In the depths of Southern France there’s a scene that’s kept me entranced for many a lazy afternoon over the years…
Hérault Mountains, France, 1999
I’ve photographed the view many times, even made a time lapse once, but none of them encapsulate the feelings evoked as neatly as this one.
Now available as a Platinum/Palladium print, Hérault Mountains joins a growing collection of photographs using this very traditional printing method — read more about the process by clicking here.
Print detail…
If you’re thinking of buying any of my prints as Christmas gifts, please allow as much time as possible — now is a good time to order.
I do hold a small amount in stock but Platinum/Palladium prints such as these can take a little while to make.
If you would like to buy Hérault Mountains as a signed, numbered and embossed print, you can find it nestled here in my Platinum Collection.
If you’re a photographer, you might empathise with this — occasionally (or regularly) making a photograph that you know you like but you’re not quite sure how or what will be the right way to finish it off, to properly close the loop…
I must say, it doesn’t normally take as long as fourteen years to come to a decision.
However, back in 1999, I captured the layered platform rooves of Paddington Station, a mainline railway station in West London.
Although I loved the graphic simplicity of the scene, it was an image that went on the back-burner.
Finding the photograph a couple of weeks ago put me straight into the mindset of a vintage Paddington Station.
Some of the buildings are clearly more modern but nevertheless it reminds me of a time gone by.
I’m not sure why, maybe it’s the weightiness or the puff of white rising from one of the platforms; maybe it’s simply the fact that it was shot on nostalgic ol’ black and white film with my Nikon.
Whatever the reasons, I knew instantly that it would make a fine Platinum/Palladium print.
I set to work making the Digital Negative and sent it off to Richard (take a look at the process here).
When Prints No.1 and No.2 arrived back, I was over the moon — just what I’d hoped for:
In hindsight, I think I was a little ahead of myself when I released the shutter on this scene.
Rather than the photographic tastes I had then, it was as if I was seeing ahead to the tastes I would have now with an older head on my shoulders.
Perhaps that’s why it’s taken so long for me to close this particular loop.
Anyway, I managed to find a clip of The Last Journey, a story about Bob Holt’s last journey as a railway engine driver before his retirement.
The clip depicts Paddington in the 1930s, a time when Platinum printing had already become scarce due to the war effort, and a good example of the station back in the day:
If you would like to buy one of these beautiful signed, numbered and embossed prints, you can find it nestled among others here in my Platinum Collection.
One of the photographs from that camping trip has always stuck in my mind — the view over Peel Island (of Swallows and Amazons fame) on Coniston Water.
Over a year on, I’ve finally made the time to work on the print of this photograph, one that encapsulates so many of my experiences and feelings about the Lake District.
Largely, as you can see from the sky, I guess those feelings tend to revolve around an imminent drenching.
Indeed, at the time, I mentioned beauty in dankness.
For those who don’t know — if you’re vaguely dry in the Lake District, it’s about to rain. If you’re soaked to the skin, it’s raining already…
There’s something about the sea, isn’t there? Something stirring and primordial; to gaze out to the distant horizon is so many things to so many people.
Solace, hope, comfort, adventure and inspiration all spring to mind.
How many times have you driven along a coastline and seen people of all ages taking a stroll or simply sitting on a bench, looking so relaxed in a trance-like state as they stare wistfully towards the horizon?
How many times have you done just that yourself?
Tynemouth No.1
The draw of the sea is strong within my soul. At the moment, it’s not fully nurtured. I miss being among the waves and long to return to my love of sea kayaking some time soon.
Way back when, my father enjoyed a spell in the Merchant Navy and was also a deep sea diver in the North Sea.
Indeed, we spent the first few years of my life living on a beautiful old boat, so I’m sure these are just some of the clues that point to why I love the watery stuff so much.
A while back, I was invited to make a photograph on the theme of emotion for an NSPCC charity auction being held at the The Old Truman Brewery in London.
My choice of subject? To return to my birth town, Aberdeen, and photograph the sea…
“The forecast stirs our residual contact with the sublime, our fading sense of epic scenarios, places where great, life-threatening forces are continually unleashed and where nature’s vengeful power always hovers over the horizon.”
Stirring words that certainly tap into my psyche, capturing the essence of what I still love about Power’s body of work.
— The Sea Collection
Llanbedrog Sunrise
The Cobb
As you might imagine, I’ve made many nautical photographs over the years.
You can browse and purchase my Archival Pigment Prints of the sea by clicking here.
Each print is made, signed and embossed by me, shipped to your door to provide a new window through which to wistfully gaze…
‘Llanbedrog Sunrise’ from The Sea Collection
— Further Inspiration
Here’s a short film that I’ve always loved, Dark Side of the Lens, and one I’m sure you’ll enjoy too:
“Subtle glimpses of magic others might pass by…something worth remembering with a photograph or a scar.” — Dark Side of the Lens
— The RNLI, Saving Lives at Sea
A final word…
You might well have guessed by now that my favourite charity is the RNLI.
As an island nation, the dedicated volunteers around our coastline are vital to ensuring the safety of those at sea for whatever reason.
I’ve been a fan of them since I was a boy. I loved this clip they posted of the Plymouth Lifeboat heading out on a shout in a Storm Force 10 gale at the back end of last year.
