Walking in Woods. Assignment 4; Second Draft.

Walking in Woods

For assignment 4 I have continued with my theme of walking, this time walking in the Lincolnshire Limewoods that I encountered on my walk from Assignment 3.

The Lincolnshire Limewoods are relicts of the original primeval wilderness in this part of England.  After the last ice age the whole of the region was forested with small leaved lime and the Limewoods are one of the few remaining links to wilderness in Lincolnshire.  My formative years were spent roaming these woods, developing a connection with nature that was to last a lifetime. 

Walking allows me to slow down and fully experience and appreciate the landscape that I travel through; to be a ‘human being’, rather than a ‘human doing’.  It not only provides exercise and improves health; it nourishes the mind, providing spiritual refreshment through contact with nature, allowing for the study of the appearance of things.  When walking in woodland, it is easy to lose and find oneself again, to reflect, meditate and absorb the natural world around me.  When walking I enjoy seeking out and photographing the intricate detail of nature, the ordinary, the detail that it is easy to walk past without noticing; I like to uncover the hidden aspects of a place, to ‘make visible the invisible’.  It allows me to reconnect with the world.

This summer I have walked in woods in Lincolnshire, The Lake District, Scotland and the Cevennes and Vercors mountains of France.  Photographing nature’s intimate landscapes means that the images could be anywhere: in rural settings, our edgeland wildernesses, beach and saltmarsh, mountains and even industrial settings and gardens. 

I share my feelings about nature through photography, but it leaves me with many questions.  Why am I affected in the way I am?  Why are these things here?  Why and how are they as they are?  Is the world as it is because it was made by a creator god, or is the Earth and everything on it, and the rest of the universe, simply governed by the laws of physics?  If we stop noticing these things will we allow them to disappear?

Having reflected on this post and on the feedback from my peer hangout group, I feel that my images are still too literal and do not ask the questions that I ask myself. I have portrayed a nature that is perfect.  I need to go back and experiment with styles of photography that are more ambiguous and make the viewer ask the same questions of themselves. I need to look deeper into the landscape of the wood; at its darker, more uncomfortable side.  This is going to entail putting this assignment submission on hold for a period while I rethink it.

Feedback from the Peer led Hangout Group on Assignment 4

After discussing this body of work with my peer hangout group it was felt that my written introduction was again too long and was too much ‘in your face’.  It gave the impression that I thought that all was wonderful and I was not critically engaged with my subject.  There was no debate, questioning myself or ambiguity.  Again it was felt that I had given all of the answers in the written piece.

 One colleague felt that there had been a seismic change from Assignment 3, where there was some ambiguity, and that I had reverted to the style of work that I had presented at the Barnsley Study Weekend. 

The fact that I had used the term ‘Flaneur’ was questioned as it generally  refers to an urban situation.  It was also felt that I needed to sequence the images and, perhaps, standardise the format (horizontal, vertical, square)

To this end I have restructured the written piece and include it below:-

I walked into the wood.  It was dark, and green.  Green leaves, green grass, green tinges on tree trunks; even the air seemed green.  It was also raining; steady, gentle summer rain.  I love woods in the wet. There were gentle sounds of water everywhere: the susurration of the rain itself and the steady drip, drip of drops off leaves and undergrowth.  Later, the sun came out and drops of water sparkled like jewels, each holding a perfect, inverted image of the world around it.  This was one of the Lincolnshire Limewoods, relicts of the original primeval wilderness in this part of England.  After the last ice age the whole of this region was forested with small leaved lime and the Limewoods are one of the few remaining links to wilderness in Lincolnshire.  My formative years were spent roaming these woods, developing a a connection with nature that was to last a lifetime.  I knew every tree, birds nest and rare plant, where to find adders and the best places for newts and frogspawn.  Bird song was a kind of ‘surround sound’; the hypnotic cooing of doves and pigeons, the harsh shrieking of jays, pneumatic drilling of woodpeckers, onomatopoeic song of the chiff chaff, the musical warble of blackcaps and from above the trees the wild mewing of a buzzard soaring overhead.  Flowers spangled the wood with colour: orchids, ragged robin, dog daisy, wild rose, honey suckle and many more.  The sense of smell was not neglected, with damp earthy scents of leaf mould and the occasional, floral notes of honeysuckle. 

Walking allows me to slow down and fully experience and appreciate the landscape that I travel through; to be a ‘human being’, rather than a ‘human doing’.  It not only provides exercise and improves health; it nourishes the mind, providing spiritual refreshment through contact with nature, allowing for the study of the appearance of things.  I find it a meditative experience and often, when walking in mountains, I have the feeling that I never want to come down.  Walking in woodland, it is easy to lose and find oneself again, to reflect, meditate and absorb the natural world around me.  In particular, I enjoy the intricate, close-up detail of nature: the beauty of a lichen covered rock, or a moss encrusted tree, a weathered, silvered tree stump in a forest, the floor of a wood, detail of a fern or the beauty of a feather.  I love the interplay of the weather on the landscape: clouds, wind, rain, snow and even mist and fog.  I revel in the touch and feel of the detail of the land: the roughness of tree bark, the soft sponginess of moss, the crispness of dried lichen on a sun-warmed rock or the refreshing coolness of a mountain stream.  When walking I enjoy seeking out and photographing the intricate detail of nature, the ordinary, the detail that it is easy to walk past without noticing; I like to uncover the hidden aspects of a place, to ‘make visible the invisible’.  It allows me to reconnect with the world.

I particularly enjoy woodland and this summer have walked in woods in Lincolnshire, The Lake District, Scotland and the Cevennes and Vercors mountains of France.  Photographing nature’s intimate landscapes means that the images could be anywhere: in rural settings, our edgeland wildernesses, beach and saltmarsh, mountains and even industrial settings and gardens. 

I share my feelings about nature through photography, but it also leaves me with many questions.  Why am I affected the way I am?  Why are these things here?  Why and how are they as they are?  Is the world as it is because it was made as it is by a creator god, or is the Earth and everything on it and the rest of the universe simply governed by the laws of physics?  If we stop noticing these things will we allow them to disappear?

Perhaps it is still too wordy and needs to be pruned even further.  I also need to standardise the format of the images and sequence them.

Walking in Woods. Body of Work, Assignment 4. First Thoughts

Walking in Woods

I walked into the wood.  It was dark, and green.  Green leaves, green grass, green tinges on tree trunks; even the air seemed green.  It was also raining; steady, gentle summer rain.  I love woods in the wet. There were gentle sounds of water everywhere: the susurration of the rain itself and the steady drip, drip of drops off leaves and undergrowth.  Later, the sun came out and drops of water sparkled like jewels, each holding a perfect, inverted image of the world around it.  This was one of the Lincolnshire Limewoods, relicts of the original primeval wilderness in this part of England.  After the last ice age the whole of this region was forested with small leaved lime and the Limewoods are one of the few remaining links to wilderness in Lincolnshire.  My formative years were spent roaming these woods, developing a deep love for nature that was to last a lifetime.  I knew every tree, birds nest and rare plant, where to find adders and the best places for newts and frogspawn.  I wanted to explore parts of the wood I didn’t know and so at the toss of a coin chose the first path and then alternately turned right and then left.  I became a forest flaneur for the day.  Bird song was a kind of ‘surround sound’; the hypnotic cooing of doves and pigeons, the harsh shrieking of jays, pneumatic drilling of woodpeckers, onomatopoeic song of the chiff chaff, the musical warble of blackcaps and from above the trees the wild mewing of a buzzard soaring overhead.  Flowers spangled the wood with colour: orchids, ragged robin, dog daisy, wild rose, honey suckle and many more.  The sense of smell was not neglected, with damp earthy scents of leaf mould and the occasional, floral notes of honeysuckle. 

Walking allows me to slow down and fully experience and appreciate the landscape that I travel through; to be a ‘human being’, rather than a ‘human doing’.  It not only provides exercise and improves health; it nourishes the mind, providing spiritual refreshment through contact with nature.  I find it a meditative experience and often, when walking in mountains, I have the feeling that I never want to come down.  Walking in woodland, particularly as a flaneur, as on this day, it is easy to lose and find oneself again, to reflect, meditate and absorb the natural world around me.  One day during a recent trip to France I was wandering in the Combeau Valley, high in the Vercors mountains, hunting for orchids and observing nature’s intimate details.  Towards the end of the day I lay down to rest, surrounded by wonderful flowers and views, to meditate and reflect on the day.  I lost myself in the changing patterns of the clouds above; my body became part of the land beneath me and my mind wandered among the clouds above.   These moments are transcendental, spiritual times during which I find it easy to believe in a creator god.  Despite being from a science background with a firm belief in evolution I can reconcile these two concepts in my mind: evolution being brought about by a creator.

Walking slowly enables me to marvel at the beauty of the world around me.  In particular, I enjoy the intricate, close-up detail of nature: the beauty of a lichen covered rock, or a moss encrusted tree, a weathered, silvered tree stump in a forest, the floor of a wood, detail of a fern or the beauty of a feather.  I love the interplay of the weather on the landscape: clouds, wind, rain, snow and even mist and fog.  I revel in the touch and feel of the detail of the land: the roughness of tree bark, the soft sponginess of moss, the crispness of dried lichen on a sun-warmed rock or the refreshing coolness of a mountain stream.  When walking I enjoy seeking out and photographing the intricate detail of nature, the ordinary, the detail unnoticed by most people, things that most would walk straight past; I like to uncover the hidden aspects of a place, to ‘make visible the invisible’. 

The natural world is important to me and during my walks I delight in my observations.  I particularly enjoy woodland and this summer have walked in woods in Lincolnshire, The Lake District, Scotland and the Cevennes and Vercors mountains of France.  Photographing nature’s intimate landscapes means that the images could be anywhere; there is no need, as is the tendency in modern landscape photography, to plant my tripod legs in the marks of those who have gone before.  Gone is the need to photograph in ‘picturesque’ weather, in fact I prefer overcast and even rainy conditions.  Gone, also is need for ‘picturesque and ‘sublime’ locations.  The intimate, close-up detail of nature can be found everywhere: in rural settings, our edgeland wildernesses, beach and saltmarsh, mountains and even industrial settings and gardens.  In industrial settings, particularly, nature is adept at reclaiming her own.

I share my feelings about nature through photography and in the current uncertain times for our planet I entertain positive feelings for its future and hope that I am not photographing its final days.

Why Do I Walk?

Frederic Gros begins his book The Philosophy of Walking with the statement that ‘Walking is not a sport.’  (Gros, 2015, p.2)   This, I feel, is not totally true.  There is a type of walking that is target driven, interested in results and speed: peak bagging, whether it be Munros (Scottish mountains over 3000 feet), Wainwrights (hills mentioned in Alfred Wainwright’s famous Lake District guide), Welsh 3000s, Dartmoor Tors, Alpine Peaks or Himalayan giants.  I have to admit to enjoying this style of walking some of the time.  I ‘collect’ Munros and Wainwrights, but more often I indulge myself in a slower style of walking.  Frederic Gros talks about walking as the best way to go more slowly than any other method that has been found.  He says that the lesson to be learned is that in walking the authentic sign of assurance is slowness, and haste and speed accelerates time which passes more quickly, and two hours of hurry shorten a day.  Also, he says that one of the secrets of walking is a slow approach to landscape that gradually renders them familiar (Gros, 2015).  Rebecca Solnit also points out that she likes walking 'because it is slow and she suspects that the mind, like the feet, works best at 3 mph' (Solnit, 2001, p.10).

 Walking slowly enables me, as Gros says, to marvel at the beauty of the day, the brightness of the sun, the grandeur of the trees, the blue of the sky.  In particular I enjoy the intricate, close-up detail of nature: the beauty of a lichen covered rock, or a moss encrusted tree, a weathered, silvered tree stump in a forest, the floor of a wood, detail of a fern or the beauty of a feather.  Robert MacFarlane reminds us that John Muir, too, revelled in the detail of nature: ‘Every tree calls for special admiration...’  He remarks, ‘How typical of Muir to see dazzle, where most would see dullness.’ (MacFarlane, 2016, p.11) When walking in mountains I often feel that I never want to come down and, like Nan Shepherd, author of The Living Mountain, about the Cairngorm massif in Scotland, I often feel myself part of the landscape (Shepherd, 1977) . 

 As a walker, Robert MacFarlane in Landmarks tells us that Nan Shepherd ‘practiced a kind of unpious pilgrimage.  She tramped around, over, across and into the mountain, rather than charging up it.  There is an implicit humility to her repeated acts of traverse which stands as a corrective to the self-exultation of the mountaineers hunger for the utmost point.’ (MacFarlane, 2016, p.64)  Frederic Gros points out that 'this is why expeditions in high mountain country (conquering peaks, each one a challenge) are always slightly impure: because they give rise to a narcissistic gratification.  What dominates in walking, away from ostentation and showing off, is the simple joy of feeling your body in the most primitively natural activity' (Gros, 2015, p.143).  In Wanderlust, Rebecca Solnit writes of phenomenologist, Edmund Husserl who, in 1931, 'described walking as the experience by which we understand our body in relationship to the world' (Solnit, 2014, p.27).  One day during a recent trip to France I was wandering in the Combeau Valley, high in the Vercors mountains, hunting for orchids and observing nature’s intimate details, I lay down, surrounded by wonderful flowers and views, to rest and meditate and reflect on the day.  I lost myself in the in the changing patterns in the clouds above and, like Shepherd, my body became part of the land beneath me and my mind wandered among the clouds above.  Frederic Gros is in agreement:' the body becomes steeped in the earth it treads and thus, gradually, it stops being in the landscape it BECOMES the landscape' (Gros, 2015, p.85).  This is exactly what I felt on this day.  Like Hamish Fulton and Paul Gaffney I have long found walking to be a meditative experience.  These moments are transcendental, spiritual times during which I find it easy to believe in a creator god.  Gros explains that joy is experienced in walking referring to the affect linked to activity.  He says that the same fundamental idea can be found in Aristotle and Spinoza:  joy is the accompaniment to an affirmation.  That is, he says, 'why joy, unlike pleasure, increases with repetition and is enriched' (Gros, 2015, p.142).  This is why I feel joy in walking whether it be ‘peak bagging’ or a slower, more reflective, observant approach.  Even when ticking off peaks, however, walking is always joyful and I continue to take pleasure in nature around me, especially its intimate details.  I love the interplay of the weather on the landscape: clouds, wind, rain, snow and even mist and fog.  

I particularly enjoy walking in wet woodland, even in the rain.  Colours are more saturated and water drips off the vegetation, the drops sparkling like jewels when the sun comes out again.  In each drop is a perfect inverted reflection of the world when examined closely.  When walking I enjoy seeking out and photographing the intricate detail of nature, the ordinary, the detail unnoticed by most people, things that most would walk straight past; I like to uncover the hidden aspects of a place.  In the afterword of Eliot Porter’s Intimate Landscapes, Weston J. Naef, MOMA curator, quotes Paul Klee, who said that 'the purpose of art is to make visible the invisible' (Naef, 1979, p.126).  

Naef also says of Porter that ‘to appreciate Porter's photographs close attention should be paid to the writings of Henry David Thoreau.  'He was a 20th century Thoreauvian whose inspiration came from a series of camping trips in the Canadian Rockies and his time spent as a boy on Great Spruce Head, an island owned by his family.’ (Naef, 1979, p.127).  He also says of him that, 'initially, his approach had more in common with the method of the scientist than that of the aesthete, or of the meditative observer he became' (Naef, 1979, p.127).  While some feel that Porter’s work is scientific, Graham Clarke in The Photograph includes his work in the chapter on fine art.  He says that his work is very much in the tradition of Stieglitz and his photograph Pool in a Brook, has echoes of the Equivalence series.  What makes it special, says Clarke, 'is the way Porter’s use of colour calls attention to the surface of the photograph, and does so through a remarkable play of texture and process'.  The overall effect, he says, is almost painterly, although the surface ‘sheen’ creates an image that we can only observe and never, like paint, touch (Clarke, 1997, p.179).  Naef tells us that Porter went on to reread Thoreau after his wife pointed out the similarity between his work and Thoreau's writings.  He then began using the writings as direct inspiration for photographs; for instance plate 11 in the book Aspen, Yellow Leaves and Asters is based on Thoreau's journal entry for October 1852.  The work of Ralph Waldo Emerson, especially his 1835  essay Nature also became an inspiration.  One aspect of Porter's work, Naef writes, is a tendency to degeographise the image.  In Intimate Landscapes the photographs could be of anywhere rather than attached to any specific place. (Naef, 1979, p.pp.126-134)  I feel, too, that my current body of work for assignment 4 could be anywhere. 

Like artists and photographer Hamish Fulton, Richard Long and Paul Gaffney I have long found walking to be a meditative experience, whether in mountain landscapes or lowland woods.  When walking in mountains, especially when on my own, I have a very strong sensation that I never want to come down.  In woodland it is both easy and a joy to lose and find oneself again as Roger Deakin says ‘To enter a wood is to pass into a different world in which we ourselves are transformed.  It is where you travel to find yourself, often, paradoxically, by getting lost.’ (Deakin, 2007, p.x).  I spent my childhood roaming the woods around my village, some of which I now walk for my BOW.  My formative years were spent roaming those woods developing a deep love for nature that was to last a lifetime.  Walking allows me to slow down and fully experience and appreciate the landscape that I travel through.  It not only provides exercise and improves health; it nourishes the mind, providing spiritual refreshment through contact with nature.  The natural world has always been important to me and during my walks I delight in my observations much as Austrian photographer Claudia Rohraurer did in her walks through the woodlands of a Finnish Nature Reserve.

References and Bibliography

Clarke, G. (1997) The Photograph, Oxford, OUP

Deakin, R. (2008) Wildwood, A Journey Through Trees, London, Penguin

Gros, F. (2015) A Philosophy of Walking, London, Verso

MacFarlane, R. (2016) Landmarks, London, Penguin

Naef, W.J. (1979) Intimate Landscapes, New York: MOMA

Shepherd, N. (2011) The Living Mountain, London, Canongate Books

Solnit, R. (2014) Wanderlust, A History of Walking, London, Granta 

Fulton, H. http://www.hamish-fulton.com/
Gaffney, P. http://www.paulgaffneyphotography.com/
Long, R.  http://www.richardlong.org/
Porter, E. http://www.cartermuseum.org/collections/porter/
Rohrauer. C  http://www.claudiarohrauer.info/?/work/photo-trekking/