I think the Lensbaby is a classic piece of camera gear that can so easily become an end in and of itself; finding proper uses for it necessitates serious thinking. It is in some ways symbolic of all equipment (“look at the amazing depth of field of THIS lens!” sort of thing), but because the effect is so very dramatic, it is more noticeable.

Equipment should be transparent, I always feel: we shouldn’t look at an image and say “ah, a Lensbaby!” – but perhaps that’s a bit unrealistic!

I must dig out my Lensbaby sometime and try to work out a good opportunity to use it. Like you, I quickly tired of photographing flowers and such with it and producing generic images (at least, mine were!)

Mike

I appreciate your comment about my approach to this. A brilliant and well-known (in certain circles, at least!) theologian once told me that in thinking about church, ministers and theologians were at a disadvantage: ‘we’re theological cripples, unable to just think naturally’. That thought has always stayed with me: whilst it wasn’t possible for me to write this posting as if I didn’t have knowledge of things that might influence my thinking, it was important to try to identify (some of) them and write round them, as it were. My general antithesis to things mystical (well, at least a healthy scepticism), made me wonder about even attempting to write this post, but I’m glad I did, and I was and am pleased with what it says.

In terms of Skirrid Hill and the idea of a muse: I think there is no doubt that the idea of inspirational sources (which is substantially how I am interpreting the term, I suppose) can change over time, and growing intimacy can result in different approaches and images. For myself: I keep returning to a particular landscape to try and work on that further, because it inspires me and makes me want to try and reflect on it and on myself. But despite dozens of visits and dozens and dozens of images, I am only just beginning to feel I understand what it is doing for me, and what it can say about my understanding of the world (one of the reasons there are virtually no images of it on my site, but there should be some soon, identified as such).

George MacLeod (Iona Community founder) talked about the island of Iona as a ‘thin place’: he meant that for him, the island was a kind of liminal space between heaven and earth. For all sorts of reasons to do with where I was in my life etc., the first time I went there I understood this on a profoundly emotional level (though I didn’t know of his articulation of that idea at the time). In non-theological terms, it seems to me that your description of SH resembles this thinking a bit – a connection to something beyond ourselves and the narrow wee lives we lead. And at the risk of sounding terribly mystical, I think places frequently carry with them the memory of former usages or inhabitants, if only we can see that (I’ve heard archaeologists talk about experiencing or feeling this when they are working on certain sites).

As for gender: there are obvious (to me, at least) connections to gender norms and related to this, sexual engagement, in most of these issues. It is very apparent in relation to people (because we are used to relating to people in gendered and sexual ways), but also in land. We are, after all, not just intellectual or emotional individuals, but also gendered and sexual, and understanding both people and locations in these terms is part of the required honesty in interpreting questions about muses. So SH as ‘earth goddess’ sounds completely normal to me. However, I am not arguing for heteronormativity here, though I can see that might be how my posting could be interpreted by some: I’ve not really tried to articulate this before, but if I think about the location I mentioned above and that I feel challenges me so much, it feels more like a ‘he’: the form of rocks and curves makes it feel masculinised, as does my relationship to it. But then I don’t believe in binary sexualities or gender norms, so I wouldn’t expect heteronormativity to feature strongly in my thinking, other than as an analytical tool…!

Sorry it’s taken me a while to get back to you about this fascinating piece, it’s been a long and taxing week!

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this for me is your deliberate attempt to be non-academic about your thoughts, to search the personal and meaningful rather than attempting to frame answers to your questions from extensive research. I know how difficult that must be for you! That is perhaps illuminating in itself. Answers (if indeed they don’t simply raise more questions) can be something of a full stop to the artist. I speak to many photographers and artists and many say to me that an excess of study or thinking hinders their work, the work itself is the exploration, the response to which, if it is to be personally meaningful, must be slow, deliberate and questioning, but not in a way that reveals too much even to themselves. It is a profound artistic sensibility to which those of us that come from a more inquiring world find difficult to adjust. Of course if our art is to remain consequential to others, it must embrace its own inherent ambiguities.

Taking the above into account I have to admit that I have trouble getting my head around the notion of the muse. Perhaps it is my simple knee jerk reaction to the semi mystical and the over romanticised self-image of the artist? But in addition it is also because it is not something I fully understand, does that element of mystery in itself play a role in our creativity?

As for Skirrid Hill, do I think of it in terms of a muse? Well I suppose I do in many ways except naming it as such. I’m hesitant because it has only recently started to reveal itself to me in that way. I have had a period of growing affection for the place, true, but recently it has taken on a more symbolic and profound connection. There are some notable similarities to your story. Firstly (and probably most profoundly for me) I had a sea change in my photography during a similar period of adversity when I realised that it could become a profoundly expressive and cathartic medium – when I realised it could jump the boundaries of representation and the notions of mechanical. That was a few years ago now, so this would either mean I have moved onto my third muse (in terms of location and theme) or that I am simply exploring more deeply a particular element of that muse (the locations abut) take your pick! SH is in many ways less personal than my previous two projects in this area, being driven by the element of Owen Sheers’ poetry, but that movement is also a progressive stage of a journey and a release from that adversity.

Also, gender plays a role, I very much think of SH as an earth goddess. Goodness knows “she” is almost a mammary gland incarnate! But in a deeper and more serious reflection the hill is ever present, overlooking a vast swath of land, much more than her height would normally dictate (it is the last hill before the plains of the Marches) and that has become a comforting notion. There have always been religious associations about this hill, the landslip (which accounts for a quarter of the hill’s mass and I haven’t yet depicted well) was reputed to have happened at the moment of the crucifixion. There was a medieval chapel on the lower slopes and (perhaps hinting at a more ancient past) local farmers would reputedly scoop soil from the scar of the landslip for their fields. I am only now beginning to appreciate why in the past there was this mythological creation; there is a, literal and metaphorical, sense of “uplifting” from that the ever-present domination of the skyline.

Like you, the hill plays a potent role in my creative imagination, it is the place I think of first for many ideas. That I think is borne of familiarity, personal history and the fact I rarely think beyond the project I am involved with at the time. Projects need to be all encompassing for me, one of the main roles of a project is to shut out the distraction of competing ideas so that I can focus more clearly on my direction. More than that, I am starting to wonder how I can bring myself to photograph another place, one that I haven’t yet invested with such significance.

I don’t think it’s necessary for everyone to have a muse. I know that isn’t the point you are making, but perhaps there is something positive about not having a muse; that’s another question, of course, and I am – obviously, given what I’ve written here! – unable to answer it. I was simply aware of the way I had described Stephanie in the past on this site, and I wanted to analyse my usage of the term ‘muse’ in relation to her a little more closely.

Yes, I think muses can be serial or multiple. For example, engaging, really properly engaging with a model, could make them a muse even just for the few hours of a shoot: “this is someone who inspires and motivates my creativity”. That’s almost a trivialisation of my point, but in some ways it is taking it to a logical conclusion. I don’t think it takes away from my understanding of Stephanie’s role as my (first/main?) muse, in the sense of being “faithful” to a muse.

In terms of landscapes, I know of many photographers who want to return to particular locations again and again in order to understand them better, who are inspired to discover new aspects of the landscape and themselves – and perhaps there is something of a muse-like relationship there. I have locations like that, and so perhaps I should have clarified that Stephanie is a muse for me primarily in relation to portraits.

On the subject of that hill: I’m amused that we have, via Twitter, clarified that we were referring to different photographers!

Michael

As to your analysis of the landscape photographer and his particular hill, I’d be interested to know if he concurs with your suggestion and may well ask him! One thing does arise from that particular reference: I wonder if it’s viable for muses to be serial, or even multiple? Generally speaking, they are spoken of in the singular with respect to one person, but perhaps that isn’t essential? Or perhaps one can be ‘faithful’ to one muse at one time, yet have more than one over an extended period? That latter suggestion seems to me the most likely (and, conveniently, the most flexible!).

Mike