Summer Solstice: Why I no longer dread the shorter days
Batchelors Farm, Burgess Hill, January 2021
Each year, as the summer solstice arrives and the days grow shorter, I can almost sense a change in the air. As summer turns to autumn, I invariably experience lower energy levels and mood than I might have if it was summer all year around. And I'm not alone. It's estimated as many as 1 in 3 people suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder or SAD.
However, that largely changed last year. After finding a renewed passion for taking photographs of landscapes at the beginning of the pandemic, when autumn eventually set in and the days grew short, my usual feeling of dread was replaced with a sense of anticipation as I watched the world outside change.
It might sound trite, but if there is one thing that I’ve gained from the isolation of the pandemic, it’s being far more in tune with the natural world. With social contact and travel so heavily restricted, I've spent much more time in the countryside and have never felt so aware of the changing light, colours and weather conditions from one week to the next. With these changes comes a great deal of creative potential, but there are also some clear practical benefits if you're a landscape photographer.
Autumnal sunrise, Plumpton, September 2020
The most obvious is that it becomes much easier to witness the best light conditions of the day, known as the “blue” and “golden” hours, as the sun rises at a much more sociable hour. During this time, light is softer so your camera’s sensor can better cope with the dynamic range whether you’re shooting at the coast or in a woodland.
I was also treated by spectacular conditions almost every week. Throughout December and January there were more foggy and misty days than I can remember – both are great for adding atmosphere and mystery to images – and there were spectacular hoar frosts on the South Downs, even if the South East had much less snow than other parts of the country.
The point is, before I’d have barely noticed some of these natural wonders and instead likely have written them off as inclement weather. Documenting the natural world around me helped me to see things from a different perspective and to find meaning and purpose in things that appeared to lack it before. It helped me to engage with a more primitive way of life and connect with my ancestors, if only briefly, and to step away from the screens and notifications that fill all of our everyday lives.
Black Cap, South Downs, January 2021
There are, inevitably some downsides, among which I'd include losing the feeling in your fingers when trying to operate a camera in freezing cold conditions – which can easily be fixed by having the right gear – and doing a full day’s work after setting your alarm for 5am can also be exhausting.
Now, I believe my relationship to winter has changed for good, though. I believe it's much healthier to embrace it – whether via the medium of photography or some other project or goal – rather than push back against it and dread it. I'm sure there will be times where I will still hope the warm weather and longer days will hurry up and arrive, but it has been transformative to have a focus during those months – a time when it becomes less appealing to do almost everything else outdoors.
I’m not the first to make the case that spring is also made all the more special when it does eventually arrive because it follows such a cold, barren time of year. It represents new life and beginnings, which is always important, and especially so during the hardship of a pandemic.
Interestingly, I've found myself taking fewer photographs now that the days have grown long and more social activities have returned, so I hope that as things continue to return to normality I'll still find time to get out with my camera. There’s something hugely comforting about being behind a camera lens, and when everything else feels like utter chaos, nature manages to remain remarkably constant.
Eastbourne, January 2021
