Seasonal Japan

when the pandemic hit hard globally in early March, i had just finished the winter season in Madarao...a small winter resort in the Northern Japan Alps of Nagano, on the main island of Honshu. luckily I was able to stay and isolate in a very beautiful Japanese alpine chalet due to the generosity of some very lovely friends. although being in the mountains during the winter to spring transition was hard at times, seeing the landscape turn from white to brown to green was a pretty spectacular sight. the seasons in Japan are so distinct; the colours of Aki (秋) (Autumn) being a beautiful and intense spectacle. there are even many words the Japanese use to describe the different parts of a season that symbolises change. koyo (紅葉) refers to the phenomenon of changing autumn colour, while rakuyou (落葉) is fallen leaves.

and finally my most loved; akibare (秋晴れ) referring to the clean, crisp, bracing sensation you get when breathing in the cold air and surveying a grand autumn panorama.

Japanese language manages to capture a feeling we have all had, but find difficult to define. after visiting Japan for the first time in 2019 I have become more and more interested in its philosophies, most notably ‘wabi sabi’, and it’s counterpart reasoning of the bittersweet nature of being: ‘mono no aware’. ‘mono’ means thing and ‘aware’ (pronounced ah-wah-re) translates to the sensitivity or gentle sadness about the transitory, ephemeral nature of life.

for me, this can come on the form of melancholic moods that come with seeing a sunrise in a particular place at a particular time. somewhere that you more than likely will only visit once. it’s a sadness at that realisation, but also an acknowledgement of the inevitability of it all. mono no aware perfectly encapsulates the feeling that thought evokes.

that’s why I love photography - to capture those feelings in an image and bring that feeling back over and over again.

 

                          narai juku, japan, 2019.

Quiet.

                                                                                                                        friendly beaches, tasmania, 2017.

sorry it's been a while...self isolation means resurfacing the important stuff.

lately i have been wondering about how to portray the feeling of solitude in my photographs. solitude, for me can have two significant meanings and ways of being; being alone and loneliness. one is very different from the other. as an introvert i spend a lot of time in solitude. for me, portraying deep thought and sanctuary in the act of being alone is an interesting area of photography, especially when some of my best work comes from that exact state of mind; solitude...and perhaps this is why i am drawn to creating atmospheric images in terms of nature, travel, culture and the outdoors, rather than lifestyle photography where more people are present. i want to show the strength of being alone as opposed to the more complex idea of loneliness. a concept more important now than ever before as society deals with the struggle of self isolation and distance from friends and family.

spending time walking, creating, reading, travelling alone can have so many beautiful layers of emotion and depth for me personally. i feel more, observe more, memorise more.

    

here are a collection of photographs which make me think of being alone, or the mystery of emotions when in a state of solitude. 

      

if you would love to learn more about introversion and the benefits of solitude, i would recommend Susan Cain's book, Quiet, and her Ted Talk, The Power of Introverts 

Click -> https://www.ted.com/talks/susan_cain_the_power_of_introverts

the journey to understand what allows me to feel most comfortable in terms of spending time with people around me has been a really interesting and very profound  part of self discovery.

Takahara: Population 40

              takahara, japan, 2019

i just arrived in a beautiful, rustic mountain oasis at the start of spring to spend ten days volunteering at Kiri-No-Sato Takahara Lodge. it sits among cedar forest, with views over the endless Hatenashi mountain range and is the first overnight stop on the Nakahechi tributary of the the sacred Kumano Kodo pilgrimage trail. there is a strong cultural landscape and spiritual countryside, and most of the guesthouses bring fresh organic produce straight from the land to the table.

Kiri-No-Sato is the kind of business that employs a mixture of local people and international volunteers all willing to contribute and share their skills to build a beautifully functioning community environment, as well as being a traditional guesthouse and stopover for hikers. this results in cultural and language exchange and a blending of working styles, for example, the Japanese attention to detail and orderly ways combined with a Western approach of freedom of creativity, or the Japanese appreciation of the imperfect compared to the Western uneasiness with the imperfect. in an environment like this everyone is naturally encouraged to grow their skill set and share knowledge.

for a long time i have respected this type of living and working in another culture. taking money out of the equation means rather than earning wages, you acquire knowledge, skills and integration into a different culture than your own.

integration

noun

1. a. the act or process of integrating 

   b. the state of becoming integrated

2. the bringing of people of different racial or ethnic groups into unrestricted and equal association, as in society or an organisation; desegregation. 

Cabo Polonio

all of my experiences wandering South American lands were pretty special, but one in particular always crosses my mind. Cabo Polonio is a small cluster of seaside dwellings on the south coast of Uruguay. There is no electricity, no roads and to reach it involves riding an open top bus with a speciality of navigating dunes. i, very luckily, crossed the dunes at night and the stars had the intensity that could only come with no roof on your transportation and no electricity in the town you are approaching.

the town itself had one small bar, lit with candles of an evening creating a timeless mood. the general atmosphere of the town was a mixture of ethnicity, rawness, organic feeling and wildness. everything was simple.

'prohibido no prohibir' was the moto of the town. it translates to; 'it is prohibited to prohibit' - this lead to a cultivated, free, unprocessed and unpolished community that was amazing to be a part of. if only for a number of days. 

                             cabo polonio, uruguay '13

                                         

Lake Pedder

   lake pedder, tasmania, 2017.

one of my favourite areas of Tasmania. part of the south west wilderness, where a few wild lakes are lined with rugged mountain ranges. 

the above photo was taken from the back of a van during an autumn road trip around the state. the rest of the trip had mainly blue skies with scattered clouds, but here i was lucky enough to crash a night by the lake during a spell of moody weather, which created feelings of isolation, and accentuated the intensity of the landscape. a windless afternoon also meant it was quiet and still. moody tones and overcast skies with beautiful cloud definition made for a good time taking photos. 

the road to Strathgordon, the town nestled between the two lakes, Lake Pedder and Lake Gordon, is a pretty beautiful experience. it's a 150 km road that leads west from Mt. Field. it meanders through endless forest with the odd ingress into open landscape and not a dwelling in sight for the whole journey. it's like driving to nowhere, as Strathgordon is literally the end of the road and there is nada beyond apart from wilderness. 

Wabi Sabi

Recently, I have become so interested in the concept of wabi sabi, during my winter hibernation in Madarao. 

"The idea developed when two seperate words, wabi and sabi , were joined to convey a certain look, feeling, and world perspective. wabi means something like simplicity, humility, and living in tune with nature; it describes someone who is content with little and makes the most of whatever he or she has, always moving toward having less. 

Sabi, on the other hand,  refers to what happens with the passage of time; it’s about transience and the beauty and authenticity of age. Practicing sabi is learning to accept the natural cycle of growth and death, as well as embracing the imperfections that come with this progression. Together, wabi and sabi form a feeling that finds harmony and serenity in what is uncomplicated, unassuming, mysterious and fleeting." - Wabi Sabi Welcome, Julie Pointer Adams. 

I have been holding off on working with a lot of images i have taken because they are too flawed or too mysterious. As my photography has developed i have realised that if something makes me feel, it’s worthy, regardless of das imperfections. 

Winter in Japan

  photojournal from the winter season in Madarao, Japan.