Hin Chua's Magnetic North

Here’s every place outside of the United Kingdom that I photographed in 2010. Looking back, the list initially appears puny and undersized, but in hindsight, almost anything would pale in comparison to my epic 2009 (when I somehow managed to spend more than four months out of the country).

• Almeria
• Central Virginia
• Dunkerque
• Japan
• The Netherlands
• Madrid
• Paris
• Rome

Self-flagellation aside then, what could I take out of 2010? For one thing, that I really enjoyed myself during all these expeditions. Madrid was reassuringly familiar, the Netherlands extremely challenging (as expected!), Almeria proved to be a disconcerting, hallucinatory jolt to the system while Dunkerque offered an insight into a new method of working (which I’ll discuss later).

These though were only my memories of the events: what were the actual results? 

The truth is that it’s hard to say with complete certainty at the moment, because I allowed my film to build up for the rest of the year and only began reviewing the 130-odd rolls at the start of 2011. How did a stockpile of mini-Winograndian proportions manage to accumulate? It may seem strange given how many photographers I know are compelled to examine their film before the week is out, but between working, shooting, travelling and navigating my 2009 backlog, this happened almost naturally. At this stage of the project it felt quite normal to spend more than nine months without being able to review the work and I was relatively relaxed about the prospect.

When I return from a journey, there are usually at least a couple of photographs that I can’t wait to look at. The problem is that I sometimes still allow myself to be unduly influenced by the experience of making the photograph, as opposed to the actual image itself. Much of this is because the process of wandering, exploration and discovery in a new environment can be so damned enjoyable. It’s often the photos associated with the most memorable episodes that I’ll be itching to revisit first. The trouble is, they’re often not the best photographs; sometimes, they’re just pretty poor. This naturally makes perfect sense: having a great time making the image provides no guarantee that it’ll be a good photograph. Equally, a fantastic three-dimensional scene may be unable to be translated into a satisfactory two-dimensional representation.

With experience, I’m getting better at identifying this distinction, wilfully separating the experience from the potential end result as I make the photograph. I’ll tell myself things like “there’s no photo here, but it’s a great memory” or “nice view, no picture” and keep on walking. It’s often still the images that I’ve made almost casually in passing and then completely forgotten about that ultimately linger the longest. Maybe it’s true then, that time heals all wounds. It fogs the memory, dampens my passions and provides a necessary dose of rationality and rigor during the editing process.

A large film backlog is also the equivalent to me of money in the bank. I’m far more willing to reject a photograph when safe in the knowledge that there are four hundred more to review. There’s a better chance of allowing myself to return home with nothing, to accept individual days or even entire trips as complete write-offs. As frustrating as that is, it’s the only way forward. If that means playing psychological games in order to prevent an erosion of standards, so be it. For all it still takes is a single good photograph, made on what seemed a totally pointless and frustrating day, for everything to have been worthwhile.