Isle of Harris and Skye Winter Landscape Photography
With my first Isle of Harris workshop fast approaching in March, it felt like an appropriate time to sit down and reflect upon a trip that was a pivotal moment in my photographic journey.
In the winter of 2021/22, I finally decided to explore the islands off the coast of Scotland. It was something I had been putting off, perhaps ignoring, for almost two years. The longer I waited though, the more a sense of trepidation built up about finally visiting the islands. I knew to get to Harris, I would first need to visit the famous Isle of Skye (the shorter of the two ferries to Harris runs from Uig, Skye). The popularity and iconic nature of Skye had put me off - many people have spent a lifetime exploring and photographing the Cuillin and Skye’s wonderful scenery better than I could ever hope to - and so subsequently, I had never managed to get to Harris. But I knew at some stage in this long-term project on (perhaps it is turning into a love affair with) Scotland, I would need to visit the Outer Hebrides.
I recognised that it was an important part of my creative process to get out of my comfort zone. I had been in the woodlands, lochs, and mountains for the better part of a year and felt a sense of safety there. I understood the weather patterns and light in these places. The artistic rewards for pushing myself out of my usual boundaries, however, would prove to be immeasurable, and to some extent, ineffable. Such is the nature of artistic pursuits: certain qualities of rich experiences (and non-verbal/sensory media) can be difficult or impossible to reconcile in words. I think what I was truly recognising within the desire to explore the isles, was a need to explore my photography, my life, and myself.
Triple Rain, Isle of Skye (2022)
So, and I admit with some hesitancy at first, I committed myself fully to seeing what Skye had to offer. I needed to witness the icons myself, to be able to see passed them, to not feel the urge to place my tripod where others had stood before. This was perhaps the best attitude I could have adopted: I spent just about a week on Skye and didn’t feel any strong urges to make the ‘iconic’ photographs.
I placed making life fulfilling experiences first, rather than caring about an output of images. What I achieved was setting myself up to be in a space (in every metaphorical sense) where I could be myself to the fullest, to think and to imagine new and creative ways of seeing the landscape around me. In fact, what this attitude helped me do was to take stock of the conditions and light in front of me in that moment. Turning the other way, so to speak, felt artistically satisfying. Rather than being tethered to an icon or a specific subject, I was given the gift of free agency to explore without the burden of expectations.
Small Isles from Isle of Skye, Scotland (2022)
Finally, it was time to head to Harris; just over a week on the island with hardly a plan. Time to explore, time to react, time to just simply be. I wouldn’t have changed a thing. The week would bring with it some of the most dramatic conditions I have ever witnessed, including spectacular light, snow, 50mph winds, and rain storms. It is true that you can’t plan for when a moment aligns itself alongside your own creativity. I did, however, put myself in the position for my surroundings to inspire me. This is the power of a fully immersive experience and why this trip was so important to me. My photography was beginning to express a resonance between myself and the landscape.
The 8 days I proceeded to spend on the island seemed to meld into one continuous flow state. It was both a period of intense focus and of complete decompression. None of the photographs below were made with any sort of forced intentions. They appear here as they came to me: out of the experience of being in place. I felt as though my week on Skye had attuned me to the importance of the tides and the intense continuous relationship between islands and ocean. The relentless thrashing of the waves and wind might be viewed as an affront, but there is something of a symbiosis on the coast: one cannot fight the power of the ocean, and so I learned to go with it. This is what I sought to experience and subsequently what I photographed. What I noticed was the rich tidal waters bring with them life, dynamism, and a unique sense of time. This is why this short blog is not a traditional trip report or a daily recounting of events but a philosophical reflection on life itself. The importance of recognising when an experience has that ephemeral feeling of being just right cannot be understated. I had found a way to access that moment of time, to be in it, and then to let it pass.
A lot of the ideas I’ve expressed today were not conscious at the time of my trip (that is part of why I think reflecting and writing is so valuable). More and more I am finding that instinct is a powerful creative tool in the moment, while deep thinking, introspection, and curiosity provide the meaning behind everything. This is just my way of working and every artist will find their own path. Hopefully I have expressed in some way why this little island off the coast of northwest Scotland is so important to me (and you have enjoyed some of the images).
If you would like to join me on the Isle of Harris from 14-19 March 2023, please click here!
