Every landscape you shoot is bounded, limited by the frame. But that’s not really how it feels, it feels endless. As if your brain is making up for the lost information. And the landscape becomes whole again. I’ve been thinking about why apparently I like to frame a landscape more explicitly, to restrict my view by depicting landscapes through windows. From a formal point of view, it’s not difficult to see how the juxaposition of a natural landscape and a constructed space is an attractive subject, but I’m not sure what it means.
Sometimes, when I look at my own pictures, not specific ones, but the whole lot, I feel completely transparent. Not in the sense that they tell you how I spend my days, where or with who. But I think they tell you who I am. Observant, always on a clear distance, never part of anything but always at the sidelines. In control, never a shred of the chaos underneath, emotional nevertheless. Thorough, precise, not too keen on surprises or other unexpectancies. Scared of life, really. I think it’s all there.
The windows are likely to be about just that.
They create a layer between me and the subject. That’s a thing. But it doesn’t quite convince me. What is the subject to begin with? And then, the distance, this feeling of not belonging, applies to people, crowds, urban landscapes, perhaps. Not (natural) landscapes though. Even if they feel (or are) inaccessible. A distance towards a landscape never feels like a personal shortcoming. Not that we are equals, not at all, but we know where we stand, and we are fine with it.