Riaño, March 2022.
Early in the morning, in the beautiful town of Riaño.
Riaño, March 2022.
Early in the morning, in the beautiful town of Riaño.
Riaño, March 2022.
They call it the Matterhorn of León, because of its shape. I've never been to the famous swiss mountain so I'm not sure about the accuracy of the comparison, but I can say that Gilbo is a beautiful peak.
Watch the video from Riaño, in the Picos de Europa mountains.
O Courel, March 2022.
Have I mentioned the beautiful foggy morning I had last week?
O Caurel, March 2022.
From a beautiful foggy morning in the Caurel mountains.
I live for moments like these.
Galicia, March 2022.
A burnt bush in the fog.
Lindau, Germany, October 2019.
Riaño, March 2022.
A pretty big swing, hihg in the mountains of León.
Galicia, March 2022.
Some images I made during the last few days around town.
Riaño, March 2022.
The act of taking photos can be seen as a way to remember things we don't want to forget, or to share those moments with others. The danger is: photography can take us away from the present moment, trading the experience we are having now for one in the future.
This is a very real concern and sometimes, the best thing we can do is to put the camera away and enjoy -- this is especially true for fleeting moments that don't last long.
But photography can be used as a tool to enrich the experience. In our search for beauty, we pay more attention, we increase its meaning, and we can feel even more present than before. Many times, photography can even be what creates those meaningful moments to begin with!
It is important, then, to know when to capture the moment, and to know when to simply take it all in. And if possible, find the real magic, somewhere in between.
Galicia, March 2022.
We are driven by emotions — we make images when we see something that makes us feel in a certain way, and we try to recreate those feelings in the viewer through our work.
Art should touch and move the audience: the last thing we want is to leave people indifferent.
There’s a tricky balance in play here, though: on one hand, we need to feel something to make good images; on the other hand, we must be careful not to attach those feelings to the photograph.
This happens especially with images that were hard to make. Perhaps, we had to hike several miles to reach the location, wait several hours for the conditions to be just right, or we might have made the whole process more challenging on purpose, adding constraints to our workflow.
Whatever it is, those images will feel different. More rewarding to make, but harder to look at for what they are. It’s not easy to know how others are going to perceive what we capture, or how we will feel in a few months or years about the image.
This is ok. This is normal. This is part of the process, and it happens to all of us. But it’s important to be aware that this is happening.
It’s important to develop a sense of looking at our own work from a distance. We should try to see it from the perspective of someone else. We can also ask for feedback.
In the end, though, only time will give us the required perspective. Letting our photos marinate for a few weeks, months, or even years, so we can see them for what they are, once our attachment to them has faded away a little bit.
I talk from my personal experience here: the way I do it is by focusing on the mood, the atmosphere, instead of a specific subject or location. It’s all about the fog, the snow, the clouds, the stillness of the water in a long exposure, the lone figure in the vastness of the landscape, the small facing the big…
We can also evoke wonder by creating mystery: think deep shadows, and night photography. This can even make the viewer feel a bit uncomfortable, as their imagination runs wild.
Contrast can dramatically change the feeling of an image: high contrast is the equivalent of being loud, while low contrast is more gentle and subtle.
Let’s not forget about the way we present and show our work: photography is much more than showing a single image. For example, the audience comes along with me in my videos, and the photographs I show in them will feel very differently than the ones I share by themselves. The movie offers a context that will frame the work in a very different light.
Books let us use captions and descriptions. Use that extra information to reveal things about the image that are not obvious by just looking at it. Music can transform visual work as well.
No matter what, don’t forget: your work is to make the viewer feel something — and that includes your future self.
Riaño, March 2022.
Not the official name, but the waters were quite peaceful that morning in Riaño, in the Picos de Europa mountains.
Galicia, May 2020.
One of the very first images I made after the 2020 lockdown, once we were allowed to go places.
Recently, I listened to an interview where a landscape photographer was expressing their love for the struggle to make an image: the harder the process, the more rewarding it becomes for them.
This photographer was talking about hiking, but I see this happening in photography in many other ways. Another photographer mentioned using a tripod for every shot solely because of the same reason: to make the process slower and more challenging.
Indeed, we require some degree of hardship to stay engaged in the process and be able to see beauty where others miss to see it. But this is tricky, as it presents a danger: our emotional attachment to the images we make.
Because they were hard to make, because we are so proud of them, because they were a challenge we were able to overcome, we see them through a distorted lens.
They might work along with some context -- think a book with text explaining the conditions the image was made in, or a movie where we show all we had to go through.
But they might not work by themselves. A detached audience might not see in them what we see, because they lack the backstory and the emotions we felt while making it.
This discrepancy between our subjective relationship to our own work, and the response of others to it, is a gap we need to be aware of.
Images can and should convey emotions and feelings, but those must be expressed as much as possible in the image itself. This is true even if our photography has an audience of one, us, because time tends to make everything fade away. If our photographs don't speak to anyone else but us now, they might not speak to us either in the future, once all of those feelings are buried deeper within us.
Related:
Riaño, March 2022.
A long exposure of the lake with some of the mountains around Riaño in the background.
Riaño, March 2022.
Another aerial view from my trip to Riaño, in the Picos de Europa mountains. The incredible atmosphere made for very moody and mysterious images.
Shooting through glass is something I want to experiment more with. Embracing the glare, the reflections, the loss of clarity, the overlapping of two worlds.
So far, I've been using windows I find on my daily walks. But I'm seriously starting to consider carrying some kind of glass with me on my photography trips, to use as a sort of filter.
I'll keep you updated.
Riaño, March 2022.
An aerial view of the Riaño bridge with the beautiful mountains in the background. From my recent trip to this part of the Picos de Europa.