Chorley, Blake Anderson

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Chorley, B. A. (2016). Seven (Unpublished master's thesis). University of Calgary, Calgary, AB. doi:10.11575/PRISM/27764 http://hdl.handle.net/11023/3355 master thesis

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UNIVERSITY OF CALGARY

Seven

Blake Anderson Chorley

A THESIS

SUBMITED TO THE FACULITY OF GRADUATE STUDIES

IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE

DEGREE OF MASTER OF FINE ARTS

GRADUATE PROGRAM IN ART

CALGARY, ALBERTA

SEPTEMBER, 2016

Abstract

In support of my thesis show “Seven,” this paper will discuss the work and the journey that was undertaken to create it. Following in the footsteps of the Group of Seven, their paintings offered an entry point to see and feel the landscape in a new way. In a process of complete immersion in the subject matter a new connection to the aura of the landscape is formed; one which has the capacity to be felt by and engage the viewer.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my supervisor Dr. Jean-Rene Leblanc for his continual support and patience over these two years as well as committee members Dr. Jennifer Eiserman and Robin Furr. I would have most certainly been lost without the direction of Professor

Jim and Sue Waddington. Finally, I would like to thank my family and classmates that became family. Through the highs and lows, you have been there for me, pushing me to succeed, knowing when to give me a high five or a kick in the pants.

Table of Contents

Abstract………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ii

Acknowledgements…………..………………………………………………………………………….….……………. iii

Table of Contents………………………………………………………………………………………….….…..……..… iv

List of Figures……………………………………………………………………………………………….….….……...…. v

Chapter 1: Introduction…………………………………………………………………………………….………....…. 1

Chapter 2: A Change in Perspective………………………………………………………………….………..…..... 2

Chapter 3: Connections to the Land………………………………………………………………….……..……..... 4

Chapter 4: Influence of Education and a Change in Subject Matter…………………….……………… 6

Chapter 5: Going Beyond Photography: The Group of Seven……………………………..…………….. 10

Chapter 6: Algonquin Provincial Park……………………………………………………………….…………… 11

Chapter 7: Georgian Bay and Killarney Provincial Park………………………………..…………………. 18

Chapter 8: Back to the Rocky Mountains……………………………………………………..…………………. 24

Chapter 9: My Process and the Need to Slow Down……………………………………..…………………. 28

Chapter 10: Aura of the Object……………………………………………………………………..………………... 30

Chapter 11: Attention Restoration Theory…………………………………………………….………………. 32

Chapter 12: Conclusion………………………………………………………………………………….……………... 34

References………………………………………………………………………………………………………….…..…… 36

Appendix…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..… 38

List of Figures

Figure 1. Along Interstate 25. Eden, Colorado. Robert Adams, 1968…………………………..…..…. 5

Figure 2. Jack Pine Plaque. Blake Chorley, 2015…………………………………………………………….... 13

Figure 3. Jack Pine location. Blake Chorley, 2015…………………………………………………………..... 14

Figure 4. Jack Pine. Tom Thomson, 1916………………………………………………………………………... 14

Figure 5. Petawawa Gorges Night. Tom Thomson, 1916………………………………………………..... 17

Figure 6. Barron Canyon. Blake Chorley, 2015……………………………………………………..…………. 17

Figure 7. A September Gale. Arthur Lismer, 1921………………………………………………..………….. 19

Figure 8. A September Gale Location. Blake Chorley, 2015……………………………………..……….. 19

Figure 9. Photo of Franklin Carmichael. Joachim Gauthier, 1934…………………………..………..... 22

Figure 10. Carmichael’s Rock. Blake Chorley, 2015………………………………………………..……….. 22

Figure 11. Bent Pine. Blake Chorley, 2016………………………………………………………………..…….. 23

Figure 12. Above the Clouds. Blake Chorley, 2015……………………………………………………..……. 26

Figure 13. Lake O’Hara. Blake Chorley, 2015……………………………………………………………..…… 27

Figure 14. Bent Pine. Blake Chorley, 2016………………………………………………………………..…….. 38

Figure 15. Notch Waterfall. Blake Chorley, 2016………………….…………………………………..…….. 38

Figure 16. Lake O’Hara. Blake Chorley, 2016……..……………………………………………………..…….. 38

Figure 17. Notch Waterfall 2. Blake Chorley, 2016…………………..………………………………..…….. 38

Figure 18. Log Bridge. Blake Chorley, 2016….…………………………………………………………..…….. 39

Figure 19. Above the Notch. Blake Chorley, 2016……………………………………………………..…….. 39

Figure 20. Chephren Lake. Blake Chorley, 2016………………………………………………………..…….. 39

Figure 21. Johnson Lake. Blake Chorley, 2016………………………………………..….……………..…….. 39

Figure 22. River Mouth. Blake Chorley, 2016.…………………………………………………………..…….. 40

Figure 23. Lake O’Hara Pond. Blake Chorley, 2016…….……………………………………………..…….. 40

Figure 24. Castle Tree. Blake Chorley, 2016……………………………………………………………..…….. 40

Figure 25. Castle Tree Installed. Blake Chorley, 2016………………………………………………..…….. 40

Chapter 1: Introduction

Ansel Adams talked about a turning point in how he viewed the landscape (Burns,

2002). With only two exposures left, he placed his camera to frame a view of Half Dome in

Yosemite National Park. His first exposure was done like any other but then his eureka moment occurred. Adams was able to visualize what the final printed image would look like while in the landscape and added a red filter to his lens to darken the sky and capture what he saw in his mind’s eye. Adams wasn’t simply seeing the landscape in a way that would be aesthetically pleasing in the final image, but rather, he was able to see the landscape as a living thing and, when he worked with it, he would be able to make an image that showed not just what he saw but also what he felt.

I have always felt a connection to the landscape, although my photographs did not always reflect that connection. Immersing myself in the land, images were captured, not made; a difference in terms which holds a significance. My tripod legs would be fully extended, providing a consistent view point, and a picture would be taken of an element of the landscape in front of me, a waterfall, a tree, something that had a commanding presence within the frame. Despite feeling connected and at home in the landscape, my images did not reflect this. Printed on paper, I felt that my images reflected more of an attitude of conquest. Susan Sontag (1973) said “To collect photographs is to collect the world” (p. 3).

This is how I felt about my images. I was creating a collection of places visited, but not capturing or retaining the emotion or aura experienced. I was always proud of the photographs that were produced but felt that there was something missing from them.

Even though living things were being photographed it was not reflected in the imagery.

Perhaps I was looking for influence from other landscape photographs when I should have

been looking at landscape imagery from any medium. Using this as a base for a heuristic approach in self-discovery, maybe then, a new connection to the aura of the landscape, when creating my own imagery, would be formed. This connection, while being informed by the practises of others, would need to be shaped by time spent in nature. For me to communicate my experience to the viewer, I would first need to understand the experience

I was having and find a way to produce imagery that encapsulated that feeling.

My work aims to honour both my experience and that of its viewers. I create work that allows viewers an experience that I intend to be similar to that which I have in nature.

Situated within the physical space of an art gallery, wherein external stimuli are removed, I attempt to provide viewers with an experience closer to mine while I was immersed in the scene depicted.

Chapter 2: A Change in Perspective

Adam’s revelation is not something new to me. Being made aware of it many years ago, it is a concept that I have tried to implement into my own work. I realize now, only half the lesson was learned. Trying to visualize what my final print would look like, I was still seeing the landscape as something that would be flattened onto a piece of paper; I was looking at it for an aesthetic composition. For my work and my understanding of landscape to progress, I needed a new way of looking at and experiencing the landscape. I had to open myself to see and feel the life that I was attempting to capture in my images.

In an effort to evolve my style and understanding of landscape photography I turned to others. I began by looking at the work of Timothy O’Sullivan, Carl Watkins, and Ansel

Adams, whom I have always held in high regard and considered the pioneers of landscape

photography. I then sought to see how landscape photography has evolved into what it is today. I found the difference between the imagery of the past and present was the degree to which the artist was immersed in the subject matter. O’Sullivan worked with the military and geologists in an exploration of the American west. Watkins worked with the geological survey and work in Yosemite, and Adams lived in Yosemite National Park. Over the years they spent every day exploring and learning about every detail of their subject matter and surroundings.

Social media was nonexistent in that time and access to the parks was limited or did not exist.1

This allowed the three (among others) to present images that offered people a glimpse into another world, a pristine place untouched by humans. More importantly, this imagery allowed for a different connection to the viewer. Adams’ connection to the land, and his ability to work with it, can be felt while viewing his images.

Chapter 3: Connections to the Land

The connection to the land, I believe, is what is lacking in much of the landscape photography seen today. To this point there has been a divergence, and landscape photography has gone down two separate paths; neither of which involved immersion in

1 It should be noted, however, that social media, while having numbed the spectacle of these places, has also created an avenue for informal learning. “Hager and Halliday describe informal learning as learning that encompasses all other situations wherein people learn, including occasions throughout the course of living people learn without the specific intention to learn” (Lewis, 2015, p. 12). Climate change is an example of this, becoming a key issue as of late. Disseminating imagery through social media, of the physical changes happening to the landscape, has become an important tool in the education of the public. “Cultural theorists and researchers (Brown & Adler, 2008; Lessig, 2008; Mason, 2008; Shirky, 2010) argue that we have entered a new era wherein cultural production is no longer singularly the domain of experts. Alternatively, it is a shared province in which experts and amateurs build cultural knowledge together (Van House, 2011)” (Lewis, 2015, p. 32).

the subject matter. The first to evolve was that of the tourist gaze. The second looked for a new way of seeing/viewing and presenting the landscape. The tourist gaze is what Susan

Sontag talks of, the collection of places. Throughout national parks all over the world, picturesque locations have been built up with viewing platforms and snack bars. They have provided tourists with vantage points to capture Adams-esk imagery and the media has allowed for mass dissemination. Photos are captured with readily available cameras and enhanced in programs such as Photoshop. A constant bombardment of this type of imagery has taken much of the ‘wow’ factor away. Even though access to wild spaces has become more available to the public, an understanding of them is still lacking. “For a lot of visitors, this is an alien environment because so much of the rest of the country, so much of the rest of the world where they come from, is manicured, manipulated, tamed and artificial. Their idea of a park is Disneyland” (Wilkinson, 2016). What this means is that many photographs of these spaces are taken at a distance, a cognitive distance formed by the tourist gaze; a notion that these spaces have been conquered and are there for personal appropriation.

“Much tourism becomes in effect a search for the photogenic, it is a strategy for the accumulation of photographs” (Urry, 1992, p. 4). This acts as an aid to record memory, while failing to create an image that depicts what is actually happening in, and creating, the scene; the life. They forget that these spaces are in fact wild. “Yellowstone isn’t a zoo. You can get hurt. We have big animals that can kill or eat you” (Wilkinson, 2016).

As the tourist gaze consumed the idea of the pristine landscape, photographers began to criticize this straight photography approach that relied heavily on aesthetics. This conceptual shift in the aesthetics of the landscape started to gain traction in the 1970’s with a group calling themselves the New Topographics, presenting a show called Photographs of

a Man-Altered Landscape. The group pushed aside the notion of the idealized and pristine, and instead focused on what those landscapes were becoming as humans began to encroach. This change impacted the psychology of the viewer in their capacity for attention; a concept that will be touched on later. As the subject matter shifted, so too did the way of seeing and interpreting the land. The subject matter was no longer depicting the living aspect of the land but rather began to show the lack of life, as landscapes became altered. Without life to collaborate with, photographers such as Lewis Baltz and Robert

Adams (no relation to Ansel Adams) began to rely on geometry to create a mathematically well composed, balanced image.

Figure 1

The banal subject matter, often depicted in these new images, was also now being captured in a new way. As Ansel Adams had once shifted from pictoralism to straight photography, now photographers were shifting back, choosing to include pictoral elements in their imagery. The evening out of tones and increase of contrast was a way of emphasizing specific aspects of the image, producing lighter images in a more formal style.

“As a consequence of such muscular formalism, however, the photographs are less easy to

‘read’ and, neither sublime nor picturesque, they thus partake of yet another 18th century aesthetic mode characteristic of postmodern art—irony” (Dennis 2015, p. 6). Adams expressed his displeasure in this conceptual shift in photography, “strongly believing that the aestheticized photograph should speak for itself” (Dennis 2015, p. 6). Due to the lack of immersion, photographers were now no longer collaborating with their subject matter but were instead imposing their ideals on it. It is my opinion that the shift from immersion to representation can be attributed to one thing in particular: Education.

Chapter 4: Influence of Education and a Change in Subject Matter

Photographers such as Ansel Adams and Timothy O’Sullivan had no formal art education; they learned from those around them and from repeated practice of their craft.

The photographers of the New Topographics, on the other hand, all had formal art education, altering their mentality and approach to landscape photography. “Students are brought to the arts with the baggage of representation: ‘What is it? What does it mean?

How is it constructed?’ In this way we teach young people to anchor their visual world to unassailable truths. Representation explains away the unexplainable, ‘it orders the world and predetermines what can be taught’. Within such a discourse, ‘we are perfectly safe, since it’s only a picture’ (Bolt, 2013)” (Adkins, 2014, p. 329). Ansel Adams was taught to see the landscape by the landscape, whereas, the photographers in this new movement of landscape photography were taught by schools the way in which they should view and access the landscape. A lack of immersion created a lack of understanding of the geographical and ecological systems. As these became unexplainable, the representation

encouraged by institutions offered an alternative way to explain and express the content and purpose of the imagery. While this new way of thinking appeased the institution, the viewer was left behind. With no explanation of the work, through things such as didactics, the work created for the purpose of representation fails to communicate that representation. The images do not speak for themselves. This leaves the viewer unable to access the work and therefore alienated.

This new way of thinking allowed for a shift in perspective in what was considered a landscape photograph as well as opening the genre to more photographers, as subject matter was now no longer limited to remote “untouched” places. While this can be seen as a good thing, I feel this has had a detrimental effect on the craft of photography. With cameras now having the ability to do most of the work in exposure mathematics, and computers and ink jet printers allowing for easy manipulation, photography has become simply a device to express conceptual ideas.

“As the medium’s craft has become easier, more fluid and automatic, mastery of the technical and visual has become less important… As photography at this level [MFA] has grown, the treatment of it as an academic pursuit has as well. Very often the craft of the medium is subsumed, indicating the artist has little interest in the inherent qualities of the discipline itself, using it simply as a vehicle for visual communication. In fact, he or she may have graduated from just that: a department of visual communication. This constitutes a ‘literalization’ of the medium or in effect a deconstruction of its inherently visual qualities resulting in an analytical and intellectual final result” (Rantoul, 2016).

It is my strong belief that through a mastery of craft, the artist gains the control to be able to communicate ideas. When the work does not meet the artist’s expectations, it can be

analyzed scientifically to correct issues and render what was visualized in the mind’s eye. It is important to remember that creating a photograph happens in two essential technical steps: a mathematical interpretation of the scene when making lens and exposure choices, and an understanding of how different, or changes to, chemical compositions effect the way the image is printed. I rely on an ability to analyze the work as it is produced, and knowing the effects of a minor chemical change, make the appropriate adjustments. Technical knowledge takes much of the guesswork out of production. It is this reliance on the technical that enables the communication of ideas to the viewer. I have rejected the idea of having didactics, as I do not want to influence the viewer before they see the work. The work must speak for itself and the viewer’s experience will in turn reflect that.

Current photographers, like Ed Burtynsky, have followed the lead of the New

Topographics, taking an approach of showing the viewer the unseen and undesirable, now choosing to include the presence of humans in their work; something Ansel Adams was opposed to (Alinder, 1996, p. 239). These influences can be clearly seen in Burtynsky’s early work but he also looked to evolve the genre by the addition of colour. “Burtynsky’s evolving compositional strategies were also informed by a marked desire to explore how the visual properties of modernist painting might be made relevant to colour landscape photography” (Burtynsky, 2013). In his first major series, Burtynsky looked at landscapes that had been altered by humans, including open pit mines, oil fields, and the like.

Photographed from a distance and printed on a large scale, Burtynsky’s imagery shifted back to more of a straight photography style, reinserting the wow factor, offering the viewer easier access to the work and a new way of seeing the landscape, not as pristine but as something that has been raped by humans. As his work has evolved, the subject matter

has begun to include the illusion of natural views as well as views that have removed nature completely; however, the approach when visualizing and photographing has remained the same.

Burtynsky has, however, changed the way in which he captures his images, altering the relationship yet again between the photographer and subject matter. Taking on more of a director’s role, he employs a team to be able to capture his vision; making use of modern tools such as drones to place his camera in positions that cannot be achieved otherwise. By doing this, Burtynsky has shifted back to the idea of photographing landscapes that people have not seen before. His process has taken him all over the world in a search for landscapes that will fit his vision. His audience does not need to feel his immersion because his work draws people in through spectacle.

Taking a very commercial approach to the way he captures images, Burtynsky employs the use of spectacle in his imagery in addition to following a similar approach to that set in motion in the 1970’s. My work contrasts this, I am not looking to show people a landscape they have never seen before, but to present imagery that is seen by many through the tourist gaze and ask the viewers to open themselves to see it in a different way, to feel it, through a deeper connection to the land. I aim to reinsert the power of aura into my imagery; something I feel has been lost in modern landscape photography.

Recently, photography, as a whole not just landscape, has shifted to become more about the relationship between the image and the viewer, created to communicate a message. Michael Fried notes that this was a response to the notion that previous work had been created not for the viewer but rather showed a relationship between the photographer and subject matter (Fried, 2008). Making images large and “for the wall,”

they could bring the viewer in by showing immense detail and letting multiple people view the image at once. I would like to contrast this idea by the thought that the work should not be about the photographer and their relationship with the subject matter, or the subject matter and viewer; it should bring both of these together. I aim to create a relationship with the landscape, working with it to create the imagery, a relationship that can be seen by the viewer and allow them to enter the work and engage them to have their own experience while viewing it.

Chapter 5: Going Beyond Photography: The Group of Seven

To aid me in looking for a deeper connection in the way I see the land, and more specifically the Canadian landscape, I felt the need to go beyond the medium of photography. The paintings done by the Group of Seven gained notoriety by not only showing people views of the Canadian wilderness that most had never experienced, but also by the unique way the artists perceived and portrayed the land they saw in front of them. They were able to form a connection to the land that can be seen in their work while also allowing the viewer to form a connection of their own. It was this melding of artist, landscape/the work itself, and the viewer that I felt was missing in my work, as well as much of the landscape photography as a whole. If my style and connection were to evolve, perhaps the way to do so was by gaining an understanding of how the Group painted and how they evolved. Just as I felt the need to experience the land when I made my own images, I wanted to experience the Group through “their” land. If I followed the footsteps of the Group, and tried to see the land through their eyes, could I create images that would be

able to draw the viewer in by allowing them to see and feel the connection to the land I felt during the creation of the image?

Once the decision had been made to search out the sketch locations of the Group of

Seven, I dove into the research. I felt the need to understand not just the paintings but the men as well. I looked at the group in a very formulaic way; who were these men, what brought them together, why did they paint, where did they paint, and how did their style evolve over time and within the locations they visited. I looked at all of this in a chronological way to better understand the Group’s progression.

Chapter 6: Algonquin Provincial Park

I decided to focus on the paintings I felt would be “easier” to find, ones that had distinctive features, and grouped them geographically so that I would be able to search for multiple locations within a single trip. Algonquin Provincial Park would be the first trip. I planned to spend 5 days canoeing solo in the eastern side of the park, looking for some of

Tom Thomson’s locations. Although Thomson was never officially part of the Group, for the purpose of my work I have included him. Thomson worked primarily in Algonquin and it was his knowledge of the outdoors that helped create a level of comfort for the other artists of the Group of Seven, allowing them to work in these remote landscapes. After his passing in 1917, the Group was formed around his legacy. It is because I felt Thomson’s work and death were instrumental in the formation of the Group, that I wanted to begin by looking at the landscapes that he worked in.

While Thomson worked within a number of regions in Algonquin, I chose the east side of the park. It was on the shores of Grand Lake that he painted the sketch that would

be worked into the Jack Pine canvas. This was the one location that is known and has a plaque commemorating the spot in the park. Being one of the most influential paintings in

Canadian history, I thought this would be an easy location to find and a good starting point for my explorations. The location also provided me with a good jump off point to access the

Barron Canyon, where Thomson painted his Petawawa Gorge images.

Arriving in the park in the late afternoon I was met by a rainstorm, forcing my camp setup to be a wet one. The next morning, I set out with hopes of finding the Pine. The rain had cleared and I had a short hike from the Achray Campground, where Thomson had once work as a park ranger and guide. The trail was well marked and the location was easy to find. Upon arrival, I put my pack down on the bench, set out by the park for people to enjoy the view, and walked over to read the plaque, placed on a pedestal and bolted to the rocks, obstructing the view from the bench. The plaque included a short written description along with a map of the area, an image of Thomson’s painting as well as a photograph of the

“rediscovered” pine that was taken in the 1970’s.

Figure 2

Immediately I recognized a problem. The tree in the photograph on the plaque was NOT

Thomson’s Jack Pine. After having sat on the bench for some time taking in the scene before

me, I was able to see that, while this was in fact the right location, the tree that Parks

Canada had claimed to be the one did not line up properly with the other elements of the painting; the hills in the background and the rocks along the shore line. The other issue that jumped out at me was the photograph consisted of two trees growing side by side. This seemed odd, if there had been two trees growing, why had Thomson not included the second one in the painting? I would later find, as I discovered more locations, just how accurately the Group painted what they saw. With this realization, I wanted to find the actual tree that Thomson had painted back in 1916 as well as the exact spot he was sitting while he composed his sketch. Finding not just the general location but also the vantage point from which the artist sat would become important to me moving forward. Sitting where the artist once did provided me with the notion that I was entering the same head space as the artist when he painted the sketch many years ago.

I brought with me laminated copies of all the paintings I wanted to search for. I pulled out my image of the Jack Pine and stared at it. I sat on the bench, walked around, and spent time holding the image up against the land that was presented in front of me. It was at that point that the research I had previously done on the history of the area paid off.

Algonquin, along with many other areas the group had worked in, were very heavily logged in their time. The Group took advantage of this to gain access to the areas on train and painted many of these stripped landscapes to better show the contours and topographical features that were exposed as a result. As I tried to imagine myself in Thomson’s shoes, I remembered the logging. With limited trees left standing in the area he would not have needed to be near the shoreline to have an unobstructed view to paint the pine and the lake behind it. As soon as this occurred to me I turned around. A voice inside pressed me to

move back. Pushing through the new growth, walking away from the shoreline, I came across an outcropping of rock. There was a naturally smoothed, flat piece of rock that caught my eye and I knew I needed to sit down and consult my laminated imaged again. I turned back to face the water and sat down; goose bumps. The image of the painting had been burned into my mind from looking at it so many times and I knew this was the spot before even referencing the image I had brought with me. Peering through the new tree growth, a tree, a jack pine, lay on the ground. I held up my reference image and imagined that tree standing again; the tree, the shoreline, the hills on the opposite side of the lake, everything lined up: as far as I was concerned I had found Thomson’s Jack Pine.

Figure 3 and 4

This discovery would lead to a shift in the way I look at the landscape; however, I would not realize it until much later.

After the Jack Pine, my Algonquin trip continued with much success, finding an additional four of Thomson’s sketch locations within Barron Canyon. Again I found that the obvious first thought of where the sketches had been done was not always correct. The lack of trees had provided unique vantage points that were potentially no longer accessible.

Working in the canyon allowed me to see the importance of the sun position when composing an image. Two of Thomson’s paintings of the canyon were done from incredibly close vantage points, depicting a relatively similar subject matter. The difference was that one was painted in the afternoon and the title of the other suggests it was done at night.

Upon further investigation, I discovered that the night painting was in fact done at the start of sunrise. In an effort to again put myself into Thomson’s shoes, I awoke before dawn and paddled up river from my campsite to be able to experience sunrise the way Thomson had when he painted the image.

In documenting the location the previous day, I realized that it would be easy to photograph the scene and alter it in Photoshop to create the look of the painting. If I had done it that way, however, it would not have been an index of the scene and would have captured an idea rather than an experience. If I am displeased with an element in my frame,

I will make alterations to either that element or the way the camera captures it, but always before creating the image. Therefore, while I influence how the land is perceived, my imagery remains a true depiction, or an index, of the scene I am photographing. For me this is a very important part in my process as my work is created to communicate my

experiences to the viewer. If I alter the imagery by adding or removing elements in the computer, the image no longer represents my actual experience.

Paddling the river before sunup, the water was still as glass, and while there was a coolness to the air there was no wind. The canoe pushed through a thin layer of fog that was hanging low on the water, and a beaver swam close to investigate before slapping its tail and disappearing back underwater. Looking downstream from the location, the sky began to fill with colour, silhouetting the cliff walls, as the sun started to rise. The fog began to burn off as the temperature rose and the layers of the landscape became obvious as the sun touched them at different times on its journey upward.

Figure 5 and 6

“When an image is lifeless it is the result of the artist not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start” (Berger, 1997, NP). This distance is not a measurement of space but rather of experience. To make an image feel alive, artists must be willing to experience the full spectrum of what is in front of them, to see and feel the aura of the land and the life within it. Without immersion in the scene I am merely documenting that I have been to this place, my proof to others that I have been there.

As I began to connect to the Group, I started to realize that my state of mind while in a location changed how I perceived what was in front of me. By taking the time for

immersion, letting the aura flood over me, I began to see not just the obvious but also the way in which things work together to create life and relationships with one another. “We define the aura as the unique phenomenon of a distance, however close it may be. If, while resting on a summer afternoon, you follow with your eyes a mountain range on the horizon or a branch which casts its shadow over you, you experience the aura of those mountains, of that branch” (Benjamin, 1969, p. 219). The ability to see and feel the aura is the ability to see and feel the life that makes the landscape. Ansel Adams’ described the landscape, not as geological forms, but rather as something that is living, always changing (Burns, 2002). It is this life that creates the aura of the land. When an artist takes the time to open themself to this life, to slow down, to see and feel it, the aura of the land is experienced. It is at this point that one is no longer standing at a distance, but rather, beginning to collaborate with the land in image creation.

Stieglitz once said, “When I make a photograph, I make love.” (Robinson, 1989)

“When I make a photograph.” He did not say “take,” nor did he say “shoot.” Ansel Adams felt that these two terms had an attitude that represented “conquest and appropriation”

(Burns, 2002). Only when the photographer was able to “define a condition of empathy between the external and internal events” does the term “make” apply. When we “take” a picture we are cataloging a representation of an experience we have had. It is our proof that we have been-there-done-that, another notch on our proverbial belt. I contrast this to the term ‘make’, which suggests a deeper connection.

Chapter 7: Georgian Bay and Killarney Provincial Park

My canoe trips in Ontario continued with two shorter ventures onto Georgian Bay, a difficult task which covered great distances paddling through shipping channels, as well as a larger trip to Killarney Provincial Park.

Dr. MacCallum, the Groups benefactor and biggest supporter, had a cottage in an inlet on Georgian Bay and the members of the Group used this as a base camp for many works they had done in the region. In 1914 Thomson depicted the cottage in his painting

“Cottage on a Rocky Shore” and again I chose to use this Thomson painting as a starting point to find the others. I knew from titles of other paintings, such as “Split Rock,” where I would find roughly the area the Group worked. Georgian Bay, unlike many of the other locations I planned to visit, is a vast landscape where distinctive features start to look alike.

The land, shaped by glaciers and erosion over billions of years, is quite remote; with many areas only accessible by boat, including where I intended to go.

In the many years that the Group visited the cottage, murals were painted on the interior walls. Now residing in the National Gallery, the walls of the cottage have been replaced with replicas. Unfortunately, no one was home, but it did afford me the opportunity to wander the island. I assumed the bad weather depicted in paintings such as

“Stormy Weather” and “A September Gale” would have kept Frederick Varley and Arthur

Lismer close to the cottage. It was a good assumption to make. Many works were done in close proximity to the cottage including “A September Gale” which was painted from the front porch.

Figure 7 and 8

Despite the success of finding many more locations, I found myself relating to

Thomson. The vast expanse that is Georgian Bay, the low profiles of the weathered, barren islands that dot the landscape, made it difficult, as Thomson experienced, to form a connection. Perhaps it was because I was no longer able to explore in my usual ways, or maybe, like Thomson, the cottages suppressed the feeling of nature making it felt too much like “birthday cakes and ice water” (T. Thomson, Personal Letter, July 8, 1914). I could see how the Group formed their compositions, how they were able to work and form a connection in that landscape. I could see the way they visualized their paintings and gave value to many scenes that would have been passed over by someone else. I could see what they saw in the land, but like Thomson, I could not visualize it in creating my own works.

Georgian Bay left me both satisfied and frustrated.

Pushing aside the challenges I had faced on Georgian Bay, I began to prepare for the next trip, Killarney Provincial Park. This would be an eight day canoe trip into the backcountry of the park to visit Grace and Nellie lakes, a favorite spot of Franklin

Carmichael. Carmichael worked in the area primarily in the 1930’s, a time of heavy logging, and continued to visit the area with friends and family until his untimely passing in 1945. I would learn more about this at the end of the trip.

The park is comprised of the La Cloche Mountains on the north shore of Georgian

Bay, among the oldest mountains in the world, with their ridges running west to east through it. Despite having studied maps and images of the area, in addition to the Groups paintings, I wasn’t prepared for what I would see when I arrived at Grace Lake. The lake was small, surrounded by mountain peaks on all sides, and dotted with a dozen small islands. It was one of the most picturesque places I ever set my eyes on and it became clear

Carmichael had fallen in love with the area.

In my research of the area I consulted with Prof. Jim and Sue Waddington. The two made a number of trips to the area, among others, with a similar goal of finding the Group’s sketch locations. They gave me suggestions of where to look but more importantly taught me how to look. Using topographical maps, the shapes of the ridgelines depicted in the paintings could be plotted and aligned with other features such as islands that appeared in the paintings. Working backwards, these indicators, when aligned, would provide a rough vantage point from which the sketch would have been done.

Sketch locations were to be found all around Grace Lake, with many of them at higher elevations. These areas would have been easier to access when the Group was working, as the logging would have revealed routes up the mountains. With the trees now regrown, and almost no trails with the exception of portage routes, I needed to rely on my understanding of the topography and formation of the mountains to best plan my routes to the peaks. Lower down I was forced to break trail, pushing my way through the undergrowth, followed by ledges and rock faces to be scaled at higher elevations.

Blueberries were in season and I found it advantageous to follow the trails used by black bears to reach the berry covered peaks.

For my first hike in the area, I chose a location on the peak that ran along the southern side of the lake. While not being able to find the intended location because of new growth, I did make an accidental discovery. I had seen a photograph of Franklin

Carmichael, taken in 1934, in the Waddington’s book “In the Footsteps of the Group of

Seven.” It depicted Carmichael sitting on a rock sketching a scene from high above the lake.

The Waddingtons had described their use of ropes and pulleys to return the rock back to this position as at some point it had fallen down the cliff it had once resided above. As I climbed and crested this cliffed area my eyes fell upon Carmichael’s rock. I hadn’t brought a copy of the photograph with me but I knew in a second what I had found; one of a few nice surprises Killarney would provide me with.

Figure 9 and 10

The trip continued and I made my way to Nellie Lake. A larger more exposed lake, the wind howled across its crystal clear waters. Nellie, because of its higher elevation, is one of a few remaining dead lakes in the area. As a result of historically poor environmental practices at the Sudbury nickel mine, acid rain stripped the lake of life, leading to its clear water state.

I explored Nellie Lake and the Notch, a notoriously difficult portage route through a steep mountain pass for two days. It was in these days I began to feel a shift in my motivation for these expeditions. Until this point I wanted to experience what the members of the Group had; to document the changes that have taken place to the locations they painted so long ago. I wanted to recode the reality of these places, to remove the feeling of antiquity the paintings had adopted over the years and revalidate them as a part of

Canada’s present, not just as symbols of Canada’s past. It was in these two days, however, that I realized these trips were not about documenting change or even finding the Group’s sketch locations; I was searching for myself and finding a way of understanding the inner connection to nature I had always known was there.

This realization happened when searching for A.Y. Jackson’s location for “Hills,

Killarney, Ontario (Nellie Lake).” The painting looks out over an isolated portion of the lake now called Carmichael Lake. I had misjudged my route up the ridge and broke through the trees onto a peak further south than I had intended. This mishap was another fortunate detour that Killarney would take me on. Upon realizing my mistake, I decided to break for lunch, pick some blueberries, and take in my surroundings. Near the peak, out of a crack in the smooth white rock, a small pine was growing. Twisted and stunted by the wind in its exposed position, the pine stood fast, keeping a watchful eye, looking out over Nellie Lake.

Its soft needles swayed in the wind, only gracing the top of the tree, as its lower branches had been broken off from years of elemental abuse. I was reminded of Carmichael’s

“Twisted Pine” he had painted in 1939 and I knew I needed to make a photograph.

Figure 11

While I would continue to search for and document the sketch locations I had set out to do, my desires and intentions had now changed. The areas in which the group worked were picked with intent for their beauty and uniqueness. I would work within these regions but now to create my own images, trying to see the land through the eyes of

Tom Thomson, Franklin Carmichael, and the others, while also learning to open myself to this new connection I was feeling.

Before I left the park, Killarney would reveal one more surprise. On my first day on

Grace Lake I found the locations for Jackson’s paintings “Grace Lake, Algoma” and “Bent

Pine.” I had decided because of their easy accessibility (islands on the lake) that I would save them for my last day and photograph them on my way out of the park. The final day came, I paddled toward the island and noticed there was a family on it picking blueberries; just my luck. This was my eighth day in the bush, I was dirty, smelly, and my clothes were tattered from trail breaking. Because of this I felt the need, after pulling my canoe ashore, to go and talk to the family, explain what I was doing and why I needed to be on the island they were peacefully enjoying. After a nice conversation about the area and the Group,

Catharine, the party’s matriarch, informed me that she was in fact Franklin Carmichael’s

granddaughter. Carmichael had built a log cabin a few lakes over, and I was invited to stop for a tour on my way out of the park.

Chapter 8: Back to the Rocky Mountains

Making the long drive back to Alberta from Ontario I made several stops to take in some of the views, such as “Pic Island,” that Lawren Harris painted along the north shore of

Lake Superior. These were some of the areas that would help evolve his style to that of the iconic paintings he did in the arctic. The drive gave me time to think about what was next for me.

I decided on Lake O’Hara in Yoho National Park, British Columbia as my next destination. Just over the border from Banff National Park, the lake is nestled at the top of a valley on the continental divide with two alpine plateaus looking down on it. It was an easy decision to explore this area, as it has built a tremendous reputation over the years, while also being able to avoid the full impact of tourism because of its limited access.

This trip would be different however. I approached my planning the same way, consulting maps and the paintings that the Group had done in the area. I made myself familiar with the area and knew the lay of the land before setting out. This time I would not bring my laminated copies of the Group’s paintings: this trip would be about me.

After making it up the 12km fire road that accesses the lake, I walked down to the lakeshore to get my bearings and take in the views before starting my hike. There were clouds hanging low over the lake and the tops of the trees disappeared into them. I knew it was still early, the sun had only started to rise, and there was a good chance the clouds would burn off as the day progresses. I began my hike of the alpine circuit, an

approximately 12 kilometre trail that would have me gain 500 metres of elevation and take me high above the tree line. Hiking the steep switchbacks to the Wiwaxy Gap, I kept my eyes focused ahead of me, knowing the clouds that filled the valley were to my back I never turned to look out over the lake. After making it a little more than half way to the pass I stopped for a break. Turning around I was shocked. I lost my footing and stumbled backward not knowing how to comprehend what I was seeing. The clouds still hadn’t burned off and I was now above them.

Figure 12

I continued the hike, recognizing some of the scenes that appeared in the Group’s paintings and making my own images along the way. After descending to the valley floor, I walked the last portion of the trail around Lake O’Hara. Halfway to the trail head I froze.

The trail, set back from the water’s edge, was surrounded by a pine forest draped with mosses, lichen, and fungi. Rocks covered the ground buried under the moss covering and forming small pools closer to the water. Peering through the trees and across the water, I was given a view of Cathedral Mountain. It was at that moment I thought of Thomson’s painting “Northern River,” and I finally understood the lesson I had learned when visiting the Jack Pine; move back. The old me would have walked to the shoreline and

photographed the scene from there, but at that moment I understood that the foreground does not need to be the subject but rather it can be used as a tool to allow the eye to focus on other elements of the composition. The trees in the foreground were darkened to be able to look through them and also acted to balance the frame with the slope on the opposite side of the lake. Cathedral Mountain reflected in the lake, bordered by the sapling trees in the foreground and the light reflections from the small pools of water in the rocks provided enough contrast to give relief to the darkened foreground. I was able to visualize the entire photograph and the way every element of the frame would work together before even taking out my camera. I felt a connection to the scene, as though I was the only person who could see it and it had been waiting for me. I made my photographs and left Lake

O’Hara with a feeling of euphoria, knowing that, in addition to the other images I had made that day, my last image would become a favorite of mine and one that would define the series.

Figure 13

With a feeling that I was now developing a new relationship with the landscape, the direction of my work took its final turn. I planned three more trips into the mountains,

however; these next locations would be my own. To progress my work, I felt the need to separate myself from the Group of Seven and no longer work in areas that they had painted. I decided on two locations in Banff National Park and a multiday trip into the

Castle Special Management Area in southern Alberta. These were regions that I knew well, having lived in both areas in the past. Just as Ansel Adams had developed a relationship and deep knowledge of Yosemite National Park, I had developed a deeper understanding of the ecology and geology of these areas. This familiarity took the guesswork out of where I was going and provided the opportunity to now look at these places again with new eyes; eyes that had been shaped by the Group of Seven. The trips resulted in an additional three images, that would become part of my final show, as well as a new excitement for making photographs that stemmed from seeing this familiar land from a different perspective.

Chapter 9: My Process and the Need to Slow Down

My process has been evolving over the years in response to the need for immersion in the landscape. Getting my start in film photography, I was not introduced to the digital process until many years after I first picked up a camera. When I did make the shift to a digital camera, I felt uneasy about using it to produce landscape imagery. With no difference in cost between making 10 or 100 exposures I found myself taking an exorbitant number of photographs and not being happy with any. I found myself reverting back to film to photograph these scenes. Carrying an average of three cameras, using only prime lenses and limited to the amount of film I could bring, film photography allowed me to slow down.

Each image had multiple considerations associated with it: Was the composition worth a frame or two of film? Which camera and lens would best capture what I envisioned? And so

on. Through these experiences, two things became clear to me, the need to slow down to better absorb my surroundings and the use of black and white imagery over colour.

The removal of colour was a way to challenge myself in the way I saw things. Colour has been the tool most often used in the imagery created by the tourist gaze. Often oversaturated to make an image appear more “alive” and punchy, colour can be used as a gimmick to make an image appear more than it is. In contrast, black and white photography requires looking at the landscape from a different perspective. Different colours can have the same tonal value, giving shapes and contours the ability to blend with one another. One must have the ability to visualize the frame, not as it appears in colour, but to be able to see it for its tonal ranges and how they interact together.

The use of black and white imagery happened naturally as the need to slow myself progressed. I wanted to go beyond film in my capture process and eventually began experimenting with the Wet Plate Collodion process created by Fredrick Scott Archer in the

1850’s. A lengthy and precise process, wet plate photography requires the use of a light sensitive emulsion on glass plates, created through the mixture of raw chemicals. The result is one of the most archival forms of photography. I quickly became enthralled with the process and the way it created images but I was also quick to see the limitations.

Traditionally, image size was limited to the size of the camera, as the glass had to be inserted in the camera to produce a direct positive image, and the amount of gear, along with a need for a constant supply of clean water, made it difficult to access certain locations. In an effort to overcome these limitations I began researching and experimenting.

Traditionally photography has been divided into three general processes: Plate,

Film, and Digital. Rather than seeing these as separate types of photography, I worked to combine the unique attributes of each to make the evolution of photography work together as one complete process. Image capture would be done through a digital camera, approaching it however with the mentality of using film. The image would then be edited on the computer and the layers of the landscape separated into different images. The images would then be transferred to sheet film, to be used for projection onto hand poured glass plates in the darkroom, creating a one of a kind piece.

“Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be... One might subsume the eliminated element in the term 'aura' and go on to say: that which withers in the age of mechanical reproduction is the aura of the work of art. This is a symptomatic process whose significance points beyond the realm of art. One might generalize by saying: the technique of reproduction detaches the reproduced object from the domain of tradition. By making many reproductions it substitutes a plurality of copies for a unique existence” (Benjamin, 1969, p. 218).

Even though multiple copies can be made, because the chemicals are flowed onto the glass plate by hand, it is impossible to create two that are the same. Each is not a copy, but rather a unique object, whose aura must be experienced in person. It is because of this uniqueness that multiples of an image are not copies or additions, but instead mono prints.

The process helped me to see the landscape as layers, and created a shift in how I viewed it during the capture process. More importantly, it made the work more than just about me, the experience of the viewer was now something I was beginning to consider. I wanted to create something that could not be seen on a computer screen or the pages of a

magazine. By forming this process, I was now creating a unique object, one that had its own aura, that must be seen and felt in person. A work designed to emulate my experience in the field and capture the emotions felt while there.

Chapter 10: Aura of the Object

In order not to impose on the uniqueness of each piece, framing becomes important.

“Messy gestures” around the edges of the images, created by chemicals coating the glass and interacting with one another, would be covered by a traditional frame (L. Carreiro,

Personal Communication, 2015). It is these marks that contribute to the distinctive look and aura, in addition to informing the educated viewer of the creation process. To frame the pieces, I have opted to remove the frame in order to leave the marks unobstructed, and instead use a bracket to be hidden behind the work. With the use of small metal clips, visible from the front to secure the layers, mounting on a wall is made possible. This allows for an unobstructed view of the work, while providing a semi-permanent way of holding the separate layers of glass together and in alignment.

Topographical maps of the regions, where the images were created, were included in the final show. The maps, roughly the same size as the photographs, are printed on paper and mounted frameless as a cut-out behind and beside the photographs. The names of lakes, towns, and roads were stripped from the maps, as they are not there to inform the viewer as to the image’s precise location, but rather to give context to the informed viewer.

Barthes offers different categories of viewing photographs, the Studium and the Punctum

(1981). The Studium is the first interpretation of the image based on a cultural view.

Everyone from the same culture will have the same view; meaning can be taken at a glance.

This is the photograph itself, the Canadian landscape iconicized by the Group of Seven. The

Punctum adds the personal view. An element of the image triggers an emotional response to the image because of a personal connection, it “pricks” the viewer. This may be because the content of the image is directly related to the viewer in a personal photograph, or because a person can identify with elements of the image. The addition of the maps to the work acts as the Punctum. For those who have visited these regions, the maps provide them with a familiar and personal connection to the work, allowing them to experience it in a different way.

This concept had been discussed by psychologists as well. According to Jung, on the subject of “retroactive illusion,” “reinterpretation is a way for the subject to escape from the present ‘demands of reality’ into an imaginary past” (Laplanche and Pontalis 1973, p.

112). Freud takes this thought further in what he calls “deferred action.” While not being limited to the “lived experience,” deferred action (or “deferred revision”) allows the viewer to see the image in a new light by using a new (or old) experience to give or change the context of the original to bring new meaning to it (Laplanche and Pontalis 1973, p. 112).

The inclusion of the maps, in addition to hinting at the areas the Group worked, allow the viewer to access the memory of their time spent in these or similar locations; providing the work context and a mode to more easily experience it.

Chapter 11: Attention Restoration Theory

As landscape photographers in the 1970’s began to move away from depicting the pristine landscape in their work by the inclusion of man, another psychological aspect of the viewers experience was altered, that of the works capacity for attention restoration.

Although a great deal of time passed before the concept was investigated again,

Fredrick Law Olmsted wrote of the ability for a person’s attention to become fatigued

(1865). He observed that the constant stimuli people received from living in cities had a negative impact on one’s capacity for attention. He believed that nature could act to restore attention; a concept which helped lead to the creation of inner-city parks.

This concept, and the wider implications it has, began to be investigated again at the end of the 20th century. Kaplan (1995) felt that “all too often the modern human must exert effort to do the important while resisting the distraction from the interesting. Thus the problem of fatigue of direct attention may well be of comparatively recent vintage” (p.

171). As people, we are not programmed to stay on task for long periods of time. Therefore, a task, even if it is an enjoyable, can fatigue the mind; having potentially “devastating impacts” on direct attention.

Direct attention, first described in 1892 by William James as ‘voluntary attention’, requires a conscious effort to engage in something that “did not of itself attract attention”

(Kaplan 1995, p. 169). This type of attention is important because it is what keeps our focus at work and makes us look for cars before crossing the street. Accidents involving

‘human error’ may often be due to mental fatigue (Broadbent et al. 1982).

As direct attention has the ability to fatigue, it also has the ability to be restored. For this to happen, direct attention must be rendered “temporarily unnecessary” by finding another mode of maintaining focus (Keplan 1995, p. 172). The answer to this comes in the form of nature and in what James called “indirect attention” and Kaplan referred to as

“fascination.” Nature allows for the mind to be attentive in an involuntary way, no longer needing to be alert for things such as cars. Kaplan takes this further by suggesting that

content can influence fascination, creating a “hard-soft dimension.” The work of Ed

Burtynsky, showing extremes of size and drastic ways in which humans have altered the landscape, utilizes hard fascination. His work draws people in by the commanding presence of his subject matter and asks them to reflect on what he has photographed.

With a subject matter of the pristine landscape, my work draws people in through soft fascination. I photograph my experience in the landscape and ask that people have their own experience when viewing the images. I do not command the attention of the viewer but rather give them an opportunity for self-reflection, to take what they want from the experience of looking at the work. By not telling or suggesting to the viewer what to think, the soft fascination that my work utilizes allows for the mind to wander, elevating the restorative effects over those of hard fascination.

The environment in which the restoration of attention takes place also becomes a factor according to Kaplan. It must meet the needs of the person and allow stimuli that require direct attention to be blocked out. “Thus in a compatible environment one carries out one’s activities smoothly and without struggle. There is no need to second guess or to keep a close eye on one’s own behaviour” (Kaplan, 1995, p. 173). While Kaplan spoke of actually immersing one’s self in nature to see the benefits of attention restoration, simply looking at imagery of nature can have similar beneficial effects. Working from Kaplan’s attention restoration theory, Rita Berto conducted a number of experiments proving this

(2005).

Chapter 12: Conclusion

This journey of self-discovery has been an adventure to say the least; pushing my limits to the extreme, both mentally and physically. I have gained a much deeper admiration for the landscape artists that came before me and in a way feel that I have tasted the trials they endured to create their art, as well as the true bliss they must have felt while doing so. My connection to the Canadian landscape has grown and evolved, as has my respect for its beauty and formidability. As artists have shifted their subject matter away from the pristine landscape I offer to shift back; to encourage artists to look at nature in a new way, to see and feel the life within.

Representation has created an avenue in art for ideas to be disseminated but it is important to remember that there is value in experience, both for the artist and the viewer.

As I continue to create work, my connection to the land will evolve and shape how I see things. I will work to refine and master my process, a process designed for the gallery wall and for the viewer. In today’s digital age, my work aims to engage the viewer, reminding them that not everything can be seen on a computer screen. Just as I had an experience while creating the work, I want the uniqueness of my work to create an auratic experience for the viewer.

Let nature touch your soul and you will never need look for inspiration.

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Appendix

Figure 14 and 15

Figure 16 and 17

Figure 18 and 19

Figure 20 and 21

Figure 22 and 23

Figure 24 and 25