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? I would describe it as a sense of awe and wonder in the presence of something vast, powerful and transcendent. A reminder of how small and insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. Artists have sought to express the sublime for many years, some of my favourites being JMW Turner, Ansel Adams and Sebastien Salgado. More recently the sublime has been expressed in more abstract forms by artists such as Rothko, and by fellow artists at Rye Creative Centre such as Jenny Pockley, whose paintings of mountains are both ethereal and sublime, more reminiscent of a memory than of a specific place. 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". Mountain .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.
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OH ( my other half) and I are just returned from a trip to Mauritius. We met in Mauritius 44 years ago as students, and OH was keen to revisit the beautiful island that holds many happy memories. Memories of spending afternoons on the beach snorkelling over an incredible coral reef, listening to a young boy lying in the sea playing his trumpet. Of a bed and breakfast accommodation complete with cockroaches and geckos, and a cyclone that brought 60 inches of rain in just 14 days. It was so wet that we ended up travelling around the island in our swimming costumes, as there was no point wearing clothes; we were completely soaked within seconds. I am not a fan of heat, or of beach holidays. I am no longer able to lie for hours perfecting an unhealthy tan. I am a restless individual who can cope with no more than 30 minutes lying on a sun bed before craving some action. OH, on the other hand, likes nothing better than to lie for hours reading a good book, barely bothering to swim or to stray from his lounger. We are incompatible in this respect. In the past we have chosen activity holidays such as hiking or sailing. But this was to be a regular beach holiday. The potential for activities was there, but the heat of the tropical sun is more than I can bear on my ageing skin, and I can only be happily active before the sun reaches any significant height in the sky. So, determined to get some daily exercise, I got up at 6.30 every day to walk before sunrise. I left OH in bed and crept out with my camera and a desire to explore. Our first location was a beach hotel. I was not the only one walking very early in the day. The sand was heavily foot-printed, and the beach pleasantly shaded.
I searched for things to photograph. Mostly I was drawn to the dead corals, lying on the white sand along with sea urchins and a few shells.
Sadly, most of the Mauritian reef coral died after an extreme heatwave a few years ago. Snorkelling over it made me feel very sad, as I have memories of extraordinary beauty just off shore in the shallow waters protected by the outer reef. But the remains of coral washed ashore held me captive with their extraordinary patterns and variety. It is illegal to remove coral and shells from the beach, so I took only photographs.
Every morning I walked, often passing the same people going in the opposite direction. When i tired of the sand I walked on the road to the village. A village that didn't exist 44 years ago. Everything was so different. A large part of me prefers to remember it as it was rather than how it is now.
I passed many coloured food trucks beside the road, closed up for the night. I was thinking of Ed Ruscha's photobook entitled '26 gasoline stations'. I envisaged my own version...... '26 food trucks'..... But I never completed the series. I was with OH, and we were on the move, so the opportunity didn't arise.
After a few days at a beach hotel we moved to an airbnb in a small town.
I was beginning to feel restless and frustrated with the heat. My morning walks became even more important. This time, along a busy road with no pavement until I reached the beach. I passed gateways to homes of many types, and tried to avoid being killed by the crazy bus drivers hurtling along the road at break neck speed.
Here was another potential series; the contrast between the old and the new, but I would have needed much more time walking the streets before breakfast., gathering more images. We were only there for 4 days. Not nearly long enough.
I started taking videos instead of photographs.
They seemed more able to capture my mood. The word 'indolence' kept passing through my mind. I was conscious of a slow changing of my mood. Seven days into the trip I was irritable and wishing myself somewhere cooler. But as we settled into a routine of beach visits and snorkelling, people watching and novel devouring, I started to feel calmer. I spent long minutes watching palm trees swaying in the breeze, and the locals standing in the shallow water chatting for what felt like hours. We moved on to our final destination; a fancy hotel in the east. Fancy and expensive. This was a birthday treat and another chance to revisit old memories. The son of our B&B hosts all those years ago was a chef at the hotel, and we dined there as his guest as students. I just remember a clean, white modern dining room, far beyond our budget. I have no idea what we ate. This time we were able to stay and make use of the beautiful surroundings, but my morning walks took an unexpected turn for the worse. I could either walk up the long drive of the hotel to the main road in blazing sunshine ( no thank you), or stroll along the local beach , which was not very far. I gave up this option after one day due to encountering a large amount of litter as soon as I left the main hotel grounds, and the distance not being far enough to call it a 'walk'. So I settled into a state of indolence, and carried on making videos and some cyanotypes with paper brought from home. I got better at it day by day. I watched clouds, and the weaver birds building nests. We took a boat to an island beach and lay under the trees drinking ice cold water. And when I got home I made a very short video of calmness. It is far from perfect, but my first photobook course is starting this week, so I wanted to make it while I had time and was fresh from the trip. No more indolence now........ OH won't like it, as the music is too melancholy, the sun isn't always shining. there are no pictures of our adventures together, and it isn't a rip roaring ride through 14 days of sun and sand. For that he will have to wait......... patience is a virtue. Some of us have more of it than others! |
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Welcome to Caroline Fraser Photography
Colourful abstracted and traditional photographic landscapes, book art and workshops. Capturing the moods and beauty of nature whether in wild open places or in small sanctuaries in suburbia. |