Photojournalism with Photography writer and previous The Times & Spectator contributor, Nicholas Mackey
I was strolling through a park on a bright but brisk November morning, and I was greeted by these autumnal vistas. As I gazed in wonder at the delicate design and structure of a fallen leaf on the grass, I wrote this poem:
Veins of the Cosmos
So, is this my fate?
In the veins of this autumnal leaf,
I see the veins of my life.
But yet, when I dream,
I flying along the veins of the cosmos,
through endless slipstreams of space.
So far, so fast, so glorious.
Pathways and connections: infinite and wondrous.
Inspiration may follow,
perhaps – inspiration to create something new.
Such a veined autumnal leaf holds the key to my imagination set free.
Since we will be discussing cosmology and the winter solstice, let’s start with some definitions:
1) Cosmology: “from Ancient Greek κόσμος (cosmos) ‘the universe, the world’, and λογία (logia) ‘study of ’ is a branch of physics and metaphysics dealing with the nature of the universe.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cosmology)
2) Winter solstice: “The winter solstice happens twice yearly, and is the day with the shortest period of daylight and longest night of the year, when the sun is at its lowest daily maximum elevation in the sky.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/Winter solstice)
Cosmology
This explanation sets the scene for an all-embracing term. Indeed, if I pause for a few moments, clear my mind, and ponder on the topic of cosmology, I come to realise this is a very deep subject and the whole shebang could keep working groups of philosophers, theologians, historians, scientists, astronomers, artists of all description, and others interested in this field fully occupied for eons.
Cosmology has been a subject of study for millennia and the word itself, ‘cosmology’, is ancient Greek in origin. In fact, it was the philosopher of old, Anaxaminder – who lived c. 610-546 BCE in Miletus, on the far western coast of Anatolia near the town of Balat in present day Türkiye – who came up with the idea of an eternal universe, yet even he struggled to define the subject.
Then there was Herodotus, credited as being the ‘father of history’, who penned his famous magnum opus, ‘The Histories’, in which he wrote, among other things, that the (ancient) Greeks had borrowed many of their ideas and customs from other cultures, such as the Persians and Egyptians. He proposed that different cultures and peoples could learn from each other and exchange knowledge.
His writings reflect that the Greeks were not isolated from the rest of the world and how there was a flow of customs, technologies and ideas between various civilisations in ancient times.
There were other prominent figures who followed in the footsteps of Anaxaminder and Herodotus: I am sure many of these names will be familiar to you, such as Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, Ptolemy, Ibn al-Haytham and al-Harrani.
In the ancient world, figures like Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, and later, Ptolemy, played key roles in shaping early cosmological thought. Pythagoras emphasised the role of mathematical relationships in understanding the cosmos, while Plato's geocentric model and Aristotle's concept of concentric spheres influenced how scholars viewed the study of celestial mechanics. Ptolemy's major work, "Almagest" solidified the geocentric model, while in the realm of medicine, Galen's empirical approach indirectly impacted cosmology. In the Islamic world, scholars like Ibn al-Haytham and Thabit al-Harrani bridged traditions, enhancing the development of cosmology and facilitating the exchange of ideas.
So, in a roundabout way, I am simply saying that musings on cosmology are as old as the hills and it is a subject that always weaves a magic spell in the human imagination and if, as an artist, you have given yourself a supreme gift: the freedom to think without boundaries, you can find a whole cosmos of creativity growing inside you. It is a moment of enlightenment that you as an artist will never forget – an instant of self-awareness both profound and so simple
– when you suddenly realise you can attempt to make something new that never existed before.
‘I’m sure all artists have experienced their very own ‘eureka’ moment’
I remember this occurred to me when I was seven years of age. As I had shown an interest in taking pictures, my beloved Scottish grandmother generously gave me her pre- World War I leather bellows camera. Yes, it was a quirky bit of old-fashioned kit to use but I well recall that flash of light in my brain as a youngster when I realised that I could create images with a camera. It was thrilling when I came to understand that by correctly loading the film into the camera; winding it on to the correct stop; pointing the camera in the direction of the person; object or event to be photographed; looking through the viewfinder that presented all imagery upside-down and laterally reversed; selecting the right moment and then finally depressing the shutter that one could obtain a hardcopy photographic memento of what had been witnessed by my camera and I.
Don’t forget in those far-off days of the last century, analogue films were normally deposited at the local pharmacy or chemist for processing, development and printing. It normally took 5-7 days in my native Dublin back in the 1960s before you received your batch of 5x7” photos and the developed negatives – that’s if everything came out OK. Ah yes, do I remember that keen anticipation beforehand.
When I look back as a 68-year old, I now have a clearer understanding how this compelling experience of self- discovery in my being artistically creative was a very powerful realisation all those years ago and, with a camera to hand ever since, I have been exploring that enchanting cosmos of creativity whether attempting street and landscape photography (my favourites) but also portraiture, still life, night photography and abstract work. I’m sure all artists have experienced their very own ‘eureka’ moment when they became aware of this innate creative verve from deep inside bursting to escape the clutches of the subconscious to manifest itself in a creative output form: be it music, song, drawing, painting, sculpture, writing, performance art, photography, etc.
Cosmology leads on to a capitalist sky
In November 2022, I was walking along a London street and passed a building site. There was a tall crane still busy at work lifting stuff. It was not yet 5.30pm. I remember looking up at the heavens and, all of a sudden, the phrase, ‘a capitalist sky’ floated into my brain. That was the catalyst. The following poem must have worked its way out of my subconscious, and I scribbled it down immediately when I got back home.
It’s called “Ode To A Crane, version 41⁄2”
early evening November
a tall crane reaches high
into a darkening sky
a dark blue capitalist sky
its illuminated arm
arced to the heavens
saluting a universe
of infinite promise
lifting stuff upon stuff upon stuff
a boxlike metallic skeleton
supports this mammoth limb of commerce
piling on layers of despair
like fossilised strata
of never-ending human greed
the arm of the crane
in thrust-out stiff arm salute
to its profit-hungry overseers
as it helps to perpetuate the boxes
that box us in to the isms of our lives
but this sky this earth
this humanity
was once free long ago
untethered to a lifelong chase for money
and more money and more
in my sweet imagination
may this tall crane
cast off its smothering ethos
and reach into an awakening sky
a deep blue crucible sky
Winter Solstice
This crane and its setting for some reason reminded me of when I was at Newgrange in Ireland in the early 1990s with my family. Now, the story is told that way back in 1699 when digging a grassy mound in a field in the Boyne Valley, County Meath, a landowner made a remarkable discovery. By chance, the entrance to what later became known as Newgrange Passage Tomb had been unearthed, one of the largest of its kind in western Europe and dating back to 3,200 BCE.
More than 30 years ago on this family visit to Newgrange, I remember well how our young but extremely well- informed guide took us through the Passage Tomb pointing out significant details such as the knowledge required in prehistory to construct such a megalithic monument, the different stones (some decorated with elaborate designs) used for the passage way, the walls and also the corbelled roof arrangement. But the most dramatic part of Newgrange must be the placement of the stones over the main door
to the Passage Tomb so as to create a strategic gap which acts as a light-box on the winter solstice, 21st December when sunlight shines through for 17 minutes shortly after sunrise on the shortest day of the year and the light travels the entire length of the passageway illuminating the interior chamber.
I recall how my sons O and J and their cousins S and K stood in front of our guide lapping up every word he uttered and then plying him with numerous questions, so mesmerised were they with the magic of the moment. The adults too were no less amazed.
Interestingly, the Irish for winter solstice is ‘grianstad an gheimhridh’ (pronounced, greeanstod un geerig) and the actual Irish word for solstice is ‘grianstad’ which translates as the stopping of the sun – ‘grian’ (sun) and ‘stad’ (stop). When I pause to think about it, there was a certain Celtic logic at work here as the days stopped getting shorter at the winter solstice which served as a trustworthy celestial brake every year where earthly seasons were concerned and from the 22nd December onwards, the days began increasing in length very gradually until the summer solstice. For the record, solstice itself derives from the Latin: ‘sol’ meaning sun and ‘sistere’ to stand still.
Now that I am in my 7th decade of existence,My imagination can be an endless smoothness of strand stretching back to childhood, an Irish childhood.
Copyedits made by the Editor.
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