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Mark Hewitt Johnson, photography, interview,,
© Mark Hewitt Johnson

Mark Hewitt Johnson is an accomplished Toronto photographer who has been active for over forty years. He is a life-long student of the photographic medium who has wide ranging and eclectic interests. I enjoy and admire his work, not just for the strength of the images, but for the thought behind them. With his images, Mark goes deep.

I asked him eight questions about his work and his current projects. You can see more of his images on his Instagram page and on the project “Images from the Belly of the White Whale.” Our online conversation has been lightly edited for clarity.

“A photograph is neither taken or seized by force. It offers itself up. It is the photo that takes you. One must not take photos.” – Henri Cartier-Bresson

 

Tell us a little about yourself. Where are you from, and where do you live now?

I’m from Red Head, New Brunswick. Growing up beside the ocean, on the edge of a forest, there was a brook running through my yard to the sea. I was consumed by nature, where early on, the invisible becomes visible to your mind. Through nature, the interconnectedness of everything made a lasting impression.  I lived there in the shadow of Alex Colville–an artist who looms large in my understanding of the visual arts. With my first camera, my subject matter was nature and landscapes. Later, when I moved to Toronto to study Photo-Arts at Ryerson, my landscapes became cityscapes, and nature became human nature. My studies at Ryerson exposed me to the masters of the craft of photography; also to the observations of Marshal McLuhan on what makes humanity civilized. One thing that keeps coming to mind is the modern idea of “not seeing the forest for the trees.”

“It is an illusion that photos are made with the camera… they are made with the eye, heart and head.”               –Henri Cartier-Bresson

© Mark Hewitt Johnson

 

What subject matter attracts you, and why?

For me it’s important to realize my images are ruled by my eyes. I see something, I stop and hope for a chance to make a strong image. The rules of every artist are practiced on two levels–images based on perception and chance. I’m concerned with truth, and the subjective nature of beauty, street images, and a degree of chance that happens with perceptually based portraits. I’m concerned with images that are conceptual and take time and thought to develop. Time and thought form the discipline of all visual artists.

 

Can you tell us about the projects you are working on these days?

I like to explore projects that are on my mind. I’ve been exploring conceptual images for climate change awareness. I have returned to taking landscapes on Leslie Street Spit—the local landfill. I’m always conscious of the staggering images of the environment that Edward Burtynsky is producing, and the thought behind them. With my “Industrial Primitive” series, I’m exploring ways to understand the zeitgeist of modern times and the shift from an industrial society to an information society—always aware of the foresight of McLuhan’s theories.

 

© Mark Hewitt Johnson

 

What themes are you exploring in your photos?

My themes are the environment, and the mystery of the journey that is every person’s life.

“Making your unknown known is the important thing–and keeping the unknown always beyond you.”     –Georgia O’Keeffe

In my readings, I discovered that Henri Cartier-Bresson’s favourite book was “Zen in the Art of Archery.” I had been carrying that book around for some time before I found that out. In this eastern philosophy, the archer is both the target and the shooter. Cartier-Bresson said, “It is the photo that takes you.”

It implies ridding yourself of your ego, remaining humble, and believing that all things of value come from craft and hard work. For art to move me, there should be no description–the work must stand alone. In the art of archery, the shooter makes thousands of shots that are ignored until one day the master bows deeply and acknowledges that, yes, the shot is true and worthy of the target. I can understand why Cartier-Bresson would understand that many images fall short of the target. What makes someone a master of anything?

 

What’s your state of mind when you’re taking good photos? Do you think there’s any connection between your mood or mindset and the results you get?

I like the photographs where I was chasing my eye, and not my mind.

 

There is a strong sense of symbolism and allegory in your photos. Can you expand on this?

The images that touch me and motivate me to keep practicing my craft are ripe with symbolism and allegory. If symbolism and allegory are not there in my photos, I am just scratching the surface, and they fall short of the target.

 

© Mark Hewitt Johnson

 

Can you tell us a few of your influences?

I’m influenced by images that put me back on my heels, the history of the photographic artist, graphic painters, poster art, primitive artists. I try to look at a bit of everything. You never know where the next shot is—that’s why I delight in chasing them. And I acknowledge the importance of light. The light.

 

One final question: Can you tell me briefly about a photographer I may not be familiar with yet but you would recommend checking out?

Check out Haruka Sakaguchi. She is a master beyond reproach; she is where humanity lives.

 

 

Many thanks to Mark for doing this interview. I’m so appreciative of his thoughtful answers that provide insight into his work. Be sure to check out his thought-provoking photos.

© Mark Hewitt Johnson

 

 

 

Blogging Interview Photography Social Media

sleep, Halifax, Dingle, Northwest Arm,
Halifax, Nova Scotia, 2011                                  © Avard Woolaver             

Sometimes it’s difficult to fall asleep—your mind is racing; you’re tossing around; sleep just won’t come. I’ve tried various strategies over the years, and the one that works best for me is sleep-inducing music. It started several years ago with Brian Eno’s sonic masterpiece “Discreet Music” — calm, slow-paced music that comes in waves and is meant to be played at a very low volume. Eno says in the liner notes, “This presented what was for me a new way of hearing music–as part of the ambience of the environment just as the colour of the light and the sound of the rain were parts of that ambience. It is for this reason that I suggest listening to the piece at comparatively low levels, even to the extent that it frequently falls below the threshold of audibility.”

After I tried listening to “Discreet Music” at low volumes and found it effective, I experimented with other music played the same way. Jefferson Airplane, John Coltrane, and Erik Satie worked for me. Not only are certain songs reliably sleep-inducing for me, there are exact places in a song where I fall asleep. On John Coltrane’s “Shifting Down,” I nod off during Kenny Dorham’s solo at 6:45. On Jefferson Airplane’s “Somebody to Love,” it happens right around the start of the third verse, which begins at 1:43 (after first listening to the first two tracks on the album The Worst of Jefferson Airplane.)

Lately I have been listening to the Miles Davis album In a Silent Way as I fall asleep. I always seem to drift off at 4:50 into the song “Shhh/Peaceful,” during a high trumpet note.

While I’ve found music to be remarkably effective (I rarely have insomnia anymore) and, for me, strangely predictable in its effects, I’m searching for other ways to fall asleep quickly and easily. If my trusty iPod fails, I need a backup.

A new mental imaging trick, “the cognitive shuffle,” aims to silence fretful thoughts by deliberately filling the brain with benign images. In a recent article in O (the monthly magazine from Oprah Winfrey), writer Kelly DiNardo quotes sleep researcher Luc Beaudoin from Canada’s Simon Fraser University, who devised this strategy for falling asleep. “The brain’s sleep-onset control system need not know what you’re thinking or imagining.” he explains. “It just needs to notice that there is mind wandering and that there is visual imagery, as if you were hallucinating. Unless the brain is on drugs, these clues generally signal that the cortex is ready for sleep.”

In an article in The Guardian, writer Oliver Burkeman says, “The cognitive shuffle involves mentally picturing a random sequence of objects for a few seconds each: a cow; a microphone; a loaf of bread, and so on. It’s important to ensure the sequence is truly meaningless; otherwise you’ll drift back into rumination. One option is Beaudoin’s app, MySleepButton, which speaks the names of items in your ear. Another is simply to pick a word, such as ‘bedtime,’ then picture as many items beginning with ‘b’ as you can, then ‘e,’ then ‘d,’ then… Well, by then, if my experience is anything to go by, you’ll be asleep.”

I may try listening to music while thinking of random words. A cognitive shuffle with Miles Davis dealing the cards.

What interests me about this insomnia-defeating strategy is that it’s another use of created imagery in our lives, but it’s entirely mental imagery. Like photography, it’s a way of playing with things you see (or “see,” in this case) and combining them. Like photography, it has a lot of elements that you control and, especially as you’re slipping toward sleep, some that are out of your control. Like photography, it probably gets much easier with practice.

Yet, unlike photography, it’s utterly personal, so much so that the series of images you create can’t be shared with anyone else. It’s a reminder that our interior worlds affect us in so many ways, every hour we’re alive. As Professor Dumbledore famously says near the end of the final Harry Potter book, “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

Let me know if you try the cognitive shuffle. And sleep well!

 

Blogging Colour Photography Social Landscape

Black and White Blogging Film Photography Friday Roundup Photography

dog, Humor, McDog,
McDog, Windsor, NS; 2013                           © Avard Woolaver

from the series: Wish You Were Here

 

Blogging Colour Documentary Observation Photography Social Landscape

sunrise, Toronto, poem, poetry, latent image, imagery, image,
Sunrise on Gerrard East, Toronto, 1982   © Avard Woolaver 

In analog photography, the image is invisible and remains hidden on the film until it magically appears during development. Poetry can remain in our minds like a latent image. Here is a poem I wrote about this phenomenon.

 

Latent Image

 

Immersed under a film of random moments

A whisper of time when all was exposed

Then quickly hidden in a latent image

Time passed, time past

The moment is, the moment was

But I remember it differently:

I thought the light on the horizon

Was a holy orb

Lifting my spirit upward

I needed the picture to be whole

 

–Avard Woolaver, 2017

 

Sunrise on Gerrard East, Toronto, 1982” is from the book: Toronto Flashback (1980-1986)

Blogging Colour Documentary Light New Topographics Photography