Author Archives: John Boyd Macdonald

Future Landscapes V: Miscellany

Report and Reality

Report and Reality

The waters of Pambula Lake join with the ocean through a narrow inlet which runs between Pambula Beach and Haycock Point. There are large shell middens still clearly visible alongside the channel. In the pre-dawn light the still surface of the inlet, spotted with patches of seaweed showing through at low tide, looks as though one could walk across it.

I’ve overlaid the water surface with words and graphic extracted from the final report on South East Coastal Adaptation (SECA): Coastal Urban Climate Futures in SE Australia from Wollongong to Lakes Entrance: a map, a graphs of population projections for the region, arrows and words from the academic vocabulary in which the report is written (“Coastal Urban Futures”, “Time horizon”. The idea was to juxtapose the rhetoric of the report with the physical reality of the landscape.

The Garden of Eden

The Garden of Eden

Apart from its biblical importance, The Garden of Eden is a large caravan and camping park in Eden. This marvellously named establishment does indeed have a ‘Pets Welcome’ sign at its gate (though one wonders whether snakes would be admitted).

Inland from Eden, high up in the Southeast Forests along the Coolangubra Forest Road, a different kind of garden is seen in the extensive clearfell logging coupes. I’ve combined the two images to construct a dystopian vision of a paradise.

The green forest sign (“Woodchipped to promote sawlog growth”) has been transported from another, rather more healthy-looking forest location (alongside the Princes Highway), to add a touch of irony.

Future Landscapes IV: Fisheries

Fishery Sunset

Fishery Sunset

A large ‘hazard reduction’ fire was burning on the slopes of Mt Imlay, and a light southerly wind blew the smoke clouds up past Eden. As a result, the sunset light from the Snug Cove wharf was particularly spectacular, with light the colour of blood oranges.

I was on the wharf to photograph the trawlers and other boats moored there. This photo looks through the silhouetted masts of one of the larger trawlers towards the sunset. Superimposed on the sky are images of fish of the region, taken from a sign (at Quarantine Bay) which advises recreational fishermen of the size and bag limits for each of the various species.

Greenseas Cannery

Greenseas Cannery

The Greenseas Tuna Cannery operated at Cattle Bay in Eden for 50 years until 1999. Its closure by the owners (Heinz) was a serious blow to the community, as it had been the town’s major employer, and a ready market for the local fishing fleet. It’s now a derelict site, fenced off to prevent public access, with mostly just concrete slabs remaining, in a picturesque location beside the bay.

Into this setting (using 3D objects created in Photoshop CS6) I placed two large panels like advertising billboards, displaying images of the coastline at Pinnacles Point, in Ben Boyd National Park.

One picture conceals the ugliness of the remaining ruined factory building, while the other prevents us from seeing the ‘natural’ scene of the harbour behind. Perhaps the images are preferable to, or more desirable than, reality?

Future Landscapes III: Mallacoota Washovers

Mallacoota Washover I

Mallacoota Washover I

The base photograph for this image was taken in Mallacoota, looking across the Genoa River inlet towards the ocean. Large numbers of pelicans frequent the area, attracted in part by the fish cleaning benches at the public boat launching ramp. Two them are seen to be taking off, in their ungainly way.

The overlayed bridge appears to have been immersed by the waters of the inlet, suggesting this to be a flooded place of human occupation.

Mallacoota Washover II

Mallacoota Washover II

At the Mallacoota Inlet, a complex system of sandbanks defines the passage of the Genoa River as it reaches the ocean, near the conjunction of Bass Strait with the Tasman Sea. At low tide the shallow platforms of sand emerge from the waters of the Inlet.

In this image I wanted to transform the view from a tidal landscape to a scene suggestive of future inundation, by placing a semi-derelict building and surrounding garden plants onto the sandbank. Surely it will be immersed by the next high tide. A lone figure with a small boat is seen departing – perhaps salvaging some last possessions?

The little building was actually photographed in a (dry) paddock alongside the road out to Pambula Beach in NSW.

Ghost Gums

Ghost Gums

The base photograph was taken in early morning light at Mallacoota, looking westwards across the waters of the inlet.

The photograph of the ‘ghost gums’ was taken along the Broadaxe forestry road through the Southeast Forests, near the Victorian border.

These trees, seen below the water of the inlet appear impossible – credible neither as a reflection or a submersion of a real forest. The perspective is ‘wrong’ in a way that disrupts the viewing of it as a conventional landscape. I wanted the image to evoke a mood with equal measures of serenity, melancholy and strangeness.

Future Landscapes II: Seascape minus…

Seascape Minus Chip Mill

Seascape Minus Chip Mill

The woodchip mill on the southern end of Twofold Bay (at Edrom Point) is operated by South East Fibre Exports (formerly Harris-Daishowa), a subsidiary of Nippon Paper Industries. Despite declining production due to the high value of the A$, economic problems in Japan, and cheaper alternatives in other countries, forestry remains a significant employer in the region – and a major contributor to the local economy.

The facility itself isn’t open to the public, but you can get a good view of it from the adjacent large naval wharf (built in 2003, primarily to load naval vessels with munitions from the Explosives Ordnance facility on Edrom Road).

The future of the woodchip mill and its associated bulk loading terminal is uncertain. This image imagines a future landscape in which all traces of pulp mill at Edrom Point have disappeared, and the site has been fully ‘remediated’. The evidence of the site’s former purpose now only exists in the form of an image on a flag which billows overhead.

Seascape Minus Fish

Seascape Minus Fish

As with the Seascape minus chip mill image, this picture was taken on the naval wharf at Edrom Point, on the southern shore of Twofold Bay. The background shows the huge piles of wood chips stockpiled at the SEFE mill and bulk loading terminal.

In the foreground, on the railing of the wharf, is a chart to advise recreational fishers of the size and bag limits for each of the fish species found locally.

The image imagines a future in which many of those species are no longer available, or else no longer allowed to be caught – due to overfishing, fish stock depletion due to climate change, or other causes.

Future Landscapes: The South East Coastal Adaptation Project

Some new work. I’ve just completed work on series of images as part of a project with the ANU School of Art ‘Environment Studio‘. The project, which is continuing, involves around 25 artists from across all of the School’s workshops (e.g. painting, sculpture, printing, woodwork, glass – AND photography). Each artist is to create works inspired or informed by the issue of climate change and its future impact on the small communities of south-eastern Australia (from Wollongong, NSW through to Lakes Entrance in Victoria).

This art project is conducted as an adjunct to a bigger project – ‘South East Coastal Adaptation’ (SECA) – which is funded through the National Climate Change Adaptation Research Facility. Here’s how they describe their project in their final report:

“Coastal Urban Climate Futures in South East Australia from Wollongong to Lakes Entrance is an investigation into possible coastal urban futures to 2030 and beyond. The study focus is on coastal adaptation in the context of climate change. It is broad in its scope by considering environmental, social and economic change in the south east coastal region. It has a multi-disciplinary approach to the spatial and temporal dimension in considering action on the ground. It involves seven local government areas (Wollongong, Shellharbour, Kiama, Shoalhaven, Eurobodalla, Bega and East Gippsland), two states and several regional organisations and explores some of the critical governance issues.”

Anyway that’s all by way of background. It’s a worthy, rigorous and invaluable study. But the important thing (at least from the point of view of this blog post) is the art – and specifically. my own photographs.

Humpback flight

Humpback flight (2013)

Living in Canberra, I spend a bit of time down in the coastal region covered by the study, making photographs.  Earlier this year I also participated in two field trips down to the area from Merimbula to Mallacoota, exploring towns, national parks and forestry roads, eventually returning home with around 1400 photographs.

I selected a number of images for processing, some compositing of images, overlaying of text etc, and ended up with a couple of dozen final images that I’m pretty happy with. You can see the full set of them at this link . I’ll put some more posts up over the coming days to go into a little detail of the thoughts and photographic processes behind some of the images.

Fishery sunset

Fishery sunset (2013)

Fotoamator

Ghosts in the photographs
Ghosts in the survivor’s testimony
Ghosts in the fading street video
Sudden slides and stops in the story
The jumps jar

Genewein the model bureaucrat
Genewein the fotoamator
Genewein the Nazi piper, leading a dead dance
from the trains to the ghetto to the furnace

Lovely photos
Artful use of colour
A gentle documentary sensibility
Nicely framed,
Very carefully framed,
Unhinged

We all know what this story looks like, zoomed out and unfolded
We’ve seen the panels with the horrors, all unfolded
by other photographers, less gently
We’ve all seen the ghosts
They don’t even shock us now

Polish filmmaker Dariusz Jablonski’s Fotoamator (1998) aims to present a comprehensive ‘re-visioning’ of photographs taken by the Nazi bureaucrat Walter Genewein at the Litzmannstadt (Lodz) Ghetto in WWII. It’s darkly powerful, thoughtful, deeply moving, and masterfully made.


Photography was thriving in 1930s Germany, with the emergence of many amateur photographic clubs. The growth of popular photography exemplified the penetration of modernist thought and aesthetics into popular culture at this time, in Germany as elsewhere. Germany was also at the forefront of developments photographic technology, with the first known example of a colour negative being a depiction of German factory workers (with a swastika clearly visible in the background).

Photography had been exploited for propaganda use by all parties during the “increasingly hysterical political scene” of the Weimar Republic. The Nazi Party was closely associated with the IG Farben (now Agfa) corporation, and was well aware of the propagandising power of the still and moving image. This was perhaps best exemplified in the work of Leni Reifenstahl  (e.g. Triumph of the Will 1934, produced by the Ministry of Propaganda with some 30 cameras and 120 production crew).

The Austrian accountant Walter Genewein was an enthusiastic amateur photographer – but was also a middle-ranking official in the Nazi bureaucracy, assigned to work in the Łódź Ghetto, and rising during the course of the war to a position as chief accountant in the (200-strong) ghetto administration. He appears to have been a highly ambitious, diligent and loyal worker. Several hundred colour slides made by Genewein during his time in Łódź were uncovered in 1987, depicting scenes of Jewish workers, street scenes, Nazi officials at work and at social occasions.        

The scenes are mostly depictions of daily life in the ghetto rather than significant events, and are, in themselves, ‘unremarkable’. In many ways, and in spite of their subject material and their early use of colour transparency film, they were representative of vernacular photography of the time.

His precise motivation in making them is unclear, however it evident that he thought that his photographic activity might be used to advance his career. He was a ‘hobbyist’, interested in photography as an end in itself, and corresponded repeatedly with Agfa in an effort improve the colour accuracy of images processed in their laboratories. Also, as the time was seen as the foundation of the Third Reich, he may have felt that the photographs would contribute to the documentary record (and justification) of its establishment.

Collectively, the slides draw attention to the efficient and productive management of the ghetto, presenting “a showcase of the ghetto for the approving eyes of other Nazi officials both inside and outside the ghetto”.

In Genewein’s photographs, the subjects seem to be ‘objectified’, presented more as ethnographic specimens than as individuals. (However, unlike many Nazi photographs of Jews, there is no obvious attempt to depict them as deviant, diseased, or sub-human.) This approach is taxonomic or inventorial, resembling in this respect the earlier work of August Sander. The ‘coldness’ created by this approach is amplified because, in common with many amateur images, the scenes were typically shot through a fairly wide angle lens, creating further distance between the viewer and subject.

It is clear that Genewein (along with almost all of his contemporaries, both in Germany and elsewhere) did not question the authority of the photograph as a documentary record of reality. The power of such photography rests on the viewer’s belief that “what is seen is the result of objective recording… [of] a piece of authentic actuality”. The ‘actuality’ presented is one of order, productive work activity, and the rightful dominance of the Nazis over their inferiors.

We do not (and cannot) see the photographs as the photographer did. Our viewing of them is informed by our historical knowledge, of the atrocities that were simultaneously occurring in Łódź, just outside of the photographs’ frame, and subsequent to the images being taken. Where Genewein saw a worksite, we see “a site of decelerated mass murder”.

However the photographs’ claim to authenticity is nonetheless powerful and it can be hard to resist acceptance of the Nazi perspective that they project. In Fotoamator, Jablonski sets out to disrupt this ‘Nazi gaze’, and to release Genewein’s photographic subjects from their objectification.


 

If the Land Could Speak

I met ‘The Land’ in a dream. He looked to be about 35, average height, with dark hair slicked back from a smooth broad forehead, pencil-thin moustache and sideburns. Good teeth.

He was wearing a shiny blue suit, pastel pink shirt and a tropical tie. All in all, he looked like a caricature car salesman. I must have seemed a little nonplussed; I guess I had imagined The Land to appear as a wise old Methuselah-type character in robe.

“What did you expect?” He asked. “This is your dream. So I can be a tree or a rock or a river if you’d prefer, but that would make conversation rather difficult, don’t you think?” Fair point.

“Anyway, this is my turn to be one of you humans, since one day you all come back to being part of me, part of The Land. Dust to dust and all that, eh?” He started to giggle, but I didn’t think it was all that funny. He had a boomy deep voice that didn’t gel with his spivvy appearance.
He pulled up a chair – an Eames Lounge Chair, I noticed with some surprise – and settled down into it with a sigh.

“The trouble with you humans” he said, “is that you look around, and see everything around you as other little people. You think everything’s got a personality, human desires and foibles. See – you’re doing it to me now in this dream!”

He leant back in his chair, his feet crossed on the ottoman. “According to you, it’s like the weather has good and bad moods, the plants have desires, you see faces in the clouds – and you even think that animals are your friends. Even cats!” This last word came out like a minor explosion. “And as for your gods: well you’ve even made them in your own image. ‘Uber-humans’ – just like people, only more so!”

I wanted to speak – I had burning questions like: “Where am I?” and: ” How much did you pay for that chair?” – but before I could get a word in, he continued:

“But that’s not why I got you here. Sit down, make yourself comfortable, I’m going to tell you a story.” I looked around, for the first time noticing (as you do in dreams) that we were in a huge empty hall, with black-and-white tiles chequered on the floor. There were no other chairs, so I just shifted my weight and folded my arms.

The Land smoothed down his moustache, apparently collecting his thoughts. “The story’s about Me. Apparently I’ve been around for 4.3 billion years. With a few hiccoughs, it all went pretty smoothly really, until just recently. You know: Earth formed, earth cooled, atmosphere, oceans, life – you know the plot. But it wasn’t ‘progress’ – that’s another one of your peculiar ideas, like ‘happiness’. It was just change, not heading anywhere in particular. Things were… well, just things, coming and going as things do.”

“And then you lot came along, writing and talking and talking and writing. Non-stop, changing everything that’s real in the world into a torrent of endless chatter. You’ve covered up the world with words. ‘Landguage’, I call it. ‘Textscape’. All your stories, your hopes, your plans, your petty miseries, all projected out onto me, till you can’t see me for all the jumbled layers of text. I look in the mirror and barely recognise myself anymore.” (But I recognised him: he looked just like the guy who sold me that P76 forty years ago.)

“But it’s not just the words, you know. It’s all the bloody pictures, too. For half a millennium you reckon you’ve been doing portraits of Me – drawings, paintings, etchings, photographs, you name it. Landscapes: ‘sublime’, ‘picturesque’, beautiful’- I should be flattered, but actually it gets right up My nose. My metaphorical nose, that is.”


“Because that’s not Me in all those pictures, you know. It’s you. More little people that you’ve created, this time on canvas, paper and screen. They say next to nothing about me, and everything about you. ##And that’s because – if I can pinch a quote from one of your better chatterers – ‘there is nothing either sublime or picturesque, but thinking makes it so’.”

“The fact is: “The map isn’t the terrain; and the landscape isn’t the land.“

With that, he paused, gazing abstractedly towards his feet on the ottoman. Then, with another sigh, The Land stood up, looking me squarely in the eye. I hadn’t said a word yet, but I had the feeling that our meeting was over.

“Oh, I nearly forgot – just one last thing before you go” he said. “Could I possibly interest you in a very fine pre-owned automobile?”

Landschap, landskip and landscape

The Dutch said it first. Around 1500, they began to use the noun landschap to describe a new kind of artwork depicting ‘natural inland or coastal scenery’. It spread to use in other Germanic languages (e.g. as lantscaf, landschaft, landskap), and appeared in English (first in the form of ‘landskip’), by the 1590s.

Land is, unsurprisingly, an ancient word. It was used (in the form of londe) by the Venerable Bede, and its form varies little across the Indo-European languages, indicating much older and deeper roots. The –scape part has the same etymology (according to the OED) as the noun ‘shape’, meaning form, condition, or configuration.

But in contemporary usage, landscape has acquired additional meanings. It is used to denote a tract of land, to refer broadly to the visual environment and, through combination with adjectival qualifiers, we speak of ‘urban’, ‘natural’, ‘political’, ‘intellectual’ and other landscapes. As a verb, it refers to altering or shaping the land. My interest, however, remains with its original application i.e. to visual art.

Giorgione. La Tempesta (The Tempest), c1506. Oil on canvas.
“The first landscape painting”?!

It’s a fuzzy word. Its meaning shifts according to usage, causing it to carry tones of other, closely- or distantly-related concepts. Words like: ‘terrain’, ‘environment’, ‘topography’, ‘country’, ‘place’, ‘location’, ‘situation’, ‘setting’, ‘site’, ‘surroundings’, ‘countryside’, and even ‘land’. Or visual words like ‘scenery’, ‘view’, ‘prospect’, ‘vista’, ‘panorama’, ‘outlook’, ‘background’.

In art, landscape is always primarily about culture, not nature. Though it may be counterintuitive to say it, ‘The Landscape’ hasn’t always been with us, waiting to be discovered by artists of the Renaissance. In fact, the word denotes a purely cultural construct, which could only arise alongside a humanist, rationalist, scientific and increasingly secular attitude to the world – and ‘modern’ modes of economic, social and political activity. It reflects a new paradigm in the relationship of humans (both individually and collectively) to the world outside them – which began quite specifically in Western European societies of the 15th and 16th centuries.

Altdorfer, Albrecht. Landscape with a footbridge, c. 1518-20. Oil on panel.
“The first ‘pure landscape'”?!

The word describes both a genre (‘landscape’) and its instantiation (‘a landscape’). On closer examination, some connotations can be discerned. Firstly, selectivity. Conventionally, a landscape artwork isn’t just a randomly captured view of the natural world. Rather, it has been framed, interpreted and executed (in the attempt) to generate aesthetic pleasure in the viewer. This may be mediated by way of a pleasing visual composition of elements, through symmetry, repetition of forms, colour harmony or contrast.

Secondly, there is the experience of vicarious travel, as the viewers project themselves into the depicted landscape. In such pictures, where the landscape is the subject rather than merely the setting, the viewer’s pleasure derives from immersion, from ‘virtual’ travel to a location perhaps more interesting than their current location, and the opportunity to (safely and conveniently) experience the distant and exotic.

Related to this is a third characteristic: the viewer’s emotional response. The viewer of a landscape artwork may experience feelings of tranquillity, harmony, absorption, excitement, awe, or even terror. In fact, landscapes are conventionally categorised according to their emotional impact on the viewer rather than their location or purely physical attributes. So we can talk of landscape categories of the Beautiful, the Picturesque, the Sublime, Pastoral, Heroic, Georgic etc.

The ‘scope’ of landscape is limited, as in many ways the experience of viewing landscape is quite superficial. Only the sense of sight is (directly) involved, and only the visible surfaces of landscape objects are (directly) perceived. Unlike ‘real’ experience of the world, there is rarely a sense of change or passing time. And the frame excludes all but a small window on the world, precluding full engagement with the land depicted.

Adams, Robert. Mobile Homes, Jefferson County, Colorado. 1973.
From the ‘New Topographics’ exhibition

The notion of landscape in art has had many manifestations, and continues to shift (evolve?) with the cultures that generate it. Recent  practice in ‘serious’ landscape art has often used the genre to comment on the social construction of our view of the external world, challenging assumptions underlying the traditional landscape image. The focus has shifted: from ‘pure landscape’ depictions or evocations of the ‘natural world’, to being explicitly about the manner in which human societies relate to, transform, contest or exploit that world. Human interventions in shaping the visual landscape are often dominant. Consequently, much of what we now readily accept as landscape would not be recognised as such by a 16th Century Dutch painter of landschap.