I hate it when a blog just fizzles out, so here’s closure on this one. After a few weeks mulling it over, I quit the MA in Photography with Falmouth in early January. 

There are many, many reasons I quit, not least that it had been a tough experience from the earliest weeks. The focus, methodology and philosophy of the MA is fine art, which isn’t my background, and neither do I have a solid background in photography, which meant I was already at a disadvantage; I could have bridged that gap, but it would have meant putting in full time hours which I just didn’t have. I began to drift away from the teaching and content, although the things I discovered as a result were and continue to be hugely valuable. I also produced work I’m proud of, and made connections, both professionally and personally, that have continued. The MA has most definitely not been a waste of time, though neither was it particularly enjoyable for me, nor able to offer what I had wanted to learn. 

The pandemic meant, as for all of us, a massive change in direction and, for me, it started becoming a case of finding something to keep my interest going. Originally, I had a great idea for a project – exploring registered commons – that just wasn’t going to be possible with limitations on movement and human contact. For a while, I kept the idea and the passion going. The twilight photography I made in the early summer, and the photo trail I created at East Budleigh Common were hugely exciting, but it was hard to see where to go after that and my enthusiasm for photography fizzled out over the summer. I watched as my peers turned inwards through necessity, heightening their self-reflexivity, their use of conceptual ideas and a heightened interest in playing with definitions of what photography means. I had my own go at this, working in moving image, but the difference between film in a theatrical context, which is my background, and film in a gallery context, which is something I’ve never liked, made for a pretty uncomfortable experience and a rather ‘meh’ film that was neither film nor video art. 

Without the pandemic, I probably would have continued. I would have created a body of work drawn from visits to commons across Southern England and the people I encountered there. And from that would have naturally followed where to place the work, and it wouldn’t have needed to have anything to do with galleries or agencies or conceptual or self-reflexive work. I wouldn’t have needed to think of myself as an artist, but as a writer and researcher also working in photography. 

Anyway, that’s water under the bridge. Right now, I’m continuing my research into registered commons, and into the weird and the eerie which I’ve always sought out in my photography and I now know fits well with the ever-expanding field of hauntology. I’m looking once again at film and TV and I’ve stopped trying to find where I fit into contemporary photography – because I don’t. Put simply, with the kind of work I make, without shooting analogue, and preferably large format, I’m never going to get anywhere. And what’s the point investing in all that kit and the time I’d need to work in a completely different way? If I’m going to do that, I’m going to do so in a medium with which I’m completely comfortable – the moving image. 

In September, I begin a PhD in film supervised by one of my favourite directors, Gideon Koppel. I don’t expect that to be easy either, but at least I already speak the language. At least I already have a wealth of usable experience, and a certain degree of recognition. 

Over and out. 

I’ve been thinking back to the moment I turned my back on stills photography for this MA. It wasn’t actually the arrival of the A7siii – it was Jesse pointing out that what I’d thought about for my FMP wasn’t particularly workable, and wasn’t really landscape photography works – getting to know somewhere very, very well. I maintain my original idea – haring around the country taking photos of woods made famous in children’s literature – would be a great project, and would definitely attract interest. But given all the current restrictions, plus the restrictions of family, I can see he was right. So that little bubble burst, I really didn’t know where to go next. 

What’s particularly worth thinking about is why I came up with that project in the first place. Of course, it’s a fascinating subject, completely unexplored, and absolutely worth doing. But why a photography project? If I were to do it justice, it would be wordy, literary, rich with research. It could just as well be a book, or a film, in which photography would play a – minor – part. My interest in the subject leapt beyond photography, and expanded out in the way that my ideas tend to, annoyingly, but full of ADHD enthusiasm. And a project with a large scope seems to run contrary to the spirit of much contemporary photography: the detailed, the specific. 

The genesis of the project was very personal: I’d discovered the impact on my photography, and my love of place more generally, as deeply rooted in experiences of the landscapes of childhood literature. I wanted to explore that further. But what I’d done, what I think I always do, was turn outwards, leap away from myself. Because why? Because I’d not even considered that this powerful insight could be something I might stick with and use to deepen what I was already doing, developing a very personal experience of a landscape. That wasn’t enough, I think I assumed. I had to attach that to something else, hitch myself to some other star. And I don’t think that would work either to create the project I’d want – that’s a book or a film, surely – or to help develop my photography. I’ve identified just how personal my photography is, just how private. My film, and to a certain extent my writing, is outward-looking, but my photography isn’t, and it seems that’s a common factor to much photography. So it makes sense to use that insight and bring it back to focus it on the work I was already doing, on the hidden corners of the East Devon Pebblebed Heaths. It’s work people like. I like making it. It’s democratic in reach. And the Pebblebed Heaths, my experience of them, and my ability to make strong images are good enough to create a compelling piece of work. 

But work for who? That’s a question the course poses, and it’s one that’s driven me insane. My work doesn’t seem to fit anywhere. It’s not commercial enough. It’s not arty enough. I don’t shoot on analogue film (which obtains credit as a ‘serious’ photographer, just like shooting in black and white does). But maybe I haven’t explored this enough, lost in the mists of Barthes and gallery pitches and animal photography over the past three modules. Maybe I should just look fair and square at the images I like that I see on IG, see who makes them, where they sit, why they appeal. I should put thought into zines. 

I should also begin to embrace that maybe, actually, my audience isn’t photographers or those immersed in fine art contexts, that it’s more everyday people. I’m developing relationships locally with the Pebblebed Heaths Conservation Trust and with Devon Wildlife Trust, and work – paid work – is ongoing. If I can create a body of work on my terms for people who are going to enjoy it and buy it, then that really should be absolutely fine. If I can use that project to deepen my visual style – the abstracts, the shallow depth of field, the low light – then I will find doing so artistically satisfying. Almost 50 people have now seen the film I made for Sustainable Prospects. Those who look after where it was shot love it and have shared it widely. I can do this. I should do this.