The Lost Art of Presence: Using Nature Photography as Therapy
In a recent workshop that I delivered alongside my Finding Light exhibition, I collaborated with the charity GISDA and a group of young adults over six weeks, introducing them to my creative practice, encouraging their engagement with Nature, and helping them express themselves in a safe environment. The young people explored the woodland at Plas Glyn y Weddw in search of self-expressive photographs, engaging in reflective conversation with each other, and writing in their journals to apply meaning and gain further understanding of their work and themselves. I was praised regularly throughout the project by attendees and GISDA staff for my non-judgmental approach, patience, and deep presence, which allowed the unfolding of the attendees’ true selves. I was told on more than one occasion that I would make an excellent arts therapist.
Such praise of my characteristics got me thinking: How often are we truly present with one another in the modern world — a world that is dominated by electronic devices and their attention-grabbing notifications? How often do we give another person the time and space necessary to open themselves to us, allowing the witnessing of their fullest expressions? How much beauty are we, therefore, missing out on by spending too much time in our heads, living in fear of the future, or ashamed of the actions of our past selves? Therefore, I wonder, do we ever truly experience this life and each other fully?
True presence, it seems, is a lost and dying art. We might be physically here with one another, but more often than not, our energy and awareness are scattered elsewhere. Every person likely has experienced some form of trauma throughout their formative years; such experiences cause the fragmentation of the self, sometimes more severely than others. We are forced to surrender, usually without conscious control, parts of ourselves as we endure these tragic events, resulting in the emergence of split personalities or emotional detachment, the development of unhealthy coping mechanisms, or the formation of energetic imbalances that cause us, and those around us, to become confused by our irrational and unpredictable behaviour. Such experiences might compound our beliefs that we are damaged beyond repair. This often results in us seeking an explanation, sometimes from the ‘experts’, other times from online forums. Sadly, many people resort to adopting labels that offer some short-term solace, but aren’t beneficial in the long term. We further cognise our collective problems, but still, this doesn’t usually lead us to a place of inner peace and presence.
Understanding Presence Through Emotional Absence
I came to creativity and Nature in my mid-twenties after spending the first eleven years of my life around consistent episodes of domestic abuse and violence. My sense of self was fragmented, having been led by three uniquely abusive and violent fathers and, therefore, different versions of my mother that emerged in the mirror of each relationship. I faced my fair share of abuse from these men whilst growing up, and then consistently later on in my life as I moved through the school system. I had not learned how to assert myself and set healthy boundaries, so my energetic boundaries were crossed over and over again by my peers until I began developing a healthy ego through my creative practices and interactions with Nature. Practicing photography and engaging with Nature consistently over time has brought me closer to myself and introduced me to my own energy. I can, therefore, now recognise what is truly mine and what doesn’t belong to me.
For many of these earliest years, I was one of those people I described earlier; emotionally detached, dissociative, energetically imbalanced, and I had developed a lot of unhealthy coping mechanisms to survive in the world. I was highly socially anxious, although, at the time, I was very much unaware of that and wouldn’t have even known what ‘social anxiety’ entailed. I would always have a drink in my hand so I could avoid the awkwardness of standing with nothing to hide behind. This meant I had to drink obscene amounts of alcohol to get through a night out with my friends, as I was constantly fearing what people would think of me if I allowed myself to be seen. If I wasn’t drinking and partying, I could normally be found escaping my reality by playing computer games. In hindsight, I know with absolute certainty that I was suffering with what can only be described as a fragmented soul — an unseen psychological and spiritual sickness that so many people are suffering from in our world today. We label these things so commonly as ‘mental health problems’: depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, but these terms don’t do justice to the spiritual problem that runs much deeper.
I am writing this article at an interesting point in my own life. I suddenly find myself at a cusp on my creative path. One cycle has ended, and another is beginning. As I refocus my energy and attention on turning my love of photography and writing into a business that can sustain me and my family in the future, I have drifted somewhat away from the state of presence and ‘being’ that led to the creation of my first significant portfolio of photographs. More time ‘doing’: planning and forecasting, networking online, and scheduling meetings means less time (and available energy) I have to spend engaging with Nature in a creative state of mind. I am, therefore, noticing that I am spending more time in my head than I am ‘here’ in my body. How many other people, I wonder, encounter the same problem in a world that seems so obsessed with promoting anxiety-inducing productivity — something that is hardly conducive to true presence.
My father-figures, it is clear to me now, certainly struggled to be present. Their unpredictable emotional outbursts and spontaneous fits of rage suggest that they lived too long in the self-made prison of their minds; they were probably suffering from severe traumas of their own, and unaware of how to deal with their pain. I spent many years resenting them for their part in making me who I was. I was a sensitive soul, and that doesn’t bode well for a young man in a world of other young men, each of whom is trying to force their way to become the sole leader of the pack. I rejected my sensitivity and innocence in the same way my father-figures had when I was a child. To the other boys in school, I was an easy target because I often wore my heart on my sleeve. This led to me feeling further rejection, which, in turn, caused me to hate my father-figures for their violent outbursts that led to my sensitivity. I have since learned that nobody or nothing ‘made’ me sensitive. We are all simply born that way. For some reason, despite the trauma and pain and the resulting fragmentation of my soul, I remained connected to the core part of myself. The traumatic events of my childhood never caused me to close my heart completely. With a mature understanding, I now look back with gratitude; it is because of the emotional absence of my parents that I understand presence.
Finding Presence in a Busy World
To return to wholeness and find this place of true presence, a person must rid themselves of trapped energy and emotions that are often buried beneath layers of a false self that was created to keep oneself safe. In this modern world, however, we are rarely allowed the time or space for the kind of expression that leads us to emotional freedom. We fall into the rat race, chasing the new home and the white picket fence, numbing our feelings as we distract ourselves with the golden carrots that dangle temptingly in front of us, therefore, further burying the pain that we adopted throughout our formative years. Rarely do we tune into our bodies to ask the question, ‘What do I need?’ Creativity is quickly overlooked in our pursuits of more — our minds tell us that we are ‘too busy’ to pick up a paintbrush, a camera, a pen, or a microphone. My personal experience, however, has revealed to me the importance of making time for a creative pursuit. I can’t help but wonder how many other people might benefit from the conscious use of creativity.
By creating something beautiful, we give purpose to our pain and trauma. Through my creative journey, I have regularly reminded myself of my gratitude for the events that led me to pick up the camera and pen. Without my exposure to childhood abuse and violence, would I have the depth of empathy and sensitivity to appreciate the beauty of a sunrise in a foggy woodland? Without enduring the disturbing sounds of my childhood home being torn apart, would I have ventured outdoors in search of the silence of Snowdonia’s mountain lakes with single-minded vigour? By finding purpose and making peace with the events of my past, I called a ceasefire in the battleground of my mind — a mind that was once so obsessed with revisiting the past in an attempt to understand.
By creating from a place of truth inside ourselves, we allow for the transmutation of many of the negative emotions that commonly hold a person back from being their full self. It is common for those who have endured hardships in life to be gripped by feelings of fear, guilt, and shame. These negative emotions imprison a person, preventing them from finding peace and presence. Shame, especially, is a crippling emotion, and much of the human journey is about learning to transcend the shame that keeps us all, to some degree, bound.
Finding Presence Through Nature Photography
So where does the development of presence begin, then? It starts with us learning how to be present within ourselves. We must focus on bringing our energy and awareness back to our bodies after years of giving it away to other people, news channels, social media, and our hobbies and interests. This is a difficult process for anyone, not to mention those people who might have experienced severe trauma in their lives, such as domestic abuse, war, or the loss of a loved one, for example. Bringing our awareness and energy back to ourselves means spending less time in our heads; obsessively fantasising about the future, or ruminating and regretting past events.
The art of photography, then, for me at least, is an embodied practice that, when practiced with intention, leads to the development of presence and awareness. Being outdoors in the natural world encourages me to become truly present with my environment through sensory engagement. I see, touch, smell, and listen to the landscape — sometimes tasting its sweet fruits or the purity of Mother Nature's waters. I learn, therefore, to become present with myself when I am immersed in my creative practice, engaging with Nature and searching for compositions in my immediate environment. My mind, body, and spirit are one as I photograph the ancient trees and silent lakes. When I am scanning my surroundings, in the hope that the ever-elusive beauty of a composition reveals itself before my hungry eyes, my energy and awareness are nowhere else but ‘here’ in the moment. It takes true presence to see meaningful compositions. The more engaged we are in our craft — the more present we are with the landscape — the more likely we are to recognise Mother Nature’s omnipresent beauty.
To reference a previous essay:
‘‘In my case, the camera has been a tool for self-study, and I have been unable to avoid noticing the significant increase in awareness and presence within my being since I began this practice, something that has greatly benefited the relationships I nurture with people around me. I move much more slowly and intently through life now, having ventured outdoors in search of the soul of Nature, and I can perceive much more within my surroundings daily.
Conversations with other people seem to be much deeper, and I am comfortable in allowing more space than my once-more-anxious self might have. This patience enables people the space that is required to open to the light and reveal who they are beyond the common mask that we all choose to wear at various points throughout our lives.’’
- Learning to See Again, originally published in On Landscape, November 2024
It is, therefore, because of the practice of photography and the patient and ever-loving embrace of Mother Nature’s arms, that I received those kind and encouraging words throughout the youth-engagement workshop project. Through the creative process, I have become conscious and aware of my place in the cosmos. Instead of unconsciously repeating many of the same patterns and behaviours that I witnessed as a child, walking through life on autopilot and following the crowd to the next one of life’s common milestones, I was encouraged to make decisions about where I wanted to go and when I wanted to go there. The practice of photography has, therefore, not only led me to deeper presence, but it has restored in me a sense of self-sovereignty. I have learnt that I have the power to choose what and who I give my energy and power to. To understand this, I first had to come to know my energy, and there is no better way to meet yourself than in the mirror of the natural world.