Gallery Pick of the Week
Instead of just showing pretty pictures only, here we have space for contributors to discuss their images every week.
This is a great opportunity to get some insight from the original photographer and the content is entirely open. It could be anything from the personal feeling of the photographer about the image to any photographic techniques or location knowledge he/she would like to share with our visitors.
Gallery Pick of the Week > April 2009
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Isolation, 26/4/09, David Bruce "To wake up every day and walk down that beach into the unknown must have been quite an adrenaline rush to the right sort of person. But I could understand why not everyone would want to do it." |
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Assignments from Without or Within, 19/4/09, Rob Gray Escaping from urban life and pursuing a free style photography interest or even a career is a two-edge sword for most passionate photographers. Our contributor, Rob Gray, has gone through such a pleasure journey and his experience is fascinating and unique. |
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Greenwich Circult, Walking around Sydney Lower Northshores – Part 2, 12/4/09, Barbara Bryan "We drove straight past the main bushfire area of Kinglake and its surrounds and boy oh boy does this send shivers up your spine. I cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like for the poor souls who were trapped in this area on Black Saturday" |
David Bruce - Isolation, 26/4/09
The vast, dusty Australian continent has a subtle and sneaky beauty. While there are parts that can take your breath away, and a climate that can sometimes do exactly the same, it generally isn’t the obvious, dramatic landscapes that stay with me. Long after the exact images of many places I’ve been begin to fade, it is the feelings and impressions they create that remain, the most treasured keepsakes of my travels.
There are images that I hold dear which are composites of many individual times and places – but only sometimes do they all come together at once. Many times have I seen spectacularly lit scenes with lurid late afternoon sunlight highlighting the immediate surrounds against a vivid backdrop of dark storm clouds. I always imagined this scene played out with white river gums and the uncannily red dirt of the Pilbara in the north of Western Australia. One day while driving north of Port Hedland into the setting sun, exactly this scene presented – a ‘stop the car’ moment if ever there was one.
River gums (Pilbara, WA)
This image I know intimately. Somehow I knew it before I ever captured it. If the details of my description don’t match exactly the photo, then it is not my description that is wrong, but rather the picture itself that is missing the point.
In my travels around this country, the most compelling feeling I have ever experienced was of standing on the inside looking out, looking beyond what I know and contemplating what I don’t.
The vast size and low population of Australia means it is one of the few places in the world where it is still possible to literally reach the ‘edge of the known world’. If ever there is a feeling to stay with you, then this has to be a contender.
Western Australia, I assume, must have one of the lowest ratios of people per square kilometre on Earth. It’s a very big place, and most of the people are concentrated in and around Perth – which leaves a lot of space for you to get out on your own. Even on the East Coast this is not really possible – you are never very far from the next town, the next rest stop, the next touch of man on the land. You can find a pocket of relatively untouched land – but there is always someone around somewhere.
The feeling of being out on the edge of the known world is something that most of us don’t experience very often. In many parts of the western world, you just can’t experience it at all. Fly over Europe or North America at night and you’ll understand what I mean, the carpet of lights is breathtaking, but also perhaps a little claustrophobic. But in Western Australia and other ‘outback’ parts of Australia, you really can get a feeling of being at the very periphery of the part of the world that has been colonised by humans.
The first time I remember having that feeling was standing on a beach in Kalbarri, on the mid-west coast of WA, looking north from the Murchison River mouth and along the coast. Kalbarri is situated on the southern bank of the Murchison, but the north bank of the river, just 100m or so away, is almost untouched. You can’t get there by road, and there’s almost no permanent trace of man at all.
We swam across the river, which is quite doable, although I’m sure it’s an easier trip in a small boat. Once on the other side we meandered up the beach a few hundred metres, maybe a kilometre, so that we couldn’t see any sign of Kalbarri behind us. Somehow that beach seemed so much more unknown than even the beaches back on the other side of the river mouth, and perhaps because of that simple fact, there was an intimidating, even vaguely threatening, feeling.
Looking north I could see a series of points reaching in from the right and down to the beach. From the left came an infinite sequence of seriously large waves driving in relentlessly from the Indian Ocean. As the coast arced away towards the horizon it disappeared into a mist created by the pounding surf, and the dunes became purple silhouettes, each one a slightly lighter shade than the previous one until they too vanished into the mist.
I could feel my stomach tighten a little, my pulse race a fraction. I sensed that I was a little nervous looking along that beach, and I wondered why. Somehow the knowledge that short of the odd bit of ‘informal civilisation’ like local fishing spots and campsites there wasn’t another town for more than 250km – and even that is the inspiringly named Useless Loop on Edel Land, the outer peninsula of the Shark Bay region – made me feel like I was looking into an uncharted area.
I think I was nervous about simply not knowing what was along that rather forbidding looking stretch of coast. If I set out along it, would I survive? How far could I get? What would I see? Doubtless things that very few people had ever seen, but would they be worth what I needed to do to get there?
When we turned around it was with an almost palpable sense of relief that I could turn my back on the unknown. This was indeed the very edge of the world that I knew, and I found that it challenged my comfort zone to look beyond that line in the sand and contemplate what was outside.
It made me wonder about the people who explored the world when the line in the sand was much closer to home. To wake up every day and walk down that beach into the unknown must have been quite an adrenaline rush to the right sort of person. But I could understand why not everyone would want to do it.
Since then though, I found I have a quiet little craving hidden away deep inside for that vague feeling of nervousness I got that day in Kalbarri. Whenever I can find a place to stand that feels like the edge of the world, I now really enjoy taking a few steps further and allowing myself to look to the horizon and wonder.
A few years after Kalbarri a friend and I drove from Perth across the Nullarbor and around the coast right up to Cairns. North of Cairns you can reach a town called Daintree, and beyond there, quite abruptly and with little fanfare, we found that the sealed road ended and only dirt tracks went further north. Continuing along a short way we crossed the Daintree River by ferry and ended up at a place called Cow Bay.
In the ‘carpark’, and along the beach itself, were signs saying “Beware of Estuarine Crocodiles”. It seemed like good advice. Walking along the beach at Cow Bay, not only did I have that sense of being a little nervous about the unknown, but another threat was quite clearly enunciated – you don’t get those signs on very many metropolitan beaches! I know that neither Tim nor I mentioned it out loud, but we both made sure to keep casually turning around to ‘admire the view behind us’ far more often on that walk than any other time we have walked along a beach. I know why I did it, but I’ve never asked Tim.
Driving around the country, I have got this feeling a few more times. For me it tends to be mainly when I’m looking along a coast, rather than when I’m inland, though in theory there is no reason why it should be so. I got it on the beach at Eucla near the WA/SA border, where the remains of the old wooden jetty remain fixed in place as the sand moves around them. Standing on the Nullarbor cliffs I challenge anyone not to think about the unknown.
Most recently I got this feeling not so far from home, which at the time was Bunbury (two hours south of Perth). Further south near the gorgeous forestry town of Pemberton are the mightily impressive Yeagarup Dunes, and the D’entrecastreaux National Park. Once you get a little off the beaten track, this is real 4WD access only country, and while there are people around, there aren’t too many.
“The road to nowhere” - Yeagarup Dunes (Near Pemberton)
There are a few places you can get through the dunes and down nerve-wrackingly steep tracks to the beaches, but the coast here is pounded by the Southern Ocean. After seeing it, I understand what people mean when they describe an ocean as ‘angry’. It’s not a directed or vindictive anger, it’s a totally uncaring anger which shows no sign of being placated, or even ‘placatable’. There is something different about an ocean like this that can’t be put into words. Perhaps the best way to try is to say that you are paying close attention to the ocean, but it couldn’t care less about you being there.
Stepping onto these beaches, especially walking west from Black Point and again at the mount of the Warren River, I had that old frisson, the sense of being threatened by the ocean again. There are plenty of signs warning about being in a “Coast Risk” area, but I didn’t really know what I should be watching out for. How big is a King Wave, and how much warning do you get? Could I reach the dunes if one rolled in? And would the dunes protect me anyway? What else should I worry about?
Mouth of the Warren River (South of Pemberton)
The sense of vulnerability gave me a little rush, and reminded me of why I love coming to these places. When I got back into the car I turned on the radio to get a score in the cricket, and the familiar calmness of my comfort zone returned. The Southern Ocean may be less than a hundred metres away, but ABC AM really is most places.
The only difference was, I think, that after seeing that line in the sand again I felt comforted and reassured and not quite so smothered by our modern society. The ABC was like a voice from home. I do like to look out, to figuratively stick my toe in the water of the unknown. I’m not quite so keen to go too far, just a little hit was enough to keep me going for a while before I need another one.
But I know that I will need another one. Soon.The Author
David Bruce is a photographer, psychologist, husband and father. Living in WA from the age of 12 until a recent move to Canberra, he has travelled extensively around WA and Australia.
When photographing the landscape, David likes to keep people out of the picture, and let the world speak for itself. His definition of a great photo is one in which the scene is strengthened by putting it into a frame, rather than weakened. A landscape photo should capture a moment in time, but not tell you exactly when that moment is. It should invite you into it, and give a sense of depth. It is impossible to define what makes a picture do this, but you tend to recognise it when it does.
Rob Gray - Assignments from Without or Within, 19/4/09
Ansel Adams talked of "assignments from without", ie. paid jobs, and "assignments from within", the artistic work or "your own thing".
When I returned to photography in the early 90s, after more than a decade without picking up a camera, I still had my day job in computing and its steady income, I was free to photograph what I liked and how I liked. Many people wanted to hire me to photograph this and that, but I only accepted assignments from within.
I did not want any assignments from without, I was having too much fun just doing my own work and I didn't need the money, so why take on the stress of doing jobs for others?
Before long I started thinking along the lines of, once again, making photography my profession as I had in the seventies. I started selling photos and exhibiting and eventually, opened a small gallery.
The gallery was attached to one of Canberra's largest markets and, as such, only opened on Sundays. This allowed me to keep the day job (and its income stream) and for a while I had the best of both worlds; I could accept my internal assignments, I had a venue to display and sell my work, and I could afford to buy food, all at the same time.
Things went well, I sold a lot of images, but this meant they had to be replaced, which in turn meant hours in the darkroom. Now I love working in the darkroom, but it was starting to get too much, often printing the same images over and over.
Couple this with the myriad other jobs required to run a small business, constant requests to give talks at clubs, judge at competitions and teach at workshops, plus a full-time job, and there was no time left to make new images.
After a few years I realised that, although I refused to actually take on work for others I was, effectively, accepting assignments from without. A lot of people were determining what I did with my time, and most of those people weren't me!
I was saved by a mid-life crisis.
In 1997 my wife and I both decided we'd had enough of the rat race and elected to drop out and travel around Australia. We reasoned that we would need a large motorhome to to this, and that I should build it to save money.
That was 12 years ago. It took one of those years to wind down the photography business, sell houses etc., another three to build the motorhome, and another year of travelling before I was ready to get back into making images.
So here I am, at large in the world with my Canons and a bag load of lenses and memory cards. We have no immediate need to earn money so, once again, I'm free to photograph what I like and how I like, my photography is totally from "within".
It's a great feeling, and in fact the dream of just about every photographer.
Now if I could just make some money from my photography...
Barbara Bryan - Greenwich Circult, Walking around Sydney Lower Northshores – Part 2, 12/4/09
Continuing on with my Sydney coastal walking series, we visit the quiet, understated delightful Greenwich peninsula where you can do a circuit walk of about four kms - or more if you start from the nearest railway station at Wollstonecraft.
I suggest you do this walk in an anticlockwise direction heading into the bushland reserve off Greenwich Road, and walk on the track above the waterline. You will be rewarded with superb views of bobbing boats, moving ferries, harbourside mansions but in contrast to those you will see plenty of natural formations by the shoreline, such as shapely rocks (photo 1), curvy trees (photo 2) , oystershells on rocks and masses of shells on tiny beaches. Further on you come to the Greenwich ferry wharf (photo 4), which affords great views up the Parramatta River (photo 3) towards Cockatoo Island (another trip) and other suburbs.
1. Sandstone formation. 2. Leaning tree by Sydney Harbour. 3. Parramatta River Ferry and View. 4. Greenwich Wharf.
As we round the bend and head east many new vistas open up including views down to the amazing Greenwich sea baths tucked away in a very private cove (photo 5). Alongside the baths you can visit a small public beach which shelters a few tinnies (photo 6) and of course gives a different view towards the city skyline. A small cafe at the baths is available if you pay the entry fee – well worth it for the ambience and views with reading material also provided! Passing more stunning homes with views, we reach Manns Point (photo 7), through another parkland and see spectacular vistas of the city and North Sydney as well as across the harbour to Birchgrove and Balmain areas (photo 8). This is a great place to return for a picnic or evening visit to watch sundown and city lights with car parking provided.
5. Greenwich Baths and Sydney City. 6. Tinnies by harbour foreshore. 7. Manns Plaque. 8. Sydney skyline from Manns Point
In constrast, on the north side of Manns Point is an industrial zone! The Shell shipping wharf receives oil tankers for unloading and storage in Gore Cove tanks (photo 9) just nearby and in view of some residences. So some folk have views of the harbour bridge and city but also have oil tanks in the foreground!
9. Sydney City and Oil Tanks
Heading inland and north along Gother Avenue, Greenwich Road in met again for the route to Wollstonecraft station which requires a walk around the head of Gore Cove through some bushland then uphill on Shirley Road. Alternatively, if you start from the station, you can follow the bushland track to the head of Gore Cove (signposted), thereby avoiding the same route back.
Although this walk is not too long, it can take all day if you decide to spend time at the sea baths, have a coffee, have a picnic, stop for photos often and watch the continuously passing boat traffic ! Any time of year is good for this walk.