In Focus: Jack Bailey’s Experimental Landscapes

What inspires your photography?

As my practice focuses mainly on creating portals to the natural world, my inspiration comes purely from the situations that unfold before me. I find solace in empty landscapes, free from human interference, and strive to place myself in unfamiliar surroundings that disrupt mundane thought patterns, which can often lead to repetitive behaviour.

In doing so, I constantly challenge myself to evolve in my practice, searching for ways to interpret factual settings into vaguely familiar fractals often buried in the human psyche. I strive to accurately interpret not just the situations presented before me but also my emotional state, dancing between the actual and the abstract to create the atmosphere surrounding both.

How would you describe the essence of your photography in a single image?

Here is a current image from my surroundings. I’m exploring “The Kingdom of Ladakh,” nestled deep in the Western Himalayas, travelling on a motorcycle loaded with camera and camping gear.

On this day, I rode from Leh to Hanle, a 257 km journey that the map states should take 5 hours. However, the map does not account for the myriad near-death experiences one encounters on these Himalayan highways, turning what should be a 4-hour ride into an 8-hour ordeal.

At 4,600 meters above sea level, both body and brain struggle to function; motor skills and cognitive abilities are depleted by the lack of oxygen. I was also putting immense pressure on myself to “work,” constantly stopping to unload my gear and shoot sequences that I knew would be of little consequence. By the time I arrived at my destination, I had exhausted myself physically and mentally for little reward.

Seeking refuge from the scorching sun, I sat beneath the concrete structure housing a giant prayer wheel (the only shade available in this desolate stretch). Completely disillusioned and leaning into self-loathing, I began to question not only my ill-advised decision to undertake such an adventure under these conditions but also my entire existence, including my artistic practice. I reflected on the parting words of a dear friend: “No matter where you go, there you are.”

As the sun began its slow retreat and the heat shifted from boiling to a simmer, a bank of low clouds rolled across the plains, promising respite in the form of a desert storm. I forced myself to rise from my resting place onto a grassy plain and began again to translate my inner dialogue.

What moment or experience has changed your photography journey?

Being self-taught has afforded me flexibility in my photography. Unconstrained by the “correct” technical aspects of traditional photography, I constantly experiment with techniques that reflect the emotional state I am in while creating a body of work.

What are your must-have tools or gear?

My kit remains quite basic because I’m often off the beaten path, and a larger setup restricts my freedom of movement. My primary cameras are workhorses: the Nikon Z8 and D850, which provide the versatility needed for both still and moving imagery. I also rely on an F5 film camera. All three bodies are incredibly durable and have withstood the harsh conditions they are regularly exposed to.

The real beauty lies in the glass, and most of my work is shot with vintage Nikkor prime lenses. These lenses are inexpensive and, in my opinion, capture a more natural image that is truer to the human eye than modern lenses, offering nostalgia and images that ooze atmosphere. Additionally, I’ve been consistently using the Urth Soft Graduated ND8 Filter to add some impact to the flat desert skies of Ladakh.

Can you share one of the most memorable shots you've captured?

Slumped at the top of the highest motorable pass in the world, my camera and camping gear were splayed out haphazardly, as if exploded from my heavily laden motorcycle. Unloading and reloading my overloaded two-wheeled death trap had become an arduous task, repeated far too many times each day. Elated but exhausted, and breathing heavily (working at an altitude higher than Everest Base Camp takes its toll on these old bones), my frozen, numb fingers were forced to work quickly as the sun sank slowly into the jumbled Himalayan horizon, and the milky soft light quickly absorbed into the mire.

Below, a multitude of postcard-perfect scenes stretched to the horizon, with landscapes so vivid they seemed to bleed into the eye. However, these magnificent moments felt too pretty, too descriptive, too clean to match my own physical and mental state—tattered, rattled, and rotten.

With the biting wind driving furiously through my ragged layers and permeating deep into my already fragile psyche, I pointed west, toward the only respite from the bitter cold, and clumsily fired off a series of frames. I slowed the shutter to soften the harsh surrounds and let the last of the warm light flood into my soul.