February on the Isle of Harris, Pt III

Moments

There’s a moment, sometimes it’s brief, sometimes longer than you might imagine, but there is a moment when all the disappointments and struggles culminate and something special occurs… 

Light catching on the dunes, Luskentyre

I walked quietly passed the cemetery, filled with remnants of those from centuries past who loved this view long before I arrived, stepping out onto the precipice, well trodden locations, imperfect sand dunes and the unnerving silhouette of the local white horse. Across the estuary, the house that 50 of those I love crammed into the night before my wedding four years previous stood against the imposing hills behind. I smile and remember mum giving guests the instruction to look for the ‘blue house’ when in fact the house was white with blue accents and several guests traveled up and down, exasperated and lost. I remember the hungry and tired walker knocking on the door thinking it was a restaurant only to be invited in and fed with the rest of us. That was then, time has swept so much aside, the tide ebbing, erasing much of what went before. Like looking into a parallel universe, everything happening just across the water, but completely out of reach.

Specks of rain became larger, spattering around me, catching on my coat as I carefully concealed my camera. It was a game of patience and faith. One of my firmest beliefs is in the propensity of the Scottish weather to bewilder even the most astute of amateur meteorologists. Your forecasts are no use here. Just keep watching the sky and maybe you’ll get lucky. In essence, I believe that what matters most about the image is not the image itself, but the story, the build up, the excitement, the frequent disappointment and the feeling of connection.

Untouched dunes and the most glorious side light, Luskentyre

To that end, I’ve been mulling over the idea of AI and it seems a fitting moment to begin ruminating on this subject because without context, what is art? Without narrative, what is photography? I find AI fascinating, and I think it has many uses that can enhance and make a photographer’s life easier. It can cover up technical errors or aberrations (for instance the new AI Denoise feature in the latest Lightroom update is beyond ridiculous and has already recovered a few commercial images I had to shoot at a high ISO for various reasons). However, there is a lot of furore around the idea that instead of going through the time consuming and often frustrating process of creating a landscape image, you can now prompt AI to create something similar without even leaving the house. I can understand how this might appeal to some, perhaps to quickly build a social media presence or just because it’s fun to play with, but it brings to mind the holodeck from Star Trek. Simulations are useful, but reality is better. Like looking at a mirage of your favourite meal, it might make your mouth water but it isn’t going to satisfy you.

Rainbow over the Harris Hills

Social media has a way of reducing an image down to the sum of its parts; a bunch of pixels arranged in a certain way, but it’s so much more than that. So much of it is the story. The moment before and after the shutter is pressed. The soft sand giving way under my boots, the little impressions of rabbit paw prints darting in every direction. The darkest of clouds consuming the horizon and the chink of light offering the smallest promise of hope. I deal in light and like all things, it is a balance. Somedays there is none, somedays there is too much. Most days the light is unremarkable. Not boring but not extraordinary. Then there are moments, unpredictable and unexpected where the light glimmers and gleams with a magnificent clarity. These are the moments when the muscle memory of camera craft and composition kick in, because now I’m the storyteller, tasked with arranging all those pixels in a way that years from now, the magic will remain and captivate total strangers in a way that transcends language. Grammar runs throughout the frame as we read it from left to right, front to back and I’ve been studying the syntax, and semantics, for years. For a split second it will all align, only to immediately shift and change, never to return to that specific sequence. My job is to carry that moment, give it context and life. It’s not my story, I’m just the conduit, but I am part of the paragraphs. Everything I’ve done and felt, everything I will do and feel, tiny parts of me baked in. 

I’m romanticising somewhat, of course. That is my right as an artist, however low-brow representative landscape photography is on that scale. I understand the fear around AI, especially with regard to deepfake imagery and its implications for humanity, but when it comes to what I do? Easy clicks and likes aside, no AI can replicate the feeling of standing on Lusktentyre, looking over to Seilebost as the weather went from deluge to divine. All I can hope is that I’ve told the story through my imagery well enough so that I’ve carried you with me, back to that beach, back to that moment, the wild excitement, feeling infinitesimal and full with awe and wonder. I hope you feel it, good gosh I hope you feel it all.

One glorious evening at Luskentyre

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Thanks so much for reading this instalment and apologies for the long time between posts. I contracted Covid in early April and it’s taken me a month to get back on my feet. I appreciate you sticking around. If you’re new here, please consider subscribing. If you enjoyed reading this, please consider sharing. It’s difficult to start something new, and it would mean the world. Hopefully I’ll see you again soon!

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