Moving Through Landscape
A photograph shows a place, but a landscape is more than just what we see — it is also what we experience as we move through it. Taking a photo is one action, but returning to the same spot to walk through it, feel the wind, and notice how light moves across the stone and water is another. The photo captures an image, while the act of being there creates an experience—the difference between these two lies in where meaning begins.
Annika Schlitte reminds us that landscape is not just a background; our presence, perception, and movement constantly shape it. She draws on ideas from phenomenology to argue that a landscape is not a fixed scene, but rather something we inhabit. According to her, landscapes gain meaning when we engage with them by walking through, pausing, and remembering them. She challenges the focus on sight in Western art by highlighting alternative ways of sensing, such as the sensation of walking, the rhythm of our breathing, and the feeling of air against our skin.
This leads us to the question: Can a photograph — a still image—hold that kind of depth?
Photography usually shows things that are still. It captures moments that do not move or appear not to move. However, even in stillness, we can see signs of movement—such as a path in tall grass, a shadow reaching toward a door, or a blur at the edge of the frame. These details are not random; they suggest the passage of time and presence.
Philosopher Robin Le Poidevin explores whether still images can represent time. He points out that photographs cannot directly show movement. Still, they can hint at it by indicating what happened before and what might happen next. He argues that how a photo is arranged affects how we understand the flow of time within it. For example, a steaming teacup suggests someone has just left, while a lit room indicates something is about to happen. These are subtle hints that suggest time, rather than techniques used in film.
Rosalind Krauss adds to this idea with her concept of "discursive spaces" in photography. She questions the notion that photos accurately represent reality. Instead, she believes that photographs work within various meanings influenced by where they are displayed, the context in which they are shown, and the cultural influences that affect how we interpret them. A photo of a field is not just a field; it is a field that someone framed and presented in a particular way, shaped by historical and emotional contexts.
As photographers, we have a responsibility not to capture the most obvious images — the postcard views or spectacles — but to listen and notice. Move through the landscape deliberately, each step, pause, and change in light contributes to the meaning of what we eventually frame.
These concepts illustrate that photography can capture the essence of time, even as a still image. Landscape is something we see, walk through, remember, and feel. A photograph, while carefully composed, is never complete; it always connects to context, interpretation, and time.
This is especially true in quiet or minimalist photography, where much of the meaning comes from what is not shown. A foggy shoreline. A track in the snow. The frame partially obscures a single tree. These scenes invite us to imagine what lies beyond, what happened before, and what still lingers.
Landscape is not just the subject. It is part of the conversation.
References
Krauss, R. (1982). Photography's discursive spaces: Landscape/View. Art Journal, 42(4), 311–319.
Le Poidevin, R. (1997). Time and the static image. Philosophy, 72(280), 279–294.
Schlitte, A. (2022). How is a philosophy of landscape possible? Perspectives from new phenomenology. Journal of Aesthetics and Phenomenology, 9(1), 1–20.
