I photographed an area of the lake with 120 kodak portra 400 film, a few days into January just after the ice had thawed. Having decided to focus on using analogue images for my book, I wanted to have a wider selection of images to see whether I could have a balance of colour and black/white photographs to choose from. By this point, I had identified several areas of the lake that I was drawn to, so although I engaged in a walk, I had a preconceived idea about where I was going. I attempted to note down a few words as a sort of poetry. Having been influenced by Mary Oliver’s nature poetry, especially her ability to say as she see’s, I wanted to practice this. I am not sure I want to use words alongside my work, I will most likely make a late decision on this!
These photographs will be included in my book. The first & third photographs (reading top left to right) are particular favourites, I like their abstract nature as this fits with my theme and at the time, I was instinctive in my shooting. I didn’t think too much about framing or outcomes, I just spotted something that appealed to me, somehow carried some meaning for me and took a photograph.
The film itself is ideal for my subject. The colours are soft, a little too green in places but I think there is a good balance of tones throughout. The shoot was earlier in the day, compared to much of my work and it was a flat, dense cloud overhead. The film choice is quite forgiving I think. These could print well, I am excited to see how they will sit alongside my black and white photographs.
This is the analogue shoot I did alongside the digital one on the same day. I used Ilford 400 film, which has been reliable and forgiving in a broad range of conditions. I had loaded the film before heading to the lake, I wanted to photograph without having to think too much.. however, this did become tricky at times when I couldn’t feel my hands! I moved slowly around the lake, listening and feeling the environment. I studied the places I have walked many times before but noted how they were almost unrecognisable in this new, icy world. An entiurely different atmosphere exists, it was both eerie and intriguing. My curiosity meant I stayed much longer than planned, fascinated by the images frozen on the lake surface. I literally couldn’t stop watching. Nothing moved. It was silent and as the sun went down, a pink, orange, winter sky cast its image across the ice. It was so beautiful. I wrote a short poem in response:
winter spreads its cloak across the lake frozen images, as though printed on satin, hold soft light silence reigns, I just hear myself, living, breathing in place. Trees are looking down at me, their branches hiding the tiny spies who watch my every move.
I plan to use several images from this shoot in my final book. I love the texture in the images and the light, I keep reflecting on how easily I could have stayed at home in the warm! I would have missed out on an experience, let alone th opportunity for some photographs.
This is a slide show of my most recent shoot, this was during a frozen spell at the turn of the year, this turned the lake at Dacha into a whole other world. I spent a few late afternoons walking through here as the light faded, it had a completely different feel to it. There was no wind and it was eerily still you can see from several of the images that even with a slow shutter, there is little movement in the trees branches. There is a satin effect on the surface of the middle lake, I love how the fading light makes it shine silver, and the tree branches frozen in time poking out from the ice. There is a stillness to the photographs that signifies a sort of solitude and silence, which is as I have been trying to portray in my subject.
I was quite excited at the results of this shoot, Being able to view them immediately once I returned home, I could easily identify those which I would like to add to my list of potential images for my submission. I had also taken photographs in tandem, with my analogue camera. I was hopeful I might have some images from this that I could use in my book or for my final exhibition piece. I am still undecided on how I will separate my images from analogue / digital and colour / black and white. Or even, whether its necessary to have this as a concern at all.
This was a shoot which really helped me to pin down what I was trying to do. I loved most of the photographs from this session, it was chilly, getting dark and by the time I finished it the moon was climbing high in the sky. I used long exposures with my digital camera on a tripod. Sometimes as long as 5 minutes. I hadn’t done much night work up to this point and wanted to see what results I might achieve.
I have converted a few of the images to black and white as I think this added to a sense of timelessness The jackdaws in the trees were very vocal, as were the pheasants! As it was their time of day to set up roost in the trees. This was tricky to capture on camera but I rather like the movement in the treetops whilst also revealing the silhouette of the birds settling there for the night. The canopy of the trees was especially dramatic because of the clear sky and full moon that night. They cast their silhouette on the lake and so with the longer exposure I had the effect of smoth mirror like surface of the water and the reflection of light cloud, branches and leaves which had slight blur to them.
This work was a joy to make and the focus on just a few small areas of the lake meant again that I just surrounded myself with the landscape and really felt a part of it.
As I was about to leave, I turned around and saw the perfect reflection of the moon in a puddle. I got the camera back out and photographed it, also the scene of the driveway down to the area of the property where the rented sheds are.
The work here really doesn’t quite fit visually with my narrative though. I am being less concerned about that when actually shooting because thats my aim but when it comes to sequencing a book or selecting work for the gallery wall, I think it sits alone. It is likely I will create a separate body of work for another project having been inspired by this shoot.
These photographs were shot on Ilford 400 film on a grey, overcast afternoon. Although fairly late in the day, it is on occasion I bit flat for photography! However, I decide that as I am not focussing on representation of the landscape but being in it, that is less of a concern.
This time for my practice in this area of woodland, I decided to use both cameras (digital and analogue) For the digital photographs, see blog post Guiting Wood (digital) 25.11.25I wanted to go straight from the ‘settling in’ period with my digital camera and into my more immersive practice with the Mamiya. (this shouldn’t necessarily suggest I don’t operate mindfully with my digital, but that I am more so when I get to use my analogue, having familiarised myself with the environment)
This area of the wood is very quiet. There is an old collapsing building with the remnants of agricultural machinery gradually being consumed by the landscape. There are some eerie looking foundation stones from what I assume would have been an old agricultural barn, although I can’t find any reference to it to confirm. They really resemble gravestones in the way they all face the same way and lean as the ground gives way to them. Given their position, I wonder how long the trees have been there and which came first. I remember coming here many times as a child and I remember it being almost exactly as it is now.
Having already photographed the area with my other camera, I moved from location to location (all within 50 metres) with my camera on a tripod and positioned it for a while before taking a photograph. I spent time in the space, thinking and feeling my surroundings. Many times I didn’t take a photo, instead choosing to relocate.
My most successful photograph is the one shown below. I felt as though I was part of the landscape at this point, I was surrounded by it as I nestled in to the bank of the pond and just sat there a while. The corvids above were raucous but befitting. The moment was only broken by the sound of a small plane going over me above. I like that there is so much going on in this photograph, the scene is framed by the trees and the fallen branch in the water in the distance helps to anchor the image. The reflections in the water create some ambiguity which I always favour.
This is the analogue version of the shoot that I did at the end of October – see blog entry Guiting Wood : digital 31.10.25. I revisited to photograph this place as it is of particular importance to me, I detail in the earlier blog post about this.
As I am getting used to being more present with my environment, I spent some time walking though this area of landscape, initially with my running group, who after a while set off in another direction to allow me to focus on my space. I walked slowly, looking all around me, bending down to look underneath objects, letting my hand hang in the water for a short while (its very cold!) and looking up at the tree canopy to see what hides there.
Once I started to shoot, I felt fully present in the place. Nothing else distracting me, I set my camera on a tripod and placed it in the water of the pond. All the of the images are taken from within a few metres of this same spot, I only moved the tripod a few metres for each shot and let it sit in place for a while whilst I just watched and listened. There are no roads or built up areas close by so I could only hear the water, reminding me of Nan Shepherds description of water in her book The Living Mountain (see my blog bost: Women and the embodied landscape) and the birds calling above.
Once I had the film developed I felt the images weren’t as strong as I had hoped, albeit an honest gallery of a mindful experience. However, I am very drawn to the close images of the water itself, especially the one with the leaf because you can see the reflection of the trees above which serves to emphasise the ripples in the waters surface. This reminds me a little of Van Goughs ‘Starry Starry Night’ painting with its distinctive shape of the cypress tree and the swirly patterns in the skyscape.
This area of Guiting Wood is of particular importance for me. This is a place, tucked away at the Southern end of the woods, where the stream comes from underground and opens up into a small pool. The water here is always freezing cold as it makes its way from under the ground and its always crystal clear. My grandfather was responsible for looking after the water pumping station, situation about three quarters of a mile away. I always think of him when I am here, wondering if we’d be looking at the same view. Here is an excerpt from his diary, which details this along with his other duties that week. I love his writing and the details of his hours spent working locally. I chuckled at the landrover note, it seemed so matter of fact, as though this was an unsurprising occurrence!
I spent some time here, just alone with my thoughts and thought about my family. As my mind settled, I thought about the bridge that we used to sit on, skimming stones throwing sticks and leaves, seeing who’s would win the race. I thought above how my cousin and I collected creatures into buckets or pre-prepared jars and studied them for a while. I am reminded of the time I was so fascinated by the huge Roman snails that can be found in this area and took several home with me to live in the garden, except (unbeknownst to me, they are protected and since 1981 it has been illegal to take them!) I accidentally left the jar in my parents car with the lid off. My father wasn’t thrilled when i went to get in his car at 5am for a long drive up North for work. Needless to say, I have taught my own children to leave things in place (thats what a camera is for, after all)
As I settle into place and tap into my memories, I can sense what I can only describe as echos of conversations past and I can feel everyone in this place. I am reminded of one of my favourite quotes that I discovered when researching 7802, by landscape architect Jacques Abelman, for his study into the dwelling perspective. It poetically describes the scientific facts of atomic turnover “Every atom in our bodies is replaced over time…our skin sloughs off and becomes dust; the carbon in our breaths becomes the bodies of plants…we become the landscape, and the landscape becomes us, creating our bodies anew over the course of our lives” (Abelman, 2023: p1) I often think of this when I am in a landscape environment. I find it comforting to think that we are all still here in some form or another. A recent novel that I read which stayed with me for some time after I finished it was ‘There are Rivers in the Sky’ by Elif Shafnak. It tells a story that is woven through by the journey of a single raindrop. It is about ‘the politics and preciousness of water’ (guardian: online) and features different characters, spanning history from ancient Mesopotamia and the tale of Gilgamesh, to modern day London. I haven’t looked at water in the same way since.
For this shoot, I again used my digital camera as a tool to practice in place, to settle in and immerse myself in the environment. The intention being to shoot on analogue afterwards. I am finding this is an effective way of working when still getting used to my Mamiya. I lack a bit of confidence with it and so that distracts me from the focus on becoming mindful. I realise that this could raise the question of contradicting myself as it might suggest the images are contrived / pre planned. However, I feel that I become more relaxed if I satisfy that part of my mind which wants some control, therefore I’d argue that conversely makes the process of mindfulness easier.
My most successful image in this series is the wider perspective of the pond itself. With the tree trunk in the centre at the point where the water begins to disappear again on its journey along the valley and eventually back underground, it is evocative of those memories I mention above. As though time itself is being carried along, with water as its vehicle. The colours at this moment were so saturated and almost seemed to be lit up. I like that the trees fill the frame and that there is no sky visible, like the work of Thomas Struth for his ‘New Pictures from Paradise’ series.
This was a shoot in Autumn, late into the evening when it was very bright. I wanted to explore the area and remind myself of some of the key aspects that trigger memories for me. The carved stones are personally evocative as I remember the stone mason who carved them. He lived in a caravan in the woods and made these pieces in place. Carved from the local Cotswold Stone, they have been there for 40 or so years.
The stream that runs through this woodland was a place of great excitement when I was a child. Bathing in it, investigating it and following its route, we lost hours here. I plan to return with my analogue camera to shoot some key areas.
This is the image I selected to use in my lightbox. I like how the leaves form a frame and draw the eye into the tree trunk at the centre. It gives an impression of depth and mystery to the woodland:
Exploring the fragility of human connection with the universe and ecology
I came across Kawauchi’s work during module 7802. She is a Japanese photographer well known for making quiet, intimate images of the day to day objects that we might otherwise ignore, which aligns with ideas around mindful photography practice. Her photographs characteristically have soft light and pale colour palettes with a shallow depth of field. I find many of her photographs are quite surreal and seem to be other worldly. In 2024, she exhibited at the Arnolfini as part of Bristol Photo Festival, the organiser described her work as being ‘characterised by a poetic, dreamlike quality that imbues mundane scenes and objects with a sense of wonder and transcendence’(Arnolfini: online)
The ‘dreamlike quality’ is the first aspect of her work that I notice, I spent some time just simply looking and in an attempt to practice the mindful aspects of photography, just ‘sat with’ the images. It is interesting to experience the change from a simple visual acknowledgement to something more like a physical sensation, which feels more meaningful and immersive.
The photographs below are from Kawachi’s website and are part of her M/E series (Mother / Earth)
At the core of her practice is her exploration into the relationship between humans and the rest of the natural world. Her work tends to present a sympathetic view, the images are very gentle and she discusses in an interview that her books are a very important part of her work, recognising that to see work in a gallery requires a viewer to enter a prescribed space whereas a book can be picked up and put down whenever desired and without distraction.
Another compelling point she makes concerns her explanation of why her latest book, Halo, brings together subjects that initially appear unrelated. Rather than emphasising an obvious or direct relationship between them, she asks the viewer to consider their broader place in the world. Kawachi suggests that everything in the book is connected through her personal love of nature and the world around her, even if those connections are not immediately clear. This makes the work seem deeply personal as I wonder whether it is more of a representation of artists inner thoughts, as well as the subjects themselves.
This raises the question of whether conventional expectations about what is and is not considered “connected” should be challenged when assembling a book, or creative work more broadly. My own rigidity over making things uniform or having the conventional belief that there must be obvious connection in my work, perhaps should be challenged.
I note my thoughts and feelings about the image below: ‘I see what could at first glance be a person but I realise is more likely a building. A church perhaps. Obviously there is glass between the viewer and the scene, as the rain tells us that. I notice tiny dots on the raindrops which almost create comical faces in them. As though they are looking back at me saying ‘let us in’! This amuses me. It feels cold, as the image is blue, the light is low and this is synonymous with a damp and dreary English Autumn or winter day. I find it both brooding and melancholy. Were there a light somewhere on the building, this would change the sensation of the image completely, I would see this as hopeful.
She uses photography as meditation. Her approach being to sit with her surroundings for a while, noticing the various sensations that appear; this might be to do with the sound and temperature or the damp weather as in the photo above. In the rain, she would have had added distraction from the water hitting her head and body, which may have made it more difficult to ‘tune in’ to her surroundings. What is clear though is that no matter the situation, by employing some mindfulness discipline, its possible, using creativity, to extract meaning from the chosen environment regardless of ‘distractions’ in this case, rain fall.
There is much to admire about her practice and work. Although aesthetically Kawauchi’s work doesn’t align with my personal taste, her methods and subject matter are highly relevant and interesting. I would like to view her work up close and I am looking out for any exhibitions so that I can visit. I can imagine some of these works being quite thought provoking seen up close and on a different scale.
Nikon D850 with 105mm fixed lens, 24-70mm wide and 50mm prime.
As Autumn creeps in, the landscape was beginning to change. I paid close attention to the water levels here because they had not recovered after such a long dry summer. It is the first time my step father remembers it being so low for so long. Interestingly, the swan mussels presence indicate good water quality, I would have assumed that the lack of rain might have contributed to its decline but I wonder if with there being no agricultural run off from the hill it has actually given the environment chance to recover. I admit, this is unscientific on my part but it is a passing thought as I watch the water.
I am working in the open space today. I feel quite exposed, as ordinarily I am hidden under the tree canopy but I feel I need to invest time in the other areas of the landscape which I usually pass up. The sky feels heavy with rain and it does come but not enough. I tried to catch it in the pond with lillypads, it only just breaks the surface, seeming to almost evaporate before it arrives. Its still warm.
The wind has picked up a little and I notice the reeds moving back and forth in unison. The red and yellow appears flame like, they are striking against the otherwise green and brown landscape. The same is true of the orange spruce. I don’t know the story of this young tree but it stands as though watching me, its strangely comforting. Its bright colour is bold against the rest of the scene. Most of the water birds are nowhere to be seen, I did spy a small group of ducks under the canopy but they all made their escape as they heard my approach. I liked how they had found a shallow area of rock and shingle just peeking above the water line under the trees, there was also a small patch of light coming through which seemed to illuminate them as they sat. I tried to photograph them but in my clumsy attempt, I disturbed them all.
I experimented with movement, for the orange spruce, I panned the camera slightly to create a painted effect. It feels too contrived though and not in the spirit of mindful practice. I like the movement in the reeds though, they move themselves as I leave a slightly longer exposure. I did spend a good couple of hours here, absorbed in my surroundings and practicing just ‘being’. It feels odd at the moment and I hope that this will change. It is meant to be a ‘practice’ after all.
Lucinda Taylor 