Vast extents of moss-covered lava are a pretty arresting sight in Iceland. The sheer scale can't help but conjure up thoughts go the frightening infernos that produced them. And no photographer with a pulse can fail to be tempted to try to capture something of the scene. In my experience it's pretty much impossible. But it doesn't stop me trying.

Wide format, or "panoramic" photography for me has been synonymous with film and my Hasselblad XPan, since the turn of the century. Well, it seems, no more. On my recent trip to Iceland, for the first time, it stayed at home, and its usurper, the Sigma DP0, came instead. And I really enjoyed using it. You'll find all sorts of opinions and views all over the darker corners of the photo-net droning on about how awful it is, but I ignored all that stuff and just used it. Once you get into the groove, it's really fun to use. The weird shape makes total sense when holding it, and it's a great conversation starter (if you like conversations that start with "what the hell is that!?").

These little renditions below don't really do justice to the jaw-dropping impact of the detail and delicacy seen on a print or big screen, but they go somewhere, I hope, to explaining why the unconventional approach and, er, idiosyncratic software is worth the trouble. Speaking of which, maybe I'm just lucky, but unlike for certain well known pundits, Sigma's PhotoPro software is 100% rock solid for me. I can't remember the last time it crashed, if ever.

But anyway, it's all about the photos, not the gadgetry, and I'm pretty happy with this set.


















So... anybody want to buy an XPan ?

Well, things have been a bit quiet around here this last month. There are plenty of reasons for this, including usual summer house guests, spending most of what little time I have to dedicate to extra-curricular activities to a forthcoming website redesign, and preparing for (yet) another trip to Iceland.

Actually, this is my first since 2012, and first summer trip since, er, 2007 I think. I was supposed to go last year, but had to call it off for family reasons. I have quite a sense of trepidation about this trip, as from what I've been reading the tourist traffic has exploded, and I'm expecting to see a lot of changes, not necessarily for the better.

To try to get back into the groove I've revisited, again, my Iceland archive, and out of over 5400 photos (and that's just the digital stuff), I've managed to extract 82 which somehow start to express what I personally get from Iceland. Obviously, practically every "landscape" photographer on the web now has an Iceland gallery, with the standard Whereverfoss and bit-of-ice-on-the-beach-with-big-stopper photos, so that's pretty much killed that part. And of course there are countless books, mostly very repetitive. Of these I'd pick out Ragnar Axelsson and Marco Paoluzzo as two photographers who push the boundaries a bit. I'm sure there are others. On the pure landscape side, I still rate Daniel Bergmann and Hans Strand at the top of a very long list. I'd love to be able to say I've got my own vision of Iceland, but so far, I haven't.

It is certainly easy to imagine doing "something different", but when placed in any of Iceland's very numerous iconic locations, it is very, very hard to turn your back on the main attraction.

The following are a few non-iconic shots extracted from my selection of 82. Possibly they indicate the direction I might go in, but it's far more likely that I'll fall, again, to the temptation of the long exposure waterfalls. And so what. It's fun.

While browsing through various inter web channels the other day - in this case, I think, National Geographic - I cam across something which gave me a bit of a shock. The work shown here - Magda Biernat Photography: adrift - is basically exactly one of the main ongoing photographic ideas I've had in my head for years, and indeed have been quietly preparing. So there are no new ideas - either somebody else has already done it, or they are about to. I suppose the only solution is to stop procrastinating and just get on with it, or alternatively, ignore completely what other people are doing. Well, I do have an alternative idea running along the same path, more or less, but it's going to be harder to realise, and now, it will just look like a facsimile.

diptych by Magda Beignet, magdabiernat.com

What really grabs me about this idea is that it addresses an issue that I personally have with classic landscape photography, that it excludes, repels even the human element, and thus loses any real meaning beyond the superficial. The very fact that the photographer is there to take the photograph means that the idea of untouched, unreachable wilderness which is being hinted at just collapses. Magda Biernat's approach resolves this in a very elegant way. I'm sure all of see photographs we wish we could have made. What I saw here was photography I should, and quite easily could, have published, and that hurts a bit. Whatever, I ordered the book.

Michael Reichmann attempts to herd cats, Iceland, 2004

I was very sad to discover this evening that photographer Michael Reichmann, founder of the vastly influential website, The Luminous Landscape, had passed away at the age of 71.

The birth of the Luminous Landscape pretty much coincided with my rediscovery of photography, and I grew with it. I learnt a huge amount from Michael’s articles, especially in the pre-digital era. Pretty much all I know about using slide film and scanning originated in the Luminous Landscape. When Michael launched the Video Journal together with Chris Sanderson, I had to go out and buy my first DVD player to watch it.

Michael Reichmann was perhaps the archetypal photography workshop organiser. He set a pattern that many have followed since, but not all these followers are blessed with Michael’s charisma and charm. I broke my piggy bank to join his 2004 Iceland workshop, and while it was a whirlwind, exhausting experience, it was also hugely formative. Michael’s twin catch phrases, “there’s no shot here”, and “2 minutes, no tripods” still ringing my ears.

He was also a very aspirational character. It was notable just how many people turned up on that workshop with the exact same set of cameras Michael had recently been praising on the web site. It was perhaps a bit of a shame that he changed them so often though - the wannabes had a quite an expensive job catching up. I can even remember people wanting to know what kind of car he drive, so they could buy the same one. I’m fairly sure he would have had a chuckle about that: while certainly being very serious about his art and craftsmanship, he clearly didn’t take himself quite as seriously as some of his more ardent groupies.

Michael Reichmann accomplished a lot in his life, and helped a lot of people gain pleasure and satisfaction from their photography, however they approached it. He leaves a large void in the photographic community, but most of all, in the hearts of his family and friends. I offer them my sincere condolences.