The Crossroads of Art and Academia: A Personal Struggle with Landscape Photography

Navigating the intersection of art and academia is a complex and often challenging journey. As a landscape photographer, I have been grappling with this conundrum for quite some time. The past 12-18 months have been particularly testing, marked by a series of personal and professional setbacks. My passion for my master's project has been tested, and I find myself questioning my commitment to it..

Working under one of Australia's greatest landscape photographers has been a double-edged sword. While it is an honour and a privilege to learn from such a master, the constant pressure of living up to such high standards has left me feeling conflicted. This duality of experience is not uncommon in the world of academia and arts (Sullivan, 2010)

A part of me, the fighter, urges me to stay the course. It provokes me to shift my focus away from Lux Artem and engage in a discourse with photographic academics who insist that all landscape images must convey a political or social agenda. But why should this be the case?

Henri Cartier-Bresson, a revered figure in the world of photography, once criticised Ansel Adams and Edward Weston during a period of global upheaval, saying, "The world is going to pieces and people like Adams and Weston are photographing rocks!" (Chéroux, 2010). This statement underscores the tension between art and socio-political commentary, which is keenly felt in contemporary landscape photography. It raises a critical question: Can't landscape photography celebrates the natural world's beauty without carrying the weight of a political message?

I have had the privilege of working with First Nations elders in remote communities. Their wisdom, connection to the land, and philosophy towards landscape have profoundly influenced my perspective on landscape photography. They have taught me to connect with the land, to 'shake hands' with the landscape before attempting to capture its essence. This philosophy aligns closely with the Indigenous concept of 'Country', which refers to a holistic, interconnected relationship with the land that encompasses spiritual, physical, social, historical, and cultural dimensions (Moreton-Robinson, 2015).

Yet, despite this profound understanding and respect for the land, I find myself questioning why my work must necessarily be political. Why can't I capture a moment in time, a snapshot of the world's beauty? Especially when those insisting on a political angle often have had little to no interaction with First Nations communities or their philosophies about the landscape.

I recall being led by an elder to a secluded oasis in the outback. The raw beauty of the place was breathtaking. As I listened to the elder recount stories about the land, I felt a profound connection that was anything but political. It was, in a word, magical. This experience echoes the sentiments expressed by Baudrillard (1990), who argues for the intrinsic beauty and value of landscapes, independent of any socio-political narratives.

My acceptance into an Aboriginal community, signified by my given skin name, Natrula, has further deepened my connection to the land. This acceptance and the accompanying sense of belonging have enriched my understanding and appreciation of the landscape, reinforcing the idea that landscape photography can transcend political boundaries and narratives (Rose, 2004).

But herein lies my conflict. In the face of academic scrutiny and the politicisation of landscape photography, do I fight for the recognition of landscape photography as an art form, independent of political agendas? Do I persist with my current project, despite feeling directionless and disheartened? Or do I step away from the battle, weary of the fight?

These questions weigh heavily on me as I navigate the crossroads of art and academia. The path forward is unclear, but one thing remains certain: my journey as a landscape photographer is far from over, and the lessons I've learned along the way will undoubtedly shape my future endeavours.

References

Baudrillard, J. (1990). The Transparency of Evil: Essays on Extreme Phenomena. Verso.

Chéroux, C. (2010). Henri Cartier-Bresson: Here and Now. Thames & Hudson.

Moreton-Robinson, A. (2015). The White Possessive: Property, Power, and Indigenous Sovereignty. University of Minnesota Press.

Rose, D.B. (2004). Reports from a wild country: ethics for decolonisation. Sydney: UNSW Press.

Sullivan, G. (2010). Art practice as research: Inquiry in visual arts. Sage.