Muted colours

Photographs by Surendra: “In the Japanese winter, colours in the landscape fade and sometimes disappear altogether… Going around with my camera, I was happy to explore this world of muted colours in nature. “

After staying exclusively with black and white for my photography, a few years ago I ventured into colour. More recently, I began including monochrome work again. During this movement, I started to explore another variant, the domain of muted colours.

Towards the end of autumn there was heavy pruning of some trees in our area of Japan. Bonfires were created to deal with the excess timber. Some of the fires did not burn to completion and left behind charred remains. I did not pay much attention to the dull, dark grey piles of branches with a few logs. With more rain falling the dark greys sometimes became rich, wet blacks with more potential for a photograph.

Then one cold and sunny morning there was a hoar frost. This brought a new world of exciting possibilities. The shiny black wood was sprinkled with tiny, white ice crystals. Nature’s icing on the cake had arrived. There were occasional autumn leaves in the middle and a little faded grass around some of the edges. Yet a number of shots that I lined up in my viewfinder were delightful and almost entirely black and white.

In the Japanese winter, colours in the landscape fade and sometimes disappear altogether. Skies become more grey and in cold climates grasses become bleached. Even the brightest of colours can seem drab without the intensity of strong sunshine. Many elements such as rocks and river water do not have much colour in the first place, winter or summer, sun or no sun. Tree trunks can impress with their shapes and textures but their colours would mostly be described as sombre. The green of conifers can be subdued and some flowers bring only hints of colour. Going around with my camera, I was happy to explore this world of muted colours in nature.

To these images I added two pictures of manmade, faded signboards. One was from a long-abandoned café and the other, a mantra on love and spirit, was from a temple. For me, like many ageing, weathered structures, the signs had succumbed to erosion. In a sense, they had been taken over and become part of the natural world. This added a new, much deeper level of interest when compared with their new, pristine state.

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