Hello there, thank you once again for joining me here!

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Hope you're having a fantastic Saturday, or whatever day you see this email.

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It's been a bit warm here in the UK recently, and yesterday there was a fantastic thunderstorm, which was nice because we haven't had a chance to enjoy them for a long time. We don't often get them here in the UK. However, they did remind me of growing up in Johannesburg, which is one of the thunderstorm capitals of the world.
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Today I wanted to share with you an important lesson I learned about photography at the top of Table Mountain.

The Main Frame:

Photography is a very strange art form.
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It happens in the moment, and it can be something that is hiding in plain sight.
But it also does something else, something that I find fascinating, and that's his ability to act as a time machine.
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If you're of a certain age, then no doubt you'll be familiar with the phrase a Kodak moment.
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I think it's always worth remembering that while I do like to walk around imagining photographs everywhere, I'm always somewhere in the back of my mind taking imaginary photos. It's also important that we're present for what's going on and where we are.

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I'm thinking about a few years ago, specifically when I was visiting my father-in-law in Cape Town and took my son to the top of Table Mountain. I'd been up there a few times, but for him it was his first trip. I was looking around at all the people up there taking photographs of themselves with Table Bay in the background and all the other usual touristy views. Initially, I was thinking to myself, oh, I really need to take some great photographs to put on the channel, something to prove how cool I am as a photographer, how I can find an unusual photograph and everybody's missing, seeing that secret image.
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But then I stopped and realised something I think is important, and that is the second part of photography, about how photography can take that Kodak moment and preserve it for us.
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It's too easy to forget that yes, I was in a place that's photographically very interesting, but the more important thing was that this was my first time up here with my son, and if I'd focused all my attention on taking cool photos, I would have missed the real benefit of being up there, which was to have a shared memory that those photographs can take me back to later on.
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I did actually record some thoughts about this at the time...

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Now, it's not to say that we can't take cool photographs of our family or the events that we happen to be engaged with in a way that can tick both of those boxes, but I do think it's important to give some thought to what is really important at this time, at this very moment, when I'm taking this photograph. Is it because I am taking something I think is artistic, or am I sharing a moment, and I don't really like this word, but I'm going to use it, capturing that moment?

The Curator's Gallery:

​The Anonymous Project​

One of the best photography books I own is Mid-Century Memories, a collection of images by the anonymous project.
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The anonymous project collects old, random photographs and curates them. These are images that have been found in junk shops, thrift stores, and house clearances. They are literally random images from people's lives. But within those images, I find something fascinating. Through coincidence or happy accident, the person who took that photograph seems to have captured both an artistic image and a snapshot of their life.
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They're not technically great, but what they do have is a pull. There is something about them that reaches out to me and asks me to be part of that moment. I can hear the laughter, I can hear the conversation, I can feel the sun on my back as I share a picnic with them, or hear the splashing of water.
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Within that book is possibly one of my favourite photographs of all time
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Nothing about it is technically brilliant. I never experienced growing up in America in the 1960s. I have experienced rainstorms like this, and I have been a young boy, so that's where the physical connection ends. But there's something about this photograph that is calling to me. I can smell the warm rain. I can hear the splash of the car.
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There's a feeling about the carefree idiocy of young boys. All of that just resonates with me, and it's sad to think that this photograph might have been lost to history, and that the person who took it, possibly one of their friends, we'll never know, whatever compelled them to trip the shutter that day would resonate so long after they took that photo.

The Weekly Observation:

This week, make a photograph that isn't for anyone else.

Not for Instagram. Not for critique. Not to demonstrate your eye or your technique. Just for you — for the life you're living and the people in it.

It might be the most ordinary thing imaginable: a cup of tea going cold, a child asleep, a dog in a patch of sunlight. Whatever it is, don't overthink the composition. Don't worry about the light. Just point the camera at something that matters to you right now, and press the shutter.

Then put the photograph somewhere you'll actually see it again. Print it. Set it as your phone background. Stick it to the fridge.

See how it feels in a week. Then in a year.

Inside the Tribe:

This photograph by Christianne was recently posted in the TPE Tribe, and she says it is from her trip to Scotland last year. I love this kind of thing, driving along in a car with rain pouring down in front of you, because of course this is Scotland.
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I think this is one of those photographs that straddles the line between being visually interesting and being a memory, and I'm sure you have lots of photographs like this in your own archives.

I hope you have enjoyed this week's edition of this newsletter.
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It's wonderful to have you here and I love reading to and responding to all of your comments.
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Alex
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P.S
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​"Photographers often photograph better than they know."​
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I titled this newsletter with that quote by a photographer called Minor White.
And I wanted to touch on it a little bit because I think a lot of photographers fall victim to this.
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A lot of those photographs in the Anonymous project in our own archives don't necessarily feel right. It doesn't fit our style it might look accidental it's not the kind of photograph that we think we make.
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So we discard it, and we never show it to anybody.
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And often within those discarded memories There's actually quite a powerful moving photograph that has been taken by instinct rather than by thought.
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This is what we're going to be touching on during the workshop in Vienna which is happening between the 14th and the 16th of August and I would love for you to be able to join us to how much you do actually photograph better than you might be aware of.
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Click here for more info: https://thephotographiceye.info/vienna-workshop/​
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