZIrTtcbBjODZxw6-Rhy2PP7IE4KX7tGhqQ5Wh4hO0APCbM7tlKuPjXRi0VDQ5v9a3YZFb4IOWgl4h/s1600/Walton,+Street,+Somerset.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="236" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Walton, Street, Somerset.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhST4YBF2Lh76aof7xv2u36KS0e-1A_eKKIS6YOJTfhTdYq2XFJ5gqwyakmlwvkTbLn25nMcGGB3yPNFxiY3CDI_ceeCEvyYQJgCrgEb_scZha7qBfI2iNA5ZqXwQRQcYba8Lw3p1rwP6tI/s1600/Wells055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhST4YBF2Lh76aof7xv2u36KS0e-1A_eKKIS6YOJTfhTdYq2XFJ5gqwyakmlwvkTbLn25nMcGGB3yPNFxiY3CDI_ceeCEvyYQJgCrgEb_scZha7qBfI2iNA5ZqXwQRQcYba8Lw3p1rwP6tI/s1600/Wells055.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="239" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Wells.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1SRro3F7hntcEBeDnnHeGptP_8nO0nS7hS8ar4e2FL8ux_RXJzNrGIZulN91xyA3cka7NPnwkE72nwiqb5qXEVPeBttA4e47n9FnEhXwO8leuvWUUp-wI1RauDalD_HQt20R1_OR6ehq/s1600/Wells+Cathedral+moat,+Somerset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1SRro3F7hntcEBeDnnHeGptP_8nO0nS7hS8ar4e2FL8ux_RXJzNrGIZulN91xyA3cka7NPnwkE72nwiqb5qXEVPeBttA4e47n9FnEhXwO8leuvWUUp-wI1RauDalD_HQt20R1_OR6ehq/s1600/Wells+Cathedral+moat,+Somerset.jpg" height="320" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="227" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Wells Cathedral moat.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHngyDntLzq-6zx_UTq59xlqJXhbkQJ03UI5UTzIPg8MNIVAo_40FmRYPmDo84SOnaUxnLhVnoMCNHs0HGQHjR4xYR1DMN6KkREJvSmcmKJ-1pvEcFva0awumqGci5YZ9QJitldLbd_Zb8/s1600/Wells.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHngyDntLzq-6zx_UTq59xlqJXhbkQJ03UI5UTzIPg8MNIVAo_40FmRYPmDo84SOnaUxnLhVnoMCNHs0HGQHjR4xYR1DMN6KkREJvSmcmKJ-1pvEcFva0awumqGci5YZ9QJitldLbd_Zb8/s1600/Wells.jpg" height="237" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Wells.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-cpSMR32Zbyb6ugRjDmybbx2o_Vhjnq5neC3akbyisAL78u6GfHUsHk0e0yG3CHHNAKNMwlCqg6mRZrL9p7afCQFJ-XWugwqlkTrGEBOia1igHeKDiWHi9pN_QXYR-1Z37lbLM3rxtTWC/s1600/West+Dean,+Salisbury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-cpSMR32Zbyb6ugRjDmybbx2o_Vhjnq5neC3akbyisAL78u6GfHUsHk0e0yG3CHHNAKNMwlCqg6mRZrL9p7afCQFJ-XWugwqlkTrGEBOia1igHeKDiWHi9pN_QXYR-1Z37lbLM3rxtTWC/s1600/West+Dean,+Salisbury.jpg" height="237" title="Edward Thomas 1913 In Pursuit of Spring." width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">West Dean, Salisbury.</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">All photographs by kind permission of </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Special Collections and Archives, Cardiff University, and the Estate of Edward Thomas.</span></div>
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-39690022705311602832015-03-31T21:01:00.000+01:002015-03-31T21:01:21.962+01:00Isn't it about time we stopped using the term ’documentary photography’?“There is no way events in the world can be directly recorded in our brains, they are experienced and constructed in a highly subjective way. Our only truth is narrative truth, the stories that we tell each other and ourselves, the stories we continually re-categorise and refine. This sort of sharing, of communion would not be possible if all our knowledge, all our memories were tagged as private and seen as exclusively ours. Memory arises not only from direct experience, but from the intercourse of many minds.”<br />
Oliver Sachs, from “Speak, Memory” New York Review of Books, 2013.<br />
<br />
<br />
Isn't it about time we stopped using the term ’documentary photography’? I suppose ’Department of Narrative Photography’, or ’narrative photographer’ doesn't quite have the ring of seriousness contained the the word ’documentary’, but it is certainly more honest given the above.<br />
<br />
Changing the name would have wider impacts; no longer would we have to discuss the ’truth’ of photography, or read articles complaining that one image didn't change the world - and that would certainly be a relief.<br />
<br />
It would also give a greater legitimacy to more creative expression in photography that has been been decried as mere ’pictorialism’ for generations. And perhaps, we'd be open to a more collaborative approach to better explore the ’many minds’.<br />
<br />
If we think of ourselves as novelists or even poets instead of documentarists then a whole new world of possibility opens before us. Creative possibilities that offer a more mature and honest perspective for the future direction for photography. The possibility of imagination that might help us reconcile meaning in our lives through small insights and a sense of shared common perspective much like good literature. Hey, it might even be more fun!<br />
<br />
In truth, this is already what the best ’documentary photography’ is doing, despite the name. But we’ll never know the hindrance of a name until we change it.Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-49891455697195776002015-03-08T12:45:00.004+00:002015-03-31T20:58:33.678+01:00Singing the world into existence.<br style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Introducing a new series: Songlines.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">By some remarkable coincidences
things just seemed to fall into place on Friday. Reading, conversations, seeing
and photography combining to create new thinking and a new series that I
suspect I will be pursuing for a long period of time.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The first element was seeing. While
wandering through my local beech woods, and looking (vaguely) for something
that will progress onwards from my Mametz Wood series, I started to notice
something new to me. There were strange patterns, shapes and forms in those
trees that could if we recognise them as such be called simply ’art’. What
struck me was that it needed a person to not only see that art, but to
recognise it as such. In short, there's art out there and it's growing on
trees!</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The second element was reading <a href="http://colinpantall.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/holes-in-hedges-and-buildings.html" target="_blank">ColinPantall's blog</a> about Robert Macfarlane’s new book ’Landmarks' and how important
the naming of things can be to the recognition of their existence. He used the
example of the ’Missing Buildings’ project by Thom and Beth Atkinson. Those
missing building are all around us, but it's only in their naming that they
become significant. To quote Colin “Experience leads to language and language
leads to seeing. And seeing leads to photography.” And I still needed a name
for the tree art I'd discovered.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The third and final element was a
Twitter conversation with John MacPherson about my Songs of Travel series. He
asked if the title came from Bruce Chatwin’s book Songlines. I responded,
without realising the significance at the time, that it, in fact, came from a
Robert Louis Stevenson poem. And thought nothing more of it, for a while...</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It was a couple of hours later that I
realised that there was a name for this tree art, one that was already in
existence and that the Songlines that John had spoken of would be perfect.
Naming equals significance.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Songlines are a creation myth held by
the indigenous peoples of Australia that, to quote Bruce Chatwin “...tell of
the legendary totemic being who wandered over the continent in the Dreamtime,
singing out the name of everything that crossed their path - birds, animals,
plants, rocks, waterholes - and so singing the world into existence."</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">“In some cases, the paths of the
creator-beings are said to be evident from their marks, or petrosomatoglyphs,
on the land, such as large depressions in the land which are said to be their
footprints.” Wikipedia.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I can't claim to share such animist
beliefs, but I do feel a close affinity with trees and forests. Indeed, I wrote
a poem a few years ago with the simple line “Tall trees temple” attempting to
express that feeling of otherworldliness we sometimes get from being in the
forest, the analogy being with a similar feeling we might experience in a
church.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The belief I can happily share is the
need to ’sing the world into existence’ or that naming things gives them a
power and maybe an existence they could not possess unnamed.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The images are presented as
negatives. As any film photographer will know the negative image can have a
beauty and otherworldliness all of their own. And to me that encapsulates what
I'm seeing, the otherness and the requirement for us to see in new ways. To
recognise art when it's before us.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">What a wonderful world!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfbvNh4_W6lkPMF7LHUx07ULdh5-CuQJy4B6CXNcZEBLda6e3RLnjwxxMaySoK5hKNvB3Qv23Gyh4Zfqkz2AejfcD72ZPFWThYACQOG2jmTnKGFEjBRy46V0QakhxKhwIDfxn5q8siZHMP/s1600/Songlines_060315_0021+invert+v2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfbvNh4_W6lkPMF7LHUx07ULdh5-CuQJy4B6CXNcZEBLda6e3RLnjwxxMaySoK5hKNvB3Qv23Gyh4Zfqkz2AejfcD72ZPFWThYACQOG2jmTnKGFEjBRy46V0QakhxKhwIDfxn5q8siZHMP/s1600/Songlines_060315_0021+invert+v2.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-50008852610811656732015-01-01T11:23:00.001+00:002015-03-31T20:58:59.633+01:00Landscape photography books of 2014, a personal selection: Scattered Waters by Thomas Joshua Cooper. <br style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">The following are in no particular order of preference, but might be in the order they fell through my letterbox.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />
<br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.inglebygallery.com/wp-content/gallery/test_1/TJC_Scattered_Waters_cover_WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"><img border="0" src="http://www.inglebygallery.com/wp-content/gallery/test_1/TJC_Scattered_Waters_cover_WEB.jpg" height="513" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;" />
</span><br />
<h2>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Scattered Waters, Thomas Joshua Cooper. Published by Ingleby Gallery, Edinburgh. 96 pages, hardback, RRP £30.</span></h2>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Here's a photography book for photographers, it speaks the language of photography quietly and elegantly. It's a remarkably unshowy, contemplative work, which, while not exactly referencing other photographers manages to speak in their tongue, in tone, rhythm and in the pure joy of the surface of the silver print. Okay, it's a book, so they aren't silver prints at all, but it seems to retain many of their qualities.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.wow247.co.uk/eventImages/cooper1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"><img border="0" src="http://www.wow247.co.uk/eventImages/cooper1.jpg" height="448" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">There's nothing clever or original about the concept - following rivers from source to sea - yet it would be a lesser book without it; it is the gel that binds it together much like the binding of the spine. Perhaps it's a little stale, safe, comfortable? He doesn't attempt to redefine the language of photography, but to utilise it as poetry. There are worse sins. And maybe, just maybe it’s better for avoiding such ’youthful’ concerns.</span><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">The question I'd ask is how many others can pull this off so successfully? I fear my reply might be few if they allow themselves to be defined by their tools rather than expressing themselves through them. This is the complacency of photography today, which Cooper does much to promote in his controlled public image. It seems odd for a professor of photography to have so little to actually say, at least in public. The emphasis on analogue tradition seems designed to appeal to ’photo world’, while saying nothing about creativity itself.</span><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Having said that, the pictures do speak of more; there are so many distinct representations of the forms of the water as it evolves along its journey. A visual hymn to the river, with a visual integrity many of us would do well to follow. Its apparent simplicity is also, perhaps, its poetry. That musicality of the hymn is mirrored in the rhythms, the gentle tonality and the wash of the waves. Because if there’s a secondary, underlying concept, it is a visual mimicry of the sounds of the river. It's that which raises it up above so many wannabes. As ever, it is ideas and their expression which breathe new life into old language.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></span>Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-76713400055047548742014-12-12T08:22:00.001+00:002015-03-31T20:59:22.497+01:00The Map of Love: Dylan Thomas' landscapes, you and me.<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I don't know about others, but my
most common experience of the landscape is being overwhelmed. Sometimes I'm
overwhelmed with sensations, sometimes the visual overwhelms, and there are
times when it's so overwhelmingly callous and indifferent that it inspires fear.
Sometimes it's as overwhelming as love. Mostly I'm overwhelmed by its mystery,
its unknowableness, its otherness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The Map of Love series was conceived
as my way to try to understand and express these feelings and to wonder at how
a poet is shaped by the landscape, as Dylan Thomas obviously was. And, also to
find a way of expressing that swirling miasma of impressions we receive from
being somewhere. There is the experience of now, the experience of time, of
growing up and being shaped by our environment and, later, of finding our
reflection within it. The series is named after Dylan Thomas’ first volume of
poetry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It’s as much as about Dylan Thomas’
places as it is also about our places. There is, I hope, to be a universality
rather than a specificity. A joining together not a pushing apart. That's one
thing visual art can do well - bring us together in shared understandings and
shared insights. The communal, the human is something that's important to me in
my work as a landscape photographer. It's not that I'm dismissive of the
landscape as a physical entity, but that I believe we really see and appreciate
it through the ’lens’ of both our own and other’s experience of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Cwmdonkin Park is somewhere I once
knew well. More years than I care to remember have past since I lived just
around the corner. These were my green days (as Thomas would have it), I was a
student and it was a time when I actually had time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I spent a lot of time in that park;
it had a magnetic pull above the desire to escape the cold, damp and loneliness
of my student digs. (Although it was a time when going for a walk was often the
cheapest way of getting warm.) Part of that magnetism for me was its history -
of the part it played in the childhood and the shaping of Dylan Thomas who grew
up at 5 Cwmdonkin Drive, literally across the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Walking was also part of my makeup.
I'd been a dog owner and my regular routine was a mile in the morning and five
miles in the afternoon after school. I wonder if there's a connection between
dog ownership and landscape appreciation and landscape photography? The dog (a
Lassie style collie) had to stay home when I went to Swansea; there was no room
in those digs. I regretted that, but walking was so much a part of my routine
that it didn't cease abruptly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">That park on my doorstep became a
regular part of my life. And it was such a wonderful park, nothing like the
ill-mown scraps of dog-shitty grass with a few scrappy trees that was familiar
from my past. Not only was it the park of Thomas’ childhood it was like a
child’s imagining of a park. There was the old fashioned drinking fountain, a
green painted metal scallop shell with a little brass tap. There was the
mock-Tudor pavilion, all half-timbered black and white yet clearly Edwardian
like the surrounding streets. The paths wound in great sweeping curves around
the hills that seemed to shelter it from the world outside. And there were
trees; not scrappy afterthought trees, but deliberately chosen, varieties,
mature, graceful and trees. Sheltering, obscuring, enclosing trees that said
this part of the park is mine even on the rare warm days when it was busy. But
my greatest memory is that view. Swansea being a city on a hill overlooking a
large sweeping bay that stretches out the Mumbles, is dominated by this view.
It's inescapable and it's completely transfixing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The park frames that view; it's a bowl
shape scraped out of the hillside and at the far end, through the trees lies
the ocean, once again framed by the three ’islands’ of the Mumbles. Inevitably
I took my camera - I'd already been a keen photographer for a dozen years or
more. And it was in that park I made my earliest steps in self-expression
through photography; albeit, in retrospect, naive, romantic steps. I'd had no
formal education in art (I still don't) neither did I have a great insight into
art at that time. Although the brash colours of the Glyn Vivian Gallery were
beginning to suggest something important beyond and maybe within.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I'm not really a photographer of
views, views are a sort of lowest common denominator of landscape photography,
they place one in the landscape nothing more. And even then I can't remember
photographing the view. I knew I had to include it when I returned 27 years
later (yes it's been that long!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The park today is sanitised, theme
parked; the local authorities have tried (and to my eyes failed) to make it a
tourist destination on the Dylan Thomas trail. In my day it may have been rusty
and down at heel, but at least it retained its connection with the past. It
seems to have lost those quiet, intimate corners, replaced by plazas of
’artist’ designed paving and a Dylan Thomas lookout (read inappropriate
triangular shelter). Even the toilets have been rebuilt in an easy to clean and
utterly antiseptic modern style.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It threw me; I'd gone with a
preconception that was dashed. I had to return a second time when I'd recovered
from the tremor of not knowing, or maybe misremembering. So, although this may
not be an award-winning (ha!) image that lights up social media (ha again!),
it's sure to be my most personal in the series.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">In truth, I made a simpler, more
accessible image here, but it failed to express what I wanted it to say. It's
my past, Dylan Thomas’ past thrown together with a sadness at ’progress’. I
can't think of a better way to represent the multiplicity of thoughts than
through the multiple exposure; disrupting reality and time and the complexity
that suggests being overwhelmed. And, of course, the one thing they can't
change is that view.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRubsEubmL32LGfTdQRK0MaSHwJSy6r-8JcVtm3PTMNCmcowULZUOpWxkqVAtt6u-iHTllMNucKicCLlqiK-3YuR3fUtALIORajbJczQoJMJBd-Zsg6Koc-pMGMXsGQz93n95lB19xTemN/s1600/Cwmdonkin+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRubsEubmL32LGfTdQRK0MaSHwJSy6r-8JcVtm3PTMNCmcowULZUOpWxkqVAtt6u-iHTllMNucKicCLlqiK-3YuR3fUtALIORajbJczQoJMJBd-Zsg6Koc-pMGMXsGQz93n95lB19xTemN/s1600/Cwmdonkin+5.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Click on the image to see it larger</span></div>
Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-76190530460737264882014-11-29T12:28:00.001+00:002015-03-31T21:00:29.304+01:00Mametz Wood article for Kwefeldein Magazine. <div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">This is the article for the German
magazine <a href="http://kwerfeldein.de/" target="_blank">Kwerfeldein</a>, which they kindly translated from English for me. If your German is better than mine, you can read it <a href="http://kwerfeldein.de/2014/11/29/die-natur-und-der-krieg/" target="_blank">here</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Late -flowering dog-rose
spray let fly like bowyer's ash,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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disturbed for the movement<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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for the pressing forward, bodies in the bower<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">
where adolescence walks the shrieking wood.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I came to landscape photography from
a background as a street photographer. Back in the day my heroes were Josef
Koudelka and Cartier-Bresson. So I approach landscape from a similar
perspective, that there's no point in making photos unless we have something to
say in them, what we might generically and perhaps lazily call the ’meaning’ of
the photograph.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">And so till midnight and
into the ebb-time when the spirit slips lightly from sick men and when it's
like no-mans-land between yesterday and tomorrow and material things are but
barely integrated and loosely tacked together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">If there were one criticism I'd make
of much of contemporary landscape photography it's that it has nothing to say
beyond describing how it was seen by the photographer. That, in part, is why I
describe myself as a conceptual landscape photographer. It's important to base
my work around ideas, both because I need to understand them in order to
clearly communicate them and, also, so that I can delve into areas that I don't
fully understand. There's little challenge as artists simply following what we
already know. And there's little interest for the viewer without that element
of ambiguity that not fully knowing can reveal. Sometimes it pays to be honest
with ourselves, it can reap artistic dividends and be a more fulfilling
creative experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I also love literature. In fact, I've
been known to describe the way I develop my concepts as similar to that of a
creative writer. If you ever want to understand what you're trying to say in
your photographs, then write about it. Writing is the art of deciding both what
you think and what you don't or even cannot know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">One of my greatest influences is the
poetry book ’The Remains of Elmet’ by Ted Hughes with photography by Fay
Goodwin. Whilst Goodwin’s photos are undeniably beautiful they should perhaps
be better described as illustrations. They don't seek to be relevant to the
poems other than by showing where they were written about. Yet there's a lot
more depth to the poems than simply being a description of a place. If we seek to
be more of an artist than an illustrator we need that process to be a two-way
interaction. The resulting images need to ’feed’ off the poems, to find
inspiration and expression from what they say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">as to this hour<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">A whole unlovely order
this night would transubstantiate, lend some grace to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I suppose Mametz Wood is a
culmination of all these influences: photographs that try to say something
other than simply being descriptive, the poetry element (and titles) provided
by David Jones, from his long modernist poem ’In Parenthesis’ written about his
experiences in the trenches of the First World War.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Dead-calm for this
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Mametz Wood was in many ways a
typically futile battle in a futile and pointless war (Is there another sort?).
With great loss of life this one mile square woodland was taken by the British,
a week later the Germans retook it. What is unique about it was that there were
a remarkable number of poets, writers and artists in attendance. For the
English-speaking world it has come to symbolise the tragedy of the wider war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">One of the poets who was there was
David Jones, a private not an officer, unlike so many of the others. Jones grew
up in London, but was of Welsh decent and his poem ’In Parenthesis’ embraces
many influences from ancient Welsh literature and folklore. (I am also from
Wales.) Mixing these myths and legends together with the reality of the first
industrialised war generates what we in the modern era would describe as ’magic
realism’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">You can't see anything
but sheen on drifting particles and you move forward in your private bright
cloud like one assumed who is borne up by an exterior volition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I strongly believe that photography
cannot only embrace imagination, but I've also sought to find that magic
realist element in the photographs I've made here. I've used double exposures
to disrupt reality (the purely descriptive part of photography) and also to
introduce complexity, ambiguity and layers of meaning. By which I mean that
each layer of exposure should in itself have meaning, and in the way they
interact should reveal something more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -18pt;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="text-indent: -18pt;">But sweet sister death
has gone debauched today and stalks on this high ground with strumpet
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all her parts discovered.</span><br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">His eyes set on the
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">These photographs are dark, both
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explore all the facets of our lives. Although the war was in many ways
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Like an home-reared
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of earth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Part of my inspiration for the
project was how the horror of war changes our perceptions of what is around us.
The way those with a traumatized mind might see from the corner of their eyes
those things that could bring back fraught memories. One of the key features of
what was then known as shell shock and is now more commonly known as Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder is the constant reliving of the events that led to
the psychological trauma. I am also a recovered victim of PTSD, and this brings
a greater insight into the work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Suffer with us this
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">David Jones survived the battle (he
was shot in the leg and sent home), but he was deeply traumatized by the events
he witnessed. He suffered two mental breakdowns after the war, and didn't
complete In Parenthesis until 1937.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">He took comfort in the great sweep of
history, that despite this being one of the greatest tragedies to befall
mankind, that battles have occurred throughout the our history and yet somehow
we (at least as societies) come through it and survive. Maybe in some lucky
cases even flourish. It's the ’magic’ element of magic realism in my photos
(and Jones’ poetry) that I hope gives small glimmers of hope, of the
unquenchable imagination of the human mind. Because we humans are greater than
war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">So many without
memento<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">
beneath the tumuli on the high hills<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">
and under the harvest places.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-90002073611988711222014-10-26T14:32:00.001+00:002015-03-31T21:00:49.161+01:00New directions: Cwm Blaen Taf Fechen.<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Cwm Blaen Taf Fechen is my new long
term project. If you don't know the area it's the valley immediately below the
peaks of the Brecon Beacons above the Neuadd Reservoirs. After the tight,
claustrophobic confines of ’Mametz Wood’ it feels vast and empty, it is a
wind-blasted wilderness and I'm finding freedom there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It's an area I know well; I visited
it frequently many years ago for what was probably my first ’proper’ series,
the Islands Project. This, though, will be different.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I learnt many things from Mametz, not
least the limitations of social media - how dare I share art that's dark,
difficult and metaphorical. Art has no more reason to be uplifting and cheerful
than TV should always be Downton Abbey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">So I'm thinking yet again of changing
my relationship with social media; people there, for the most part, don't want
to be challenged, it's leisure time and they'd prefer cat videos thank you very
much. I'm not yet sure how this will pan out, but you can expect more posts to
be in the form of blogs and less of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The second, and perhaps more
pertinent thing, I learned from Mametz was the value of photographing a small
area, repeatedly over a long period of time. It's not exactly the first time
I've approached my work like that, but it was perhaps the first time it really
sank in -just how valuable it is to an artist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Also, if we listen to the advice of
<a href="http://mgjackson.wordpress.com/2014/09/09/long-term-devotion/" target="_blank">Mike Jackson</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"> and <a href="http://vimeo.com/107528331" target="_blank">Chris Tancock</a> who are in my humble estimation both producing ground breaking work in
landscape photography (if you'll forgive the pun), then long term devotion to a
place is the way forward for the more serious landscape artist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I'm disinterested in the ’low hanging
fruit’ of new locations that barely scratch the surface. They tell me nothing
about the place, the photographer or the way we interact with our surroundings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">If we stop to think about how many
(perhaps the majority) of us first became interested in landscape photography -
by recording the places we've visited or hiked past - then perhaps it's
unsurprising that so few stop to question this approach. It feels entirely
natural, organic and of course easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Yet what if there was a way to not
only improve the depth and originality of our photography, but also find it
more satisfying? For that to happen we have to question our assumptions and
ourselves. It won't be found on the ’well trodden path’. Art has the potential
to tell us something about ourselves, those tiny insights can be a great
nourishment to the mind, something no end of pretty sunsets can ever hope to
accomplish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Cwm Blaen Taf Fechen is (for now at
least) conceptually free. That's a major challenge to someone who's worked for
many years within the bountiful confines of conceptual ideas. I'm going there
without preconceptions, ideas or external motivations, but to explore through
the artistic space of not knowing. Of course, you'd be right to say that is, in
itself a concept! It's something I feel I need after 13 months of exploring the
psychological trauma of war and it is something I need to do for the
furtherance of myself as a landscape artist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The artist and writer Emma Coker in
Tactics for Not knowing: Preparing for the Unexpected (2013), wrote<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">‘Artistic practice recognises the
practice of not knowing, less as the preliminary state (of ignorance) preceding
knowledge, but as a field of desirable indeterminacy within which to work. Not
knowing is an active space within practice, wherein an artist hopes for an
encounter with something new or unfamiliar, unrecognisable or unknown’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">(<a href="http://emmabolland.com/tag/teaching/" target="_blank">Emma Bolland</a> has written a great
piece on this.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">One of the difficulties with finding
that “field of desirable indeterminacy” is breaking down the barriers of
received perception. Breaking out of the way of seeing and expressing ourselves
through what we've seen, made or been told previously. The feeling freedom of
that vast area is one of the hindrances; it's so easy to stride purposefully
onwards ignoring the detail of what is there. Repeated visits are the key here,
to break that mindset, to get the clichés, assumptions and received wisdoms out
of my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I've been visiting the area now for
about a month, and haven't shared any images because they felt stale,
uninspiring and from someone other than myself. Finally I feel I'm starting to
find that space where I can start to think afresh, and more critically see
afresh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I've been delving deeply into the art
of not knowing and there is light at the end of the tunnel - just barely
glimpsed. I've no idea how this will progress (which I should think of as a
good thing) it may falter at this one image, it may take a wholly divergent path
or I may find images to complement this one. The one thing I do know is that
after a month I've barely scratched the surface. So for now, here is my first
image from Cwm Blaen Taf Fechen.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4vsw2hTvP2S8OreP7jD3hlr-q07qSvclOIc_h3WJX5kEaZIkX7-rcYev39ksKZtm9xVg6wlKbEgA9jXFSrynhtbBS6oRnCUxsr5BwuShFIluZ28o5Fa3vYVtdom1nlamS_SkGBIMqLYt/s1600/Cwm+Baen+Taf+Fechan_0082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4vsw2hTvP2S8OreP7jD3hlr-q07qSvclOIc_h3WJX5kEaZIkX7-rcYev39ksKZtm9xVg6wlKbEgA9jXFSrynhtbBS6oRnCUxsr5BwuShFIluZ28o5Fa3vYVtdom1nlamS_SkGBIMqLYt/s1600/Cwm+Baen+Taf+Fechan_0082.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-10266570475711069782014-06-30T11:40:00.000+01:002015-03-31T21:01:42.260+01:00A very personal pilgrimage. <div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Today I'm going for a walk, following
a route (to the best of my memory) I last took with my grandfather, up to St
Mary’s Vale and over to the Rholben below the Sugar Loaf above Abergavenny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Walking with my granddad always
seemed like saying goodbye, he resented the way old age tricked his mind into
believing his body could still achieve when it no longer could. He would
complain frequently and recount the achievements of his youth, the ease with
which he could reach the peaks. In my hazy memory walking with my granddad is
forever autumn, both literally and metaphorically. There was bitter regret in
his voice and whining wail of resentment, a proud man looking and sounding
pathetic. He struck me once with the metal dog lead when I protested,
inconsiderately, that I didn't want to go for a walk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">They were quite distant as
grandparents, emotionally reticent, both to my mother and her two sons. Walking
became a form of escape from the tight air of that house on North Street. There
was always an atmosphere there I could pick up as a child, old, stale, cold.
Something haunted that place and it didn't only live in the dark turn in the
stairs before the relief of the electric light switch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">So walking became an escape. Even if
it was often with a bitter, resentful old man. Old paths have old memories,
places aren't immune to imagination. Yet there was always the prospect of
returning to the back parlour, warm, and the only room in that echoing house
that seemed safe from the chill aura. There would be a heavy, lard-based tea
and a nap after the excitement of televised wrestling. The entertainment of
Methodists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Many years later my mother tearfully
and far from sober told me the secret. I'd always slept soundly there, at least
after a period of vigorous horizontal running had thawed the icy sheets. A diet
of exercise, lard and sugar would probably do that for me today. Bed too was an
escape, of comfort, especially after confronting the dark turn in the stairs. I
could picture the walks in my head and marvel at their beauty in comparison to
my home in a dark, coal-stained valley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">I still have that joy for the hills,
not the summits my granddad resented, but for the slowly curving angles of the
lower slopes, the cool shade of the trees, the constant opening and closing curtain
of views. It's little wonder my mother felt the same, despite her polio-afflicted
leg. There was more than just freedom and escape; there was life and breath
that may have been denied her when my grandmother tried to suffocate her with a
pillow. In the bed in which, many years later, I had slept.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">When others talk of the landscape
having history, or even, more prophetically, memory, you will have to forgive
my inclination to find it remote, impersonal. We bestow these things on the
countryside, it's not inherent. Except perhaps in deep geological terms, or the
hand of man tilling and chopping. Essentially it's Romanticism, a construction,
as is mine. The landscape holds no memory, we do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">So today I'm going for a walk, or
maybe it's a pilgrimage; to remind myself of the comfort of those hills and why
they are the breath of life. As Paul Gaffney might say ’we make our paths by
walking’, and our beds to sleep in.<span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-28833570381456314582014-06-28T14:13:00.002+01:002015-03-31T21:02:13.796+01:00The art of failure. “I see it as a messing around on upper levels with things that I wanted to make sense of at a deeper level.” Anne Carson, poet.<br />
<br />
How do we calibrate success in visual art? It's a strange thing. Do we call a clear, unambiguous clarity success? If so I aspire to failure. The failure to resolve, to conclude, to be direct. Because that is life and art is life, even if life itself is very rarely art.<br />
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<br />Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-36775320640754289492014-06-24T20:23:00.001+01:002015-03-31T21:02:41.218+01:00On art and death.<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">“This frenzy to be lifelike can only
be the mythic denial of our apprehension of death.” Roland Barthes <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHh1oix_RO83vSamxiZWJq02VtjiGImkK_dfdsrUM7uIfBqj6EzwIJTQZa41WxwVKkjRqmdtrNbIZ3QXyfnnX7Aov7FFI-Qp6qcaGJuzUefo0wFH9VkU2UcMzR46NrZxs-KhqRyCzoFgE/s1600/Self+crop+1x1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHh1oix_RO83vSamxiZWJq02VtjiGImkK_dfdsrUM7uIfBqj6EzwIJTQZa41WxwVKkjRqmdtrNbIZ3QXyfnnX7Aov7FFI-Qp6qcaGJuzUefo0wFH9VkU2UcMzR46NrZxs-KhqRyCzoFgE/s1600/Self+crop+1x1.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last tree - self portrait. From There's Something in the Trees. </td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It might surprise you to hear that I
consider myself reasonably well adjusted, if a little argumentative! Yet
there's a recurring theme in my work that rises as if unbidden from my
subconscious, something that I often realise only after the fact and that is
the expression of my own mortality. It’s not as if I'm some teenager just
getting to grip with the mysteries of existence or, at the other extreme, elderly
and facing the imminent prospect of my own demise (or at least I hope not!).
I'm just an ordinary middle-aged male with good health, although admittedly
with a dreadful smoking habit which no doubt somewhat reinforces those
feelings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">When I came across Barthes’ quote in
his personal meditation on photography Camera Lucida it set me thinking. It's a
typically broad and sweeping statement and yet one that is hard to deny, like
so much of the book. I started to ponder the unacknowledged motivations of what
is somewhat patronisingly know as ’vernacular photography’ and of course my own
work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">My main introduction to the landscape
was through my mother, she had a real passion for the outdoors. Despite being a
polio victim with one near paralysed leg, she would take my brother and I
walking in the hills above her parents’ house in Abergavenny on most weekends.
Through the auto-didacticism of Observer manuals and a sort of deep cultural
knowledge that seems remote to me now, she could name the plants of the hedgerows
and the ways of the countryside far better than I, now at a similar age. She
passed away some years ago, and it spurred me to make my first tentative
explorations of self-expression through photography. In many ways her passing
made me mature, as an artist and a person. Yet she also took some of that
simple joy of being in the landscape with her, tempered it if you like. The
landscape became both suffused with memory and tinged with sadness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_1CVBSEXHP6MFqyIj_ffWzBo_kZ8oV66HaiVRQyQ8pVEj6aTE1jNfin-O-ctLLnx5Qvx_dX3n7UF3_kzgE-6nY-BE7WbWZOnZRCUELBpn-Cuk_npiveZwBrvXiYhp19K5H3rsOkcgtvc/s1600/4356059542_d1bbe596a4_o-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_1CVBSEXHP6MFqyIj_ffWzBo_kZ8oV66HaiVRQyQ8pVEj6aTE1jNfin-O-ctLLnx5Qvx_dX3n7UF3_kzgE-6nY-BE7WbWZOnZRCUELBpn-Cuk_npiveZwBrvXiYhp19K5H3rsOkcgtvc/s1600/4356059542_d1bbe596a4_o-1.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last tree. From Memories Dreams and Reflections. </td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">While for most ’vernacular’ (I hate
that word!) photographer’s depictions of the landscape seem to be celebratory,
I wonder if the freezing of time and memory is indeed in someway linked to
feelings of mortality. It's certainly linked to the fragility of memory, but is
that too simple? There's little point in asking because by definition the
casual photographer doesn't seek to understand or analyse their motivations to
any great degree. This, if we are forced to make the distinction, is what
separates Photographers from photographers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The landscape is death and rebirth,
that's what nature does and if our work is to reflect this fundamental fact
then we must make ourselves aware of it, face up to it and examine it. Surely
without that realisation our work as landscape photographers is partial,
incomplete and slight?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">So where, I hear you all clamouring,
is the rebirth, the balance, the hope? For Mametz Wood this is difficult to
sell, as it does indeed dwell on death, destruction, and most of all, the
psychological trauma that is the almost inevitable result. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">There are two ways this can be
explained. Firstly, and this is very much derived from ’In Parenthesis’ (the
source material for the series) it is to be found in the intensity of the
moment. That despite all, we see and feel, revealing ourselves to be alive and
creative individuals. For the poet David Jones the landscape is
’transubstantiated’ in his Christian frame of reference. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMeEWxkmfOYV1bpF9cP2zxL_oYcDA2d1Mu2l_zmyUgOp5cj04nT8Gt4bL6XxVIzzUVG6EtMlyZOJHkUpxIX7O4tIKHyOjJrT13-YRr7tChF8lXLbfg6irRy3P7f9ndB7ZO9nwfm4UXntyH/s1600/A+whole+unlovely+order+that+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMeEWxkmfOYV1bpF9cP2zxL_oYcDA2d1Mu2l_zmyUgOp5cj04nT8Gt4bL6XxVIzzUVG6EtMlyZOJHkUpxIX7O4tIKHyOjJrT13-YRr7tChF8lXLbfg6irRy3P7f9ndB7ZO9nwfm4UXntyH/s1600/A+whole+unlovely+order+that+night.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #141414; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 14px;">A whole unlovely order that night would transubstantiate, lend some grace to.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: #141414; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 14px;">Mametz Wood. </span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">In my work there is another recurring
theme and that is the fracturing of time while, ironically one of the key
accepted elements of photography is in the freezing of it. I’m only starting to
become aware of this with the benefit of time itself - otherwise known as
hindsight. Whether through the process of multiple exposure, long exposure, or
currently for Mametz Wood, double exposure. Time isn't so much frozen as
battled, elongated and twisted. I'm fighting time and Barthes’ ’mythic
apprehension of death’ - the freeze frame of the photograph. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekvY86jsdQosngICqD6QZBJvJT5Y0JDkldmAxYvuaCFoJBK32yMk4TThK5lNRgN8H3lqUXWljkWPZXWZ1hd6ELKHgaTFpiZvmvfRB6C3lREuX79M-VvtdXhJZpbDwPF2tcQ2RdaNwcVAm/s1600/Mametz+Wood+18062014_0062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekvY86jsdQosngICqD6QZBJvJT5Y0JDkldmAxYvuaCFoJBK32yMk4TThK5lNRgN8H3lqUXWljkWPZXWZ1hd6ELKHgaTFpiZvmvfRB6C3lREuX79M-VvtdXhJZpbDwPF2tcQ2RdaNwcVAm/s1600/Mametz+Wood+18062014_0062.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who under the green tree<br /> had awareness of his own dismembering, and deep bowled damage; for whom the green tree bore scarlet memorial and herb and arborage waste. From Mametz Wood.</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">For me, what might be called artistic
process (the thought processes and motivations behind the work) and physical
process (camera techniques used to explore those ideas) have become linked, and
maybe indivisible. That is one of the reasons I don't appreciate the apparently
binary arguments between digital and analogue or the often somewhat shallow
justifications for the choice. It's actually important to understand physical
photographic process on a far more profound level that is informed by our
artistic process. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">And there's one final truth here, if
we don't seek to understand our artistic process we will die in ignorance.
There are no easy answers. I sometimes say my work is produced from ’the
shadows’ places that I've barely acknowledged even to myself. It's a process of
realisation through ’artistic play’ and that is why it's so endlessly
fascinating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I shall now trail off into the
afterlife of the afterword... You
see I had to get one last reference to death in. Maybe I need therapy after
all?!<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-49740041313033820652014-06-12T11:12:00.000+01:002015-03-31T21:03:10.983+01:00It's all about the work: Why I won't be pursuing a Masters in photography. <div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Some of you may know that I've
recently been considering going back to university to pursue a Masters in
Photography. I've been agonising over it endlessly, but I've finally made my
mind up, I will not be pursuing it further. I've got to offer some big thanks
to everyone for their kind advice and help, particularly Paul Gaffney and
Tom Wilkinson who have given me full, honest and unbiased accounts of their
experiences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It's been one of the hardest
decisions I've had to make in recent years, but when I weighed everything up,
it comes down to my photography. It's always about the work for me, it's the
centre of my life, a point around which all else resolves. And I've passed the
point in my artistic life where I'd derive significant benefits from an MA.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It boils down to this; how much am I
already the ’reflective practitioner’ that is the end game of a Photography MA?
Call me arrogant, call me naive, but I think I've already achieved that, at
least to a degree. (If you'll forgive the pun!). A few years ago I would have
benefited, I can see that now, but at that time I could neither afford the time
nor the expense. In some ways I regret the missed opportunity because I'm sure
it would have been enjoyable and intellectually stimulating. But there's also
the quiet inner satisfaction that I've already achieved that goal. I've already
developed a substantial critique of photography, and in particular landscape
photography, of myself, who emerged from that genre. In many ways there's not
much an MA would offer me, except perhaps the ability to express these things
better, more clearly. Yet as much as I enjoy reading and writing about
photography it is peripheral, it's not, for me, the end game. It's about the
work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Photography isn't a hobby, not
something I do to escape the world, and it's not a career, it is a precious
part of me, a way I define myself. Most of my non-photographic friends can't
quite grasp this, but you'll just have to trust me. It's about the work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">None of this means I will stop
learning or stop developing. It was many years ago that I passed the point where I realised the more you
know the more you recognise there is to know. Rather than
closing a door, these ruminations have revealed a bright, hopeful future of
more self-directed research, thought and questioning. And in each new series
I've realised, in part, I remake myself anew. I also appreciate the answers
aren't to be found elsewhere; they have become questions only I can answer, and
perhaps only I will ask. I'm too far down the road, too mature as an artist. It
really is all about the work and I'm doing that anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EZOe-qXJsgc/U5l7nxgiULI/AAAAAAAAAWk/6eHbmYHRv5I/s1600/A+whole+unlovely+order+that+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EZOe-qXJsgc/U5l7nxgiULI/AAAAAAAAAWk/6eHbmYHRv5I/s1600/A+whole+unlovely+order+that+night.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A whole unlovely order that night would transubstantiate, lend some grace to.<br />Mametz Wood. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-55732171238313536402014-06-09T11:06:00.000+01:002015-03-31T21:03:30.788+01:00Meaning in photography is a slippery subject to pin down<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Meaning in photography is a slippery
subject to pin down; it's like trying to define ’thinking’. Yet I'm still
convinced it's a necessary element, no matter how vaguely or with what art or
artifice it is presented to the viewer. It's about fleshing out our pictures so
they are beyond the trivial record, beyond the postcard of ’I was here’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Meaning does not depend on narrative.
There must be a narrative, but it could be internal, within the photographer’s
mind rather than expressed explicitly as a story within the picture(s). Meaning
is as much about the meeting of minds, the shared experience as it is about
storytelling itself. The crook of the matter is in the quality of that shared
experience, whether it gives pause for thought or is a one dimensional, often
purely emotional, response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Meaning doesn't preclude emotion,
it's important to assert the legitimacy of a connection, but it can be diluted
by emotion, until it is unrecognisable. This isn't an argument for restraint,
but to give due consideration to all the elements and facets within an image
and not to rely on one element alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Photography without some degree of
meaning is probably virtually impossible. Even without the intent to say
something a photograph can, and sometimes will, be interpreted for it's meaning
by someone, somewhere. It's all too easy to fall into the trap of assuming the
multitudes of photographs that are shared are meaningless, or trivial because
of their sheer volume.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Yet, if we are to define a
photographer as beyond a 'camera operator’, as someone who exerts some control
of not merely the technical aspects, but also the intent of the image, then
some degree of construction of images becomes inevitable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Constructing an image sounds
artificial, it sounds like it detracts from the immediate response. Yet all
images are constructed to some extent whether it be the simple response to
document a moment or by repeating a visual response to a scene that one has
seen before. Simply by choosing what we photograph we construct an image. The
secret lies in the qualities of the construction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">If we stop to consider how and why
photographs are constructed then we are well on the way to becoming a
photographer in the fullest sense. But it is only when we stop to consider the 'how and why and what' in our own work that we achieve the full realisation of
that title.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">How then do we exert some degree of
control over the meaning of an image or a series of images? It is partly about editing what we
photograph and partly about how and why we photograph. In simple terms the
elements within a frame can be arranged to infer meaning, but this is difficult
to achieve unless we are aware of what it is we want the image to say. Thinking
about what we want to achieve before we even pick up a camera creates a
framework through which we can exercise discretion over what and how we
photograph. If we have an idea about what we want to say we can start to decide
what to photograph and how to photograph it to convey that message.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The quality of that thinking process
is extremely important. It is remarkably easy to construct a simple, one-dimensional
concept, but to construct one which will have lasting depth is the work of a
lifetime. The work of a poet or a composer and a photographer are not
dissimilar, we all look for the tiny resonances that can lead to a bigger
picture.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBSX0yhIouXWVAWLt6YMyON2RpT7aNQweFCJZB5GwjmE7pMRGcQ4t62HUARScWCKPjboWhMaDI_AdCsnjNZsDXezczvOolaWNvF3I1fXRWxK_SZKn9skLxrcfMUOXJpEdNLtAfI5FWtUO/s1600/20140213_Mametz+Wood_0045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBSX0yhIouXWVAWLt6YMyON2RpT7aNQweFCJZB5GwjmE7pMRGcQ4t62HUARScWCKPjboWhMaDI_AdCsnjNZsDXezczvOolaWNvF3I1fXRWxK_SZKn9skLxrcfMUOXJpEdNLtAfI5FWtUO/s1600/20140213_Mametz+Wood_0045.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #191919; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, 'Lucida Sans Typewriter', 'Lucida Typewriter', 'Liberation Mono', monospace; font-size: 18px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Your fair natures will be so disguised that the aspect of his eyes will pry like deep-sea horrors divers see.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-43984570034085309672014-05-30T12:31:00.000+01:002015-03-31T21:03:56.244+01:00So many men, so beautiful: Mametz Wood, In Parenthesis and PTSD.<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">In the preface to his poem In
Parenthesis about his experiences as a private during the Battle of the Somme,
David Jones writes <i>“...the sudden
violences and the long stillnesses, the sharp contours and unformed voids of
that mysterious existence, profoundly affected the imagination of those who
suffered it.</i>”...“<i>It was a place of
enchantment</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">How strange you may think for a poet
of the First World War to describe it as “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a
place of enchantment</i>”. It does appear strange, but enchantment has a number
of definitions and I'm sure David a Jones, as a poet, was more than aware of
them. The root is from the Latin incantāre to sing a magic formula over. It, in
essence cast a spell upon those involved, it “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">profoundly affected the imagination</i>”. In extremis it caused what
was then known as ’shell shock’, what today we would call post traumatic stress
disorder (PTSD).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It is that profound effect on the
imagination that is the focus for my photographic series. It is a lens through
which to see. It is a perspective or a vision of the landscape caused by the
psychological damage of war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Jones also described the title <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In Parenthesis</i> as “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the spaces between</i>.” The war itself was of course a parenthetical
episode in Jones’ life and the lives of all who fought, but also there is
another reading of those ’<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">spaces between’
</i>which is more than apparent in his poetry and that is the space between
imagination and reality or sanity and madness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">And so to midnight and into the ebb-time when the spirit slips
lightly from sick men and when it's like no-mans-land between yesterday and
tomorrow and material things are loosely integrated and barely tacked together.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfm6jZP3e-j0h1ARwCExW9tUYPXouelb_ryKRIUMDh8NsajpX1yqzuKcZxQiixIuyc2Df8vtivvezYjoSygyObR1FqarmULAUJBnJVk6-JUji-3Ir3O2vr3pfphkwNSyA8d6cgV7I6tEIQ/s1600/Mametz+Wood+darker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfm6jZP3e-j0h1ARwCExW9tUYPXouelb_ryKRIUMDh8NsajpX1yqzuKcZxQiixIuyc2Df8vtivvezYjoSygyObR1FqarmULAUJBnJVk6-JUji-3Ir3O2vr3pfphkwNSyA8d6cgV7I6tEIQ/s1600/Mametz+Wood+darker.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">My series <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mametz Wood</i> also questions the limits of photography,
both in terms of how we can say things and the limitations of the visual
narrative. I make no attempt to address the causes of the war in the work
itself, simply the effect - the effect on individual human beings. I have no
doubt in my mind that the root causes of the war were directly related to
imperialism and that applies equally to the leaders of both sides. But I doubt
that had much meaning to the foot soldiers involved. If there was ever a bigger
picture it was soon lost amongst the horrors and struggles and bitter existence
of those involved. I know photography can do narrative and political narrative,
but equally we need to consider the form that this takes. Trying to convey the
big picture in little pictures can at best seem remote and worst simplistic and
patronising.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">For me it's far better to try to
convey what I know, what I can understand of the human scale of the suffering
it caused. I'm no historian, yet you'd be quite right to question my insight
into these particular themes. Like most of us my main experience of war has
been from TV news or the work of war photographers, I've never been to a
conflict zone - and have no desire to do so. Some years ago, however I was
diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder with associated depression. I
won't go into the causes here, this isn't a place for self-revelation. Save to
say it didn't come from one of the assumed ’normal’ causes of: war, natural
disaster or terrorism etc. I do though feel I have some insight into the
darkness (“the ebb time”), the continual anxiety that overwhelms everything and
the broken understanding of the world (“that mysterious existence, profoundly
affected the imagination of those who suffered it..”). And perhaps, most
pertinently and most frightening, the inability to escape one’s fears through
the constant reliving of those experiences that got me there in the first
place. (“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A place of enchantment</i>”).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It is in many ways “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a place of enchantment</i>” if only you
assume it's an ’evil magic’ that sent you there. That's what it feels like;
like you’ve suddenly been transported to a whole other world where the main
preoccupation is staring into the deepest, darkest pit imaginable. (“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">His eyes set on the hollow night beyond</i>.”).
Actually ’imaginable’ is the wrong word, because you can't imagine it unless
you've been there. It's far more terrible than our daily existences could ever
have hinted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">So I have ’some’ insight into those
effects on the minds of those involved. And I also have a greater appreciation
for David Jones’ poem. It's there in the words for all to see if you open your
imagination. He may have been invalided out with a leg injury after Mametz
Wood, but the scars go deeper. He suffered two breakdowns, divorced and converted
to Roman Catholicism. Not that I attribute the latter to ’madness’, just that
it illustrates his search for ’another’ way. Perhaps most pertinently is that
he didn't complete In Parenthesis until 1937 (sadly on the eve of another Great
War), which illustrates the need for space that time gives us before we can
confront these things properly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I’m now preparing to complete the
series, I have maybe 12 more images to add, in addition to a few that you’ve
not yet seen. I hope this will give you a greater appreciation of the work as
it is and as it proceeds to a close. I shan't apologise for the catharsis of my
work, any more than David Jones should for his. I am, for the most part, better
now, but I do know what Jones means when he says:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">“When men sense how they stand so perilous and transitory in
this world.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I have just added a new chapter
containing five new images to the <a href="http://www.mametzwood.org/" target="_blank">Mametz Wood</a> website. Please take a look. </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-65935359436203681492014-05-15T19:49:00.001+01:002014-05-15T20:19:24.770+01:00Cliché: The unacceptable face of photography.<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I hadn't realised how much I needed
to stretch my legs after the weekend's two days of train travel. So I was
delighted to find my local bluebell woods still in good flower and a beautiful
sunny day dappling the path before me. Of course I didn't take a camera, photos
of bluebells aren't something that excite me remotely. I don't photograph
things for what they are, but for what they represent, that is the essence of
being a conceptualist for me. But something was troubling me, so much so, that
I've ’purloined’ this bench and began writing on my phone, which was all I had
to hand. The question is: why are photographic clichés so popular and
acceptable (I'm talking here about social media, but that seems as good a
measure as any) when originality has such a minority appeal? Someone needs to
explain it to me, because, frankly, I’m stumped. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I realise that complete originality
is as rare as hen’s teeth, but there are elements of it to be found in most
work produced by those who can think and practice individuality. They aren't so
rare I would say. So why value replication, what has been done before, probably
countless times over and above something fresh, insightful, personal and maybe
original? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Equally it can be said that cliché is
difficult to avoid. The first question I ask myself when I have a new idea for
a series is ’have I seen this before?’. I want to be as sure as possible that
it came from within and isn't from an external (even if forgotten) influence.
Why? Because there's no point in me doing something that's been done before, it
will in some minor way feel like it's not mine. All work will inevitably
contain some elements of external influence; none of us work on Mars - at least
yet! The point is that it is possible to see afresh even with those influences.
Also as time passes our influences become, more and more, ourselves, we
reference our previous work and experiences. It gets easier to avoid the
impersonal of the cliché. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Originality is difficult to achieve,
but surely not so much more difficult than that technically perfect
representation of what everyone does, endlessly. It's maybe a question of
approach - all that technique can be learned, in time, relatively easily, but
equally, so can learning to think creatively be learned, with time. I guess
it's something to do with the monstrous industry that is photography - cameras,
lenses, popular magazines, etc - have no interest in originality because the
truth may out - we don't need to spend the same as a small car every few years
to achieve it. You can't monetize thinking and free expression. It might even
be dangerous to contemplate. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Actually; I think that's too
convenient and too forgiving. There's something more fundamental about
photography that brings out the conformist in people. Maybe it's the technical
side that appeals to some more than the inherent possibilities of meaning and
expression? And they are two things that are better said through some form of
individuality. Clichés are stripped bare of any meaning or individuality by
their very definition. There is no ’why?’. Maybe that's what people are afraid
of? That other people are different. Or are they more comfortable without that
question, despite the huge pleasures to be had from its contemplation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">It’s not even that simple either.
People actually celebrate this stuff, they gather around it like sheep (or
should that be flies around the corpse of creativity?). Why is that even
socially acceptable? We should be pitying the loss of mojo, of creativity and
individuality. Cliché should be condemned more frequently and more thoroughly.
I suppose people are frightened of criticising others or spoiling their
innocent fun, or afraid of condemning what is popular. There's nothing wrong
with a few clichés if you're developing (actually most new photographers are
quite original - they haven't learnt to make clichés yet). Yet it is part of
the learning process. Let’s fight the corner for something that is
unquestionably better, that is a deeper and more satisfying experience for both
those who look at, and make good photographic work. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Maybe I'm a photographic snob. I
don't think of myself that way, I simply think of myself as someone who is
fascinated by the possibilities of the photographic medium. I study and think
about it endlessly - probably more than I practice it. That is a necessary
prerequisite to practice for me. Thinking comes before action. Thinking doesn't
preclude feeling, or responding to what's around us, but it does create a framework
for our approach, something that says ’I made this’, not some photographic
magazine or camera manufacturer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">You see I just don't get it. Maybe
some people do prefer their TV dinners to something from a good restaurant? I'm
not one of them. I think I’m concluding the problem lies in the absence of good
critical writing about photography, especially in the popular, accessible
realm. That's probably what I should have written about in my sunny bluebell
wood.</span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioUBZcDSjPFO6hRwaawEoTFcGbDN5k23rDo6W9lF2Scgp1cz7jHKNRRXvqSNE-NoAbYs1so1LhxEXSsIih60NrbnHu1iTcqjCB-im12PcaxtRxqeHGPCd4fCi11TixXxEKmjvrSmLw7wh4/s1600/On+Angel%2527s+Wings+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioUBZcDSjPFO6hRwaawEoTFcGbDN5k23rDo6W9lF2Scgp1cz7jHKNRRXvqSNE-NoAbYs1so1LhxEXSsIih60NrbnHu1iTcqjCB-im12PcaxtRxqeHGPCd4fCi11TixXxEKmjvrSmLw7wh4/s1600/On+Angel%2527s+Wings+1.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first image in my forthcoming series 'On Angel's Wings' which is about photography as a form of musical notation. </td></tr>
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-75249748293770093102014-03-20T13:43:00.000+00:002015-03-31T21:04:21.523+01:00The creative process in photography.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">There is generally a confusion in our
minds between technique and creative process. Although the two are linked they
are not one and the same thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">It's particularly important to
address this issue in photography, where all too often this confusion reigns
supreme. One only has to look at the great majority of uninspiring (and often
remarkably similar) alt-process genre images to realise that technique in
itself adds little to the realisation of creativity. Similarly in my own genre
of landscape photography the predominance of the F64 Group attitude still
reigns supreme, as if getting everything in focus says something in itself. It
does not. It says you have mastered a technique, but that is a long way from
mastering the creative process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">It may be legitimate for the
individual to pursue the mastery of technique so that it doesn't detract from
the expression of his or her ideas, but it is equally legitimate to utilise
technique in a more questioning frame of mind, where it becomes linked with the
creative process itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">Although the act of photographing
something is itself transformative, in Gary Winogrand's words “To see what
something looks like as a photograph” I find this a limiting perspective and a
narrowing of the possibilities of the photographic medium. There are vastly
greater possibilities for creative expression than that. It's little wonder the
misunderstanding that everything has been photographed is repeated so often.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">Are we really so limited in our expressive
possibilities, as thinking, feeling, analytical human beings, to simply limit
ourselves to photographing something to see what it looks like photographed? Or
can we take ideas and run with them, pursue them through our complex,
individual minds and find new ways of saying things or new things to be said?
If we can’t then photography as an art form is dead, but I see plenty of
evidence to the contrary on a regular basis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">Equally there are misunderstandings
around conceptual art and conceptual photography. More often than not I hear
people talking about conceptual modes of artistic expression in dismissive
terms. There is ’good’ and ’bad’ conceptual art as much as there is ’good’ and
’bad’ art in any other form of expression. The truth being that ’concept’ is
only one stage of the creative process. Starting and finishing with an idea is
never a good thing, it's too simplistic for the viewer to engage with, or maybe
too simplistic a perception on behalf of the viewer if they fail to see below
the surface of an idea. To get beyond that stage we need to consider what the
creative process is, how it enables us to reach deeper, to intuit more and
realise better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">In simple terms the creative process
is the application of a concept to the chosen medium. But this is just the
beginning of the possibilities of creative process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">Creative process if expressed in
purely analytical terms (that feel somewhat alienating to the artist) can
be reduced to perception, conception and expression. Perception - being the
information gathering stage; conception - the idea or what is to be said; and
expression - how it is to be said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">The creative process is also cyclical
as an expression is made, new ideas are formed, new information gathered and it
feeds back into the process once more. Ideas, expressions, solutions and the
reassessment of information becomes resolved once more. They maybe dismissed,
pursued or forgotten, but it's all happening!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">In this way it's possible for the
artist to follow previously unseen routes that come from a much longer, deeper
internalisation of the concept. This is probably why to the outsider work can
look difficult or opaque, or, in more positive terms, mysterious. For the
artist it is a journey that does as much to open their “doors of perception” as
it does for the viewer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">It may not feel like this is what
we’re doing, assuming we are in fact doing any of it. But this is essentially
what the creative process is about. To take the, very personal, example of my
<a href="http://www.mametzwood.org/home/4581526893" target="_blank">Mametz Wood</a> series, the realization of the initial idea came about over a
period of years and from a wide variety of sources. The more immediate starting
point came from a very simple and unfocused (metaphorically and
photographically!) exploration of some interesting old sessile oak woodland. I
had some very vague ideas to do with a sort of abstract expressionist landscape
photography that honestly got junked fairly quickly. I made some very
unsatisfying images during the few days I could spare there, but they set me
thinking. It wasn't until days or perhaps weeks later that I started to form
connections with the images I'd made for a previous series I'd worked on,
<a href="http://www.robhudsonland.co.uk/gallery_542853.html" target="_blank">Skirrid Hill</a>, taking inspiration from the poems of Owen Sheers and in
particular Sheers’ poem called <a href="http://www.robhudsonland.co.uk/photo_10725493.html" target="_blank">Mametz Wood</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">They were personally satisfying
images - more evocation and allusion than description and the process of going
out and finding metaphors for the poems on Skirrid Hill itself was even more
satisfying. In truth I'd been searching for several years for a way to return
to that process, I just hadn't found the right subject. Being a messy human
being I initially skipped the research stage and concentrated on the technique
for expression. Did I mention that the stages of perception, conception and
expression don't necessarily happen in that order?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">I'd recently completed a series,
<a href="http://www.robhudsonland.co.uk/gallery_542857.html" target="_blank">Songs of Travel,</a> using multiple exposures to explore our movement through the
landscape, so it wasn't a great leap to consider a more simplified double
exposure. Still it took me a while to realize that what I wanted to introduce
through double exposure wasn't simply ambiguity, but that each layer had to
have a meaning in itself as well as working with the other layer. I suppose
it's taking the idea of layers of meaning a bit literally! But it did open my
“doors of perception” it is one case where technique took me to places that I
would otherwise have had difficulty imagining. But the techniques alone would
have been meaningless without the ideas to back them up and the creatively
virtuous circle of their pursuit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">So I'd worked out the perception and
conception stages before doing a great deal of research. I wouldn't advocate
this approach, but it was a busy time for me, so things happened rather
haphazardly. When I finally did some research on the battle of Mametz Wood I
came across David Jones’s poem In Parenthesis and began to find titles for my
images that were in part explanatory and in part gave them context and I hope
greater depth and resonance for the viewer. That had a virtuous effect on the
progression of the images, the insights I sought and my own understanding of
the ideas I want to express.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">None of this happened quickly, in
fact, if I exclude that earlier work on Skirrid Hill, it still took me about
three to four months. Time to allow the stages of the creative process to
intermingle, suffuse or gestate is vitally important.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;">It is for these reasons that I
advocate working on at least some form of series or project. We need to focus
on that ’thing’ we want to say, allow it to gestate within us, the pursuit of
it enables us to better understand it and the expression of it feeds back yet
more ideas and understandings. In reality that probably feels extremely vague,
it takes a great deal of time to come to fruition - at least for me it does.
And if we’re working in new territory to our previous work then grasping that
’truth’ is never a simple process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2DZZHwe1NEt_FNuHA8VCAnfG0Qqtu-QRSw_xhDinmCIsSOobQDPc6Dn0m6FFAzh0LsRv6StdwAq0Bf33J6M7ACvcJOo-JYNaBrg9yLHpupOax4K0dEugSHWmu1ivtwDyFPLErrhDhDM7m/s1600/Mametz+Wood+07032014_0093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2DZZHwe1NEt_FNuHA8VCAnfG0Qqtu-QRSw_xhDinmCIsSOobQDPc6Dn0m6FFAzh0LsRv6StdwAq0Bf33J6M7ACvcJOo-JYNaBrg9yLHpupOax4K0dEugSHWmu1ivtwDyFPLErrhDhDM7m/s1600/Mametz+Wood+07032014_0093.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">An, as yet, untitled image from Mametz Wood. </span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">Rob Hudson </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-36025922265208110792014-03-19T10:38:00.001+00:002015-03-31T21:04:45.639+01:00Walter Kleinfeldt: A Powerful Admonition Against War. <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></span>
</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Contrary to popular opinion I don't
devour everything about the First World War that I can lay my hands on. <a href="http://www.mametzwood.org/home/" target="_blank">Mametz Wood</a> is an act of imagination, a reflection on how a battle can transform our
perceptions of place and I have source material aplenty for that in David
Jones' long modernist poem In Parenthesis. It’s more about a collective memory
than specific events, or reminiscences. I'm about to read its 225 pages for the
sixth time in order to research more titles for my next batch of photographs.
Reading David Jones’ words and making the images are a challengingly emotional
experience, so it's a relief to escape elsewhere when I can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">So when Al Brydon suggested I'd be
interested in the BBC4 documentary <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b03xsrvv/Hidden_Histories_WW1s_Forgotten_Photographs/" target="_blank">Hidden Histories: The Lost Photographs of World War One</a>, I was actually a bit tentative. With a few exceptions the images
were exactly as expected: groups of friends, officers or privates and big bushy
moustaches followed by the descent to vacant 1000 yard stares as the war took
it's toll. There was one serious exception in the photographs of a 16-year-old
German gunner Walter Kleinfeldt who actually photographed bodies. Here he is,
in the early days of the war apparently cheerfully carrying a box of munitions
through the trenches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtt2mQEnHmWwKcanFM9tmB0DOoqFFpLzKpyroY88gl1dwb_MDEVkl1xqcY5AfJCcujZZ2gZYLuFAN6uvbNxXj7fSQv0Z6dYrKbuVuTGcXs8UaBCZA_Q-2J9CXTf_WALTM9nvjeBDsBvd6/s1600/article-2576335-1C20AD9600000578-799_964x920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtt2mQEnHmWwKcanFM9tmB0DOoqFFpLzKpyroY88gl1dwb_MDEVkl1xqcY5AfJCcujZZ2gZYLuFAN6uvbNxXj7fSQv0Z6dYrKbuVuTGcXs8UaBCZA_Q-2J9CXTf_WALTM9nvjeBDsBvd6/s1600/article-2576335-1C20AD9600000578-799_964x920.jpg" height="190" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Photography was banned by the British
army in 1915 for fear of contradicting government propaganda when soldier’s photographs
were published in newspapers or sent to relatives. So with a few exceptions the
later, nastier years of the war aren't covered well by photography from the
British and their allies. There was no such prohibition by the German forces
and perhaps that in part explains the potency of Walter Kleinfeldt’s
photographs. Yet he had an extraordinary grasp of photographic narrative and in
the image below a potent metaphor for the futility of war. The bodies he
photographed strewn across the battlefield weren't distinguishable by
nationality or rank; there were no insignia visible. They could be anyone, they
could be us. They were us. They are, as his (now elderly) son Volkmar said,
“...a powerful admonition against war.”.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Walter Kleinfeldt went on to run a
camera shop in Tubingen until his death in 1945. He never showed these
photographs to his family; his son discovered them only three years ago. We can
only speculate that he had no desire to revisit those experiences; and that,
perhaps, the photographs acted as a form of catharsis; a finality, a sealing, a
cleansing? One can only hope they did. He apparently continued to love
photography and what better purpose can photography serve other than as a salve
for the soul. Especially a soul that witnessed the horrors of the Somme at an
age when most of us were still in school. I think I can understand that, my
pictures, in part, play that role for me too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-54099726240020586812014-02-27T12:37:00.000+00:002015-03-31T21:05:03.313+01:00Preface. <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Below is the preface to the book:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><i>Landscapes of the Mind: the photography of Rob Hudson 2011- the present.</i> I have no intention of publishing, it is for friends, family and the eyes of those to whom I'd like to introduce my work only. I have decided you can see the preface though. You lucky people!</span></span></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Adobe Caslon Pro';">2011
was the year I lost touch with reality. Some of my friends might claim I never
had much of a grip on it, but I actually mean photographic reality - the
depiction of ’things’ for and of themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Adobe Caslon Pro';">Although
I call myself a landscape photographer, I'm not much interested in the form of
the landscape itself; I'm more interested in how we as human beings relate to
it. I don't mean man's impact on the landscape either - that would be far too
’social documentary’ for me. I mean the way it inveigles itself into our
subconscious. It's the archetypes, the myths and stories that we can tell and
explore through the land, the way it affects our emotions and imagination and
how it defines us and we define it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Adobe Caslon Pro';">Primarily
I see myself as a storyteller and just as all good stories have grounding in
reality my photography has a grounding in the physical world. As it must, that
is what photography is. Yet, as fiction would be nothing without imagination,
my photography loses its grip on reality to express its messages more
fundamentally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Adobe Caslon Pro';">I
experiment endlessly in my photography, you'll find multiple exposures, double
exposures, camera movement, long exposures and negatives in my work. I am very
much in agreement with Lazlo Moholy-Nagy when he says “The enemy of photography
is the convention, the fixed rules of 'how to do.' The salvation of photography
comes from the experiment.” I know that the simple act of photographing
something has the power to transform something to ’other’ and there is power in
that. But I also realise that the photograph is not ’real’ and that, therefore,
I have nothing to apologise for if my photographs are one step further removed
from reality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Adobe Caslon Pro';">I
am also fascinated by words and how they interact with visual imagery. In two
of my major projects you will find I have used poetry to add a layer of meaning
and explanation to my work. In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Skirrid
Hill</i> I took the words of Owen Sheers and literally went out to find ways to
express them in the landscape. That was the point when I began to lose touch
with reality - with things - when I realised the power of allusion and
metaphor. In my current series <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mametz
Wood</i> I have reversed the process: making images using double exposures and
then finding the words in David Jones' In Parenthesis to express their meaning.
I also use words to define ideas, I work as I've said before like a creative
writer, building ideas, building and deepening concepts, exploring notions.
Without those words, even if unseen, my work would be more (even more?) shallow
and simplistic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Adobe Caslon Pro';">Fundamentally
I hope that my images, for their lack of reality, are more real. I don't want
to say ’look at this’, I want to express something more essential, more to the
core of who we are and how the landscape affects us. The metaphor is human,
there is beauty AND meaning in a metaphor, it is essential to art, some may say
it is even a defining characteristic of humanity. For me, too much reality
creates a distrust or a muddying of the metaphor, the ’thing’ predominates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Adobe Caslon Pro';">It's
too easy to be one dimensional in photography. It is essentially a very simple
process (despite what most photographers tell you) and that perhaps, in part
explains its wide appeal. When I look at photographs I want to find the poetry
of ambiguity, I don't want ’right and wrong’, ’left or right’ or visual one
liners. I want it to inspire my imagination. I want it to puzzle and intrigue
me for a long time. If we hang photographs of things on our walls we often see
through them quickly and past them easily. It's only through the depth and
layers of ambiguity that we can engage our emotions and our minds at the same
time. That is the peak of achievement photographically: when engagement becomes
personal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Adobe Caslon Pro';">We
are complex creatures and simplicity slides through us all too easily, it is
the culture of instant gratification; the swift burger that neither fills nor
sustains us. We want for more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'Adobe Caslon Pro';">So
perhaps you could look at my photography, open your minds, trust your
intuition, and let me know if I have achieved that sustaining poetry of image
that engages your imagination? The search will continue anyway.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rob Hudson, February 2014.</span></span></div>
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-14872989739451690052013-08-25T08:45:00.001+01:002015-03-31T21:05:18.317+01:00Meditative landscape photography: a counterblast.<div>
I'm growing tired and some may say cynical about the growth of comment about finding some form of artistic transcendence through landscape photography. At its best it seems to be a sort of art as therapy (which isn't a bad thing of course, simply partial); at worst it panders to the amateurish idea that landscape photography is intrinsically bound up with an escape from everyday realities. Hucksters selling the ’living the dream’ notion to those poor souls stuck in offices. </div>
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The reality of creativity is somewhat different of course, there's actually a lot of hard physical and mental labour involved; there's research, self examination and self critique. Much of which has little to do with being ’in the moment’ and much of which is as unromantic as any other aspect of daily life that consumes us. </div>
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I also wish to posit the idea that such attitudes tend to result in a self fulfilling artistic prophesy. If we’re looking for transcendence, or a meditative state of mind, where we’re at peace then the results will represent that desire more than any intrinsic truths or clear eyed explorations of the landscape. </div>
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Sure, we need clarity of vision and the ability to focus creatively, but I'll let you into a secret, for me that can be achieved through hard work. Finding those cracks in our vision that takes us somewhere new doesn't have to be about ’being in the moment’ we can achieve it through questioning, concentrating and thinking while; and both before and after we are actually making images. </div>
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The truth is creativity happens as a result of a ’conversation’ between the conscious and subconscious minds (or however we wish to characterise them) it’s a two way process. We need to feed the conscious mind to stimulate the subconscious. </div>
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To be truly creative we must find pleasure in creativity itself, not hoping that external elements will lead us down some hoped for path. The path itself is the subject we should be focussing on. Where it leads us should not be confined by such narrow boundaries, romantic notions and self indulgence. </div>
Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-60879306279792563342013-08-20T19:30:00.000+01:002015-03-31T21:05:41.716+01:00Mametz Wood. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">’So many men, so beautiful.’</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">David Jones described the rationale for the title ’In Parenthesis’, his long, modernist poem about the First World War, as ’being in the space between’. In many ways I want my photographs to inhabit that same space; the space between day and night, the space between life and death, the space between sanity and madness, the space between sleep and awake. Most of all the space between love and loss.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">They aren't about war - or this particular battle of Mametz Wood - but the imagined effects of war upon the mind. When our subjectivity is overtaken by a darkness so all encompassingly, unimaginably dreadful that our very vision of the world becomes skewed.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7p4vQTyaU-i1q-bQzzzh0HzjN0Ck26gss18k1H20YlG9H-nEEjMBGEeOxSzAhcxj4PD4LSQhsLf9-Ls0Xr5RrMH8b-LcjuBbdzoEeuQOLUC2xPElt8acZEbQMWfd33mQZg6OlP01H6Vy/s1600/Mametz+Wood+darker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7p4vQTyaU-i1q-bQzzzh0HzjN0Ck26gss18k1H20YlG9H-nEEjMBGEeOxSzAhcxj4PD4LSQhsLf9-Ls0Xr5RrMH8b-LcjuBbdzoEeuQOLUC2xPElt8acZEbQMWfd33mQZg6OlP01H6Vy/s640/Mametz+Wood+darker.jpg" height="425" title="Mametz Wood" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mametz Wood</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Beginnings.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I started work on this with some very vague ideas indeed. I went to one of my favourite woods with the idea of looking for some equivalent of abstract expressionist composition on the forest floor. That is the more complex, gestural forms of Pollack for example not the simple forms of Rothko. The environment is quite sufficiently complex to say the least! So I came home with a range of images of leaves, tree stumps, grasses and bushes. It wasn't until I began to process them that I realised they reminded me of some previous work I produced for Owen Sheers’ Skirrid Hill poem Mametz Wood. In this he describes the shock of seeing, in a newly discovered grave, skulls, their jaws ajar as if they'd just breathed their last breath.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"As if the notes they had sung have only now,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">with this unearthing,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">slipped from their absent tongues."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3_TPHaD0mnDgUnvfeFLRtZWxEOiFegmVw33Ajat1iITUQmF7_uxyFErvWI_gYV9zEwW8KS9lf524vaypiyWCI4bu2pIyONLPAgDRL_ImwI7lmPehvu_ezz-7uLjateiGuCLmsZNWuuvF/s1600/Mametz+Wood+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3_TPHaD0mnDgUnvfeFLRtZWxEOiFegmVw33Ajat1iITUQmF7_uxyFErvWI_gYV9zEwW8KS9lf524vaypiyWCI4bu2pIyONLPAgDRL_ImwI7lmPehvu_ezz-7uLjateiGuCLmsZNWuuvF/s320/Mametz+Wood+3.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mametz Wood, Skirrid Hill.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">In this picture I re-imagined that event as both the last breath - the last song as Sheers put it - and the last, dying vision of the soldier as his sight began to fade and his hold on life slipped away. His eyes slipping to the last light of the horizon.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Realisation.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Of course it wouldn't be long before I tried experimenting with double exposures - combining these images - and I was astonished that the combined results could create a whole new reality. Simply putting two well chosen images together completely changed the feeling and emphasis of the images. The bodies of men emerged from twigs when combined with grasses, a snake like stump became enraged and explosive when combined with another clump of grass. There emerged a dreamlike magic realism, combined with the nightmare like distorted figures, that reminded me in some ways of a picture that has long occupied my subconscious; Francis Bacon’s Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbx54kOKHgvyYPKjjsqW-OZwMD4vZeISC1FuIlCuUK9OVuOkO83E9Qrs9lxcGPzOWuMj_zgaTUimU5LikLm_lNgMNsJY7EohrQSqneWFJktz0Pmm76QCTw8tVKOBNkQRLqiR0ZNwFShUza/s1600/Swan+x3lighten+layer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbx54kOKHgvyYPKjjsqW-OZwMD4vZeISC1FuIlCuUK9OVuOkO83E9Qrs9lxcGPzOWuMj_zgaTUimU5LikLm_lNgMNsJY7EohrQSqneWFJktz0Pmm76QCTw8tVKOBNkQRLqiR0ZNwFShUza/s640/Swan+x3lighten+layer.jpg" height="425" title="Mametz Wood 2" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mametz Wood 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Conclusions. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">In my new Mametz Wood series the pictures are half caught visions in the half light, memories, nightmares and the twisted trees intermingling and playing off one another to deceive an exhausted mind.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">The pictures aren’t taken at Mametz Wood itself, they are an imagination, an idea, an illustration. I have no desire to document a place and I have no personal connection with the place to draw me there. Just the same way as a writer has no need to be in a place to describe it, photographers have no need to be in a place to describe an idea about it. Mike Jackson creates whole new worlds in a fish tank, so I don't feel I'm taking a liberty by creating them in another woodland. There's also a sort of unity, taking them in a Welsh wood when so many Welshmen died at Mametz.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I've long said that landscape photography is capable of far more than illustration, but here I want to show that it can be as creative and imaginative as any other form of art, that we can imagine small worlds from within the landscape and that we can take ideas and make them new by expressing them in a visual form.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Commemoration.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">As I'm sure you are all aware there are plans next year for a national commemoration of the outbreak of the First World War. There's been much debate around this particularly from those who accuse the government of being too celebratory in its approach. I tend to agree with that argument, but I disagree with the way the debate has split between those who wish to concentrate on why the war started and those who say we should concentrate on the personal stories. I have no problem with personal stories, I do have a problem with the concentration of them being on heroism. There are plans to lay stones in the towns where Victoria Cross awardees were born, for example. I don't doubt that there was heroism, but feel I must assert that the common experience of war and this war in particular was not one of jingoistic pride, but of terror, misery and loss. If in some way I can begin to redress that balance and allow even a tiny insight into the genuine experience of the horrors and madness of war, then I will allow myself a small measure of satisfaction.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-puzygz3degq2EOo-m6LNgq0sSpefz-vmJIGYOEd0smitE1_ZbzROrK7OWjx4aL105CmcxeS2oiVys2nEhyphenhyphenbKYl1LhvDn-4yAKa5hVCQZTKUQY2QphVOgl-LJFX3sFnqeOmoL0ORpLzw/s1600/Mametz+Wood+Exp+2_3510v2+blend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-puzygz3degq2EOo-m6LNgq0sSpefz-vmJIGYOEd0smitE1_ZbzROrK7OWjx4aL105CmcxeS2oiVys2nEhyphenhyphenbKYl1LhvDn-4yAKa5hVCQZTKUQY2QphVOgl-LJFX3sFnqeOmoL0ORpLzw/s640/Mametz+Wood+Exp+2_3510v2+blend.jpg" height="425" title="Mametz Wood 3" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mametz Wood 3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-48611701325305001602013-05-18T09:46:00.000+01:002015-03-31T21:06:19.905+01:00The trouble with bluebells. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
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</span></span></span><br />
<h3 style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">By Rob Hudson. </span></h3>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">“Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come, </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">For
the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom” John Clare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">John Clare reminds us that bluebells are one of
those natural signs that summer is truly upon us; one of those reminders that
the natural world gives us that the world is still turning and the seasons do
actually change, even after what seemed to have been a never ending winter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">When I think back to my childhood, it's with a
mixture of awe and horror that we thought nothing of filling a jar with
bluebells. They grew in such profusion in the woods near our house that the
thought never occurred to us that they might be endangered, becoming a rarity.
We were both more innocent and naive back in the Seventies, if it's this that
those who yearn for halcyon days of the past then I suspect we might be better
off, if sadder in our modern knowledge and sophistication. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">It was always a jar of bluebells though, I suppose
vases weren't common amongst the lower middle class back then - or they
certainly weren't amongst our slightly bohemian household - but there was
something truly celebratory about filling a jar, about containing those bright
stalks that contained the fuse of thrusting green life and the mop head of bluish-purple
flowers atop, with a scent that spoke of the vibrancy of life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">And yet bluebells are in danger, both from climate
change and from invasive alien or interbreeding varieties. Not to mention that they are now a protected species and it is illegal to pick them. We should treasure
them all the more so now for their precious fragility, although I will miss the
ideal of a circular rebirth that is never ending, safe and secure in my halcyon
days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Even to my own eyes (as unscientific as my
observations may be) the past few years have seen a disappointing crop of
bluebells in the woods up on the hill, above the northern outskirts of the
city. Whether this is simply a facet of short-term climactic variations or is
likely to become a regular feature of the future, it is possibly too early to
say, but one shouldn't easily dismiss the evidence before our eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">I sometimes wonder if the sheer pressure of
visitors up there also does damage; I imagine most landscape photographers
treat bluebells with a certain amount of reverence, but please god, don't ever
let me catch one of you up there, treading on them in search of the perfect
shot. I can assure you my language wouldn't be pretty! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Bluebells you see have become one of the “seasons”
of landscape photography and one of those photographic challenges that it seems
all need to set themselves. It's not hard to appreciate why anyone would want
to photograph what is undeniably one of the great glories of the British
countryside - drifts of blue stretching as far as the eye can see, almost
mimicking the sky at times, making me feel a little bit dizzy with joy and
upside-down perception. In many woods they are set-off by bright beech leaves,
newly emerged and fizzing with green life. Who would not want to go and see
that, to celebrate it in camera and create something to treasure on your walls
for years to come?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">It might surprise you to say that I'm not going to
criticise that activity, it's no doubt rather less damaging than picking them
as I did I my childish naïveté, it gets people out doors, to engaged with the
rejuvenating effects of the natural world and experiencing the joy of
photography. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Okay, I won't criticise it except to say (quell
surprise!) that bluebell photos do have a massive tendency to look pretty much
the same, baring a few variations, unlike almost any other sub genre of
landscape photography. One has to wonder what has happened to create this disjoint
between creativity and landscape photography? Perhaps it is (to paraphrase
David Ward) the idea that a camera is simply a mechanical box that can't hope
to achieve anything more than record what is in front of the lens? Yet, in the
right hands a camera can be used to express narrative, parable, metaphor and
therefore, something of what is inside us, something unique and personal.
Although we have created the perfect tool for illustration in the camera, it is
capable of far more than simply recording.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">And it's not just bluebells; autumn, snow, ice,
heather-flowers, whatever. Yes they are beautiful, yes they can be
transformative, but they are just subjects and we need to see beyond the subject
to the point where we are looking to interweave those natural elements into our
narrative, to see through the lens of metaphor and illustrate our emotional
response and our place within this world. Such seasonal changes after all serve
to remind us of our place within the world, of our relationship with nature and
the passing of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">If we think of a simple definition of creativity as
“creating something original which has value”, then pretty much every
photograph of bluebells I've seen fall down by that measure; although I'm sure
they have value to their creator, on originality they are sadly lacking.
The problem is essentially that we go out to photograph bluebells
themselves without giving a second thought to any wider ideas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">It's not so hard to see that if we are dealing in
pictures then, because it is within a frame we can allude to something more. A
frame and a still image give us opportunities to weave elements within the
picture to have meaning (and value) above what is explicitly there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">We need to think beyond the literal. If I were to
explain it in terms of the written word, perhaps it would become clearer where
creativity lies. A literal description might go something like this “blue
flowers for as far as the eye can see”; where as a more poetic and creative
version may say “drifts of wild blue wave tossed mist, creating horizons of the
mind”. You get the “drift”! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Words are no different to visual elements within
the photographic frame, in many ways it’s the way we arrange them that lends them
meaning, potency and gravity. Yes it's difficult to achieve by simply pointing
the camera in a certain direction or at a certain angle, or with a certain
light, but it's not impossible. And the satisfaction to be gained from creating
something that is unique, personal and meaningful to us should never be
underestimated. It is one of life’s great joys and is one way to find again our
halcyon days.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj080m54sGHm6L8m7OQ36Ejj8uEfvSMFRckRWNs-f1jpKqvklMKk3BIIk9YIWKa5Q7Y-XGP_xdP8dQBOLFtoC0ZuyVkAfxZdmWKc3h1LLSHxbiBnHfwc5Ny_MPh8uek1gEKETClqJlcXggV/s1600/Untitled8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj080m54sGHm6L8m7OQ36Ejj8uEfvSMFRckRWNs-f1jpKqvklMKk3BIIk9YIWKa5Q7Y-XGP_xdP8dQBOLFtoC0ZuyVkAfxZdmWKc3h1LLSHxbiBnHfwc5Ny_MPh8uek1gEKETClqJlcXggV/s640/Untitled8.jpg" height="436" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-46800392157276044942013-04-03T11:08:00.000+01:002015-03-31T21:06:37.904+01:00On originality and cliche. <br />
<br />
There seems to be a significant debate happening within the landscape community around the notions of originality and cliche. This is an email I sent to Doug Chinnery who asked for ideas for a blog on the subject.<br />
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<span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Hi Doug, </span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">I hope this helps...</span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">In truth I don't think creativity works in such a ’binary’ fashion. I don't see that there is a choice between originality one minute and cliche the next. That we are either driven to be creative or we are not. We are much more complex as individuals than that, the sources of our inspiration are hugely diverse, multifaceted and complex. They include both the urge to copy others as well as the desire to make something new. In reality when we pick up a camera we are asking ourselves to solve a problem, we can chose the simple path of what others have done before or we can chose to tackle the problem head on by looking within ourselves for a response that is personal and meaningful to us. </span><br />
<span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">I think it was Minor White(???) who said ’a photograph is a simple expression of a complex idea’ or words to that effect. So are those who find a cliched response are simply not asking a sufficiently complex question of themselves? Actual creativity is akin to problem solving, the vast majority of the solutions are piecemeal, but it's when they come together that we have the ’eureka’ moment, the joy of resolution. (I won't use the word ’answer’ here because, for me at least, art is as much about asking questions as answering them.) That surely is one of the great pleasures of life. And resolving a complex question is infinitely more satisfying than answering a simple question. Creativity for me is akin to listening to a difficult piece of music or reading a difficult poem, the more of ourselves we have to put in, the greater the potential rewards. </span><br />
<span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">We obviously have to accept that there is a disjunct between those who see photography as primarily a way of making a living and those who see it as a form of personal expression. Many of us, like you and me, exist in both worlds, but it's the standpoint that is important. Whilst we all have to eat, we should not value what we do to make a living as highly as we do our own personal expression. The latter is what enriches our soul and makes life worth living. The former is a means to an end.</span><br />
<span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">In the early Fifties, a Rothko could have been bought for for 120 bucks, now they are worth $120 million. The Impressionists couldn't sell their work through galleries, but were reliant on a tiny number of rich benefactors. And look what happened to them! So maybe commercial value is not the best way of assessing the worth of an image? Of course it isn't!</span><br />
<span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">The true value of a work should be the value it has for the creator and the viewer; any other form of assessment is a simple corruption of society and is to misunderstand the pleasure that creativity brings. It is one of the greatest aspirations of mankind, it is one of the privileges of being human and can enrich and deepen our humanity. What’s not to like?</span><br />
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<span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Rob</span><br />
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3995473612568464124.post-70884627862125180732013-03-26T23:08:00.001+00:002015-03-31T21:06:57.709+01:00There's something in the trees and the superficial landscape photographThis is a brief reply to a discussion on Twitter. To give a summary, Tom Wilkinson has asked ’how much is it [my There’s something in the trees’ series] about landscape and how much is it about me’? Meanwhile Duncan Fawkes has questioned Lucy Telford's comment that ’much landscape is superficial'. <br />
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I can't possibly hope to reply to that lot in a tweets nor 10 or 20 tweets, so here's my angle. <br />
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Firstly on the question of superficiality and landscape photography - I don't think that's a word I would use myself, perhaps I would choose ’one dimensional’. That's not just a criticism of landscape, but photography in general. I think we'd all agree that there's much out there which is a bit shallow. But my critique of landscape photography comes not from criticising other’s work, more it it as a direct result of living with my earlier conventional landscape photography. What I found was that no matter how beautiful or spectacular there was very little I wanted to live with on my wall for an extended period. Mainly that was a result of the fact that it was a simple picture of something, once I got used to seeing it, I stopped noticing it was there; there was nothing to excite the mind in my early work. It was shallow superficial and one dimensional. That's me criticising myself and nobody else!<br />
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For years now I have been trying to resolve this conundrum by exploring ways of adding more layers of meaning. That's meant different things in different series, but that is the unifying factor across all my various series. For me adding layers of meaning, (especially if they are not too explicitly described by the photograph and allow the viewer to wonder about the mystery of the photograph over many years) is the epitome of what we should be striving for as photographers. Not just for the sake of our viewers, but also for our own sakes as fulfilled creative people. <br />
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Moving on to answer Tom’s question of how much of this is about landscape and how much about me? The honest answer is that is neither a question I want to answer nor am I capable if answering. Firstly because I have no wish to undo that sense of mystery and wonder; and secondly because the series is about exploring that mystery and not answering it. <br />
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This series has emerged as I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear out of my Songs of Travel series. It is still using multiple exposures, it is still centred on the landscape. But as a result of two separate and yet related events it will be the new route for me for the time being. The first of those events was the time I photographed myself with the tree under which my mothers ashes were spread. Secondly as a direct result of those images I was asked to collaborate with Tim Andrews, the Parkinson's sufferer who has worked with over 250 photographers from Rankin to Chris Friel and Alex Boyd. These images haven't been released yet as I don't want to preempt Tim’s blog post. <br />
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What I found was that by including a person - or myself - in the photos I added a new layer of meaning and a new element of mystery and wonder. In addition it, for me at least, sets up a dynamic of questioning our place in the landscape. Not just our physical relationship, but our psychological relationship. It asks us to consider who we are, what the landscape means to us. <br />
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What I've found with these two projects is that they share a strong element of play, chance and serendipity. There is if you like a magical element in the creation of the images, because I certainly cannot predict the results. Adding myself to the images has only increased that sense of magic and wonder for me, because the results are even more unpredictable and mysterious. <br />
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Chance, play and serendipity have a long history in painting - from the Dadaists drip paintings to the abstract expressionists such as Rothko or more pertinently Jackson Pollock. <br />
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So if you want to know what it's about you should really address the question to yourselves not me! <br />
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Rob Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14431452498524810804noreply@blogger.com16