This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

A rare woodpecker, the communities looking for it and the history of the American south, photographer Dason Pettit explores these unique connections through his investigative project Scattered Feathers.

What wanted you to produce the project Scattered Feathers?
I was searching for a legend to explore that would parallel my own existential crisis, one that
could mirror the fear and wonder of life. I stumbled upon a copy of The Grail Bird by Tim
Gallagher, and found his devotion to the search for the Ivory-billed Woodpecker, which the
majority of ornithologists thought to be extinct, drew me into the world of birdwatchers. After that I
started researching the small town of Tallulah, Louisiana where the Ivory-billed Woodpecker had
been spotted last and found it to be a place that fascinated me. Initially rising with a surge of
industry the town fell into disarray when natural resources dwindled and the railroads carrying
these goods fell into disuse. It reminded me of the small town in the Delta where I had grown up
and the people who raised me there. I really enjoyed spending time wandering through the woods
and the town, and I was enthralled by the science of ornithology. So those topics became the
focus of my project.

The project follows the story of the Ivory Billed Woodpecker, can you tell me more about this
species' connection to the communities it lives near?
The most obvious connection between the community and the Ivory-billed Woodpecker is the
Singer Mill, the lumberyard responsible for so much of the clear cutting of the hardwood forest
that was the species’ habitat. Their presence was the spark that ended up devastating the land
that the bird so depended upon. There’s an irony in the fact that forest lumber was the foundation
of this grand and proud small southern town and that the depletion of those resources led to the
town’s downfall. The bird and Tallulah are inextricably linked as both followed a downward spiral
over the course of the last century; the synthesis that formed between the bird and the town
became a point of focus in the work. I found that many of the old buildings reminded me of the
husks that woodpeckers had used as homes; their decaying facades mirrored that of the ravaged
trees. Likewise, I found connections between the bird and the people that I met in Tallulah. Many
were desperate for the old grandeur while others continued to inhabit the remains of the town.
When I met a young man on the street, he immediately struck a pose for the camera that was
reminiscent of a bird. That kind of synchronicity is what I’m so often looking for in my work.

Photography and birdwatching have a few things in common, from the waiting for the right
moment to having patience and slowing down time. Was this relation something you considered
when making the work?
I definitely thought about the parallels between these two, even more so as I observed more and
more of what birdwatching entails. I made excursions with several groups of birdwatchers and
began to identify the activity as a metaphor for the act of seeing, especially within photography. I
started to practice not just birdwatching, but nature observance in general as I spent more time in
the forest. For me, seeing with a camera becomes something just shy of a spiritual experience. I
suspect that this is the case for many photographers and I wanted to find a way to express this
feeling. Birdwatching became that visual statement. I identified with all the prep work and waiting
that went into what the birdwatchers are doing and I think in the end gathering so much joy just
seeing the world through a lens is something that we both share in common. By concentrating on
the roles of these individuals in the narrative, rather than their personal histories, I enhance the
mythical quality of the work. I engage with the birdwatchers here as “’characters” in an allegorical
framework. Considered in this sense, these birdwatchers become proxies for myself and my
experience in hunting not just for the bird, but also for the right photograph.

The photographs toe the line between the human and animal and our relationship with the wild.
Can you tell me a little bit about the people and their investment in spotting the bird?
While many people have helped to communicate this story, John Fitzpatrick and Geneva Williams
are central to the narrative. John is the director at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology in Ithaca, New
York. Stoic and reserved with glasses and a robust mustache, it is hard to imagine him as the
leader of the team that in 2004 obtained footage that they say verifies the bird’s existence. They
continue to spend precious research dollars, invest massive amounts of personal time, and put
their reputations on the line to verify their initial findings. While John registers little of the
excitement he must feel as he shows his blurry footage, his grandfatherly like pride and his
scholarly nature assures on that you are seeing images of the Ghost Bird. And explains why he is
responsible for much of the continued interest in the bird. While many respected ornithologists
are sure that the species is extinct, John is an icon whose belief keeps hope alive in others.
Helping to keep the story of Tallulah alive, on the other hand, is Geneva. Nearly 100, she
remembers the virgin forest and the Ivory-billed Woodpecker and she is intimately involved with
the history of the town. Geneva and John Martin run Hermione House, a local museum that is
focused on curating the town’s remarkably rich history that includes the first indoor mall in the US,
and a WW2 POW camp. As her physical abilities wane, her greatest concern is that the museum
remains open for all to see when others seek to profit from selling its relics. I see John and
Geneva as mythic figures, the father and mother of this story.

See more of Dason's work here = http://www.dasonpettit.com/

Want to feature on Darwin Magazine? Submit your work to submit@darwinmagazine.co.uk

Join our community and stay tuned for updates and opportunities here - www.instagram.com/darwinmagazine/

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

Whilst nature is breathtakingly beautiful, it can also be dangerous and unstable. Chiara Zonca explores these two opposing elements of nature in her series It Devours, shot in New Zealand’s North Island. The juxtaposition of the immaculate beaches and mountains with the barren landscapes and signs of natural destruction challenge the viewers perception of beauty and danger in the natural world. 

Zonca really captures the surreal and haunting beauty of this landscape. Showing somewhere that seems magical, unfamiliar and out of our reach. It Devours is both strikingly beautiful and dreamy, whilst tinged in danger and fear or the power and potency of nature. A place almost prehistoric in the modern world. In Zonca’s own words, “an unfamiliar environment hiding a dark, dangerous past that eventually draws you in with a mixture of reverence and utter fear.”

Words: Sophie Turrell

Want to feature on Darwin Magazine? Submit your work to submit@darwinmagazine.co.uk

Join our community and stay tuned for updates and opportunities here - www.instagram.com/darwinmagazine/

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

The Docklands Project by Sem Langendijk is an immersive photo project which explores communities who live near water sources. Taking inspiration from his childhood and pairing locations based on their history and current trajectory, The Docklands Project explores our relationship to cities and their place in society.

The Docklands Project currently covers 3 locations showing different types of cultures near water
sources. What was the driving force behind making the work?

I grew up in a former railroad station, where cargo from ships was loaded onto trains. After the
building lost its original function, people started to build self-constructed homes there, as the city
had no use or plan for the area. As this area became a development site in the late 90’s, I moved
further into the harbours of Amsterdam, and living there has had a profound impact on my view
on cities. My initial motivation to start the project was to document appropriation of space in the
docklands of Amsterdam. These kind of areas, and the communities that live there, are under
pressure as the city is rapidly taking back its fringes and developing them. When I decided to
extend the project, to more cities, I conducted my further research in those docklands, using this
as a perimeter for the work. These environments I ended up photographing, share a similar
history, although the current conditions are quite different.

What was the lure to go and document people squatting in the disused docks in Amsterdam?

I didn’t find any photography from where I grew up that captured the identity of that place, as a
document. I felt it would have a personal value for me to photograph these kind of places and
communities. The ADM, which I was familiar with, resonated with the memories I had from my
childhood. A place where people deliberately chose to live in certain conditions, because they
felt they had more freedom, build things, and not be forced into the constructed idea of a home
or city. The fact that they squatted the land, was not really relevant for my point of view at that
time, although it does matter for the bigger story as it gives insight in the limited options people
have to live this way.

The work feels meditative and calm, is there a connection from your past which helped you
relate and connect with the people and place?

Working in this area was very interesting for me. I did connect with the people, although I never
really felt like I was there to document their lives. The work was very meditative for myself, as I
encountered things that resembled memories from my childhood. There was a nostalgic mindset,
and at the same time I was very calm and happy to be spending time in this environment. I think
this state of mind reflected on the people I portrayed, and perhaps helped form a bridge, as I was
an outsider to them. It took some time, but me returning from time to time over the years helped
create trust.

The portraits cover people in sun kissed and peaceful moments. How did you go about merging
culture and life of the location into portraits?

To some extend, I was projecting my own ideas on the culture and life there. Living and working
in a community and place where there was a lot of room to spend your time on doing what you
like. I think this is one of the main reasons for people to live in such a way. This self-empowerment
and freedom, made me focus on individuals, instead of photographing group activities or a
community. For me independency was an important element in the portraits. Their conviction to
this independent lifestyle and their confidence in pursuing this, made me look for the peaceful
moments, I think it is a peaceful lifestyle. To me, this environment was a little haven, where people
weren’t too bothered by the outside world.

How did you go about immersing yourself in this community?
As a photographer, I am an observer and analyse things. Perhaps for that reason, I never really
wanted to immerse myself into this community too much. I revisited over the years and knew
some people there, so at some point people were aware of my existence and presence. But the
project in mind was not necessarily about them, this was about my personal research so I always
kept fairly distant and clear about my intentions. It might seem like I’m close to them on a
personal level, but I’m perhaps just open and at ease around these strangers, because I admired
them. I got to know some people, and a few I had known for long, but the portraits in the series
are taken at first encounters and brief passing-by’s of people I don’t know. This method of
working also relates to my approach in New York and London, where lonely walks and encounters
with strangers in the street form the foundation.

Are there any people that stood out and whose stories really resonated?

To me the portrait of the boy, named Tommy, was in a way looking at myself at a younger age.
These photographs have a special meaning for me personally. There are the stories of people
that had chosen to live at the ADM, because they weren’t accepted in their previous environment.
The community included gay, trans-gender, tough ‘bootwerkers’, artists, people who had nothing
and some who had abandoned all their possessions. They came from all over the world, too. I
don’t feel there was anybody that stood out to me most, as each person had a compelling story
or reason to be there.

Is the Agency one of life one that you'd like to see more common in society and communities?

The reason for me to photograph the life at the ADM, was to incorporate this in a larger story
about the transformation of the city’s fringes. My personal background is in a way represented in
the project in this way. I would like to see this more; perhaps put best, I would like to see this
disappear less. To have these areas that leave room for people to appropriate space and develop
experimental ideas about living, close to a city, can be interesting for research and innovation.
They can serve as havens for people who don’t fit the system.

Currently, these areas are transformed into city districts that serve only one type of citizen.
The question is if we can keep cities interesting and diverse, if we build to attract a very
homogenous population. The interactions between different groups is what makes a city a
breeding ground for new ideas. What I value most from places like the one documented in
Agency, is the fact that these can still be shaped by the people, they can be active and involved
with their surroundings and serve each other in the form of a community. These values are
degraded by current city development, we don’t ‘make’ the city together anymore, we inhabit it

In 2019 the area had the vacate, have you been able to stay connected with the people who had
to leave?

The goal of the project was to make a portrait of the post-industrial city, through the harbour area.
So this former dockland in Amsterdam happened to be where the ADM-community had lived
and shaped their world for 20 years, but I never intended to follow them to a new location. I know
some are living on another piece of land outside the city, and I sometimes cross paths with the
people I had known from before starting the project. At the time of evacuation I also felt there
was a lot of grief, as the community had fought till the end to remain there. I didn’t want to
document this phase of their story. The work, I hope, is to some extend a document for them too,
but my personal involvement with the community has ended for now.

Both NYC and London feel vastly different to Amsterdam in regards to what you're looking to
communicate. Both focus more on physical social structures through buildings and their
locations. Can you tell me more about the approach behind the two?

In Agency, the focus is more on the people indeed. I think that the relation between the two,
people and place, is part of the project and how it came together. I wanted to document the
conditions of the docklands, and the fact that this community was living there felt like an
interesting example of reusing space. The people were very much defining this place, and the
structures and buildings there. So for Agency, the autonomous and self-made aspect of this
environment resulted in me focusing more on portraits.

My urge to explore similar areas in different cities, let me to New York and London, to their
docklands. I wanted to research the conditions and stages of development, and see if this could
reveal something about the way we think about space and city renewal. In Red Hook the
approach had to be different to tell the story of that place. To use the same approach was to
imply that the conditions, or the way of living was similar, that the community had the same
impact on these places, which wasn’t the case. I also didn’t feel I needed to produce a
confirmation of communities similar to the ADM living in different cities.

I learned there was a decline in interactions on the streets in Red Hook, and started to link that to
the function and design of buildings. The people were less in control of their surroundings, and
therefor I navigated more towards the physical environment and how this affected people. I used
the grid of the streets, started to photograph street-corners, and putting these together as a
typology. It became visible how the old and new were in juxtaposition. Property is becoming
increasingly more abstract with blind walls facing the streets, as if these buildings are turning
their backs towards the community. In London, privatisation of space is used to develop the
docklands, on a large scale. In these streets people have very little interaction with each other,
and the environment felt very abstract and impenetrable. People are present in the work, but they
are photographed unrecognisably.

So in a way, I think the transition from the docklands into new waterfront city districts, which is
happening in all of these cities, goes hand in hand with a decline in social interactions and the
ability for people to shape space into place, people loose the connection to the surroundings. I
chose exemplary locations to photograph, and in the visual approach and editing I navigated
from people towards more abstract images of space.

See more of Sems work here : www.semlangendijk.com

Want to feature on Darwin Magazine? Submit your work to submit@darwinmagazine.co.uk

Join our community and stay tuned for updates and opportunities here - www.instagram.com/darwinmagazine/

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

In September 1983, a Russian diplomat Victor Lipassov and his wife Evdokia were removed from Ireland after connections with the IRA and KGB were found. Victors wife, Evdokia was behind the negotiations with the KGB and IRA whilst the UK's governments focus was on Victor as she moved outside of a restricted radius that only Victor was confined too. The Clearing House explores this unique time of Russian espionage in Ireland and the invisible boarders but in place the the state to restrict movement.

Your project The Clearing House explores the historical events of a now known KGB spy whose wife worked with the IRA. Can you tell me a little more behind the history which the project covers?

I would use the term “worked with” very loosely. From what I understand through my research there was a reluctance within the KGB to get involved with the IRA. The KGB’s relationship with the IRA was a means to an end towards the disruption of power held by the UK.

The history the project covers begins with the arrival of Yuri Ustimenko to Ireland. Ustimenko was a reporter for the Soviet state run broadcaster TASS, and the first to arrive in Ireland. He arrived in September 1970 and generated some concern for the British government, as they believed that he might have been a spy. The British government insisted that the Irish authorities controlled Ustimenkos movements by implementing travel restrictions. Under these restrictions, Ustimenko had to give 48 hours notice if he had to travel outside the Republic of Ireland including any trips to Northern Ireland.

When the Soviet embassy was established in 1973, it too was to face restrictions as wished by the British government. They tried to control the number of staff employed on the property as well as imply new travel restrictions on the staff. Diplomats working at the embassy were not allowed to travel more than 25km from the embassy without requesting permission from the authorities. The presence of the embassy in DUblin placed Ireland in a difficult position. The country was the only non-NATO state in the EEC and were constantly under pressure to divulge information about their Soviet “friends' ', bringing into question their “neutral” stance in the world's political stage.

The Clearing House connects invisible lines of boarders and a russian spy story set in Ireland. What connected you to this place and story?

I am from Ireland, but I haven’t lived there for a number of years and was looking for a project to bring me back there. I feel that as photographers (at least myself), we are always looking outwards to find subjects to make work about. After leaving Ireland I guess I started looking back and seeing the potential I missed while I was there. Obviously BREXIT was playing out during this time, and the border between the Republic and the North has a major role in how it will unfold. 

I originally was introduced to the story when I heard about undercover Soviet ships operating off Irish shores during the Cold War, once I learned about another “border” imposed by the British government in order to restrict the movements of the Soviet diplomats I couldn’t resist. 

The nature of the story also gave me licence to introduce new strategies to my practice and approach the familiar surroundings of Ireland in a way I haven’t before.

Spies and espionage and secret missions often has a rose tinted look to it, glorified in Hollywood. The reality is a lot different. How did you go about capturing the feeling of Russian spy hysteria in the 70s and 80s within the work?

This era has been captured and recreated so much in TV and film that it is ingrained in our minds-eye. There is also a mountain of propaganda material from both sides available on youtube which was a pleasure to dive into. I surrounded myself with such materials, as well as newspaper articles and trips to state archives in Ireland and the UK. Living within all this information and imagery allowed me to absorb it all in and it to come out in the work both consciously and unconsciously.

Can you tell me more about your gridded image of the hand and light?

The gridded image is morse code spelling out ‘Active Measures”. Active measures is a catch-all term for political warfare used by the KGB, with the aim to alter the balance of power throughout the world. These active measures would include anything from disinformation, to assasination, to establishing and/or supporting subversive groups, in this case it was the IRA.

Restriction plays a large part in the story as well as within your images. How did you approach creating this tension?

The work was built around restrictions. Restriction is a key part of the story, and was a constant in the creation of the work. The nature of the subject meant that a lot of the information was not readily available, and access to individuals and areas of interest also raised some hurdles. So, much like the Lipassovs, I needed to be creative in achieving my objectives. The tension present in the work was something that grew naturally out of periods of frustration I experienced while trying to piece the fractured elements together.

See more of Garry's work here: https://www.garryloughlin.com/

Want to feature on Darwin Magazine? Submit your work to submit@darwinmagazine.co.uk

Join our community and stay tuned for updates and opportunities here - www.instagram.com/darwinmagazine/

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

“Was it ever real to begin with?” Jonny Briggs Sheds Light on his Creative Process 

In an age of photography where digital manipulation is king, Jonny Briggs' work challenges the viewer’s perceptions of what is real and what is fake. Using physical methods to manipulate his images, they seem to come from a more organic place, and hold a stronger sense of meaning. As well as working within the parameters of physical manipulation, he questions the legitimacy of life within a photograph  “ photography is inescapably about lying - it's representing something that isn't there.”  

Briggs uses the process of physical manipulation and notions of truth to explore his own family history and memory, in his own words he aims to “re-capture childhood nature through my assuming adult eyes.” While some may shy away from the thought of working with family as subjects, Brigg’s found it flowed naturally for him giving the space to explore subjects and emotions that would otherwise lay dormant. Voicing things he stayed silent about during his childhood. It is fair to say his work walks the lines of reality and fiction. Ambiguously sharing his family truth. 

His creative process certainly stands out, from the initial spark to the conception, below Briggs walks us through his process and gives us an insight to how he works with such personal topics in a unique way. 

What initially inspired you to explore the ideas of family and memory? 

Ever since art foundation, I started making work about my family and memory, and I'm unsure what provoked this pathway. The simplest reason I can give is that every time I think about my family, ideas would spark - so I've just followed these interests and seen where they've taken me. I was pretty quiet throughout childhood and adolescence, especially about what was happening at home, so I wonder if the work might be an opportunity to have a voice - to make what was once silent heard. 

Did you ever find it artistically conflicting or difficult exploring such personal topics? 

I find it's often the opposite - it's easy, and the ideas flow. It feels liberating to make work, to have ideas, to have an outlet for issues once bottled. With the artwork, you can both say something and not say something at the same time. You can communicate ambiguities and contradictions, and open up questions rather than close down into neatly packaged answers. Sometimes there isn't an easy answer, and sometimes a contradiction is more honest. Through the artwork, uncertainties can have a voice. 

Your photographs include your family members, for example My Blood and Consuming a Grief That is Yet to Come. How did you find creating an artistic relationship with your family, did it come naturally and how was it conceived? 

2004 onwards I started making work involving my family. It felt like it made sense before I thought it made sense (if that makes sense?!) It felt like opening a can of worms. I have too many ideas and not enough time or funds to make them haha! 

Your work is quite abstract in the fact that they are performative and physically altered. Does this approach involve a lot of trial and error with ideas that don’t work out, or do you have a set of concepts now that are failsafe? 

When coming up with ideas, I feel free and floaty, sparking ideas as intuitively and spontaneously as possible. Making these feels like I can never do justice to the idea, and there are a lot of works that I haven't released, and photographs that I've ended up re-shooting, because composition didn't align, or the lighting was slightly off, or the body language wasn't how I wanted it. Sometimes parts of a work can go wrong in  a good way - the way the making process deviates from the initial idea can take me into an area I connect with.Though with most shoots, I take hundreds of photographs - sometimes thousands. This is one of the reasons I've moved away from working with large format analogue cameras. Working digitally has given me a license to be more performative, experimental with the image making process.

The fact that your images are physically manipulated makes them stand out against the ever growing digital age where anything can be achieved at the touch of a button. What is your take on the ever growing digitality of photography compared to the more analogue approach?

What a photograph is and can be has expanded - and is continuing to expand. Whether digital or analogue, photography is inescapably about lying - it's representing something that isn't there. Yet lies can point to truths. This suspension between what's real and what's not takes me back to the childhood mindset of not knowing what's real and what's fantasy, where anything is possible. A friend of mine in the Magic Circle said the question he's most commonly asked is 'how did you do it?' Every now and then, he would reveal to a group how a trick was performed - yet each time he did, their response would be one of disappointment. I enjoy it when someone assumes one of my photographs to be Photoshopped. There are often clues in my photographs as to where the truth of the image lies. Yet even these can be bluffs, double bluffs or triple bluffs. Was it ever real to begin with? I'm working with my experience of deception, through a medium of deception. The constructed reality of the family, through the constructed reality of photography.

Your artist statement says that through your work you, “attempt to re-capture childhood nature through my assuming adult eyes.” How easy was it for you to find the medium between childhood and adulthood? 

It's an impossible task to connect with myself when I was younger  - particularly as the more I move into adulthood, the more my childhood self becomes a stranger to me. I find this comes in to play whenever I show a person a photograph of myself as a child - I feel torn between saying 'this is me' and 'this was me.' The characters in the photographs feel somewhere between my parents and I, somewhere between us then and us now. I want to go back and fix things, but i know i can't do that. The art making process can be a way to reconstruct the past, or give it a new shape. 

Could you walk us through your creative process, from initial idea/moment of inspiration to conception? 

The usual way I'll come up with ideas is by drinking lots of coffee, and sitting alone with my notebook. I'll usually like to be around nature. The other day I had a new idea for a scene pop into my mind while in the shower, seemingly emerging out of the blue. I'll sketch out ideas, sometimes words or phrases, onto post it notes, and stick them up at home, so I can constantly look at them, digest them, move the post it notes into clusters of ideas, and sometimes combine them. Often one idea will spark another, like a domino effect. I love the idea-sparking stage. The making stage I like less so, because it's such a challenge to do justice to the idea. The smallest of decisions seem to make the greatest of impacts. 

What piece of advice would you give to creatives wanting to explore more tactile and performative ways of creating work? 

Focus on your own journey of interest and see where it takes you. Everyone has their own methodology, their own visual language, their own conceptual language, and it takes a while to clear the fog of what your own is - so be patient with yourself and keep going. It can be so easy to attempt to see your work through other people's eyes, yet the most important eyes to see your work through are your own. If you make what you think others want, your work will always be second guessing, and most likely over-thought. You don't have to understand what you're getting at or why you're making the work you're making, in order to get value from it.

You can see more Brigg's work here: https://www.jonnybriggs.com/

Interview by Alice Turrel

Want to feature on Darwin Magazine? Submit your work to submit@darwinmagazine.co.uk

Join our community and stay tuned for updates and opportunities here - www.instagram.com/darwinmagazine/

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

“I wanted to explore the sublime as the human journey from a primordial object of the universe, to subject on Earth and the return to objecthood in death”

The circle of life and death is the only thing you can be certain of. It’s almost magical nature, taking us from existing somewhere in the universe to being on Earth, and then back to being a part of the infinite cosmos. Alan Knox explores this ethereal concept that “we are all derived from stardust” on a personal level. Through his body of work Universal Sympathy Knox works with his grandfather's ashes to create photograms that look like they could be images of distant galaxies. This double reading of his grandfather's life and being, and space is a beautiful portrait of the circle of life and how we are all a part of the universe. 

The process was both cathartic and explorative for Knox, from the initial ideas of scattering ashes in important places to the move into photograms ,which led to emotional moments working in the darkroom. Knox seems to handle working with such a personal, and emotional subject well and with a great outcome, but this was not always the case as he explains it had its hurdles, “it was very hard for me to stand back and view the work objectively.” I caught up with Knox to find out more about the process of working with photograms, the emotional experience of working with his grandfather's ashes, and his fascination with the sublime.

How did the idea come about to create Universal Sympathy? 

For over a year, I had been documenting the process of scattering my Grandfather’s ashes in places which were important to him during his life, for instance where he grew up or went on family holidays. Whilst this was a therapeutic process, as time went on, I was dissatisfied with the images and sought a more subtle way of portraying the ashes. Photograms seemed the ideal method of doing this as only the trace outline of the ash would be revealed. When I thought of scattering them on paper, I realised the dust would look like star-fields when exposed to the light. I had always been very interested in astronomy, astrology and the idea that we are all derived from stardust and from that point on, the concept and development came together very quickly.

How did the idea come about to create Universal Sympathy? 

For over a year, I had been documenting the process of scattering my Grandfather’s ashes in places which were important to him during his life, for instance where he grew up or went on family holidays. Whilst this was a therapeutic process, as time went on, I was dissatisfied with the images and sought a more subtle way of portraying the ashes. Photograms seemed the ideal method of doing this as only the trace outline of the ash would be revealed. When I thought of scattering them on paper, I realised the dust would look like star-fields when exposed to the light. I had always been very interested in astronomy, astrology and the idea that we are all derived from stardust and from that point on, the concept and development came together very quickly.

Universal Sympathy is quite personal, revolving around your grandad’s ashes. Is the relationship and merging of personal life and creative work something you struggled with or found came naturally? For instance, setting boundaries and potentially removing yourself from the situation to be more critical - or perhaps the opposite? 

Working alone in the darkroom on such a personal project for weeks at a time was a very emotional, at times exhausting process and initially, it was very hard for me to stand back and view the work objectively. A breakthrough came when my tutor Andy Stark at the Glasgow School of Art reminded me that every viewer could impart a personal memory of their own Grandfather in the work. Realising this gave me the confidence to continue and when necessary, stand back from my personal connection to the work. When I’ve exhibited the work in galleries and at festivals, the most rewarding feedback has come when others have told me that the work reminded them of their connection to their own my grandparents or asked me to retell stories of my Grandfather’s life.

Your work as a whole explores the sublime, what initially got you hooked on that? 

The sublime in its broadest sense describes the feeling of being moved, of transitioning from one point to another, wherever or whatever that may be. With Universal Sympathy, I wanted to explore the sublime as the human journey from a primordial object of the universe, to subject on Earth and the return to objecthood in death. Part of the reason I’m fascinated in the sublime is that (true to its nature) it has encompassed so many differing meanings for philosophers, writers and artists. For Edmund Burke it was the feeling of joy filled with terror when confronted with the vastness of nature, for Kant the sublime was located in the infinite scope of the human mind beyond anything in nature, for Lacan it was the part of the self which resists any form of representation, for David Lynch, it’s the mysterious blue box in Mulholland Drive. In my practice, the sublime is found in the realisation that we are all in essence one with nature and the stars from which we are all Derived.

What is the process and experience of creating photograms like for you in comparison to using a camera? Did it pose a new set of challenges? 

I found the process of creating photograms very liberating. Not having to work from a negative allowed me to approach the photograph as a painter would a canvas. During my research, I discovered that astronomers working on images released by the Hubble Telescope were inspired by the landscape paintings of the American West when composing the infinite scope of space imagery into a single frame. Likewise, painters in the sublime tradition, both romantic and modern such as Thomas Moran, Kazimir Malevich and Barnett Newman were my primary references when attempting to conjure the sublime feeling. Challenges arose when working on larger print sizes than I was normally used to. I initially tested on 10x8 paper before moving on to prints over a metre in length. Whilst such scales are in keeping with the spirit of the sublime, they could be very challenging to compose and required a lot of preparation in masking, burning etc. Since photograms require no negative, you can never be entirely sure of the composition on paper until you turn on the light and inevitably, there was a lot of trial and error when working to this scale.

Universal Sympathy is a striking and beautiful body of work that explores the sublime nature of death in relation to space. At first look without context, the viewer would not know this connection, making it a unique and accessible way of viewing death and starting healthy conversations around its place in the creative world. How do you want audiences to interact with the work and what do you want them to take away from it? 

Thank you! This double reading was a very important part of the concept for me. On one level, the images can be enjoyed as readily as one might enjoy the sublime landscape of imagery from the Hubble telescope, but hopefully they offer a second reading where one discovers that through photography, you become the sublime object. Hiroshi Sugimoto describes his conception of photography: “A picture is a picture because it is a fiction. A photograph is a photograph because it appears not to be a fiction. With a photograph, the medium itself is a parody, and that parody has a surprise ending that continues ad infinitum.” Sugimoto has always been a great inspiration to me and I wanted very much for the project to have this surprise ending for the viewer approaching it for the first time.

You mentioned you are just finishing up an MA. What is next for you in your practice? 

Recently I’ve been working on two projects. The first, The Memory of Deep Blue revisits the 1997 chess match between Gary Kasparov and IBM’s Deep Blue supercomputer as a series of photograms, tracing each move by Deep Blue as it marked the first defeat of a reigning world chess champion to a computer. Here, I was inspired by the recent explosion in the use of artificial intelligence in art and so wanted to revisit the history of AI from a strictly analogue standpoint.

The second project works on similar themes of loss as Universal Sympathy and explores Friedrich Nietzsche’s theory of eternal recurrence whereby he believed every life has already been lived and will be relived again after death, no more, no less. After Universal Sympathy it took me a long time to re-engage in my practice but ultimately, I think taking the space and time to reflect after a long term project can really help you clarify the aspects of photography which remain authentic to yourself and your point of view.

You can see more of Alan’s work at www.alanknoxphotography.com

Want to feature on Darwin Magazine? Submit your work to submit@darwinmagazine.co.uk

Join our community and stay tuned for updates and opportunities here - www.instagram.com/darwinmagazine/

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

Utilising this unique time, Verity Adriana is using photography and her fascination with light to explore her surroundings and create routine

Verity Adriana is a photographer and educator based in Leeds, UK, and lecturing at Leeds Trinity University. Her practice is explorative of light, and phenomenological concepts - as documented in her recent project Lumen, created alongside the river Humber. 

Like many photographers and creatives around the world, she is finding ways to stay creative and capture her surroundings during the Covid-19 pandemic and using creative outlets as a source of comfort and routine in these difficult and uncharted times.  Rethinking notions of home, taking advantage of the marvels of technology and the repetition of shooting has helped ease the overwhelming collective situation we face. Allowing for a unique opportunity and space to explore her new home in the Leeds countryside, with photography helping “to familiarise aspects of my ‘home’ in my mind.”

So what does ‘home’ mean to Verity, and how is the lockdown shifting her approach to photography? I spoke to her to find out more on how her gaze has shifted from cumulative to responsive, exploring her immediate boundaries with light, and utilising Instagram to present her explorations and explore our exposure to repetition amid the pandemic. 

A running theme and focus in your practice is light. Your work in the home also demonstrates this. How different is your approach to looking at light in your everyday - and currently constant - surroundings? 

Despite me saying life hasn’t changed drastically for me personally, I am of course aware of the bigger picture and the crisis unfolding, and I got really sucked into watching the government briefings every day and tracking what was happening by obsessively watching a range of news channels. I was hit with a huge wave of panic about three weeks into lockdown and felt incredibly claustrophobic living somewhere relatively unknown to me, quite far from home, so I made every effort to go for my daily walk and photograph the visual feeling of claustrophobia which has developed into a daily routine of making images. 

I have had a long running fascination with light after a strange experience visiting Galilee some years ago, where during  a sunset over the ancient lake it felt as though my mind was transcended somewhere else. I spent a long time afterwards trying to understand what had happened to me in that instant by researching into sublime theory and our connections to a sense of otherness, which we cannot explain, a gap in our understanding. I approach photography from a similarly phenomenological stance and whilst I love film photography, I work digitally and am fascinated by the process of the camera encoding light to create images which we then view via the light on our screens. I played around with ideas about conveying our existential connections through light interacting with screen-like surfaces in Lumen where these screens took on the light qualities in the scene, playing with the idea of what a photograph is and requiring the conscious act of looking at the materiality of light. 

The work I am currently making is based around the internal and the external, the micro and the macro and how instances of light remind us of our existence within that connected space. Because of the repetitive nature of time at present, I am working with the format of Instagram to present the work in a way that conveys that idea; if you see repeated images of trees, windows or light then that is the intention. I take a kind of Heideggerian approach towards the camera as a technology that allows for the process of revealing and concealing, which it does via light and so I experiment with exposure, in-camera techniques and artificial flashlight. Just as the camera converts photons to electronic signals and then into a digital pixel display, the sun's energy is mined via the technologic, making the electricity which powers our machines. The camera is a technology born out of long-established human thinking about light and dark and our terrestrial connection to the celestial – something Dr Junko Theresa Mikuraya discusses in History of Light: The idea of Photography. This cycle of light, technology and universal existence creates the magic I find in the photographic and is what fascinates me with the medium. 

In many ways the home is an extension of the self. In reference to your recent work, how personal do you feel the images are? Especially in contrast to your other works which seem to present a collective identity of a place or city. 

That is an interesting question because I have only ever felt a real sense of home once in my life. I moved around a lot throughout my childhood, including abroad, and then moved out on my own at the age of fourteen. After that I moved several times within Hull itself and settled in my flat where I made Lumen. I fell in love with the flat and it is the longest I have lived anywhere, it felt natural to live there – the space and I seemed to fit together. I eventually had to leave the city to pursue my career and have since been moving around the country so have not felt at home again yet as I have been attempting to discover the places I have moved to, amidst fitting into new workplaces, job roles and towns.  

I made Legacy in the year that I left Hull which provided an opportunity to look back at a city I have had an interesting relationship with, and I created a body of work that used light, smoke and mirrors to portray the idea of the spectacle of the year of Culture in the city’s cultural spaces. I also made a body of work in Venice called Sublime Intervention in response to a fellowship with the British Council at Venice Biennale in August 2019. I spent the summer there researching the connection to God, in whatever form that manifests, through the light in religious artworks, architecture and the layout of the city itself. The series of images and accompanying book were due to be shown at The Cass in London with the British Council which has now been postponed indefinitely.  

This lockdown is giving those who are able the time to think and reflect on life, and for me this has meant exploring this place I live in at the moment. I am experimenting with viewpoint, constriction, planes of focus and depth as well as the ordinary and extraordinary in the everyday by looking at how light interacts within the boundaries of this space. The images are providing me with a creative routine, but they also help to familiarise aspects of my ‘home’ in my mind. The more I look, photograph, edit and show them online the more this place is becoming familiar and known to me, and less like the flat I am currently living in. This means the work is responsive rather than the culmination of a process of experimentation and research, and I am interested to see where it will go as it unfolds. 

How easy was it for you to get motivated and creatively look at your home, especially in such a strange time when it is easy to feel confined and restricted within the home? 

I initially felt quite overwhelmed by the online response to the crisis, it seemed as if there was so much going on; call outs, changes, posts and as fantastic as this  community response was, it was almost overwhelming - my mind couldn’t make sense of it. I spent time offline walking, thinking and taking in the places that I could go and then slowly tuned back in. Everything seems heightened when you are restricted, and my eye begins immediately taking in my surroundings with more attention – something I have heard a lot of people say since the lockdown. Redeye recently held an interesting discussion with the philosopher Katrin Joost who discussed our collective shifting of priorities on a global scale through our perception of time, our horizons, the limitation and shrinking of our world but our interconnectedness through technology. I think that these are all ideas I am trying to express in my current imagery. As problematic a platform as it can be in some ways, Instagram has really helped me to keep my eye making everyday images over the years, in times where I haven’t felt the mental capacity to undertake big research projects like Lumen and Legacy. It helped me to form a habit which I think has played into how I am making this current work. Having to work within the restricted space available to me has really forced me to look more deeply at the everyday within the smaller scale domestic, as well as the universal ideas within the infinite of the celestial, so there is a deliberate mixture of images of the moon, my washing line, the weeds in the garden, sunsets and so on.  

In The Social Photo, Nathan Jurgensen discusses the reaction to train travel in the early years of its development and how people were concerned that our experience of the landscape would become flattened to a blur – easily seen and consumed but not travelled within. He then argues that modern life is currently experienced more than ever through camera screens – something even more prevalent as we navigate through the pandemic. I think modern life itself has become the train, our experience is caught up with rush, pressure, busyness and this crisis forces us to experience it in a slower, perhaps more considered way. As it evolves, technology is sometimes derided, however the digital and the online offer ways for us to connect that we have a renewed gratitude for. A really interesting development has been the Mass Isolation projects run by places like Format and Impressions Gallery (amongst others) that offer a curated collection of a wider, interconnected, global body of work, that is documenting and reflecting back to us our current experience of life under the crisis, and my work sits within this. It has offered an interesting perspective but has also opened up the practice of many other artists to me and I am enjoying discovering new work.  

From your perspective as an educator and practicing photographer, what are your predictions on how the face of photography will be permanently changed due to Covid-19? 

Things are so uncertain now it feels difficult to predict what might happen, but I have made some observations of the shift in Photography within the last few weeks. There have been more online events from some of the bigger institutions which has made access much easier. I have ‘gone’ to several of these online talks in the space of a week and I have many more in the diary. I have also visited virtual exhibitions thanks to places like V21Artspace.  This industry is a difficult scene to break into and I think the crisis has exposed some of the structure and fragility of it. I can only hope that if we move to a more online and accessible forum in the interim then when we come out of the crisis there will be enough of a significant shift in thinking to be more open and accessible to all. 

I think that technology will now play a huge role in how we make and show work. People are reliant on the resources they have at home and I am a strong believer in the idea that so long as you master the technology you are using, and the machine becomes the working of your eye and your consciousness then it doesn’t matter what tools you are using. I regularly use my smartphone as well as my dslr and like experimenting with what these machines can do. We will now be more reliant than ever on working with online practices as we share our experiences within the fast-evolving networked circulation of images that has become one of our major modes of communication. There is opportunity to make and show work within this digital stream to a widely connected audience that will be a documentation of the time we are living through. Evan Roth works with these ideas, his projects Red Lines and Since You Were Born which are some of the highlights of recent shows I saw before lockdown. What emerges after the pandemic will be interesting, will new movements form, what kind of work will be made in reaction to freedom and will there be a resistance to return to our old ways? It feels way too early to call right now, I think most people are adapting to the new now and working our way through it. 

On a personal level I have had work cancelled, and the solo show that I have been planning for two years that I was aiming to use as a springboard for my practice, has also been cancelled and the gallery is closed - a major setback for me professionally and stressful for the staff. With so much uncertainty and pain out there I consider myself lucky to have the lecturing hours I’ve got, and my daily thoughts are with everyone affected by this situation. 

How do you think this time inside and socially distanced, having to get creative with alternative ways of carrying out photographic practice, teaching and communicating will impact your work when life resembles normality again? 

This slower pace of life has enabled me to reconnect more deeply with photographic practice, looking and thinking and revisiting practitioners' work as well as discovering many new talented artists. I have other projects I want to start in the home, one involving the materiality of plastic, with a focus on what we throw away. I have longer term ideas about reconnecting with some of the places I grew up, particularly in the Middle East. A kind of rediscovery if you will. These questions have been great at really asking me to reflect on my practice and I think as much as my work with light and photography has been about spiritual connections, I am beginning to see that in some ways it is my way of figuring out my place in the world. 

I will be interested to see if the alternate working practices will become more interweaved with traditional ways of working and if this will allow for a less pressured work life. Connecting online could never replace physical human contact but it could in some instances replace some of the high pressure systems of working we have constructed for ourselves,  so I will be curious to see if technology can help us continue with the slower life that simultaneously benefits our planet.  

I am hopeful that cancelled shows will be put back on, not just mine but for anyone affected by this situation. We will be needing to reconnect with each other with a renewed set of priorities.

You can see more of Verity’s lockdown images on Instagram @verityadrianaAll projects and written research are available at www.verityadriana.com

Interview by Sophie Turrell

Want to feature on Darwin Magazine? Submit your work to submit@darwinmagazine.co.uk

Join our community and stay tuned for updates and opportunities here - www.instagram.com/darwinmagazine/

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

We speak with photographer Máté Bartha about his documentary body of work Kontakt, where he spent summer documenting the experiences and daily rituals of a military camp in Eastern Europe. The school is one where kids are encouraged to go, where they learn life skills, military training as they all leave childhood behind and venture into the unknowns of adulthood.

Hello Máté, thank you for taking the time to speak with Darwin. I wanted to speak to you about Kontakt, which is how I first came across your work. What first drew you to this subject matter?

Filmmaking got me into this topic. I was researching for my thesis film (directing documentary movies master's) on military education in Hungary. After several initial ideas, subjects and schools i ended up visiting these guys (Honvédsuli, meaning "Home Defense School) in the summer. They're an NGO, not part of the national education system or the military, so everyone in the community actually believes in the lifestyle they're demonstrating. The question of involving military training in high schools was and is a hot topic in Hungary - but the fact that the kids from Honvédsuli are participating voluntarily made it more interesting for me. But as i met them in person it became obvious that i'm not going to shoot a film about it, but take photos instead. For me photography is about directly dealing with broad, universal subjects in an allegoric way, while film is much more about telling a particular story, a clear narrative through which these universal ideas may unfold, and at first i didn't see the narrative, but the whole thing as a timeless phenomenon instead.

I got a really strong apocalypse now vibes from the images of the young person with their head partially submerged in water. In terms of composition of your images and the tones, what influences were key in visualising the scenarios?

Yes, i had the junior edition of Apocalypse Now in my had from the first day i got there. I started shooting on digital. I shot like... i don't know many thousand images. But i also had my 645 Mamiya with me, and shot 2 rolls with it. Of course, the two rolls were better than the digital ones; and this meant that the style will be more static, more composed, timeless in a way, taking it away from an action-packed, reportage-like world even though the subject would suggest this. Also, i was dealing with adolescents. So after some time the theme of growing up became more important than the military stuff which became a backdrop, something obvious in this world. And these are very timeless notions, so yeah there are a lot of intended reference to images from the common human visual pool: (images below) the ecstasy of Mary,  the execution of St Sebastian,  the Iwo Jima Memorial,  photos of WW2 Nazi and Soviet concentration camps. The idea was to point at the fact that at this point of their lives these kids are experiencing something really grand and universal - while these notions are very much present in every culture, it's just that they don't necessarily treat is as taboos.

In the project bio, you mention that the kids are having the time of their lives. Was this true for everyone?

With very few exceptions, yes. Most of the kids go there voluntarily. Either because they're drawn by the strong community (keeping in mind that this is happening in rural Hungary, where in many cases there's not even a pub in the village), or they're airsoft / paintball / pc shooter game enthusiasts. There's a small percentage who actually want to take on a military career. And like 1 out of 10 children are sent by parents who feel they're unable to discipline them and spending a day in nature would do good for them. From this last group there are cases when kids are completely upset by not being able to use their phones most of the day, or by having to sleep in a tent, and wake up early. The physical exercise can be pretty stressful as well. But they're all encouraged to look at each other as "comrades" helping each other and accepting if someone decides not to take part in anything (apart from the daily routine of waking up, eating etc everything is optional), and any form of bullying punished (by extra push-ups, washing up dishes etc) so even the ones that find it hard for the first time find themselves in a very supportive environment.

The idea of children learning how to use weapons can be viewed as controversial. What was your experience being around these kids as they learned to shoot?

It is very controversial, thus extremely interesting when the material is exhibited. The series could address people with very different world views and this resulted in hearing a lot of unexpected opinions. Of course, many think that they wouldn't send their kids to a place where they're playing war, and ask why guns are important if you want to teach about nature and survival. But another group of people see it as a great adventure based on a theme that's already present in our lives in the shape of toys, movies, computer games, etc. In fact, the camp leaders' experience is that most of these children are actually discouraged from thinking of a military career after completing the one-week summer camps. They get an insight on something of which they may have had a distorted view. Speaking of myself, of course, guns made the whole thing interesting in the first place, but later as i mentioned before all of this became a mere backdrop for the actual happening: they experiencing life with it's joys and hardships. The camps' programme involves like 30% stuff with guns and 70% survival (finding food, water in nature, building a shelter, hiking, etc). In making the selection, i actually had to involve a little more of the gun stuff because people thought that i'm hiding something when they saw the first editions representing a more realistic ratio. This really uncovered for me how biased people can be of such topics, even though we all know that war and violence does exist on earth and will probably not disappear even if we don't want to acknowledge it.

The work toes the line of the young people being on the cusp of adulthood yet still children. We’re there any individuals in particular you saw grow and change during their time?

The story started with me looking for a thesis film topic then deciding to take pictures of these guys. But then I've met Vivien, one of them, a 17 year old girl who was - after living with a line of different foster parents - preparing to leave state care and start her life all over again. She became the protagonist of my thesis film, so i have followed her life for a year or so, and how her relationship with Honvédsuli affected her private decisions. The two projects - film and photography - really helped me to understand the subject in depth. Looking at the world through Vivien's eyes made it obvious for me what kind of strength one can drive from being a part of such a community, and being able to be proud of yourselves and your homeland, in an environment where unemployment, alcoholism and domestic violence is commonplace. The trailer for this film: https://barthamate.com/downstream-szel-viszi-1 It's basically about whether one is able to overcome and change the fate she has inherited due to cultural and social circumstances.

Can you tell me more about the daily routine within the military camp? 

Everyone wakes up in their tents at 5:50, then there's morning exercise (running, push ups, etc), then breakfast in which everyone will take some role at one point (preparing, cleaning up, etc). Then they clean up the whole area of the camp. And then there are activities till lunch. There are a bunch of physical activities including a "motivational training" which is really aimed at pushing one's limits. Anyone can stop at any time, but usually they carry on till the end. This is usually a pretty cathartic experience for the kids. Then they learn how to march, answer to orders, about the usage of guns, and military itself. There are many activities in the surrounding wilderness as well: hiking, collecting edible plants, digging a well, building shelter, learning how to make a fire, and some swimming. And of course a lot of games, with an actual "mission" as the cherry on top. In this they're divided into 2 teams, and they move and fight each other for 24 hours with air-soft weapons (weapons that shoot small plastic balls) in the wild, using the knowledge they have obtained. There's an hour to rest after lunch, and then activities again till evening. Dinner, then free time around the campfire. There's one hour around the end of the day when they're allowed to use their phones. And at night, they should guard the fire with pairs of people taking turns every 2 hours till the morning. This is again something that may sound awful but is an amazing experience for them: for one reason they're given responsibility, and just staying for hours in total silence under the sky is a thing itself.

We’re there any activities that threw even yourself out of your comfort zone by witnessing?

Not really. Perhaps the so-called "motivational" training is something that may seem frightening. It's very much like how soldiers are trained in films: the officers (other kids in this case) shouting at the cadets, splashing water on them while they have to run under the sun or pull themselves up on a rope, etc. So it's pretty loud but after all it's a violent piece of acting, and exactly this is what makes it appealing and exciting to them. The "main image" ( https://tinyurl.com/yck4pus9 ) is also from one of these: in this case they have to find their way down a slope by following the sound of a bell, but distracted by other occasional sounds. They're holding hands to make it easier.

Looking at the work, apart from a few images of smart phones, there is a timeless quality where this work could have been shot from the 60s onwards, was that intentional?

Yes absolutely. There's always a political context to it, and there always will be depending when and from where we're looking at it. But i didn't want it to be about that, about what "being a patriot" or "being nationalistic" means in contemporary Hungary or Europe. This is a different issue which is already firmly attached to these images, but the main story here is adolescence, and the place of notions like life, death, love and violence in it.

Did being amongst the military camp change your initial thoughts on the idea of kids learning these certain skills or the attitude and lifestyle that comes from being in a military environment?

For sure! One thing is that they've been so friendly to me from the first time. I made it very clear that i'm coming from a completely different (left, liberal) kind of environment then probably most of them do, but i'm very open to anything and happy to take part in their routine (at least to camp and wake with them). They treated me like a guest but also a mirror: they were very interested in my opinion on them all the time, and the pictures as well. I consulted with them very frequently and talked a lot about the material probably ending up being dividing after publishing. I wouldn't feel necessary to send my child (if i had any) to a camp like this to make him/her familiar with guns, but i wouldn't forbid if he/she wanted to either! And i really envied them when they sang old folk songs around the fire: i have never dealt much with this kind of cultural heritage as i have always much rather felt as a citizen of the world. There i had a feeling that i'm missing something. But then again it's still about war and death, even though i do think that to some extent we should all talk and think clearly about such topics. Back to the "main image" (image of students with sacks over their heads )- They're holding hands but are completely blind in where they're heading. This really sums it up for me if i look at the subject in a very global context.

Want to feature on Darwin Magazine? Submit your work to submit@darwinmagazine.co.uk

Join our community and stay tuned for updates and opportunities here - www.instagram.com/darwinmagazine/

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

During lockdown, we spoke to Dutch photographer Robin De Puy about her photography road trip across America. IF THIS IS TRUE, I’LL NEVER HAVE TO LEAVE HOME AGAIN, explores America, Robin's relationship with it and the open road on the back of a Harley Davison.

Hey Robin! Firstly thank you for speaking with Darwin in what is a really strange time for us all. I stumbled across your work online one afternoon, and I’ve been hooked since. It might be a generic question, but I’m always curious what led you to being a photographer and telling stories?

I always tried to find a way to deal with the overwhelming curiosity - and other feelings - that I own. Ever since I was a little child I have to deal with an anxiety disorder, but I was also very curious, restless and longing for something I could not really understand. And I had an extreme, almost obsessive way of wanting to share all of those things. Photography became a way of dealing with it. You literally have to focus on the person in front of you in stead of the sh*t going on in your mind. For example: I was never able to travel, because of the anxiety), but when I start doing photography I could focus on my subjects and it made it possible for me to travel and see the world. The desire and longing for a good image was always bigger then the fear (and anybody with an anxiety disorder knows how big the fear can be). 

The first time I saw your work it was images from the series ‘If this is true, I’ll never have to leave home again’, your road trip in America from Las Vegas to Paonia. Can you tell me more how this series came about? 

Well, it was a trip van Las Vegas to Las Vegas. I rode a big circle of 8000 miles in 10 weeks. Paonia was one of my stops. I worked for a lot of magazines and newspapers and my work was going very well, maybe even too good. The thing is: I start doing photography because I wanted to show the people that I felt connected with... But when I was doing so many assignments the choice of who I photographed belonged totally to the ones who gave me the assignments.... and that was not what I wanted. So I figured that it might be good for me to seclude myself from everything 'safe' and start doing my own thing. And I am always quite drastic in my choices, so I ended up on a motorbike in the middle of nowhere in the USA. 😉

The lure of America is strong in so many photographers and artists. Can you put a finger on why that is? 

The country, all the different states that all represent a different kind of America, the space. I love (most) American people. I love the way they take care of me, how open they are, able to share stories. But I also love the country itself: the roads, the mountains, the desert, all of it. 

You traveled from state to state on a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Which I think is the coolest thing I’ve seen a photographer do in a long time. How did the vehicle of choice affect your thoughts and work? 

haha. I just love riding bikes and a HD would be the perfect choice for this ride through America. Me and my bike really became friends. 🙂 It was a strong and heavy motor that was able to help me through the hail and snow storms, but also through the extreme heats. We took care of each other, a good team! 

The portraiture in If This is True feels so classically American but with a totally new beat to them. The portraits of Morgan from Kentucky and Fran from Texas in particular made me think back of the America I know from movies, books and music. What was your approach to taking portraits whilst out on the road?

For me the personal recognition is really important. People that give me a safe feeling. The funny thing though is that the people that make me feel safe are not always the people that make others feel safe....The gut feeling that makes me want to know the other. I strongly believe that we see the photographer  in a photo in stead of the one being portrayed. In the perfect image you see both. What I did during my trip is talking to anyone that I felt connected with. Sometimes I didn't take any portrait for days and sometimes I shot a couple a day. 

What was the America that you saw on your road trip? (and how did that impact your approach to taking pictures).

I saw a lot of poverty and a lot of (political) damage done to the Americans, but that wasn't my main focus. Of course you will feel and see the state America is in, but it wasn't my main subject. My book is more about recognition, about the love for the beautiful country and the love people gave me. In Colorado I had my first hail storm and people thought me how the recognise a storm in the distance, in New Mexico they thought me which spiders I had to avoid, in Louisiana I was taught about gangs. I learned so much...  

I can’t talk to you about your work without mentioning Randy, a boy you met on the road. The relationship you both formed is a unique one. Can you tell me more about how you met and your ongoing friendship?

Randy is a boy (a young man now) who lives in Ely, Nevada. I ran into him when he was 14 years old. I love him. He is like my 'distance-child'. This is what I wrote about him: http://www.robindepuy.nl/randy/story
Almost every day I video chat with Randy. I miss him and I am a little scared that it might take a long long time before I can see him again (because of Covid). In August he will turn 21, and hopefully we can celebrate in Vegas - that is his biggest wish (and mine too). 

Thats lovely to hear you're still in contact and have a special relationship. What was it like collaborating with one another?

I love Randy, I love the town he is living in. I love traveling to him. He inspires me with the way he lives his life. It's simple with less choices to make, but at the same time that's the beauty. And it is miraculous how randy is able to be observed by me (and by the world). 

It’s been really great featuring your work here on Darwin Magazine. I’d like to wrap up with asking you what's next?

I was very busy working on my first long film. I found the characters, I wrote the story, but then Covid spoiled the party... I build up this great connection with America and it's people and it's hard to know that I can't be there physically. I am trying to find different kind of ways to stay connected with them and to keep sharing the stories.

Find more of Robin's work here: http://www.robindepuy.nl/diary/2020

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

Klaus Pichler’s body of work Skeletons in the Closet opens the doors to the hidden world of the Natural History Museum of Vienna

Catching a glimpse through the basement window of the Natural History Museum of Vienna - a place deeply connected to his childhood - Klaus Pichler got to thinking, what does a museum look like behind the scenes? Where do all the undisplayed exhibits go? This was the spark that ignited his long term project Skeletons in the Closet, documenting the hidden world that spans 45,000 square metres below the Natural History Museum of Vienna. 

Through this project, Pichler sees this space as an array of magnificent, otherworldly still lifes that represent not only what lies behind the closed doors of a museum, but how we interact with and view life and death. Pichler’s use of documentary photography on such a fascinating and often unattainable subject matter and location lets you peek through the keyhole of life at the museum. Creating both an inventory and a narrative, but leaving space for the audience's imagination to run wild with possibilities and moments of escapism that transport you. As Pichler so aptly puts, “sometimes not the images are telling the real story, but the gaps between them which everyone has to fill themselves”. 

I caught up with Pichler to find out more about how Skeletons in the Closet is a culmination of childhood wonder and curiosity. Delving deeper into the project, discovering that the excitement of endless possibilities when pairing exploration and imagination does not die “this project made me feel like a kid again, curiously wandering through an abandoned house – only this time it was legal”. More than just an exhibition space, the museum is a collection and home for a vast array of once living creatures and artefacts that each have a story worth being shared and brought to life.

The project offers a fascinating, and somewhat humorous, glimpse behind the scenes of a museum which the public don’t get the privilege to see. When exploring behind the scenes, did you stop getting surprised after a while? Or did it continue to surprise through to the end? 

Exploring the vast spaces of the museum with my camera has excited, surprised and amused me from the first to the last day. I remember the joyful feeling when I was sitting in the subway on my way to the museum, anticipating what I would encounter in the next hours. Somehow, this project made me feel like a kid again, curiously wandering through an abandoned house – only this time it was legal, the 'house' was a museum filled with stuffed animals and I had my camera to capture my explorations, which really made me feel privileged.

Skeletons-057, Klaus Pichler ID: A sound system sits on top of a shelf with plugs and electrical wires below. Above the sound system is a photograph of an extinct model of a wholly rhino. Next to the sound system on a wooden panel is a taxidermy of a brown owl on a branch, looking past the viewers gaze.

Have you always been interested in museums and natural history, or was this a new area of interest to you? 

This particular museum, the Museum of Natural History Vienna, is one of the most important places when it comes to my childhood. Growing up in the countryside, it was a must to visit the museum whenever I have been to Vienna with my family. I have always been interested in natural history and I am sure the museum has played a massive role in shaping my interest for nature, later on leading to my studies of landscape architecture (which have been ultimately stalled by photography).

I still love to go there when I am searching for inspiration – in contrast to art museums where the world is visible through the filter of creative minds, a natural history museum is the unfiltered way of perceiving nature, creation and – in a mirrored way – also society, power and politics.

Do you think you could - or would - revisit and continue the project elsewhere in a different museum, or has it run its course? 

I suppose that it probably would be possible to do a project like mine in every natural history museum – especially in the ones which have a long history themselves. Back then the architecture of those museums was built according to different principles than nowadays, where functionality and technical infrastructure are predominant and the collections are organized and arranged in a logistically perfect way. Back then, the historic, representative architecture left plenty of empty corners and 'leftover' spaces, which now are filled with specimens of the collection which is literally bursting at the seams. So I think the principle of specimens involuntarily interacting with the surrounding space is something one can find in almost every museum of this type. For me, the project is a closed chapter, not at least out of sentimental values because of the importance this particular museum has had for my childhood.

How easy was it for you to gain access, and were there a lot of rules and limitations? 

At first, it had been kind of a long ride until I found the right person to address with my plans for the project. I had no luck trying it the 'official' way because the responsible persons simply did not understand what I wanted to do, but later I tried it the informal way by contacting scientific staff, until I found one scientist who liked my idea and introduced me to the vice director. Once I had been granted permission and was equipped with the necessary paperwork, it was really easy to gain access to the different departments and collections. More than one time I have been left alone for hours to stroll through the basements and collections. I particularly remember a day in the mammal collection four levels below ground, where I had the opportunity to take photos completely alone for a day – an incredible experience, being locked in a 2.500 square meter room with 400 stuffed animals ranging from mice to elephants.

The images are striking and beautiful, telling a story bringing the exhibits to life. How much input did you have in curating aspects such as lighting and composition, and how did it differ/present new challenges to you other projects? Or did you shoot it exactly as found?

I have always taken the photos of the sceneries as I encountered them and with the available light, my only input was to decide the framing of each image. Besides that, I did not touch anything and left everything unchanged. I thought that it would have been too easy to arrange the images myself, so it was much more thrilling to search for those 'random dioramas'. The museum is constantly changing – specimens are taken from the collections to the exhibition halls or to other museums, and are brought back later, so it was just a matter of time and presence until I found newly arranged sceneries.

Working on this series, I have firstly gotten in contact with a photographic principle which I would consider as one of the most powerful assets of photography or of visual arts in general. I would describe it as '1+1=3' or, in words, 'take two things which have nothing in common, combine them on a picture and see what new meaning you have created'. This simple principle – in my case basements and stuffed animals – is a combination which guarantees surprises, and I have used it in many ways in my later projects.

Now especially, images can be a crucial form of exploration and escapism, which Skeletons in the Closet provides perfectly, offering a world that is often behind closed doors. Allowing viewers to imagine scenarios and stories behind each image. Is this space for imagination incidental, or something you had in mind for the project?

For me, photography is always about storytelling, no matter if it is documentary or conceptual work. Photography is like a keyhole into a room the photographer has designed. Sometimes, photography is even stronger if it leaves room for interpretation, if it is a starting point for possible stories and meanings which are indicated, but not finalized. In other words, sometimes it’s not the images that are telling the real story, but the gaps between them which everyone has to fill themselves. In this project, I have had the privileged situation that although it is documentary photography in its purest form, the contents of the images are seeming surreal and intentionally composed. So my task was to search for sceneries which had a surreal appeal and photograph them in a way that they reveal their story. 

Is there a particular image or images that you feel sums up the project and behind the scenes of the Museum of Natural History of Vienna? 

I think the image which sums up the project is the one from the mammal collection ('Skeletons-045') which is showing a huge array of animals and therefore seems like an inventory. Especially the way how this compilation of animals is arranged in the most space-saving manner is telling a lot about the nature of museum collections and about the museum as an institution itself. Back then, when the museum was founded, a museum was meant as an institution created for showing and explaining the world – with all its implications. If you look at the heap of animals on the image, one question is predominant: how did those animals find their way into this basement from their habitats all over the world, and, subsequently, why are they here? Especially in post-colonial times, these questions are important ones, and it is an interesting task to dive into the history of a natural museum as an institution.

Personally, now seeing museums I have a new and exciting sense of wonder of what happens behind the scenes because of this project. Do you feel the same way, or have found this to be a common reaction? 

Yes, I feel the same way, absolutely. It is also interesting to draw a wider circle and to contemplate the strange presence of life in a natural history museum, although basically a place like that is nothing more than a morgue for animals, dead but on display. Especially when you observe children happily strolling through the museum, you notice that they explore it with a complete absence of death in their perception. So experiencing a natural history museum is not only about the duality of displays and behind the scenes, but ultimately also about life and death.

How would you feel if you were to see the book in similar spaces in the future? Would it seem almost full circle to you, and in a way life imitating art? 

Oh, something like that has already happened when my series was exhibited in the natural history museum in 2015. The images were presented on the walls of a 400 square meter space and in the middle of this space some of the specimens which I have photographed (e.g. the basement shark, the non-smoking cobras, the monkey with the mirror) were placed in a way it seemed they were looking at the images. It definitely felt like a closed circle and I loved how these meta-layers added to the project. 

You can see more of Klaus’ work at https://klauspichler.net/ 

Interview by Sophie Turrell