The Thinking Space

'The idea becomes a machine that makes the art.'

Sol LeWitt

Social media is awash with self-appointed experts on how to get better at photography. Everything from constantly shooting through to buying the latest gear is presented as the route to improvement. Yet I very seldom hear the quiet, introspective suggestion that feeds our brain when a camera is not in our hands. Walking down a street, driving our vehicles, or simply sitting and watching the world drift by can be every bit as important to our development as photographers and artists. These periods of reflection offer possibilities, ideas, suggestions and, at the very least, moments for our brains to simply idle.

I carry a camera with me most of the time as inspiration can strike like a bolt from the blue, but I also very much acknowledge the importance of downtime. I know how to use a camera, so improving the technical skill is not as much a necessity as it once was. I am not arrogant enough to suggest I know everything about cameras and photography, but I know what I know and, at this point, that is plenty enough. What I do not know is the unknown. When one feels dried up of ideas, or wishes to shift focus and take a project in a different direction, the answer is not always found through relentless effort. Experimentation is certainly one way to rectify this loss of mojo, but so too is taking one's foot off the pedal and allowing the mind to breathe.

At university I had a spell where I felt a little lost. I had been taking images for some years and, I suppose, one could say I had a style. A style maybe, but it was becoming apparent that this style bore similarities to others, and I wanted to push my craft into something more authentically me. University suggested ideas, but I have never been one to be told what to do, and so I began to doubt my ability. We were told to shoot, shoot, shoot, but I had, and I was, and it was having precious little effect. It reached the point where I needed space. So I went to visit my brother and ventured to an old haunt we once frequented for our visual captures. Instead of shooting, I wandered and thought.

We only had a brief amount of time before the sun set and yet there I was, drifting in my mind with the ebb and flow of the sea, deep in thought and yet thinking of nothing at all. Then, the moment I lifted the camera, I was suddenly full of purpose. In that single moment the break in creativity had lifted, and it became clear where my project and mindset were best placed.

From that point on, and for the past couple of years, I have been immersed in abstraction. I still enjoy traditional photography, but abstraction sits at the heart of all my work. I enjoy the abstract process for many reasons, but above all because it makes no demands of me. It allows me to develop and create without forcing expectation. More importantly, abstraction allows me to drift with ideas, search for possibilities, and remain open to whatever may emerge.

The most productive thing a photographer can sometimes do is not to shoot at all. Many of our strongest images begin long before the camera is raised. They emerge from quiet moments where the mind is left alone to wander, to question, and to simply think.