Following the steps of Hokusai up to the Mount Fuji and all things that create beauty...

The thrill was inside me and I felt somewhat tense.

Yes I knew, that would have been the common feeling of anyone in my position – I was looking to meet the dawn at the foot of the sacred Japanese Mount Fuji. The ideally shaped and symmetrical conus of the Fuji Mountain is the Japan’s highest peek (3 776 meters above the sea level). It stands on the Isle of Honshu and in clear weather could be seen even from Tokyo, the country’s capital some 60 miles away. For those born in Japan the Fyjysan is not mearly a mountain or a peek, but rather a symbol which embodies their understanding of beauty. 

I still remember that my photography guru – Prof. Rumen “Roum” Georgiev - used to mention so often the name of a Japanese artist who had depicted the Mount Fuji from various viewpoints. I can’t recall now the exact reference for Roumen to quote that Japanese artist… I am sure, anyhow, that once Rumen was repeatedly mentioning the guy that was for a reason. 

I am currently digging up in the Internet and the search results are shifting the recording tape backwards. The name of that emblematic Japanese artist turned out to be Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849) and he remained famous in history for his thirty six images of the Fuji Mountain. Yes, I now understand, Rumen Georgiev was perhaps focusing on Hokusai and his multiple viewpoints to the mountain’s top to demonstrate us that a photographer always had a choice. We are the ones to decide what shall be perpetuated in the frame… 

On that day I made my last checks before shooting the dawn. The sun was to appear over Fuji at a quarter past six. The weather was promising. I had to choose for the best viewpoints. I liked a couple of them, for example, the one with the streetlights as a highlight, as well as another one featuring the classical reflection of the mountain peek in the lake. I decided to start with the lake panorama. Then I detected in the frame the traces of several Japanese early riser guys who had outrun me and occupied positions around. The reflections of their silhouettes were so well visible on the water surface and against them you could still see the up-side down reflection of the Fujisan. It was a total symmetry and harmony, indeed. Those Japanese guys they definitely knew how to react when facing the beauty.

From the lake viewpoint, the sun was backlighting the peak. I decided to have a look from the other side… At the dawn sky background the snowy peak was already visually shrouded in early morning mist. Well, that was also beautiful! 

And what about the chance of a street view? Oh, quite inspiring – the image of that sleepy city matching so perfectly the calmness of the peak above. 

The above experience made me to fully comprehend how difficult it had been for Hokusai to explore various options and decide on the best viewpoint to the Mount of Fuji. That would have been a real challenge for him, indeed!

It’s now time to reveal the secret that I myself have been following the peak’s image virtually. I have been following the weather changes and shooting the dawn and the peak online, being physically all the time in Sofia in front of my computer. You know, at present I am experimenting with the ideas of Prof. Fred Ritchin stated in his work “Beyond Photoshop” where he deliberates on the remote shooting options. 

There are indeed so many operational web cameras located all over the world and provided that a man could permanently make use of their potential he as a true photographer would be always in a position to make a screenshot and become an author. 

I perfectly understand that at a first glance this could sound a little weird and even shocking for many. Anyhow, I could willingly confirm that after I tried myself to follow the above patterns my feelings when doing a remote shooting were quite comparable to those of on-site shooting. 

Take for example the series of my web pictures from the foot of the Matterhorn Peak in the Alpes. I made my choice of a camera – the one which I liked because it was providing a panoramic view from a hotel with an astronomical observatory and up to the very Matterhorn Peak. I was regularly monitoring that camera.  Up to now I’ve managed to catch the images of that specific local pre-evening mood, the early morning vigor, and the feel of a regular sunny day. I genuinely liked an airplane trace up in the sky depicted in one of my shots and the mists around the peak in another. 

Despite of filming remotely I am still the one in control. I am the one to choose the atmospheric and lighting conditions to shoot. I can always be back at any moment and follow the developments at the chosen location. 

At this point, it is the prime time to define the basic principles of the landscape photography. The big trick is to focus on the proper object and subsequently to apply instruments to film that very object in proper weather conditions and appealing lighting. 

Ansel Adams, the genius of landscape photography, was exploring the same locations all over for years in a row, but if you thoroughly check his shots you would see that none of them could be considered as recurrence or replicas. 

                                                                                    pictures by Ansel Adams

Nature has so many faces. Any of those needs a proper look to reveal its essence. 

So, if based on the perception of landscape genre looking for diversity, the remote web-photography proves to be a bingo. Just in seconds one can assure proper facilities at the foot of the Matternhorn Mountain and make bright shots provided patience of facing the monitor and waiting for some tiny cloud or even an idea of a mist to cover your targeted location. 

Please, believe me I do know how a photographer feels when filming an issue of interest. Then, you may also rely on my inner feeling that a web-filming brings the same sort of emotions. The excitement of discovery is equal – the only difference comes from the fact that you are using remotely someone else’s camera. But the copyright feeling remains with you. You are the one to choose the camera, to decide on the light, and the one to click the Print Screen button. 

Well... In the meantime, while I am telling you all this I am continuing to follow the cameras located around the Mount of Fuji. See, a stroke of wind blew around the lake and the reflection is no more such symmetric as it used to be. Some of the Japanese cameramen have obviously given up. I will still stay for a little while …

I do recognize that the digital revolution has definitely changed our lives. If we can like and admire each other in the chat, why we could not (and support each other to) shoot remotely? 

Text & Images by Krasimir Andonov 

CLIMBING THE MOON

The name of Samothrace always brings clear images, the smell of herbs and the feeling of unfulfilled plans to my mind. Last October, however, my greatest ‘unfulfilled plan’ was turned into a ‘clear image’.

But I should start from the beginning.

For me, the works of Gerald Durrell were the first introduction to the magic of the Greek islands; I think Mr Durrell could make even the most determined home bird get on a boat and sail to the lovely blue, the scorching sun and the critters.

I first came to Samothrace, the wildest island in the Aegean, on a business trip. Two hours after the ferry left the port of Alexandroupoli the green mass of Samothrace’s mountain, Saos, emerged on the horizon. It is fair to say that at that very moment I was overwhelmed by the urge to conquer its peak. It bears the name Fegari  (Moon) and rises at 1614 metres above the sea. The locals named it Moon as its great height obscured even the night luminary. They also say that this was where the gods watched the battles of the Trojan War from.

The ridge of Saos Mountain divides Samothrace in two –South and North. The southern half of the island is barren and rocky, whereas the northern is greener, crossed by several short rivers with crystal clear water. The rivers race down from the top in beautiful cascades and invariably end their short course in the sea.

I read somewhere that had Robinson Crusoe sailed the Aegean, Samothrace would’ve been the most suitable island for his adventures. Civilization has a weak grasp on this paradise – electricity comes from the continent on cables along the sea bottom, and garbage is carried away on the ferry.

The only thing I managed to do on my first visit was to acquire a map and study the tracks on the mountain. I came back to the island several more times for shoots but I never found the time for Fegari…

We leave for Samothrace in mid-October. Our one goal – the peak. In Bulgaria it’s been cold, with rains, for a few days but we do not let the weather discourage us. On the way to Greece the clouds clear up and bright sun and pristine blue skies greet us in Alexandroupoli. The luring shape of the island can be seen from the port.

As we land on the familiar coast at dusk, our first job is to go to Therma and look for the starting point of the track. There is nobody there to show us the way, so I start alone up the hill. The asphalt ends and I continue along a muddy dirt road lined with centuries-old plane-trees. They are not too high but their diameter exceeds that of every tree I’ve seen. As night sets in they seem even more impressive. I am forced to turn back even though I haven’t found the track.

In front of the entrance of the hot mineral baths we cross paths with a man holding a towel. We chat him up. It turns out the track begins just behind the baths. The man warns us: if the top of the mountain is covered in mist in the morning, we must not try to climb it.

We start our hike before sunrise, after a restless night despite the lullaby of the waves. Our endeavour seems even more enchanting under the full moon. It shines on the sea below us, connecting the island to the continent with a track of light. But the track to our Moon is in another direction, so we turn our backs on the sea.

A cart track takes us all the way up to the island telecommunication tower. The track is fenced by thickets with densely intertwined twigs. We continue further up and walk into the Martini Forest Reserve. The trees here are not too high but their thick trunks and awkward, twisted limbs mesmerize us. The ground is covered by broken branches. Up high the view becomes even more magical under the rising sun.

A few hours later we leave the forest behind and reach the ferns. At last! I can admire the view I’ve dreamed for for years. The sea stretching below makes every minute of waiting worth it. But it is not something to be described, it must be seen.

We hike up hastily since under my suggestion we’ve bought tickets for the three o’clock ferry. The vegetation disappears above the ferns only bare rocks remain.

The easy-to-spot marks of the track also end here. Further up it is marked with dots of red paint on the rocks. An important notice: the marks are clearly visible on the way up but remain hidden at descent. So, try to memorize your own landmarks for the way down.

The steep ridge of Saos reminds me of Koncheto Ridge in Pirin Mountain. At last we catch a glimpse of the peak in the distance. Walking along the ridge isn’t hard but we need to be careful; it is hard to keep your eyes on the track ahead when you’re surrounded by the breath-taking view of the island and the sea below. Imagine yourself on the rocky ridge; the forest is a bit further down, and the rest is skies and sea. You are in the sky and it turns into sea. Fegari offers a beautiful view of the nearby Turkish island Gökçeada, as well as of Samothrace’s longest sand beach – Pahia Ammos.

Alas, we need to hurry right back if we are to catch the three o’clock ferry. I take pictures of the fallen trees of Martini Forest almost running. Would there be a time when I wouldn’t have to run when I feel like taking pictures! J

At the port we get off the car and Miro drives it onto the boat. A policeman in sunglasses approaches me; he is smiling and wants to know if we found our way to Fegari. I give a nod in confusion; how come the police in Samothrace know we’ve been to the peak? The policeman senses my confusion and takes off his sunglasses. It’s the man that gave us directions on the day before…

Moments later we’re already on our way back home and the island slowly disappears. But I am already busy with making plans for my next visit. It’s the cascades’ turn…
                                    

                                                                                 

                                                                               translation: Alexander Marinov - Sancho

The decisive moment and its neighboring frames

The greatest photojournalist in the history of photography - Henri Cartier-Bresson, builds his unique style of photography on the philosophy, he himself called "capturing the decisive moment."

According to Bresson there is a mere moment in time, when shape and content are in balance. At that very second, the objects in the frame exceed their ordinariness and become interconnected messages. This is the moment in which the photographer has to pull the trigger.

Each frame of Henri Cartier-Bresson is an illustration of this creative concept. I have a few favorite pictures of him, by which, when necessary, I explain the meaning of "capturing in the decisive moment."

Let's take for example the photograph "Behind the Gare St. Lazarre ." 

                                                          Henri Cartier-Bresson/Magnum photos

We see a man who is trying to cross a large puddle. To overcome the obstacle, he jumps and gets caught by the photographer in the air, in a posture having a distant analogy with ballet. The jump is repeated once more in the reflection in the puddle.

Items listed are enough to make the picture interesting. But the fact is that there's something more, something that makes it brilliant. Henri Cartier-Bresson has noticed a poster for a ballet performance in the background. The poster features a ballerina in graceful flying leap. Comparing the two elements – the person jumping over the puddle with the ballet poster - we see that the irony of the situation has made a ballet dancer out of the ordinary man.

The picture is extremely accurate illustration of the idea of ​​"the decisive moment". Before and after the two plot elements existed independently and each carried its own significance. However, when they collided, the situation acquired a new meaning.

The ideas of Henri Cartier-Bresson have become the foundations of contemporary reportage photography. I do not deny that I myself am trying to develop that direction.

Recently I started to digitize my archive of negatives. My attention was caught by the images accompanying the photos that I like. In general, when I see something I do not shoot much. But there are situations when, besides the best picture, I shoot also several lesser variations of the frame. It occurred to me that the illustration of the process leading to the finding of a "decisive moment" could be useful for people who are interested in reportage photography. Here are some examples.

The frame with the three figures and the road is from Smolyan. I picked up the camera because of the beautiful trees shadow graphics. In the first frame there is a lone figure of a woman. Seconds after that from the left and right two more figures come into the picture. This new frame brings an entirely different meaning. For me it symbolizes life - in the beginning light and carefree, then increasingly steeper...

There are two more figures in the third picture - the child's parents. The composition is saturated with accents and it lacks the "magic" of the previous frame.

The image of the old lady and the swans is from 1992 when, as a student of cinematography I was a guest of the Munich Film Festival. The woman feeding the swans impressed me and I shot a few frames. In most photos swans are stretching their necks up thus loosing grace. Only one photo gets both the old lady and the swans in harmony and this is the frame I like.

Below find some more "adjacent frames".

                                               Pictures: Krasimir Andonov