Above The Cuillins From Elgol, Isle Of Skye. View No. 3, 2011. (©Julian Calverley/Courtesy of the photographer).
‘Landscape photography is the supreme test of the photographer — and often the supreme disappointment‘ — Ansel Adams (1902-1984)
As we look at the world of landscape photography — one of the central genres in contemporary photographic practice — there is a wealth of evidence to reinforce Adams’ statement, with so much of the genre lacking in an emotional relationship with the landscape that it depicts. But the work of British photographer Julian Calverley is far removed from these emotionally void encounters — going far beyond the purely pictorial — for he is one of the very few who has mastered his craft, with powerful works that are imbued with a spiritual sense of place.
In Landscape and Memory (Harper Collins, 1995), Simon Schama writes, ‘Before it can ever be the repose for the senses, landscape is the work of the mind. Its scenery is built up as much from strata of memory as from layers of rock.’ It is this sense of memory that is at the very core of Calverley’s affinity with the British landscape, that dates back to his childhood and the memories of numerous family holidays spent wild camping in and around the Scottish Highlands and Western Isles, an area that continues to draw him back year after year, often visiting the same remote location over and over again in his photography.
Above Rosehall Forest, Near Lairg, Sutherland, N.W. Scotland, 2005. (©Julian Calverley/Courtesy of the photographer).
Working exclusively in colour, he prefers the unpredictable weather of autumn or winter; when he works in that special fleeting light experienced just before dawn, or in that magical hour towards dusk, that result in his atmospheric photographs that are marked by a highly individual and distinct palette of muted tones and hues. In Passing Squall, The Sound of Taransay, Isle of Harris, 2011, we are presented with a landscape almost monochrome in nature, with what colour there is appearing to be physically absorbed by the crashing surf, or whisked away by the the harsh and bitterly cold winter winds. As the viewer looks on, the waves embrace the dark rocks that occupy the foreground, softening their sharp and brutal edges, whilst the roar of the sea pulsates and reverberates around his compositions, before finally pouring out of the frame and embracing the viewer.
His photographs ‘command a theatrical air,’ comments Jack Lowe who prints most of Calverley’s photographs, including the large-scale works that formed his first solo show at Gallery 1066 last month. ‘So wonderfully crafted, as if each facet to the image has been summoned into place at the click of a finger. It is this feeling of being there, experiencing nature and the elements in all their breathtaking glory that Julian conveys so effectively in his work. His tenacity in revisiting these locations enables the apparent orchestration of truly unique moments. In those moments, when the grandeur of the landscape combines unpredictably with the elements, the stage.’
Above Allt Coir’ A’ Mhadaidh, Glen Brittle, Isle Of Skye. View No. 2, 2011. (©Julian Calverley/Courtesy of the photographer).
An open expanse of moorland is held in the tight clutch of a storm as it passes over Loch Shin, Sutherland, in a photograph made in 2007. From the very heart of the storm a splinter of fresh brilliant light emerges, freeing the vivid green and yellow hues from the restrictive confines of the overpowering earthy browns that dominate the foreground, in the middle distance a slither of water appears like an opening through which we might glimpse sight of a new world. Here, as with Calverley’s other landscapes, we see a connection not of other photographers working in the landscape, but the influence of painters, such as Sidney Richard Percy and J. M. W. Turner, of who Calverley remarks, ‘I'm absolutely drawn to the energy in his work.’
In another of his powerful seascapes, The Sound of Taransay from Bagh Steinigidh, Isle of Harris, View No. 2, 2012; the sea is rendered deceptively passive by Calverley, as it swirls around the shattered rock strewn foreshore, like some mysterious and all consuming mist it temporarily envelopes the granite monoliths, before setting them free, albeit briefly, before it rushes forth once more, in an unquestioning demonstration of it’s raw and unbridled power.
Above The Cuillins From Glen Sligachan, Isle Of Skye, 2011. (©Julian Calverley/Courtesy of the photographer).
The Swiss philosopher Henri Frédéric Amiel (1821-1881) suggested that ‘Any landscape is a condition of the spirit,’ something that is omnipresent in Calverley’s oeuvre. An icy mountain stream cuts it’s way through a sea of granite boulders in The Cuillins from Glen Sligachan, Isle of Sky, 2011, it’s aqua hues contrasting with that of the burnt umber tones that stretch to the far horizon, where the Black Cuillins reach to the heavens, their sharp peaks dusted in soft white snow — like some fine piece of patisserie — whilst above, the ominous and brooding clouds appear to open, allowing the spirit of the peaks to reach ever higher. The thunder of a waterfall resonates throughout Allt Coir’ A’ Mhadaidh, Glen Brittle, Isle of Skye, 2009, as it’s purity springs fourth from a peaty mirth, cutting it’s way through the inhospitable landscape. In the background, the silent Cuillins sit patiently, guarding time, whilst seductively veiled in wafts of soft chiffon greys.
Above Passing Squall, The Sound Of Taransay, Isle Of Harris, 2011. (©Julian Calverley/Courtesy of the photographer).
To be fully understood, Calverley’s photographs must be experienced — not simply viewed — allowing the emotions and spirit that he captures so exquisitely, to leave their mark on the viewers soul. A narrow carpet of succulent green bisects a pine forest in Rosehall Forest, Near Lairg, Sutherland, N.W. Scotland, 2005. To either side of this corridor, the muted hues of the woodland floor is bathed in a hostile carpet of pine needles, the dense vertical trunks of the pines present an almost impenetrable wall revealing the briefest flirtation with the pale blue sky that lays beyond. In comparison to the grandeur of the seascapes, the forest landscape feels more humble, yet as with Calverley’s other photographs he reveals a quietly beautiful sonnet, that slowly gives up it’s inner voice; a place where one can meditate and reflect on what we are experiencing.
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