What is it about mountains that draws us? Both I, and my children can't get enough of them. My daughter has emigrated to western Canada, where every weekend is spent in the mountains. Son has created a lifestyle that allows him to live surrounded by majestic peaks wherever he chooses, be it in Canada or the Alps. I am happy for them both. I have not quite achieved this, although it still remains a dream. Ever since I spent time as a student in the highlands of Scotland I have dreamed of living in such an environment. I blame falling in love with my other half (OH) for a change of plan, settling for a life down south, and coping with this compromise by visiting the mountains whenever possible. It is not a coincidence that I choose to spend my holidays in cold remote places such as Iceland and the Scottish highlands. It is in these places that my heart fills up. The first trip that I took after one of the covid lockdowns and a 14 day quarantine in Vancouver was a road trip to the Rockies with my son. Why are some of us drawn to mountains, while others are happiest on a beach, gazing at the sea? I asked Google, and Google said it was because I am an introvert. No surprises there. I asked chatGPT about the psychology of mountains with reference to artists, and it churned out several paragraphs within a few seconds about the sublime; something I have thought about on many occasions. But what is the sublime? And how do we know when we have found it? I would describe it as a sense of awe and wonder in the presence of something vast, powerful and transcendent. A reminder of how small and insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. Artists have sought to express the sublime for many years, some of my favourites being JMW Turner, Ansel Adams and Sebastien Salgado. More recently the sublime has been expressed in more abstract forms by artists such as Rothko, and by fellow artists at Rye Creative Centre such as Jenny Pockley, whose paintings of mountains are both ethereal and sublime, more reminiscent of a memory than of a specific place. Mountain imagery is a metaphor for personal growth and transformation, inspiring us to overcome hurdles and reach for new heights in our lives. Mountains also remind us our past. Our ancestors would have relied on mountains for fresh water, game, and shelter, making them an essential part of everyday existence. Today mountains continue to evoke a deep-seated sense of connection to the natural world. It would not be an understatement to admit that several members of my recent hiking trip in Scotland got absurdly excited to see stags on the mountainside; so much more excited than they would have been if they had seen them in a local park down south where they also thrive. For me, the excitement was greater for encountering multiple puddles filled with toad spawn on the path, way up on the hillside. A sign of how fragile the balance of nature is, for toads to lay their eggs in such a seemingly inhospitable spot. Mountains require one to face one's limitations. I have been trying to get fitter ready for hikes in a variety of mountains over the course of this year. You will find me standing on one leg as I wait for a train ( working my gluteal muscles) and doing press-ups before I soak in the bath at night. I spend half of my week feeling exhausted in response to my feeble efforts to get 'mountain ready'! Son takes this to new levels; setting himself challenges beyond that which he feels comfortable to achieve. Living in the mountains he finds himself surrounded by individuals setting themselves really tough challenges; running up mountains, long distance trail runs and alpine hikes from hut to hut; generally pushing themselves to the limit. Way beyond what most people would consider possible. Not to mention cycling from Chamonix to Khatmandu, as two of his friends have recently embarked on. With the ever changing political situation, this feels like an immense challenge. I, though, will just be happy to complete a week of hiking without painful knees; something that happens on the Scottish hills with the incredibly rough paths and endless twisting and turning on the long descents after the exhilaration of the peak. When I get back home I crave the mountains. I walk on the beach and realise that although the sea and sky are calming and refreshing, I feel at my best when a mountain is looming before me. enveloping me. I feel unsettled. So much so that I turn to my photographs and write some words.......starting with a line from my favourite poem by Raymond Carver - 'Late Fragment". Mountain .And did you get what you wanted from this life? To stumble cloudwards tramping tangled grasses and twisted heather squelching by bog's edge as you wind upwards between tumbling granite boulders laced with myriad geographies of jade green and grey. Territories and oceans, continents and seas marked by cities of citrus and white. Eyes cry out against the bitter easterlies; boundaries blur the heart beats faster and faster still. Scanning the skyline for peaks and ridges watching them rise into view Sharp edged, imposing, dark and forbidding. Later, snow and cloud softened sun tipped and golden as one with the sky. untouchable inhospitable indestructible extraordinary magnificent life affirming. Mountain. And once that is done, I start planning my next mountain adventure. Next stop, Chamonix..... And if you would like to read more about the psychology of mountains and the people who are drawn to conquer them, then I recommend this book by Robert Macfarlane 'Mountains of the Mind'. These images were taken on a walking holiday in Spean Bridge with 'Distant Hills Guest House'. A nicer place and kinder people would be hard to find.
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Sometimes it is good to try new things. It helps to shake up the senses and break one out of creative dead ends. I have lost my enthusiasm for making work about litter, thinking about litter, and picking up litter. My book 'What If ?' was not very well received when I showed a draft to an assessor at the Royal Photographic Society with a view to submitting it for the FRPS . The assessor preferred my previous books such as 'findings', Land of my Father', and 'forest'. All black and white. No wacky colours or manipulation. I was disappointed with the response. Disheartened even. I later shared the same draft book with my artist colleagues at Rye Creative Centre. Unlike the assessor they were incredibly positive. They encouraged me to get it finished. Who to believe? What to do? I thought about this for a while, and then decided that the book should go ahead regardless of the assessment process. I need to get it out of my system, once and for all. I asked myself why achieving the FRPS matters. I think it boils down to a sense of pride. It shouldn't matter. Either people like my work or they don't. Their feelings about it should not be affected by the letters after my name. For most of my life I have been gathering letters after my name. At some point I should realise that they don't make my life richer. I should stop competing with the world, and just be myself..........sometimes colourful. and sometimes dark and moody. It is the learning and the richness that studying brings that matters, not the letters that follow. So for now, I will get the book finished, and stop thinking about making work about litter. I will, of course, continue to pick litter up as I go on my daily travels, as I always do. I wish to get back to beauty and the landscape. Which brings me on to women photographers and camaraderie. Two weekends ago, in a bid to break out of my rut, I signed up to a photo walk with the RPS Women in Photography group. A London photowalk, starting at the National Portrait Gallery. I didn't know any of the participants, but what a really warm and welcoming group they turned out to be. We spent most of the day together, stopping for foody treats along the way. The pastel del nata ( Portugese custard tarts) were particularly special. I had two. We walked together initially, looking for images as we strolled. Slow was the order. Relaxed was the pace. We chatted and explored Covent Garden and Somerset House. I found myself drawn to a topic that has been in the back of my mind for a long time, ever since I took a selfie in a field of sunflowers some years ago in Trelex, Switzerland. Hair. The image above was an accidental capture whilst bending low in a field of sunflowers. To my eye it represents a freedom of spirit, and a lightness of being. I keep a copy of this photograph pinned up on the wall of my studio. As a landscape photographer the topic of hair felt like a big side step. I rarely take portraits of strangers as I never feel that I will use them in any constructive way. But this was a day to be different, and the urge that I was barely aware of surfaced as we walked through the crowds. So many beautiful women. So much well tended hair. In the low March sunshine it glowed and shone. I started following people from behind, capturing them when they stopped for a moment. Almost no faces, so no loss of privacy on their part. I saw the hair as a landscape. Rivers and gardens. Colours and shapes. No litter. A therapeutic refresh. I remembered capturing Japanese girls dressed in traditional costume for the autumn leaf celebrations. Such attention to detail. My hair never gets that much attention. The more I walked, the more I enjoyed the moments of capture. I might even go back for some more. I don't care that this isn't abstract landscape photography, or what poeple think about these images. What I care about is the fact that I enjoyed making the images, and what they might mean going forward. I would like to give a massive thanks to Gabrielle Motola for leading us so gently into the street, and to all the women from the RPS Women in Photography group for their company and camaraderie. |
Caroline Fraser - an ordinary life
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Welcome to Caroline Fraser Photography
Colourful abstracted and traditional photographic landscapes, book art and workshops. Capturing the moods and beauty of nature whether in wild open places or in small sanctuaries in suburbia. |