THE WHY OF WRITING A NEWSLETTER

IMAGINE… standing on a stage during a sixty-minute show that’s all about you and your life - go with me here; I know you’d have a story to tell.

We’ve come to the last question of the hour.

The host turns to you, and the theatre falls quiet.

All spotlights, all eyes, all attention, are focused upon you.

The host asks, “Why?”

At the end of studio interviews accompanying my walks, I invariably, with a few notable exceptions, ask that one-word, exceptionally open question; “Why?”

I don’t recall exactly when I started asking it; I may find out as I trawl the back catalogue of editions compiling answers for my first book to come soon, but it’s resulted in many answers and interpretations to an unexpected question.

Upon the launch of this NEWsletter, a why.

Why a newsletter?

I’ve been subscribed to a select few newsletters for a while. One, in particular, has piqued my curiosity to such an extent that it has inspired the publication of this, my own ‘everywhenever’ mailer.

Craig Mod’s Ridgeline newsletter documents his walks across Japan. It’s a delightful collection of short stories where you find yourself enveloped in the culture of a country, which for many of us is a pin on a map of hopeful ‘one-day-must-travel-to-destinations’. His ‘Last Summer Walk’ letter is a perfect example, as he samples Kissa culture; follow this link for more.

Reading his work, I mused, “Well, I have my own walking stories to write, plus a myriad of letters and pictures from those who walk along with me, the podcast playing in their ears whilst they make their own photographs. Why am I not composing a newsletter?”

It was a long, mused sentence.

Here is my literary why for this project.

This NEWsletter is like the mailbag I take on my recorded walks: a hotchpotch of features, letters, ideas, links and references to upcoming events, rounded off with a postscript thought, just like the show itself.

It’ll no doubt evolve and change shape as the editions go by, just as the podcast itself has, and I’m pleased you’re here at the start to be a part of that. Let’s walk.

If you think a friend would enjoy the content of this newsletter or the podcast, please forward this mail - and if you’ve just received the mail from that friend, subscribe for more editions.

WATCH

Nikola Horvat’s ‘Why do I hike’ film is a twenty-minute watch from a hiker who knows how to make a good photograph too! Made in 2020 it’s split into four main chapters; nature, time, community and mental health with a fifth additional reflective chapter. The sound design is thoughtful and immersive and it’s a real team contributor effort. Watch here.

LISTEN

“It’s not my aim to cause revulsion.” Photojournalist Paul Conroy and former Photowalk guest and photographic curator at the Imperial War Museum Hilary Roberts, discuss war photography and the checks, ethics and sensitivities required during this short five-minute piece aired on the BBC. It’s a short, well-balanced piece, particularly during this latest chapter in conflict history. Listen here.

READ

Sixty years of photography. Now that is surely a catalogue of life and pictures from which to form a biography. Joel Meyerowitz, a former guest, is one of the pioneers of colour photography, and ‘The Pleasure of Seeing’ is his first biography, a selection of conversations hosted by historian and photographer Lorenzo Braca about Joel’s aptitude to find the story. The book was released earlier this year in March. Read more.

365 ANYONE?

I’ve made more than a few passing mentions to and of my 365 project this year within the show.

A ‘365’ challenges photographers to make and present a picture every day for a year that stands as a pictorial or creative journal. In purist terms, a picture is posted on the day it is made, though I’ve personally opted to publish photographs daily that may have been conceived or made within a week of the posting date.

Sometimes, I’ve stretched those self-imposed boundary rules, but not very often. There have been times on my travels where I’ve found myself playing ‘posting catch-up’. There is definitely a reason why it’s often described as the ultimate photographic challenge, this daily creative discipline.

It’s harder than it sounds.

Reaching November, a full stop is being brought shortly to an exercise that has certainly brought a camera to my eye more often than it otherwise would for pleasure over the last ten months.

Generally speaking, 365 challenges are like a New Year’s resolution, starting Jan 1st and like resolutions, you’ll read many photographer accounts online, they tend to stop within the month, along with intentions to make a daily trip to the gym I would imagine, though the two are mutually exclusive I’m sure.

My start date was Jan 20th, and it coincided with our 365th podcast episode; rather poetic, I felt, although as the year has passed, I posted additional pictures so that I may end on December 31st.

Many 365s are posted to unique Instagram or Flickr accounts, sometimes ‘X’, though mine is hosted as a blog on my social photography website, partly because I wanted to show my audience/clients, that I shoot other things, plus I actually wanted to escape any requirement to look at likes.

To this day, I have purposefully not looked at any page stats for my 365. It’s remained a project I made as a personal challenge.

Broadly, I’ve found, I think, three facets of this project that have been creatively liberating…

CATHARTIC EXPLORATION

Now I know the word is usually associated with stronger purgative emotion, but I have found this project to be a creative release. It’s almost like I am exploring more with my eyes, because every day, every scene is a small project of just one picture.

Day by day, small things have appealed: a poster sent through mail to me that I liked, the sunshine striking our very yellow Smeg fridge, people I’ve met and photographed and events I’ve commercially attended; it’s a diary too.

CAREFREE POSTING

This seems an obvious statement within the context of talking about making stuff just because you want to, and my interpretation of carefree engagement with a project such as this, is that you’re not required to think or even feel you need to find or have a reason for making a picture. You just, make a picture.

Oh look, a long evening shadow cast by a deck chair in our backyard. Click.

There is a wonderful website that I have talked with you before about called THE DAILY NICE, which features the photographs of Jason Evans. It features one picture each day, never to be repeated. This is the ultimate 365 in many ways and it’s been running for years. As Jason writes, “It is about my enthusiasm for looking and being. Every day I show a photograph of something that made me happy.”

Jason’s pictures document the great and small of his daily wonder; a hedgerow, perhaps the sky, a gull on a post, a dog’s nose pressed into the lens, and sometimes a solitary shoe found on his wanders.

I think some of them are witty commentary though above all, they are certainly carefree in nature - and that is how I have found the 365 posts to be.

When you take the pressure from your picture-making and certainly when you professionally make pictures where your eye is usually searching for reason and decent composition, being carefree is remarkably freeing.

Two decades into my professional career, I don’t think I have broadly considered the power of that before.

My pictures for this are not award-winners. Embrace the slap-dash approach on days if you wish. Make them with whatever you carry, often for me, it’s been an iPhone.

And because they’re on my blog they will have much less of an opportunity to be seen, there is no algorithm to consider.

CHILDLIKE

I think at times, though it’s hard to regularly and truly engage with this last facet, mainly down to life-experience which is hard to avoid, but I believe, I have made photographs at times like a child. With no creative rules, I have engaged with stuff I’d never usually photograph with a childlike curiosity.

A colleague of mine said nearer the start of this year, probably Jan 21st, that I’d lose interest within a week, that it wouldn’t last, and so I’m pleased and proud that I remained posting, even though at times, I haven’t stayed strictly on course with the daily nature. I’ll be sure to find 365 things though, and that seems to be an alternative possibility for a project such as this.

2024 approaches.

I think I’ve found, as Extra Milers will attest, what my next project will be, though Google Local Guiding is upon reflection something that will be on-going for as long as I wish to partake. More to come on that subject in a forthcoming Live Zoom show.

So, I am addressing it once again. Some thoughts come to mind.

A 52 sounds appealing, one picture per week, slightly less pressure than a daily upload, not that it’s been stressful. But does it offer anything truly different? I’m not so sure.

The OCOLOY project; one camera, one lens, one year. My Fujifilm X-Pro1 has had a vintage Yashica lens attached to it for as long as I can remember. Perhaps use that for an ongoing project, a hybrid 52/OCOLOY.

I keep returning to sound, and embracing a weekly thought, along with a picture. 52 with a flavour of sound.

What I’ve enjoyed is a loose reason to use my camera more and so I’d be interested to receive your thoughts and extend this conversation into the Photowalk episode of a Friday. I look forward to your thoughts by mail or in the comments below?

POSTSCRIPT

Each week on the Photowalk show, we close our walk together with a PS, often inspired by the content from the walk itself and letters received. This week’s programme Walking Japan and the Joy of Pizza Bread is the latter; thoughts received from Myles Barfield.

There is little worse than waking to an unjustified cloud of melancholy. Sometimes it's vital to take a moment to refocus, a practice I often find necessary.
As the sun began to break through the heavy skies, I thought of you and the other photowalkers and extra-milers. I offered a quick prayer for you too, expressing gratitude for having you as part of my weekly life, even if only through my ears.
While listening to the birds, I reflected on something Marcus Aurelius wrote, and thought I would share with you; "When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.

N#1: A PLEASURE OF SEEING AND MORE…