In the previous blogpost, I included a photograph of volcanic rock at Carsaig, Isle of Mull, being overgrown by fresh, green foliage. Carsaig is full of contrasts and, in fact, I was standing at exactly the same point, facing in another direction, when I took this photograph.
This was more of the kind of image that I had in mind, and which drew me down to Carsaig on this inclement day. I’m always struck by the dead and destructive desolation of the volcanic rock on the shoreline at Carsaig. The emptiness of the shattered landscape, characterised by devastation of the volcanic activity 65 milion years ago and more, and the rocks that had fallen down and still remain at the shoreline today. It’s a scene frozen in time, a prehistoric ghost town which (facing in this direction, at least) looks never to have recovered. The immediacy of the volcanic force hits you in the face as if it only happened yesterday, or last week.
I wanted an image that would capture the haunting weirdness of the scene – not a pleasant landscape with blue water and the horizon in the distance – that just wouldn’t be right for how I feel here. On this foggy day, only the first few yards of the sea seemed to sit at the shore before fading into a curtain of white invisibility. The mystery of the weather leant a sense of eeriness to this mysterious place.
This is what exactly my photography is about, the connection between the human imagination and nature. It’s why I call this blog Human Nature. The weirdness of the scene makes the imagination run wild; and I really hope that this is a weird picture to reflect that view.