A guilty pleasure?

I'm referring to showing my images in person to someone else – the prospect of which always makes me feel very nervous indeed. Yet, something still makes me go through the trauma of showing my photographs. Perhaps something about the process gives me pleasure? Am I just revelling in showing off, feeding my ego? I don't think so; it's a bittersweet experience for me, a mixture of anxiety and a hint of gratification. Of course it's the gratification that makes me feel guilty...

On the face of it, surely I should have nothing to worry about when sharing my images. I've been making photographs for close on 30 years, my images have been published in over 20 books and a number of magazines and I've achieved some recognition from my peers for the quality of my photography.

But worry I do. When presenting my images to an audience, large or small, I feel diffident; I worry that my images are unworthy, I worry that the audience won't like them – more than that they won't love them as wholeheartedly as I do.

Don't get me wrong, I don't love all my images and I'm not labouring under the misapprehension that those I do love are perfect. I know that they're not. I'm fully aware that even my favourite images have faults in composition or execution. In fact I'm painfully aware of this, its as plain and as haunting to me as a disfiguring ulcer on the face of a dear friend. I'm certainly more aware of the faults in the image than my audience are. Yet, despite their faults, I still love these chosen images. My images are the offspring of my creative spirit and I love them in the same way that I love my children: unconditionally.

I know deep in my heart that I've made a few images that will stand comparison with the best of my peers. I just don't want to shout about it (though I suppose my two readers might legitimately accuse me of at least whispering loudly through "Oceans..."). Why don't I want to be demonstrative? Is it because I'm English? The butterflies in my stomach let me know that I'm not exhibiting false modesty when I shrink from the limelight. If I were supremely confident but trying not to let my audience see that arrogance I wouldn't feel this bad. Paradoxically I feel confident and unsure at the same time; confident that my images are good but also unsure that they are good enough.

The reason for my fluctuating confidence might lie in part in the findings of a study by Dr. David Dunning at Cornell University. He looked at confidence in relation to ability levels. Dunning compared a group of students scores in a series of tests against their expectations. He found that those with the lowest scores consistently overestimated their abilities. More than that, Dunning's team also found that those with the highest scores consistently underestimated their abilities. The researchers put this down to "the fact that, in the absence of information about how others are doing, highly competent subjects assumed that others were performing as well as they were". I'm sure that this is partly true, but I also know from my own experience that the more I learn about photography the more I realise what there is still to learn. The more I know the smaller my precious hoard of knowledge looks and the more insignificant I feel.

Given my discomfort at showing my images in person, should I, perhaps, confine this activity to only showing them to people who's opinion I value? No, I don't think so. However unpleasant it is for me I need to show my work to as wide an audience as I am able and to listen to what they have to say. I've said before that self-criticism is an essential part of the creative process but I feel that peer review is also – and not just garnering the uncritical opinions of those you trust. That way lies a complete lack of perspective and the withering of creativity. I think that we've all seen this effect from afar in the work of certain pop musicians. There comes a critical point in some successful pop careers where the performer has amassed a considerable amount of money and acquired an entourage. If they are unwise they will have surrounded themselves with yes men;

"Do I look good in this outfit?"
"Yes!"
"Isn't my latest single great?"
"Yes!"
"Wouldn't it be great if I drove my Rolls into the swimming pool?"
"Yes!"
"I am the new messiah!"
"Yes you are!"

You get the picture...

It's been unspoken, perhaps even unconscious until now, but it occurs to me that the reason I show my images is not to feed my ego but to get a perspective on my work. It makes me anxious but I want to find out if I'm one of those incompetents in Dunning's study who is overestimating their ability or if there is some merit in what I'm doing. It would be foolhardy to grant all opinions equal weight but also equally foolhardy to dismiss out of hand those that are critical. There therefore needs to be some system of checks and balances. My approach has been to compare three sets of opinions; my own self-critical view, the opinions of a wider audience and finally the views of those members of my peer group whose work I admire. I tend to filter out opinions that are universally positive in favour of ones where I feel the respondent has made an effort at providing a critique.

The anxiety, then, comes from putting myself up for judgement, opening myself up for criticism. Gratification comes from any degree of validation of my work, especially if that approval comes from those members of my peer group who's work I admire.

So, is it a guilty pleasure? No, I don't think so. It's important to seek and find external positive feedback to counter the inevitable negative effect that arises even from constructive self-criticism. As photographers we need perspective and a context for our work beyond that provided by our own egos. But we also need encouragement if we aren't to become irretrievably disheartened. Showing my images is scary but I just have to grit my teeth and do it!

“With the improvement in camera technology, you only need a good eye to be able to take an outstanding photograph. But this has made life difficult for the professionals, who have to be able to demonstrate that they are in a different league to the rest of us.”

Richard Ingram Independent on Saturday 14/7/2007

“With the improvement in writing implements (biros as opposed to styli), you only need a glib turn of phrase to be able to write a load of old tosh. But this has made life difficult for the professionals, who have to be able to demonstrate that they are in a different league to the rest of us.”

David Ward Oceans of Instants 14/7/2007

It still amazes me that otherwise seemingly intelligent people continue to completely misunderstand and misrepresent the process of making good photographs as opposed to happy snaps. I know that I've covered this before on "Oceans..." but it's not going to stop me writing about it again!

Let's look at what Ingram wrote one clause at a time...

“With the improvement in camera technology, ..."

Well, I can't argue that cameras have come a long way since you had to mix your own emulsion, apply it to a sheet of glass, expose without the help of a meter (really not that hard when the sensitivity of the emulsion was so low) and enter your dark tent to process the plate. All within the space of a few minutes, before the latent image degraded irretrievably. But the camera is just a tool, like a stylus or a biro or a quill. The camera doesn't make the image, the photographer does. Improvements in technology on their own only make it easier to make well exposed, badly composed images – as opposed to badly exposed and badly composed images. It's the composition that really matters, and that's the bit that technology can't help you with.

"...you only need a good eye to be able to take an outstanding photograph."

My problem here is with the word "only" – take "only" out and I might agree with this second clause. Ingram is using it here in the sense of "merely". It's like saying, "You only have to be a genius to understand quantum theory." Only implies that making an outstanding photograph is a simple thing, a breeze, just like falling off a log...

Count to ten... the hardest part of making a photograph is seeing the photograph. The completed photographic image, unlike other visual arts, gives no hint of the struggle or effort inherent in its making; it bears no makers marks such as brush strokes or the scoring of a stone chisel. It stands so utterly as a substitute for human vision that it is easy to believe that it has been created without any effort at all. Easy, but not true!

"But this has made life difficult for the professionals, who have to be able to demonstrate that they are in a different league to the rest of us.”

This so completely misrepresents reality that it is either breathtakingly naive or audaciously disingenuous ( I suspect the latter). The only thing that professional photographers have to do to demonstrate that they are in a "different league" is to convince hard-bitten commissioners of photography that they're worth spending money on. These people don't give up their money easily. The photographers have to deliver the goods! And the goods in this case are amazing images often made in exceptionally challenging conditions, technically or physically or both, such as a sports field or a theatre of war. How, I wonder , would Mr Ingram get on in Iraq with his technically improved camera? And let's not forget the amazing images made by non-professionals who also rely on a "good eye". Good photographers are good photographers, whether they're paid for it or not. "Professional" is an artificial distinction seized upon by Ingram merely so that he can bitch.

One final thought, if technology was really that important in making photographs why isn't the world awash with new Ansel Adams' or Robert Capas ?

My life as an Artist…

A number of my friends and peers (some are even both!) have been telling me for some time that I should, “Get out there more.” They want my work to reach a wider audience, they want me to be recognised (by whom?) for my contribution to photography (however minor) and they also want me to be financially rewarded for that contribution.

Well, obviously, one doesn’t want to turn down money – as my mother in law says, “Refuse nothing but blows!” We all have to find a way to pay our own way in the modern world but picking the right path can be tricky for some ways of life and particularly for an artist.

The eternal economic question that the individual must ask himself or herself is does one work to live or live to work? For the aspiring artist there should be no doubt that one lives to work – lives to create works might be a better way of putting it. The economic realm should be but a minor consideration for the artist. Few of us, however, have the willpower to turn our backs on financial reward or, even if we are unaffected by the lure of Mammon, to deprive those we love and support of material goods. Of course in the West this is usually a question of picking which “wants” to fulfil rather than which “needs”. The spiritual and moral integrity of what they are doing should be of much more importance to the artist.

It also seems to me that one of the things that is incumbent upon artists is to dream for those trapped in the secular, capitalist world of “proper” jobs. And, by that dreaming, open the eyes of others to new possibilities. It’s perhaps harder to have those dreams when one is a wage slave oneself.

But, in the last half century the artist has moved from dreamer to professional maker in a kind of reversal of the process that occurred during the Renaissance. From prehistory through to the late Middle Ages the artist was usually anonymous. They were artisans rather than celebrities. Their job was to fashion the work in much the same spirit as a blacksmith fashioned metal. Their tools were different but the product, like a horseshoe, had an acknowledged purpose within society. In the case of Art its job was to be educative or transcendental. The artist’s imagination was applied within prescribed limits. There was a tacit awareness that if they made the work too personal its functionality might be compromised, rather like a horseshoe with unnecessary curlicue decorations!

The Renaissance saw the rise of artist as individual, the rise of Artist as Celebrity. The celebrity artist was supported by a system of patronage; they had to sing for their suppers. Artists forged or were more likely offered relationships with rich and powerful benefactors who saw the advantage of a visible association with the intellectual and aesthetic high ground. This was much more often a political move rather than an altruistic one. The patrons weren’t supporting Art for Art’s sake but rather for what it could do for their social standing – much in the same way that in recent years the large corporations have sought relationships with the Art world and museums as a kind of high-brow PR exercise: we might be raping the rain forest but hey, look, we think Picasso is really cool!

By the middle of the 20th Century patronage by individuals had all but disappeared. The artist was left to fend for themselves in the hard commercial world, their work vying for the buyers’ attention with other more prosaic wants. Whereas throughout history Art had served a social purpose, from spiritual or religious through to expounding the dominant ideology, it was now just product.

Which leaves the artist with a bit of a dilemma. What exactly is their job in the Modern world? It doesn’t seem to be expounding a dominant ideology as, beyond “The individual is king”, there doesn’t seem to be one in the West anymore. Is it, then, asking awkward questions of the viewer by making so-called “anxious objects” or is it simply making decorative products? The former was certainly the position adopted by the Modernist avant-garde but commercial pressure seems to be forcing the latter position on artists in the post-modern era.

Most have chosen to ignore the problem by treating Art as just another professional realm, like medicine or law: a task to be performed efficiently, thoroughly and perhaps a little soullessly. The professionalization of Art has meant that economic concerns have become as important, if not more important, to the artist as aesthetic or social ones. In an Art world where anything goes, and the individual artist is king, whose to say whether a particular work of art is “good”? The arbiter has become the market place. How much a particular artist’s work sells for, the works’ extrinsic value, becomes more important than its intrinsic worth. If enough noise is made about an artist, if enough canny marketing applied to their “brand” then chances are they will become “successful” – if the measure of success is purely financial. The gallery owners, even more than art critics, are now the market makers. But what’s more important: the work or the hype?

It seems to me that there’s a huge problem here. The gallery system drives the market and demands a flow of product in order to maintain the flow of cash. Huge pressure is then placed on the artist just to churn out product and the quality of the work invariably suffers as a result.

Despite what Andy Warhol thought, as far as I’m concerned Art isn’t the same as cans of soup and I don’t feel that it has to be sold in the same fashion. When Alfred Stieglitz opened his gallery at 291 Fifth Avenue in New York in the early years of the last century he put belief in the work above commercial value. He sometimes doubled a work’s price, or refused to sell it, if he felt the buyer were just acquiring it as an investment; sometimes, if he were impressed with the buyer’s passion but they didn’t have deep enough pockets, he even sold a work at half price. Can you imagine a gallery today doing that?

Another question is also apparent; what happens to the quiet voice? What happens to the artist who lives to work, who places spiritual, aesthetic or intellectual inquiry above economic reward? Do these people even still exist? Well I certainly hope so as I consider myself amongst their number.

How is all this reflected in my life? The work has always come first for me. I didn’t become a photographer for the glamorous high-flying lifestyle (which is lucky because I haven’t found one!) I’m motivated by a sense of photographic enquiry, both intellectual and aesthetic, rather than by the money – again, lucky! All I’ve ever wanted to be as a photographer was the best that I could possibly be at making images. My friend, and peer, Joe Cornish once said to me that if you truly apply yourself to your art then eventually you will be recognized and rewarded. I’m not sure that van Gogh would agree with him… Sadly for my heirs an imminent demise wouldn’t boost the value of my images particularly – if you’re looking to market a myth tragically middle-aged just doesn’t cut it!

In case you’re getting an impression of me as a tortured ascetic that’s absolutely not me. I love my Art but I also love life. There are just some things I won’t do in order to make a buck. What I won’t do is make images simply because they have earnings potential, this covers a spectrum that ranges from chocolate box to the passionless approach of someone like Andreas Gursky. I’m intent on taking my own journey and making my own discoveries rather than following a well-trodden path.

So, like many others I suspect, I’ve reached a compromise that has entailed a dilution of my artistic effort. I have throughout most of my photographic career produced two distinctly different threads of work: commercial and personal. The former might best be characterised as being purely illustrative and the latter images that, however imperfectly, seek a level of transcendence. But as I approach 50 I’ve become increasingly frustrated with this workaround. I now want my cake and I want to eat it too! So I’m faced with finding a solution to the dilemma outlined above. Do I continue to split my efforts between commercial and personal work or do I throw myself on the mercy of the gallery system with the consequent potentially damaging professionalization of my personal work? And, in any case, little prospect as a photographer of finding commercial success. Or do I find a third way? I’ll let you know how the search is going…

"Art, huh, what is it good for?"...(Part Two)

Following on from my last post on Art it seems appropriate to discuss a question posed at a recent talk I gave. A member of the audience asked, "Do you feel that it's your duty to lobby for protection of the environment through your work?" From her manner I think the enquirer was probably expecting a resounding, "Yes!" but I'm afraid that I disappointed her.

A deep love of the natural world is fundamental to my photography but I don't think that it's my job to act as a crude propagandist through my images. I'm happy to write or talk about respecting the creatures around us and protecting the future of our planet and, more than this, to follow this up (as imperfectly as humans do) by trying my best to "do my bit". But for me this debate doesn't have a place in my images, at least not in any unsophisticated and obvious way.

It seems to me that I was also being asked the question, "Why do you only make positive images of nature?" Well one strong reason is that I don't believe that making negative images of environmental destruction is going to change anything. Negative imagery is a turn off. Apart from a tiny minority of committed people everyone else looks the other way. They don't want to see bad things and adopt the visual equivalent of the fingers in the ears "La, la, la I can't hear you" pose.

A subtext of this question is an accusation that by making positive images of the natural world I am somehow complicit in the destruction that goes on everyday. I don't think so! This is a kind of "If you're not with us you're against us!" argument, a bullying attitude adopted by the radical tendency of many different political movements including the environmental one. I refuse to be bullied.

The word "duty" in the question is telling. Who or what do I owe a duty to? This question goes to the heart of the relationship between the public and private persona of the artist. In the minds of some there should be no separation between the public and private realm for an Artist; the Artist should live their Art. From this standpoint, since I am a lover of the natural world, it is my duty to proselytise; to convert the great unwashed to my point of view, to get them on-side in the crusade. Actually I think this is what I'm doing, but in a subtle way.

I make positive images and I refuse to apologise for that. The natural world makes me feel positive and that emotion is one of the prime reasons for me making images. I am convinced that positive emotions are much more likely to effect change than negative ones. Seeing something as beautiful is much more likely to motivate somebody to fight to protect that thing than seeing something as having already been despoiled is. It's simple human nature that negative images cause negative reactions. They cause the majority of viewers to withdraw from the debate because they feel the battle is already lost. Rather than causing an uprising, as the propagandists would have us believe they do, negative images are just too depressing and cause the majority of the populous to run and hide.

Portraying something in a positive light isn't necessarily denying that negative things are happening, it may be a denial but it doesn't have to be. Life is more complicated than that! I'm not advocating support for an apologist position, such as that of Nazi sympathiser Leni Riefenstahl. By making positive images of nature I'm not being an apologist for the governments and multi-nationals who are raping our planet. Saying that something is wonderful absolutely isn't the same as saying that it's OK to destroy it. In Riefenstahl's case she was praising the Nazis, the agent of destruction. If we transferred her position to landscape photography it would be like me praising a particular company or government that was implicated in an environmental disaster. It would be like me making heroic images of chain saws and earth moving equipment – that's not something you'll ever see me do!

The original question belongs, I think, to the Marxist tradition of seeing Art's role in quite simplistic terms as a kind of supercharged propaganda. I'm absolutely certain that Art can be deeply affecting on a personal level but I'm not convinced that it can work effectively as a means of changing the world on its own. Picasso's painting Guernica is probably the most famous piece of 20th century art inspired by a political will to protest, in this case against the Nazi bombing of a Spanish village. Did Guernica change the course of the Spanish Civil War to any significant degree? I don't think so. Visual Art is a weak tool when used against guns. The pen might be mightier than the sword, as Edward Lytton wrote in 1839, but I'm afraid that images aren't a match for armaments. Partly this is because it's just too easy to look the other way and partly it's because of a deeper philosophical problem: there is no consistent interpretation of a single image, no language in common between the artist and the viewer or even between one member of the audience and another. The message in Art and photography is too unfocused without written words, a caption, attached. The message is literally ineffable.

The visual arts can lend their weight to a debate but they're never going to be instrumental in causing a political u-turn. The will needs to be present already.

I want to show my wonder at the natural world and to explore notions of vision and perception through my images. I am not interested in creating images of the natural world whose sole purpose is to act as a polemic, I'll leave that to those who are more suited to it. Part of being an artist is about being true to oneself. If we force ourselves, or even worse are coerced, into producing Art to fit somebody else's agenda that work can only ever be third rate. Great works spring from the heart of the Artist, they are not imposed from outside. Saying that I don't want to make propaganda doesn't make me any less worthy as an artist or as a human being. That's a nonsensical argument; it's like accusing a plumber of being a bad person because they don't want to be a prima ballerina. If you're moved to make polemical work fine, if you're not that's equally fine. Art is big enough for both approaches.

The King is dead, long live the King...

I've been given some of the NEW Velvia 50 to try by Fuji and want to share my findings (so far).

For landscape photographers the prospect of the sun setting on the Golden Age of Velvia has been traumatic to put it mildly. There was a brief glimmer of hope a couple of years ago, a false dawn as it turned out, when Fuji announced a "replacement" in the guise of Velvia 100. I say false dawn because 100 could never be described, even by the most charitable of photographers, as a replacement for 50. The magic of the original Velvia 50 was that it was a saturated film that still rendered realistic colours. It gave the scene a bit of ooomph without the cloying effect of some emulsions from other manufacturers (you know who you are Kodak!). 100 has none of the delightful subtlety of 50, in fact it has been described by some as Redvia for its strong tendency toward overcooking the warm end of the spectrum. Kyriakos Kalorkoti has written a very insightful review of the differences between the two emulsions on his website – follow the links to the articles section and read his review.

So it was with considerable trepidation that I approached my chance to try the new 50. I didn't want to be let down again!



I only had a chance to make two comparison images on my first outing with the new 50 and I've chosen to show this one as it was made in overcast conditions, my favourite light for the original 50.

The first thing that struck me when I placed the two transparencies side by side on the light box was how red / magenta the old 50 looked next to the new. In contrast, the new emulsion appears neutral – certainly not cold as I would have expected from that famously 'neutral' film Provia. This bodes well for my photography because these are the conditions in which so many other films would require an overall warm-up to make them acceptable. I try and avoid using a filter in this way. Its global effect, enhancing the warm tones and neutralising the cold ones, is fine except when you want to emphasize colour contrast in an image, something I do quite often. The warm-up kills or severely diminishes this effect and thus restricts my options for creative use of the colour of light. It's much better to rely on the broad colour response of the original emulsion if you can find one to suit your taste. The old 50 hardly ever needed a warm-up, it just subtly enhanced the colours that were there. The new one looks at first try like it may follow the old's lead.

I had been forewarned by Joe Cornish that his first tests had shown that, unlike its predecessor, the new 50 was near to its advertised speed rating. So, I exposed the original stock at ISO32 – as I usually do – and simply changed the ISO on the meter to get my exposure for the new film. The two images are almost exactly the same density so I've concluded that Mk2 really is ISO 50.

My first impressions (and I only got the film back today!) are favourable. I need to shoot much more film in a variety of different lighting conditions before I can accurately assess whether it truly is a worthy successor. I'll let you know how things develop (sic) and post some more images as I make them. The new film may not quite be the King yet but it certainly doesn't appear to be a hopeless pretender.

Now, anyone interested in a freezer load of 50 Mk1...

"It's all down to the equipment, isn't it mate?"...

A couple of years ago I received some fascinating feedback on my book, Landscape Within, from a reader whose flat mate, after a quick flick through my book, apparently made the statement, "Guaranteed, I could take any of these pictures." Let’s call this person The Critic, as opposed to something ruder!

I know many photographers are far more accomplished than I am but must admit I was somewhat taken aback by this statement. The Critic’s statement reflects a depressing and prevailing attitude in society that photography requires little skill on the part of the photographer in order to accomplish good results.

To a large extent this springs from the widely held belief that equipment is more important in the making of a photograph than the vision of the photographer. Photography seems to be unique in engendering this attitude – I would wager that no one said to Titian, “You must have had really good sable brushes to paint that!” – but to make a good photograph it seems that all you need is a good camera. The camera manufacturers have been telling us that photography is easy since its invention (and, bless them, they have made it considerably easier to overcome some of the technical issues) so I guess it's not too surprising that this view is so prevalent. My objection to The Critic’s statement is not the bald assertion that image making is possible for all - it’s impossible to disagree with that at a basic level - rather it’s the implication that it’s easy to make “good” images.

Setting aside for a moment exactly what constitutes a “good” photograph let’s look at some of the assumptions behind the statement, remembering as we do that assumptions make asses of us all.

Seeing the finished image and saying it would be easy to make betrays The Critic’s basic ignorance of the process. Here are just a few of the variables that any accomplished photographer has to consider when making a landscape photograph and some questions to pose to The Critic;

• The contrast range of the image and what compensating filtration will be needed to render the tones successfully - does The Critic understand how to use a lightmeter in order to read the luminosity range of the scene? Does he understand that neither film nor digital imaging can render the same contrast range as the human eye can see? Or, does he just assume incorrectly that the camera can solve all this for him?

• The light level - does he understand the principle of reciprocity failure for film?

• The colour of the light - does he understand that light varies in colour and would he know how to control that variation to produce the results that he wants /sees in the book?

• The quality of the light - does he understand under what circumstances it would be better to shoot an image in soft light or hard light? Does he understand how the quality of the light affects our reading of the image?

• The direction of the light and the best time to shoot - does he know how to assess when the light will strike a potential subject from the desired direction?

• The choice of film stock / RAW / jpeg – does he understand how these choices affect the finished image?

• The weather conditions – would the image be better with or without clouds, is it too windy or too wet?

Now, it’s true that some of these problems can be solved by correctly employing the technical features built in to modern DSLRs or film cameras but many can only be solved by the photographer using their expert judgement accrued over many years of experience. I haven’t even mentioned yet the particular technical issues involved in using a view camera, let alone the potential difficulties in accessing the location or the number of visits that might be needed before the conditions are right.

These technical and logistical issues are, in any case, only a part of the problem - and the simplest part to solve at that! I know from my experiences leading photography workshops that the biggest challenge for most photographers is to actually see the potential for an image in the first place. Choosing what to take is the hardest part of photography;

• Is the subject worthy of representation, am I just wasting pixels or silver halide grains?

• What lens should I use? Do I want to compress the perspective or exaggerate it?

• What angle should I use?

• What should I place in the frame and what should I leave out? Does that element detract from the composition or does it enhance the image?

But (and I've said this before!) the collapsing of all possible viewpoints into the finished image means that a successful photograph makes the choices taken seem both obvious and inevitable.

Perhaps the most important question to address, therefore, is has The Critic ever made any images like the ones he says he could make when seeing mine? Saying that you could have done something after the fact without any evidence to support it is very easy to do - we can all say that we could have scored a goal like Beckham (well, perhaps not too much of a stretch on recent performance...) but simply asserting it doesn't make it true! The plain fact is that when something is executed well it often appears to be easy to achieve - it might appear effortless but I can assure The Critic that it isn’t!

Taking a "snap" is not the same thing as making a photograph. But the camera manufacturers, for obvious commercial reasons, decline to make this distinction and in the process foster the impression that photography, without qualification, is easy. Given this prevailing attitude and the lack of emphasis on visual education in the UK can The Critic even be expected to tell the difference between a “good photograph” and a “snap”?

If he truly could make all of those images then he should, without question, be a professional photographer - in fact I'd be surprised if I didn't already know him. Maybe my correspondent is living with Joe Cornish!

The preceding was originally published in Outdoor Photography. I've updated and amended it and make no apology for presenting it again – it's still relevant!

To paraphrase Edwin Starr, "Art, huh, what is it good for?"... (Part One)

I've spent quite a long time as a photographer pondering on the nature of Art; just what is Art? And specifically I've been seeking to find photography's place in the wider world of Art: not to mention justifying it as Art to a few people! But in the last few weeks (and some might say this is a little late in the day) I've begun to ponder not, "What is Art?" but rather "What should it do?"

I guess the reason it has taken me so long to get around to asking this question is that I was always comfortable with what Art (read photography) did for me. More than that it was bloody obvious! Making photographs allowed me to express myself and viewing Art taught me about other ways of seeing. But what does my photography do for other people? What is the use of Art to society as a whole?

Time was, before photography, before the Avant Garde and Modernism, that Art in the Western world served as a kind of social glue. Paintings and sculpture were used to disseminate throughout society the ideas of the social elite, be they secular or religious leaders. Works of Art contained both explicit and hidden allegorical meanings, often referring to Biblical or Greek sources. There were great Artists but they were subordinate to Art, gifted interpreters and innovators but never the Source of Art.

Then along came Modernism... And Western Art split into a thousand movements, each with their own agenda, each with their own view, each more inward looking than the last. Ultimately Art in the Modernist era became about the individual, it became a celebration of the unique vision of the gifted Artist. Art was whatever an Artist said it was. You might be forgiven for thinking that this was a liberating advance, a break away from the stranglehold of the ruling elite, a chance for us all to have our say. But I don't think it quite worked out like that...

Art for Art's sake became a joke, a practice so inward looking that it disappeared up it's own fundament. Society as a whole came to distrust Modern Art, it was viewed as an elite club that had turned its back on the rest of us. Only Artists could understand Art so why bother to talk to the Great Unwashed? Capitalism seized the opportunity offered by Art's fractured disarray to commoditize it. As Andy Warhol knowingly pointed out, Art had become just another good like Campbells Soup. A proliferation of brands followed, artists who actually made a living from their works climbed from a few hundred across the entire US in the 1950's to thousands in New York City alone by the mid 1980's. One has to ask what benefit did this explosion of expression do society as a whole?

But the Modernists didn't get it all there own way; another "M'ism" had a lot to say about what Art's purpose should be. Marxism held that Art's job was to shed light on human existence; to explain and, at the same time, ease our pain. Artists, such as the Abstract Expressionists, who turned inward, offering no commentary and excluding references to the outside world, were exhibiting the worst kind of decadent behaviour in the eyes of the Marxists. All very worthy but is human existence solely concerned with our relationships with other human beings? The answer is plainly no, so surely Art should have a wider remit.

I believe that there must be room for a middle path between the solipsism of Modernism and the Marxist directive for Art to concentrate on the social world. Surely these are just different forms of anthropocentrism, both equally self-centred. What's wrong with Art looking at the natural world. Not the capitalised, mystical Nature celebrated by Ansel Adams et al but simply the environments that gave birth to Humanity. The natural world is held in common and offers a much wider realm than mankind. It surely can't be true that Art has exhausted the possibilities for exploration and expression encompassed by the planet around us.

There are moments when I'm standing waiting to make an image when I feel completely connected to the world around me; connected to the soil or rock at my feet, connected to the air moving across my body, connected to the birds flying through the air. Those moments are what I seek to capture in my images, to share them with a wider audience and hopefully to evoke a response in return. I make my images for me but not because I want to be inward looking. The work of an artist must be intensely personal if it is to carry any force but it doesn't have to be exclusive.

I'm not sure that I've come to a definitive answer about "What should Art do?" but I think I can definitely make a stab at explaining its role for me. Art shouldn't become so wrapped up in its own concerns that it becomes incomprehensible to a wider audience, it should be inclusive and not alienating, it should express the feelings and ideas of the Artist and, at its best, it should change how we see the world around us. Quite a wish list but one I'm happy to try and aspire to.

Edwin Starr's famous song continued with, "Absolutely nothing, say it again!" This might have applied to Art under the reign of Modernism but I think it's time we claimed it back for a populist audience.

See Part Two here