In the wake of the tragic loss of my daughter Abby, I embarked on a deeply personal artistic journey, choosing to photograph trees as a central theme in a project inspired by the emotive and ethereal style of 19th-century Pictorialism. You can read my artist statement to fully understand the narrative and scope of my work.
This decision to focus on trees is not arbitrary; it’s rooted in a deep, symbolic resonance that aligns with my emotional landscape during this period of profound grief.
Trees, in their majestic and enduring presence, have always been a source of fascination and wonder for me. But in the context of this project, they take on a new, poignant significance.
They stand as metaphors for resilience and continuity, qualities that have become pillars of strength as I navigate the turbulent waters of grief.
Their towering forms and intricate textures provide a visual parallel to the complex tapestry of emotions that I grapple with daily.
Trees embody a sense of peace and stability in their stillness, offering a stark contrast to the chaos and turmoil that often characterize the grieving process.
Their ability to weather storms and stand tall through the changing seasons mirrors my own journey through the phases of grief – from denial and anger to eventual acceptance.
Moreover, the choice of trees as subjects allows me to explore the concept of memory and presence. Just as trees bear witness to the passage of time, they also serve as silent witnesses to my memories of Abby.
Each tree I photograph is infused with a part of her story and our shared moments. In this way, my photographs become more than just images; they are tangible connections to Abby, eternalizing fragments of our bond.
Photographing trees also provides an avenue for creative expression and catharsis. Framing each shot, adjusting the focus, and capturing the interplay of light and shadow becomes a meditative act. It allows me to channel my emotions into something tangible, transforming my grief into art.
The choice of an analog approach, employing 19th century handmade worksflows such as Calotype paper negatives and the Kallitype or toned Cyanotype processes, further deepens my connection to the subject matter.
These traditional methods require patience, precision, and a deep engagement with the material, mirroring the slow, often painstaking journey of healing. The imperfections and unique characteristics of these processes add depth and authenticity to my work, reflecting grief’s imperfect and raw nature.
Each photograph I take explores the themes of loss, memory, and resilience. The trees, in their silent strength, represent both the enduring impact of Abby’s life and the evolving nature of my grief.
Through this project, I seek not only to create a tribute to my beloved daughter but also to find a path towards healing and understanding in the aftermath of such profound loss.
Why I Use Pictorialist Methods
The medium’s evolution in photography has shifted from the soft, ethereal qualities of 19th-century Pictorialism to the sharp, precise workflows of modern digital photography. However, in the context of my project, the deliberate choice to employ Pictorialist methods is not merely a nod to historical techniques but a vital component in conveying the depth of my emotions and the narrative of my journey.
For Plate # 1, Whispers of Resilience, I originally used the Kallitype method to create a rich, warm-tone print, as shown on the top left, directly below.
As I continued to think, reflect, and explore my emotions, I felt like I needed to explore a method that would allow me to use color to help me communicate my feelings and emotions. I used the Cyanotype process and deeply explored a variety of alkali and acid toning methods to transform the blueprint into new colors.
Emotional Resonance and Authenticity: The Pictorialist approach, with its emphasis on mood and atmosphere, aligns perfectly with the intent to capture more than just the physical appearance of trees. The soft focus and dreamlike quality of images produced through methods like Calotype paper negatives and Kallitype or toned Cyanotype processes allow for a visual representation of memory and emotion that is nuanced and deeply felt. These techniques enable the photographs to transcend being mere records of landscapes, instead becoming expressions of longing, remembrance, and the complex layers of grief.
Engagement and Intimacy: The hands-on nature of 19th-century photographic processes demands a level of engagement and intimacy with the material that modern techniques often lack. Each step, from creating the calotype paper negatives to the final printing, requires a mindfulness and dedication that mirrors the slow, reflective journey of healing. This meditative practice allows for a deeper connection with each image, ensuring that every photograph is not just a picture but a personal testament to the journey of grief and recovery.
Imperfections and Individuality: The Pictorialist methods are inherently imperfect and unpredictable. The unique variations and anomalies that arise in each print reflect the individuality of my experience. Just as no two grief journeys are the same, each photograph carries its own set of idiosyncrasies, making it a unique artifact that speaks to the personal nature of the project. These imperfections are not flaws but rather visual representations of the raw, unfiltered reality of grief—its unpredictability, its rough edges, and the way it can alter one’s perception of the world.
Contrast to Modern Sharpness: In contrast to the sharp, clinical precision of modern digital photography, the soft, sometimes ambiguous, imagery of Pictorialism better encapsulates the elusive nature of memory and emotion. The dreamlike quality of the images invites viewers to engage with them not just visually but emotionally, offering a space for reflection and connection that sharp, detailed photos might not.
In conclusion, the use of 19th-century Pictorialist methods is not just a stylistic choice but a fundamental component of my project’s emotional and narrative depth. It allows for a more authentic, intimate portrayal of grief and memory, inviting viewers to not only see the world through my eyes but to feel it through my heart. As I continue to photograph trees and explore this deeply personal landscape, the Pictorialist approach remains a vital tool in my quest to understand and articulate the journey of loss and healing.
-Tim Layton