Where are all the landscapes?
In the latest instalment of his ongoing instructional series, photographer Alex Frayne gives CityMag a lesson in landscape photography.
I’ll start by answering my own question: The answer is always “in my mind.” Everything starts there.
If my mind has a very crystallised idea of a landscape, one that I might have seen or photographed before and feels familiar, I’m generally not very motivated to shoot that landscape. What I really seek is a great big empty blank space in my mind, the feeling of unfamiliarity and unknowingness.
The poet William Blake spoke of Songs of Innocence and Experience…my choice is the former over the latter. A feeling of innocence, one that avoids the mind forged manacles of preconceived notions, prejudice, world weariness and cynicism. Attaining this mental status takes practice and means avoiding images and notions that other artists have produced of this landscape or that.
Sure, be inspired by McCubbin’s Lost, or Turner or Dorrit Black or the great Depression-era photographer Dorothea Lange; but I suggest de-cluttering your mind of images and instead aim for that big empty blank space. Now you’re ready to shoot landscapes that are at least original, if not great art.
The most interesting landscapes to me are those that occupy what is known in Artspeak as “the liminal space”. That is, the “realm between two realms”. It might be the region where the suburbs end and rurality begins; it might be where the ocean meets the shore or where a housing estate abuts an airport.
I have at various times been fascinated by the liminality of Goyder’s Line. The imaginary line drawn by the mid-19th-century Surveyor General distinguished arable land for cereal production from arid lands better suited to sheep farming.
Photographing along this line is fascinating because through the lens one sees not only the artefacts of hardships of those who struggled to make ends meet with grain farming but also the massive amounts of now ghostly infrastructure (trains, silos etc) that accompanied the dreams of those who dared to take on the weather, the droughts, the wind and poverty that wrought havoc on these places.
Perfect for landscape photography and entirely relevant in 2025, where farmers have seen historically low rainfall for the last nine months.
Sticking with the Goyder’s Line example and more specifically the Mallee, I think it behooves artists to seek local knowledge.
When crossing the Rubicon ( i.e. the Murray river at Wellington) I make sure I have spoken with local farmers, townspeople, history fanatics and indigenous people in a bid to acquire the most important thing in this landscape caper, which is ‘access.’ Not just physical access, but access to local knowledge.
Without that crucial ingredient, your work will rarely be high caliber as you’ll be taking photos from the side of the road, just like everybody else. Farmers in particular will often be very helpful in your endeavors and will sometimes drive you around their property and show you rare views.
So now the tough stuff. The key to landscapes lies in creating images that closely resemble the feelings you experience when present in that landscape. Often, I’m shown images by earnest amateurs where this test is failed.
For example, a person might show me an image of which they are proud. The individual will then proceed to list all the things they experienced whilst in situ taking photos – i.e. it was freezing cold, it was windy and wild, the landscape was “lonely”, or they felt a sort of transcendence or solemnity.
This is all terrific, but often their pictures do not convey any of these attributes. I remind people that a still image is not a piece of video replete with sound effects, music, narration and panning.
The still is a very abbreviated art form that must have an immediacy in the transmission of information. To show somebody a picture and then provide all the information verbally, as you might in a PowerPoint presentation, means you don’t trust the process. This lack of trust permeates many aspects of photography. From the obsession consumers have with buying new gear with ever-expanding megapixels in the sensor, to the horrid use of over-processing in post-production; all these things speak to a sort of insecurity and vanity that a proper artist will rightfully ignore.
It reminds me of the weekend golfer who buys an expensive driver in the hope it will improve their swing.
So, if you’re in the Mallee on a windy day in spring, take photos that actually demonstrate these turbulent conditions. Look to allied art forms and follow the cues like the Western film where tumbleweeds tumble, trees sway, and dust flies against an austere Australian backdrop.
If you’re in the Adelaide Hills in winter and are struck by the freezing weather and beauty of it all, then set your alarm for the crack of dawn, go to your favourite spot and let the fog do all the work.
You won’t be disappointed; you’ll witness scenes that Hollywood studios would pay a small fortune to recreate through fog machines.
Once you are creating photographs (of exteriors) that match your feelings about the landscape itself (interiors), you are well on your way to improving your craft.
If you then exhibit the work physically or online and can likewise move an audience to respond to those original feelings you had when pressing the shutter, you are now communicating through photography.
Once you have improved your photography by being able to convey simple attributes like “hot,” “cold” and “windy”, start setting your sights higher. Can you convey solitude, loneliness, joy, and fear? And then, the final level…can you convey an “entity”, that is, can you portray in one single landscape image, a nightmare, a reverie, a dream or a pastoral idyll.
Can you create work that stands as an invitation to see the world through your eyes?
I’m sceptical of advice that tries to give a photographic image a “story.” The words “story” and “narrative” are trendy these days and are ascribed to practically all art forms indiscriminately, usually by a guest speaker at an arts launch. Ignore these meaningless buzzwords and instead aim for mood, tone, emotion, joy, introspection, innocence, and experience.
Tech
Always bring your best cameras to shoot landscapes. Never prioritise convenience over quality. If you have a camera with, for example, an APSC sensor, bring that one over an iPhone. Common sense I know, but I’m still shocked when a person decides to shoot on a phone when they actually possess an SLR or mirrorless compact.
I’m always heartened when I see photographers pushing into difficult territory and shooting with 5×7 field cameras or even 10×8 film cameras. Remember, the format is an explicit part of the act of expression, so be ambitious when choosing your gear.
I generally pack my Nikon FE 35mm camera with multiple lenses, my Hasselblad 501c with a standard lens plus the 150mm, and my Fuji gw 6×9 film camera. I’ll also bring along a Canon Powershot infra-red converted camera.
Alex Frayne has published two large-format landscape books (Wakefield Press) since 2020. Distance and Desire and Landscapes of South Australia.
This is part one of two instalments on landscapes Alex is writing for CityMag. To keep up to date, subscribe to CityMag’s free, weekly newsletter.
See Alex’s other instalments on street photography and photographing Asia.
