The Power of Simplicity

The coast in Northern France offers no solace to people with a melancholic character. Abandoned streets with boarded up shopfronts, peeling paint and faded glory, screaming ads yearning for the Summer and the sun. With the rhythmic, thumping sound of the waves and the stormy wind that sprays a fine mist of sea-drops on my face, I cross the empty boulevard and walk onto the beach. After two days of patiently waiting, the rain has finally stopped. The scattered showers allow at least rare moments of photography. I stop walking and absorb the scene with all my senses. It’s as if the vague outline of the misty horizon disappears into the sea, becoming one with the sky and giving it that sense of infinity. A triad of sky, horizon and water.

Emptiness is my photographic habitat. Emptiness is infinite, unmeasurable, without restrictions. Emptiness is room for imagination, phantasy, for dreams. Emptiness is nothing, and therefore everything, because it defines nothingness. Emptiness is the unknown, the unexplored, the Hic sunt dracones in the terra incognita of ancient maps. Emptiness exists only in our minds, nature knows no enmptiness. Emptiness is my photographic habitat.

I leave Dunkirk behind me and enter the emptiness of the beach. It’s not just the scene that feels empty. The mind is free of expectations and preconceived images, the focus on the here and now. If you’re set on finding compositions you won’t find them, or they are cliché. A preconceived goal creates expectations and expectations kill our creativity, because we lose our connection with what is  there in from of us, here and now. The best way to explore new territory and fuel our creativity is ignorance.

I never look for a photograph. The photograph finds me and says, “I’m here! and I say, “Yes I see you. I hear you.”

~ Ruth Bernard

I imagine a helicopter view of me standing on this desolate spot, and the idea that waves have been pounding this beach long before the first human animal set foot on it, makes me humble. An effective thought against anthropocentrism.

Head down, facing the wind, I meander the sandy plane. In the corner of my left eye I see the Saint-Pol lighthouse in the far distance; the robust brick building, 35 meters high, challenging the power of nature, looks small and insignificant from here, surrounded by all this emptiness. I frame the scene with my thumbs and index fingers, placing the tower in the lower left corner, and the composition presents itself naturally.

The sea has a soothing effect, like the big shell that we put to our ears as a kid to hear the  roaring waves. Looking out over the endless expanse we empty our minds. The sea is a blank canvas where we imagine our ideal world and paint our inner landscape.

E-book De Kracht van Eenvoud (Dutch only)

Het e-book De Kracht van Eenvoud schetst hoe het Taoïsme en het Zen Boeddhisme de minimalistische fotografie kunnen inspireren, en gaat in op een aantal relevante verschillen tussen de Westerse en de Oosterse esthetiek. Het e-book verschijnt tegelijk met de expositie Op zoek naar Stilte, van 10 september tot 22 oktober, in de Wiebenga silo van De Compagnie in Veghel.

Eenvoud en bescheidenheid is het fundament van het Taoïsme en Zen Boeddhisme. Ze zijn meer dan een alleen een inspiratiebron voor fotografie, het is ook een levenshouding, een persoonlijke filosofie.

De fascinatie voor de Zen concepten leegte (Ma) en de schoonheid van vergankelijkheid en imperfectie (Wabi Sabi) vormen de esthetische basis voor het fotografische werk. Dat vraagt van de fotograaf een open bewustzijn (mu-shin), vrij van verwachtingen en vooropgestelde beelden, de zintuigen gericht op het hier en nu. Met een vooropgesteld doel ontstaan verwachtingen en verwachtingen zijn dodelijk voor de creativiteit. Verwachtingen sluiten ontdekkingen uit. De beste manier om onbekend gebied in te gaan is onwetendheid, gefocust op creëren, mindful lang voor het in het Westen modieus werd. Een gemoedstoestand zonder gedachten, wensen, ideeën en aannames.

De foto’s zijn visuele haiku, Zen momenten van verwondering, waarin een einderloze horizon een naadloze verbinding aangaat met de zee. Een landschap waarin de mens zich nietig weet, als onderdeel van de natuur; zij ís de natuur. Fotografie als meditatie en als therapie tegen antropocentrisme.

Het e-book is gratis en kan worden besteld met

dit formulier.

The e-book De Kracht van Eenvoud shows how Taoism and Zen Buddhism can inspire minimalist photography, and explains some relevant differences between Eastern and Western aesthetics. This e-book accompanies the exhibition Op zoek naar Stilte (In search of Silence) from September 10th to October 22nd in the Wiebenga Silo of De Compagnie in Veghel.

Simplicity and modesty are fundamental to Taoism and Zen Buddhism. They are more than a source of inspiration; it’s a way of life, a personal philosophy.

The fascination for the Zen concepts Ma (void, emptiness) and Wabi-Sabi (the beauty of imperfection) form the aesthetic basis for my photography. The photographer needs an open mind (mu-shin), free from expectations and preconceptions, focused on the here and now with all the senses. Expectations are detrimental to the creative proces, and prevent spontaneity and discoveries. The best way to enter unknown territory is ignorance and focused on creating, mindful long before it became trendy in the West. A state of mind without thoughts, desires, ideas, and assumptions

The images are visual haiku, Zen moments of wonder, in which an endless horizon merges seamlessly with the sea. A landscape that makes one humble and a part of nature. Photography as meditation and a therapy against anthropocentrism.

The e-book is free and can be ordered with

this form.

Exhibition

I exhibit a selection of my photographs with DeCompagnie in a former agricultural/industrial complex in Veghel from September 10th to October 22nd 2023. The exhibition spaces in the huge, grey, concrete silos are the perfect location for images that breathe silence and tranquility.

The exhibition is called Op Zoek naar Stilte (In search of Stillness), and it’s a double exhibition together with ceramicist Olga Pullens.

Nature's Art

With each step I destroy a work of art. That’s how it feels. The beaches of Lewis, one of the Scottish Outer Hebrides islands, create art. Every day. With the tides the water flows over the sand, like a painter’s brush. When the water retreats at low tide the new sand structures become visible, until high tide smooths everything away and the creation process starts all over again.

What is art? There are as many answers as there are art expressions, it seems, and they are all rooted in Western cultures and traditions, based on scientific, Newtonian analysis, as opposed to the more intuitive and holistic worldview of the East. In Japan, in Zen Buddhism, the artist is not so much seen as the maker of art, but rather as an intermediary. Art is valued when the artist manages to switch off the ego and the work of art - through meditation - creates itself in a spontaneous moment of satori.

Nature as the creator of art, Isle of Lewis.

According to all common theories the creation of art is exclusively the domain of humans, because it is considered a conscious process in which all sorts of choices are being made. A tree trunk of a fallen tree in the woods - however appealing and beautiful it may be - is not art. But when the same tree trunk is used by an artist in a museum, it is. The tree becomes art simply because of the artist’s intention. The trunk as object hasn’t changed. The sand structures created on the beaches of Lewis are not considered art, but if an artist uses the same sand, water and location to sculpt something similar, it is. But if intention is the criterium, then everything is art that I consider as such. And if everything is art, then nothing is. And that is very Zen!

Zen art is made without any effort or purpose (Wu Wei), and without a conscious creation process. It is sometimes called artless art. Zen art is spontaneous, here and now, mushin (lit. “no-mind”), focussed on nothing. And with just a little bit of intellectual agility you could consider the Lewis sand structures art, formed by nature without a conscious effort. I continue my walk more carefully.

I pause and slowly turn around 360 degrees. I observe the heavy clouds above the sea, the grey mountains far away, the gold coloured dunes topped with long grass moving with the wind, and back again to the white, foamy waves. It’s not difficult to feel connected to nature, or rather to feel one with nature. But what does that mean, “one with nature”? In Zen philosophy there’s no separate “I” from nature; there is no “I”, that is an illusion. There is no observer, no object and subject; they are inseparable. There is what is, and that’s it.

If, in any painting or photograph, a person is depicted as very small within a wide space of nature, there is a possibility that the viewer will recognize that small form as one’s self and that this self is not separate from the vast space. That is to say, such a picture may inspire the realization that one is the vast space itself. When it is recognized that the vast space contains the form and that one is both the vast space and the form — at the same time — this is a realization of nonduality.

~ Jerry Katz

The 13th century mystic and philosopher Meiser Eckhart wrote: “The eyes with which I see God are the same eyes with which God sees me”. I translate that as: “The eyes with which I see the landscape are the same eyes with which the landscape sees me”. The landscape and the photographer are one, and have an intimate and non-dualistic relationship. Meister Eckhart: “One seeing, one knowing, one love”.

If the photographer and the subject are one, then every photo is a selfie.

Who would dare tread on something beautiful as this?

This reminds me of Munck’s “The Scream”

Nature’s finished artwork (for now)

Wabi-Sabi: The Beauty of Impermanence

Ads and social media show us a perfect life. All we have to do is buy that particular brand of anti-aging crème, a new gas guzzling SUV, or the latest fast fashion clothes, and we will be perfectly happy. In commercials life is predictable (unpredictability = stress), a stylized version of reality. The people we unconsciously identify with in these commercials are all meticulously coiffed and manicured, and - oh wonder - somehow manage to always be the only people enjoying beach life in a tourist hot spot. It’s an instagrammed, illusory world where people are always happy and smiling and where unpleasant emotions, failures or just plain bad luck and ugliness don’t seem to exist.

Wabi-Sabi is the antithesis. A Wabi-Sabi life is a simple life without pretense, according to the principles of the Taoist and Zen philosophies. A life in which people and things are simply what they, no more and no less. Wabi-Sabi is bitter sweet. We have to come to terms with our own decay and eventual death, while at the same time appreciate the beauty of this natural and timeless wisdom.

Perfection doesn’t exist, only in the minds of man. To strive for perfection, therefore, is frustrating, useless and stressful. For someone raised in a Western culture that is difficult to understand. To aim for perfection is in our genes, so to speak. The word utopia means “perfect place” in Greek. Etymologically it consists of u, meaning “no”, and topic, “place”. So the perfect place is no place.

Wabi-Sabi is the beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete. It’s a fundamental Japanese aesthetic that has its roots in Taoist and Zen philosophies. It is strongly based in nature, where everything is in flux, for ever changing and moving, and in a constant state of growth or decay. It is an infinite work in progress.

A rusty headlamp in the Namibian desert

When you ask Japanese people what Wabi-Sabi is, you get an evasive or hesitant answer, and no two answers are the same. Everyone knows the term - it is a fundamental concept in Japanese culture - but it is difficult if not impossible to put it into words. In Zen Buddhism (and Taoism before that) words are considered a disturbing filter between man and his perception of reality. Eastern philosophy is based on experience, not on language and ideas. Essential knowledge is transferred and learned through experience, one on one. As a Taoist saying has it: “He who knows doesn’t speak; he who speaks doesn’t know”.

Wabi-Sabi is best described with a popular quote from Leonard Koren’s Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers:

Wabi-Sabi is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete

It is a beauty of things modest and humble

It is a beauty of things unconventional

Old steps in a Kashba in the Moroccan Sahara

Wabi-Sabi is not just accepting imperfection, but appreciating the beauty of it. In Wabi-Sabi we find beauty and interest in unexpected places, and learn to value life as it is, not as we would like it to be. We discover the beauty of decay and we realize that getting older, weaker and with all the signs of physical and mental decline, doesn’t make us less loving and beautiful. Wabi-Sabi is the moss on a stone, a fallen branch, withered flowers. Wabi-Sabi is the beauty of the cycle of growth, decay and death.

Wabi-Sabi is more than an aesthetic concept. It’s a philosophy of life, of how we live, and about our relation to nature. It’s about accepting the transience of things, to embrace and value it. Wabi-Sabi makes us humble and learns us to be satisfied with what with what we have and who we are. The Stoics would say: “Learn to want what you already have”. In a Western society based on growth and hedonistic consumerism, this is a welcome and even necessary antidote. “Material poverty, spiritual richness” would be a good Wabi-Sabi slogan.

Wabi-Sabi teaches us not to be focussed on success, status, luxury or power, to enjoy a carefree life which the rhythm of nature, and to appreciate without judging. We are humble passersby, or as Macbeth says: “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more”.

Writing on the Berlin Wall

In Buddhism the Pali word Dukkha refers to our suffering (or better: our frustration) for always wanting more or something else. When we have what we desired there’s always new things that our desires are aimed at. With this never ending cycle of hedonist adaptation we create our own frustration and unhappiness. We suffer because we cling to something impermanent. The more we do that, the unhappier we become. Everything perishes, even the universe and immaterial things like love, art, literature. Panta Rei. From the moment we are born we are gradually returning to the dust we came from.

Seeing beyond Seeing

The Glen Etive waterfall is probably the most photographed waterfall in all of Scotland. And it’s not just the fall itself, but the surroundings add to that photogenic scenery. The Buachaille Etive Mòr mountain rises majestically in the distance and forms a dramatic backdrop. Add to that the typical redbrown colours of the Highlands and the often threateningly dargrey clouds, and all you have to do is push the button to get that “wow” photograph.

It’s more than a half hour before sunrise, and I take in this half dark scene sitting on a stone some 30 meters from the fall. The Etive is not carrying much water today and that makes it all less dramatic. There’s no one else around, to my surprise; Etive attracts many  photographers, like a magnet, even in early March on a cold morning. This is the 5th time this week that I get up well before the first sunlight to see what the conditions are like, and although I managed to get some really good compositions it’s not what I had in mind. And that’s exactly what’s wrong. This place is photographed to death and all I’m doing is adding one more cliché to the heap. In every aspect the conditions were perfect: the low sun beams moving across the mountain, the dark clouds with a lot of articulation, and a huge amount of water finding its way down with a thundering force. And even as a cliché they’re still pretty good landscape photographs that most people would react to with a big “wow!”. But still cliché, and therefore disappointing because I missed the flexibility to use my own creativity.

The Glen Etive waterfall with a cliché “wow” factor.

“Arriving at the rim of this famous landmark, they shuffle about, searching for a sign that says “shoot here”. With one preset image labeled GRAND CANYON in their minds, blinding them to what lies below, they search for the one and only “right” spot to stand.”

Joel Meyerowitz

The first photographers have arrived and are scouting the area looking for a composition. Men (where are the women?) with rucksacks and tripods, trying not to get their Wellies stuck in the soggy patches. I hear them complaining about the evenly grey sky and the volume of the water in the Etive. Fat chance of a “wow” image today, folks. They find there way to the places for the best vistas, perforated with tripod marks and boots’ prints; the Etive version of a Shoot Here sign.

I take my gear to a less marked spot without any tripod holes and foot prints. From here you don’t have the grand vistas, I can’t even see the Buachaille. I climb down, carefully placing my feet on the slippery rocks, when I see a small fall. It is in a dark and wet alcove, hardly visible from above. The darkness gives it an eery and mysterious atmosphere. There’s only the sound of the small stream, nothing like the roar of the big waterfall. The place is so cramped that it’s difficult to move around, no place to sit. I lean against the wall, contemplate and breathe in the scene. What a peaceful spot. Like Gaugin I close my eyes in order to see, a light breeze on my face, a tear in my eyes. It feels like I’ve found “my” Etive waterfall. Everything is as it should be, I don’t need anything else but be here and now. The photograph has found me.

A Yugen style image, dark and mysterious.

The image is dark and suggestive. The Japanese concept of Yugen refers to “dark”, “obscure”, mysterious. It refers to a beauty that can only partially be seen; much of it is hidden. It’s power is suggestion.

Kamo no Chōmei, a hermit and writer, described Yugen in 1212 as: “It is like an autumn evening under a colourless expanse of silent sky. Somehow, as if for some reason that we should be able to recall, tears well uncontrollably.”

Yugen appeals to our imagination; it suggests, does snot make explicit. Because of its mysterious character it is sometimes interpreted as something transcendental, otherworldly. On the contrary. Yugen gives our own world a deeper meaning.