Where Once Truth Was

There was a time when I could walk this path and there was no one here.  The car park was always empty.  It could be the height of spring and a fresh new day and still no one.  I would walk and see nothing but beauty. But things have changed and now others come here too, and more frequently by the day - ever since the falls received a top 10 tourist ranking.  Many of them have forgotten the common courtesies that one should pay to nature, and so they leave their many marks and signs in the landscape. Evidence against hope as the photographer Robert Adams puts it.

And there I was, making photographs of the natural scenery, wanting to record the hopefulness that lies hidden in the mystery and beauty of the world: excluding what I didn't like from the camera frame, to give an interpretation of hope untainted.

But then what can I say about the the truthfulness of my photographs. Have they been reduced to fraudulence? Perhaps I can present these slightly dishonest photos under the guise of optimism? Maybe not convincingly (not to myself at least), not if optimism itself requires denying reality.

So here are photos of hope and what it became in its tainted form that day.

Wairere falls. Taken at vandalized native vine

Wairere Stream. From recently graffitied foot bridge

Tree ferns. Taken 50 or so steps from barley sugar wrapper

Inner forest at half eaten apple

500 year old Rimu tree near vomited dog biscuits

Toi Toi flowers in the wind. Derelict campsite under trees in background containing 2 dozen shrink wrapped plastic plates, old shoes, perished tent fly, child's butterfly net, and other litter.

Fractured rock. Two girls smoke and text message behind boulders

Three boulders at cigarette butt

View from waterfall ledge across dairy farms

The Town of Love

I get such pleasure in photographing small provincial towns. They have their own feel and vibe. On a weekday, the suburbs are empty and you can feel a sense of peace and solitude. As you stroll along the quiet pavement you meet the older generation who stop to talk and bid you well. It seems on those days that culture is most evident, seeping out of ordinary buildings and ordinary places.

Gardens of Culture

It would seem that most of us find some joy in a garden. Not only do gardens show us what beauty can look like, but they also reveal something of our culture. When I look at the features of a garden: architecture, design, layout, elements of shape and form, and plant selection, I see the fingerprint of either my culture or that of another culture. It would seem that wherever people live, that a garden may result due to mans interaction with nature and his intent to create beauty - and perhaps hope.

A garden really lives only insofar as it is an expression of faith,
the embodiment of a hope and a song of praise.

                    - Russell Page, The Education of a Gardener, 1962

River Paintings

A hike up a stream can yield so much in the way of memorable scenes. Like little paintings scattered about the streambed they decorate the waters and bring life and beauty to all who encounter them. I recently read a book called A Sand County Almanac written by the great American conservationist, Aldo Leopold. Leopold’s words very eloquently describe what we can see on a hike up stream.

"I know a painting so evanescent that it is seldom viewed at all, except by some wandering deer. It is a river who wields the brush, and it is the same river who, before I can bring my friends to view his work, erases it forever from the human view. After that it exists only in my mind's eye". - Aldo Leopold

These black and white photographs show natural landscapes of the upper Te Mata Stream. Having thought about it, I do wonder how natural these places are. What cultural activities of man have influenced natures dynamic system and resulted in anomalies hard to see - the unnatural turn of a leaf, a discordant braid of a stream, the differing orientation of a sand spit, a precarious positioning of a rock, an undercutting of the river bank, or a pile of debris where one would not normally have been. But does it really matter. After all, mankind is a fundamental part of the landscape, created to live and exist within the confines of an ecosystem. Man, like the bee, is also nature. Does the bee think about due care of the environment, or does she just go about her work. What is different about man that he thinks he ought to care for the environment?

The complete portfolio for this work can be see here: River Paintings.

The Puriri Tree

I've always had a soft spot for the magnificent Puriri Tree. They grace our coastal margins with such reverence and beauty.  But they live a life on the edge of existence, a fragmented ecosystem with little or no regeneration to give them any hope of a future.

Over the years I have photographed them many times, mainly on field trips to the west coast extending from Raglan through to Port Waikato. Eventually, I put together a small photozine of some the photos as a keepsake for myself and others.  For the puriri won't be here forever. 

Excerpt from the photozine:
"...The puriri, like many native trees, has lived the fate of changing land use having been ravished by axe for its valuable hardwood, and cleared to make way for pasture for sheep and cattle. What mostly remains are scattered individual trees and small groves of remnant stands containing the imperfect specimens rejected by the woodsmen...".

The Puriri Monograph can be purchased here: The Puriri Tree

Arnold Cottage

A place in the landscape where sweet peas grew and children played – but no longer. I wish I could have talked with John Arnold. I wanted to know what it was like to raise 6 children in this home.

Courtesy of the Cambridge Museum:
Just out of the borough on Hamilton Road, this cottage is on its original fifty acre Military Grant given to John Arnold in 1866 at the end of his three year military service. The cottage is the last in the line of a progression from tent to raupo whare to cottage - increased throughout the Arnold family's lifetime as more children were born.

Maria Arnold, John's wife, grew sweet peas around the cottage from seeds she had brought from Australia in 1864. She also helped to run the Butchery on the Triangle Corner in Cambridge while John fattened cattle and grew oats. They raised six children and St Andrews Church bears a stained glass window to the memory of John and Maria Arnold.