Do you ever find it hard to define what sort of artist or photographer you are?

I know I do. I used to say landscape photographer. Then it became abstract landscape photographer. Then I added book artist. More recently it has been abstract environmental landscape photographer and book artist. Now that that phase too is passing I no longer really know what to say. Maybe just artist is enough.

A few weeks ago I saw a gardening programme on TV from Spain; with Monty Don, about Valencia. He cycled down the Turia river bed  which is now a long urban park, running through the heart of the city, under ancient bridges and heading out to sea. The Turia  river was diverted away from the city after devastating floods in 1957. On his way through the park he passed the City of the Arts and Sciences development, designed by the architect Santiago Calatrava, and built in the late 1990's. Just like the Guggenheim in Bilbao, it is one of the twelve treasures of Spain.

As soon as I saw this modern complex and the riverbed Turia park I had a burning desire to pay a visit. Modern architecture draws me more than any ancient cathedral or museum. I wanted to to go. Now!

So I arranged a trip. All by myself.

I knew that if I was going to a city the only way to spend as much time as I wished in the places that I chose, was to go alone. No one that I know would wish to spend hours visiting and revisiting a few chosen sites. My other half (OH) would have me on a whistlestop tour of all the sights before I could object. My friends would want to stop at cafes and restaurants at regular intervals. I just wanted to walk, discover and think. OH was busy with work trips, so what better time to pop south for a few warmer days before the intense heat of the Spanish summer.

I wanted to think about what sort of photographer I was going to be if I no longer wanted to make work about litter.

Which I definitely don't any more. I have finally got it out of my system.

I wondered whether I should be a travel photographer. One that doesn't do churches and museums, but who walks and explores.

I do travel widely, thanks to my family spreading themselves across the globe. I thought about how I could portray Valencia. The old, the new, the green spaces, the street art. All of these were possibilities.

I started in the botanical gardens; just a short walk from my accomodation, and a gentle entry into my 3 day trip after an early start and the desire to find a calm location after a day of travel.

It was peaceful and green. The harsh sunlight made photographing outdoors a challenge. I found some plants indoors. Outside was more prickly.

I spent a happy hour wandering and photographing, enjoying the April sunshine.

What I had not considered was the hugely different eating patterns of the Spanish. Coffee in the morning, then a mid morning pastry followed by a REALLY late lunch ( around 2pm). This followed by drinks at 6pm, tapas at 7pm and then dinner not a moment before 8.30-9pm.

This presented quite a challenge for a tired lone traveller. I ate bizarely for my entire trip. Grazing. Having brunch for lunch, and some dodgy early evening meals at restaurants that only cater for non Spaniards like me. I resorted to eating a big breakfast and lunch, then snacking on food from local supermarkets before going to bed when the locals were just heading out for dinner.

I have no problem with dining alone, and read a really good book whilst away, but the late nights were a step too far after walking around ten miles every day.

The City of Arts and Sciences did not disappoint.

I found it breathtaking. The opera house ( palau des artes) , the hemisferic ( a cinema), the science museum and the Oceanographic (aquarium) are laid out one after another. Each spectacular. Each serving a different cultural need. I skipped the science museum with its groups of loudly chanting students, and made my way to the Oceanographic.

I wanted to see the jellyfish.

OH asked me why on earth I went to the aquarium. He doesn't understand how much I love jellyfish.

He would have been at the archeological museum. Each to his own.

I was in jellyfish heaven. You can see all the species on view here

I hadn't appreciated how much I love watching them until I saw how many photographs I had taken of these beautiful creatures. Too many for my travel laptop to cope with. A heavy cull had to take place.

So ended a very happy first day.

I enjoyed the city of arts and sciences so much that I returned there each day, and had a fascinating tour of the opera house, inspecting the equally impressive interior architecture.

The next day, for something completely different, I headed out by bus to the beach, and the district of El Cabanyal, where tradtional houses still line the streets just inland from the long, flat, sandy beach. It was, and still is, a fishermens' district.

I found a very different vibe here. Colourful tiles and painted houses, wrought iron balconies, and local bars with men chatting over beer and snacks of white beans.

I wandered the streets, wondering how to convey this place. I mostly noticed the wires that ran across the front of properties. Haphazard and twisted.  Most of the detail was on the second storeys; I didn't have the right lenses to properly capture the character of the place. I travel light; otherwise I wouldn't have the energy to walk all day. I decided not to worry; just enjoy the meanderings.

I am not an architectural photographer. I enjoy colours and shapes, but don't want to have to worry about perspective and tripods.

Next stop; the beach.

It was long, sandy, windy and unattractive compared to many.

Folks were walking and cycling, as they do.

There was a lot of beach volleyball, and some strangely skimpy shorts sported by some of the ladies' teams. More thongs than shorts.

I must be getting old.......

I am definitely not a sports photographer. I don't enjoy the voyeuristic nature of it as a non professional.

What about street art?

There is a lot of grafitti and street art in Valencia. I took a tour, and learned about the local street artists. I learned about Ninja man.... he pops up everywhere. I also heard about the 'old man' who is called 'the photographer' street artist; he is just three years older than me.

He probably doesn't feel old, any more than I do.

Taking photographs of other people's art feels a bit pointless, unless one is writing an article about the artists. Which I am not.

So I won't be a street art photographer.

I had a great time. I walked miles and saw so much.

I didn't see so many things that I might have. I did all of the outdoor sights, and practically none of the indoor ones.

Next time I go, I will be able to look forward to queueing to see the Holy Grail in the cathedral, and visiting the tile museum and the rice museum.

Or maybe not.

For now then, I am content to think of myself as an outdoor photographer. Anything and everything that catches my attention.

With a side-line in jellyfish.

​What is it about mountains that draws us?

Both I, and my children can't get enough of them. My daughter has emigrated to western Canada, where every weekend is spent in the mountains. Son has created a lifestyle that allows him to live surrounded by majestic peaks wherever he chooses, be it in Canada or the Alps. I am happy for them both.

I have not quite achieved this, although it still remains a dream. Ever since I spent time as  a student in the highlands of Scotland I have dreamed of living in such an environment. I blame falling in love with my other half (OH) for a change of plan, settling for a life down south, and coping with this compromise by visiting the mountains whenever possible. It is not a coincidence that I choose to spend my holidays in cold remote places such as Iceland and the Scottish highlands. It is in these places that my heart fills up. The first trip that I took after one of the covid lockdowns and a 14 day quarantine in Vancouver was a road trip to the Rockies with my son.

Why are some of us drawn to mountains, while others are happiest on a beach, gazing at the sea?

I asked Google, and Google said it was because I am an introvert. No surprises there.

I asked chatGPT about the psychology of mountains with reference to artists, and it churned out several paragraphs within a few seconds about the sublime; something I have thought about on many occasions. 

But what is the sublime? And how do we know when we have found it?

Mountain imagery is a metaphor for personal growth and transformation, inspiring us to overcome hurdles and reach for new heights in our lives.

Mountains also remind us our past. Our ancestors would have relied on mountains for  fresh water, game, and shelter, making them an essential part of everyday existence.

​Today mountains continue to evoke a deep-seated sense of connection to the natural world. It would not be an understatement to admit that several members of my recent hiking trip in Scotland got absurdly excited to see stags on the mountainside; so much more excited than they would have been if they had seen them in a local park down south where they also thrive. For me, the excitement was greater for encountering multiple puddles filled with toad spawn on the path, way up on the hillside. A sign of how fragile the balance of nature is, for toads to lay their eggs in such a seemingly inhospitable  spot.

Mountains require one to face one's limitations. I have been trying to get fitter ready for hikes in a variety of mountains over the course of this year. You will find me standing on one leg as I wait for a train ( working my gluteal muscles)  and doing press-ups before I soak in the bath at night. I spend half of my week feeling exhausted in response to my feeble efforts to get 'mountain ready'!

​Son takes this to new levels; setting himself challenges beyond that which he feels comfortable to achieve. Living in the mountains he finds himself surrounded by individuals setting themselves really tough challenges; running up mountains, long distance trail runs and alpine hikes from hut to hut; generally pushing themselves to the limit. Way beyond what most people would consider possible. Not to mention cycling from Chamonix to Khatmandu, as two of his friends have recently embarked on. 

With the ever changing political situation, this feels like an immense challenge.

​I, though, will just be happy to complete a week of hiking without painful knees; something that happens on the Scottish hills with the incredibly rough paths and endless twisting and turning on the long descents after the exhilaration of the peak. 

When I get back home I crave the mountains. I walk on the beach and realise that although the sea and sky are calming and refreshing, I feel at my best when a mountain is looming before me. enveloping me.  I feel unsettled.

So much so that I turn to my photographs and write some words.......starting with a line from my favourite poem by Raymond Carver -  'Late Fragment".

.And did you get what you wanted from this life?

To stumble cloudwards
tramping tangled grasses and twisted heather
squelching by bog's edge
as you wind 
 upwards 
between tumbling granite boulders
laced with myriad geographies of jade green and grey.
Territories and oceans, continents and seas
marked by cities of citrus and white.

Eyes cry out against the bitter easterlies;
boundaries blur
the heart beats faster
and faster still.

Scanning the skyline for peaks and ridges
watching them rise into view
Sharp edged, imposing, 
dark and forbidding.
Later,
snow and cloud softened
sun tipped and golden
as one with the sky.

untouchable
inhospitable
indestructible

extraordinary
magnificent
life affirming.

Mountain.







​

And once that is done, I start planning my next mountain adventure.

​Next stop, Chamonix.....

​And if you would like to read more about the psychology of mountains and the people who are drawn to conquer them, then I recommend this book by Robert Macfarlane 'Mountains of the Mind'.
​

These images were taken on a walking holiday in Spean Bridge with 'Distant Hills Guest House'. 

A nicer place and kinder people would be hard to find.