Getting 'Into the (Alone) Zone'

My previous post on 'Aloneness' gave me pause for thought. So often we do things as a matter of course that it can be hard to extract that subconscious and place it into a coherent, well articulated article.

One of the things that I sat down for a think about was the idea of 'getting in the zone'. I already knew that being around other people was a barrier to that. I then began to consider the other things I do to get me there, and perhaps what more I could do to help the process. There may be similarities with how you and others approach your work but there will also be differences. It is as personal to you as it is to me, so please don't take it as the only way.

Mental Preparation

Getting in the zone is all about, I think, creating the right environment and mental preparation.

The first realisation, unsurprisingly, is that what I'm looking for is quiet. That's where the aloneness comes from. For many of us photography started out as the excuse to get up and out into the outdoors, at least in part to escape the noise and find a bit of solitude. For us it's photography, for others it's exercise, fishing, yoga or whatever takes them away on their own somewhere.

When I'm there I'll be alone and I'll have quiet but for my thoughts. And actually random thoughts running around my head can be quite invasive and distracting. So what I like to do in preparation is to still those thoughts of 'real life' and replace them with a sort of silent void, ready for the landscape and my reaction to it to come rushing in. Someone unkind is sure to point out that I'm already empty headed!

Actually it's not a void as such. It's more like a freshly ploughed field. I want to clear away the tangle of distractions to prepare fertile ground from which my creativity will grow. The first thing is that I start internalising, becoming less receptive to conversation.

Sometimes my wife will give me a lift to a location. During the car journey I'll go silent, quietly thinking through the location, the conditions, my intention for my images, and so forth.

However my wife isn't participating  in this same mental preparation so she quite naturally tries to spark up conversation. "What would you like for dinner?", "Where can I get some batteries for Charlotte's toy car?", "Did you see that post on Facebook earlier?". Oh the resulting rows we've had! :) It's entirely my fault of course. In a sense I'm withdrawing from the 'real world' and stepping into a portal to 'my world'. It's sort of like a transition from one mental state to another, and if I'm not able to do that smoothly I get irritable and frustrated.

My ideal preparation involves a solo drive, free to enjoy the silence and transition into 'my world' freely. Often I'm out for sunrise, it's pitch black and there's no-one else on the road. I can drive the dark bends free from interruption.  Of course I can't have the radio on. Human voices, talking? Goodness no. That would mean pulling myself back into the 'real world'. In my last post I said I'd always listen to music but I tried to avoid any music that had lyrics. The interruption of words would jar with me. So it was always some form of 'chill out' or classical music that kept me in the zone longest.

Sigur Rós

Now thought I listen to Sigur Rós almost to the exclusion of all else as I drive to location. Some of you will know I'm a huge Sigur Rós fan. Even if you're not aware of them you have likely heard their music (for one they wrote the very popular soundtrack to Planet Earth). They are an Icelandic band and except for a few recent songs in English they sing in Icelandic and in a 'semantic-less constructed language' called Vonlenska, or Hopelandic. Icelandic is already quite fantastical sounding to an English-speaker.

But what is more interesting is the use of Hopelandic, which is based on the phonology of Icelandic and is sort of talking in tongues (apparently). The wonderful thing about this is the words don't - as I understand - mean anything. In this sense the singing voice becomes just another instrument. The intention is that the listener hears the 'words' and interprets them freely, making up their own meaning for them and the songs.

The reason I've spoken about this at length is that is exactly the effect it has on me as a listener (true even of the Icelandic sections, which I also don't understand). The sweeping soundscapes that the combination of Icelandic/Hopelandic lyrics, guitar,  piano and occasional orchestra are to me an incredibly fantastical and richly fertile mental playground. I often imagine and feel that Sigur Ros' music sounds like the landscape. Listening to their music on my car journey helps to move me into my own world, one where my mind becomes dominant and creativity starts sparking within.

I often think of Sigur Ros music as the soundtrack to my life, and if not that then it's the soundtrack to the journeys in my world.

Let the Landscape In

Something else I've noticed is that I always drive with my window down, even just a little bit, regardless of how cold or wet it is outside. I'm absolutely certain this is a psychological thing. Normally I find car journeys to be quite a numb experience. The sound dampening on modern cars is very good and it sort of feels like you're driving in a soundless vacuum. I find this deadens the senses. Music of course helps.

I find that driving with the window open feels a bit like letting the landscape in, breathing it in. The combination of the rush of cold air and the sounds from the landscape outside make me feel much more alive.

Driving the dark roads in silence but for Hopelandic music washing away my real world concerns, breathing in the landscape through the slight opening in the car window. That's my preparation.

Arriving on location, I step out and into my world. At this point it's just me and the landscape. No music. No mobile phone*. Nothing else matters now. It's time to get to work.

(* I do, of course, have a mobile phone with me. But it's there for my safety and urgent calls from my wife. Though one annoying habit I have developed is feeling the need to tweet my adventures. It's great to share escapades and having friendly folk a tweet away when something goes awry is helpful. But in reality it's actually just another thing trying to pull me out of the zone so I should desist)

If you're not already familiar Sigur Rós, you really should check out their music here. It's not for everyone but once you listen to them you may better understand what I mean about the 'sweeping soundscapes that sound like the landscape'. Their film Heima is a wonderful watch also. Several years ago they put on a series of free concerts around Iceland, and the film takes you on a journey through Iceland's incredibly diverse and beautiful landscape which really sets their music in context.

Aloneness

One of the themes from my last post that really struck a chord was that of ‘aloneness’.

I received a number of nice emails and comments from people who offered their own feelings about the subject. It’s something I think about often and is an important part of my approach so I thought I’d share some more thoughts about it.

I'm at pains to point out that ‘being alone’ is not the same thing as ‘being lonely’. Loneliness would demand company where there is none. Aloneness is perhaps quite the opposite – taking oneself away from company, wanting to be on your own. Far from the noise of modern society our thoughts are given time to regroup, our senses heighten and the bond with the landscape that was once so intrinsic to our being begins to mend.

The term ‘rewilding’ has become popular recently not just in terms of restoring our environment to its natural order but also restoring ourselves to our natural state. Free from the clutter and the jumble of thoughts in my head, my first world problems and daily anxieties, I find life becomes a lot simpler. With a clearer head I feel like I am much more receptive to my environment.

I can only reflect that this is an essential component of my creative approach if I am to make my best work, and certainly my most ‘original to me’ work. When I’m distracted by external influence I find that I struggle to get into ‘the zone’.

It sounds like one of those awful clichés but ‘being in the zone’, ‘in the groove’, ‘being at one’, ‘zen-like’ and similar terms all refer to an actual mental state known as ‘Flow’. Flow manifests in many ways; time passes without you being aware. You do things not mindlessly but perhaps without conscious thought. You achieve things you thought you weren’t able. Generally things just seem to come freely and naturally.

I’m very conscious of this flow state from my past experience as a software developer. I was always amazed at how much code I could write when I was on top of a problem and left to get on with it. The code practically writes itself with almost subliminal input from me. I would always have music on but a whole album could pass by without me even being aware of a single song.

However if I’m interrupted by distractions - phone calls, people ‘swinging by my desk’ or evil-of-all-evils email - I’m pulled out of this focused and highly productive state. Suddenly it requires a lot of conscious thought and head banging to do exactly the same thing. If my tools aren’t working properly or if the problem is too big to get my head around I’m similarly pulled out of the zone, and it takes upwards of 30 distraction-free minutes to get back into it.

So when in my last post I dismissed the notion of being in the field with other photographers, that wasn’t me being anti-social. Indeed as a fairly sociable guy I’m aware I will chat away quite happily about football, the telly, joke about and whatnot. I know that this will interfere with getting into that zone, and I will interfere with others trying to do the same.

There are of course many benefits to working with others. It provides that camaraderie when spirits might otherwise be low. It provides safety when otherwise I’d be alone on a cold dark hillside. There are others to bounce ideas off or to give you encouragement when you’re struggling with your creative process. And you always learn a thing or two. Heck, it may even be more fun! There are definitely advantages working in this way. Neither approach is wrong, just different.

But what I would say is that to make my best, most honest and 'original to me' work then I need to do that alone. I need to get into that zone, minimise the risk of being pulled out of it and go with my flow as much as possible. I think this allows you to come closer to what your own personal photographic vision is.

Now, if I've won you over with the above imagine taking that aloneness and spreading it out over a number of days. A solo photographic trip really lets you forget about everything else and focus intently on your photography. No need to worry about getting home for a certain time (other than for a wee dram at last orders!). I can wander the land freely and just see what I come across. If I find something that interests me, I can spend as long as I like until I feel I’ve exhausted the possibilities or myself. Such freedom!

My time in Scotland was exactly this. Almost total freedom. I'd look at maps to see what interested me, go for a wander, go for a drive, go wherever. I found myself finding compositions more readily, building up a sort of alertness for a good shot. That instinct is always there but is perhaps that bit easier to tap into with focused time and heightened senses.

It's not without challenges of course. Over long periods aloneness can morph into loneliness and melancholy. I found it important to maintain a self awareness of my mood and energy. A call home at the end of the day always raised the spirits, as did sharing the journey with friends on Twitter.

I remember walking along River Kirkcaig towards Suilven under flat grey skies. Leg weary and low on energy, my supposedly waterproof boots leaking badly, light beginning to fail and my ankle (which I had badly sprained just before embarking on my trip) giving me jip it's fair to say I was in a pretty low mood. It may have been better to forego that particular walk, but it also helped build my mental endurance. A recent climb up Bleaklow, a mountain near my home in the Peak District, reminded me of that day as I battled wind, snow and, yes, waterlogged boots. It gave me extra energy to press onwards.

Another challenge is a feeling that you don't want to waste your time away. You feel a need to make images all day every day. It strikes me that creativity doesn't really work like that. It's not a bottomless pool of inspiration. Rather it can be quite shallow and wont to run dry pretty quickly if we're not careful. This is particularly true if you're in low spirits. "Can't be bothered" quickly dispels any remaining creativity.

Rather than pushing yourself to shoot at every opportunity it is important to ease up on yourself and take a break. You may cover fewer locations and make fewer photographs but I suspect the overall quality will be higher. Of course you then have to guard against comfort and laziness so there's a definite balance to be struck.

Perhaps aloneness and solo photography should be something that all photographers experience, a ‘walkabout’-like rites of passage. It's an experience not without challenges, but those challenges do make us stronger I think. We develop a better awareness of ourselves and a better understanding of our creative process and what we're looking for in our photography. 

It comes to mind that aloneness is something we probably need to get used to if we're to master our vision of photography. I'm pretty sure that our photography heroes - with a burning desire to create fresh work - don’t do a ring round of their mates to see if they fancy going on a photography trip. They’ll put themselves through some degree of solo adversity to make that work, and make that work their own.

To mature as artists I think perhaps we need to start going it alone, metaphorically as well as physically.

Scotland: I'm Back!

Actually I’ve been back for a couple of months now, though I think I’ve left a part of me behind judging by this ache in my soul to return.

Though living in exile, as a Scot I have a huge affinity for my homeland, particularly the Highlands. It’s a place of majesty, wilderness, enigma and wonder. Growing up in the Scottish Borders makes me something of a ‘flatlander’ but my grandparents lived on Skye and so every summer and quite a few Christmases we’d make the long drive through this wonderful land.

Back then many of the main roads were single track and journeys were long. If you came up behind a caravan meandering the shores of Loch Ness you were stuck behind it for literally tens of miles and what felt like hours. The ferry crossing - now replaced by the Skye bridge - added to the sense of adventure, and as you skirted the Cuillins they always seemed a dark and foreboding place. Stories of ghosts and faeries, of kilted highwaymen and ancient battles, all helped to heighten the senses. This was a fantastical and wild place, and so it remains for me.

Having spent time on Skye and on popular spots along the A82 (Glen Coe, Rannoch Moor, et al) I chose to take a right just before Kyle and head further north, to Torridon and Assynt. Here I would find an ever more wonderful landscape and the remoteness I craved.

Hopes and Fears

My first goal for the trip was to dedicate some time to my photography, immersing myself in the landscape and making some new images. This was something I felt I had been neglecting - not always through choice! - since the birth of our second daughter in May. Between nappy changes, running workshops and my fulltime job, my  personal creativity was feeling the squeeze. This was a source of great frustration for me. I felt like I needed some time to recharge - or discharge? - the creative batteries, just the camera and I.

Looking at images I'd previously made in Scotland I felt that I had a number of 'hero' images that I liked, but nothing in between them, nothing to connect them other than being taken in the same country. They felt like a mishmash rather than a body of work.

My aim on this trip was to try and create a more ‘connected’ series of images that would work well together, and at least provide a well rounded view of my experience of Scotland . What might that mean? Well, primarily it meant that I wanted my images to be original to me. Not unique by any stretch, but as true to my own experience of the place as possible. I purposely avoided doing too much research on common locations and viewing images others had made in the area. I wanted to let my photographs reflect my own reaction to what I found, as untarnished as possible by what had gone before.

It also meant that I wanted to do more than just visit the 'wow' locations. I wanted to explore the landscape in between - literally connecting the images, geographically at least if not thematically. Often it's these spaces in between the well known locations that go unturned which I think is a real shame.

One danger was that I had heaped so much expectation on myself for this trip that it was almost doomed to failure. I think this is quite natural especially when it feels like one of few opportunities. You're desperate to not muck up and waste it. Over the years I've found myself developing an improving sense of self-awareness that really helps to give an early warning when negative emotions start to interfere with my process.

Being Alone

Going further, the 'aloneness' of a solo trip can have quite an effect on you. Few of us regularly spend time truly to ourselves, and certainly not for days on end. Spending time away alone where there’s a reasonable chance you won’t see anyone all day can feel quite strange. You certainly have to be comfortable with yourself and your own thoughts.

You also need to trust your own judgement and be self-aware when things aren’t going well (be that danger, or just a tough time photographically) to pick yourself up and set yourself straight. I don’t want to sound overly melodramatic but being out in the wild on your own can be quite emotionally draining if you're not used to it.

Though I understand, and at times would have appreciated, the camaraderie of travelling in a group, I personally find photography to be a pursuit of solitude. Time with the landscape, with your own thoughts, to explore freely. For me the presence of others leads to pressure (through some sense of competition), distraction (conversing rather than immersing) and corruption (of what you intended, being influenced by others). 

Yes, being alone - and there's a big difference between being alone and being lonely - can be quite taxing, but I think it's incredibly liberating and you can get much deeper into your thoughts and your process. Throughout the trip I was practically mentoring myself to not worry about the 'bigger picture' and take each moment and opportunity as it comes, and remain philosophical when things went against me (which they surely did at times).

Some Pictures

Though it seems a while ago now, the images still feel quite fresh and as I revisit the collection my thoughts change and I want to process them slightly differently. I don't think I'm 'finished' with them by a long stretch.

That said I'm proud of the images I have produced. Aside from the early images made on Rannoch Moor, all of the images are very much my own. I'm not calling them unique by any means. But I feel like I explored for them, found them, and created them completely under my own steam (ok, with a few hints on good locations from mates).

That seems like an odd thing to say. After all, isn't that what we as photographers always do? Well, I don't think so. I think a lot of the time we take awareness of what went before to guide our own creation. And though in this instance I've seen similar images since returning, I'm happy that I made them without the awareness at the time. So they feel 'original to me'. I'm happy with that.

I'm not sure I achieved the 'connectedness' I was looking for, but perhaps that was unlikely for a first time visit to somewhere anyway. Still I do think they sit quite handsomely together, and the results help to inform my approach for future trips.

I'll share more pictures and the stories behind them in upcoming posts. I hope you enjoy these ones in the meantime.

[ngg_images gallery_ids="3" display_type="photocrati-nextgen_basic_thumbnails"] 

New Year in Knoydart: Some Thoughts and Images

Happy New Year! I hope you find 2014 to be an enjoyable and creative year for you.

For my first post of the year I thought I’d share some thoughts and images from the Knoydart Peninsula where I spent New Year. Though on the mainland Knoydart is only accessible by boat from Mallaig. The sea lochs and mountains, including 3 munros, that surround it mean the only other way to reach the small village of Inverie is by foot, and quite a few miles of walking it is too! Hence Knoydart is described as Britain’s Last Wilderness and the excellent village pub, the Old Forge, calls itself the Remotest Pub on Mainland Britain.

I certainly felt remote being there. Or a better way of putting it was that my day to day worries felt remote whilst there. It was a lovely time spent with my little family and friends in a warm and welcoming community surrounded by incredibly beautiful scenery.

As our 3 nights away were predominantly family time my time out with the camera was limited. I managed to sneak out for 60-90 minutes at sunrise on a couple of mornings whilst our youngest daughter napped, and then had about 2 ½ hours on Hogmanay afternoon while everyone grabbed a wee nap ahead of the ceilidh and festivities later.

On the Beach

Both mornings were spent on Inverie beach. I had hoped to continue a series of images I started making in Northumberland a week earlier where rough seas crashed against the rocks.

However the narrow opening to Loch Nevis (map) means that the sea loch is fairly sheltered, and so the waves gently lap at the shallow beach rather than pound it. More research ahead of time would’ve changed my expectations if not the reality.

As a quick aside (and perhaps obvious to many) where you see a large beach marked on an Ordnance Survey map it is usually depicting a flattish and calmer stretch of beach. Even better on 1:25k Explorer maps you will see two blue lines on each side of the beach – one showing the mean low water mark and the other the high water mark – which helps give you an idea of how far the tide has to rise (and so also how quickly the tide will be moving. As an extreme example if you look at Morecambe Bay, notorious for its fast moving tides, you’ll see a huge expanse of sand, indicating a flat sand plain across which the tide moves very quickly).

To describe the landscape further, although surrounded on three sides by large mountains their proximity makes it difficult to make photographs of them. It’s hard to make a compelling image of a mountain whilst stood at its base. It seems to me that to make strong images of Knoydart’s mountains you need to either climb them or walk down the glens between them which takes several hours or more, time I didn’t have. So as strange as it seemed with them towering over me mountains weren’t my main subject.

I worked along the stones on the beach, shooting towards the westerly neck of Loch Nevis, with Rum’s Cuillins visible through the gap. Even then I found it quite tough to find interesting rocks to work with and when I did it was only a matter of minutes before the tide had moved out beyond them. I got a couple of images that I’m happy enough with, but felt a bit too hurried for me to be completely satisfied.

In the Hills

On the occasion where I did get out for some more time I decided to climb a hill. My friend Jim (@knoydartjim; a pretty appropriate Twitter handle!) had recommended climbing part way up Sgurr Coire Choninnichen behind Inverie. The mountain has a flat plateau below the main peak that the locals refer to as ‘The Flats’, with views across Loch Nevis to Eigg and Rum to the southwest and also along the glen (Gleann na Guiserein) towards the Black Cuillins of Skye to the northwest.

My route started along some lovely woodland tracks in Inverie Woods before arriving by the deer fence on the on the lower western slopes of the hill. From here I worked my way up rough and boggy ground that wasn’t too steep but slowish going at times. It was one of those walks where the summit seems to recede as I got closer. An hour and a half into my walk I decided I couldn’t give myself much longer, so pressed on to the next rise and decided I’d make images from there, come what may.

Several large boulders gave me something to focus on for some foreground interest. To be honest I find it difficult to put my heart into making images that so often amount to no more than ‘distant view with a rock on a lower third’. At times I think we can get a bit too desperate for foreground interest that we’ll use just about anything to anchor the image.

My view is that unless it’s in some way worthy of inclusion then I don’t see much point in including it – illusion of depth, or no. I remember Bruce Percy telling me “Find a rock that you love”. If you don’t love it, leave it.

Again short on time (spot the trend) I just had to make something – anything – for a few minutes before starting the trudge back down the hill. Having done this so many times I don’t think this is a lesson I will ever learn. The pattern goes thus: I’ve only got a couple of spare hours. I want to climb a hill. I expect that once said hill is climbed that the most unique and sublime view will reveal itself. 2 hours later it doesn’t. I quickly take a photo of "a rock on a third" and start back down the hill bemused that it all went wrong (again).

Not only is the walk ruined – by racing to position and not enjoying it for itself – the photography is ruined by having too little time to fully explore the landscape and my response to it, returning with little more than a snapshot.

So I’m making this note to myself to either focus on the walk, take longer, or walk a shorter distance if I want to prioritise the photographs.

On this occasion I probably would have been better exploring the woods at Inverie, but a large part of me felt the story of Knoydart is untold without some mountain scenery. Better yet, perhaps I should’ve just enjoyed the walk in a beautiful part of the country without worrying about making images.

F-Stop Guru

The longer walk gave me the opportunity to try out a new big of kit that my wife gave me for Christmas - an F-Stop Guru backpack. I’m a huge fan of F-Stop gear. I’ve used the larger Tilopa BC for 3 years now and have always thought it’s as close to perfect as I can imagine any one bag getting. Sometimes though it’s just a bit too big and unwieldy, and gets pretty heavy at full load.

The small daypack that I used for commuting or to carry a small load  had just fallen to bits and needed replacing so I looked at the Guru. With my previous bags I had the challenge of fitting my Fuji XE1 in with lunch boxes, laptops, books, etc. Well the Guru also uses the removable Internal Camera Unit (ICU) system of the larger bags so that I can have a dedicated and protected space for camera gear, and carry all of the other stuff I need.

I love the modularity of the F-Stop system. I can put a Medium ICU (same as I use in my Tilopa) with my Canon 5D3 and 4 lenses, or a Small ICU with the 5D3 and 2 larger lenses, or I can put in a Small Micro ICU which accommodates the smaller XE1 with room for a few more lenses. With the Medium ICU I have little room left for non-camera gear in the main compartment but with the Micro ICU I have lots of space, so I can tailor the pack to my needs - from carting loads of camera gear to carting loads of non-camera gear but still having a camera with me. Such a simple, no brainer system but it’s amazing (if pricey!).

The Guru also has a number of good sized pockets and pouches, takes my 15” MacBook Pro and feels really comfortable and well balanced on the back. It’s probably my new ‘if I could only have one' bag rather than the Tilopa, the size of which encourages me to carry more gear than I need most of the time. I’m very happy with it.

The only major downside of the Guru is that it doesn’t have dedicated tripod attachments. My extra large Gitzo tripod already dwarfs the Tilopa when strapped on and so attaching it to the side isn’t really feasible. This is only really an issue for longer excursions where the Tilopa will remain my main bag, I don’t mind carrying my tripod in my hand for a couple of miles.

I’ll write a proper review of the Guru - and the Tilopa for that matter - in the near future.

Magic Gear?

This was also a chance to take my Canon 24-70 lens for a good workout. Initial reaction is that it is super sharp especially in the corners - a noticeable step-up from my 24-105mm workhorse - but also that 70mm is quite limiting as the longest focal length for how I work. I found myself twisting instinctively for more reach to find I had none, and that extra 35mm makes a big difference. Better sharpness or better reach?

I’ll get used to changing lenses more often for more reach of course but, as I already knew, the choice between these two lenses isn’t clear cut. More time with the 24-70 will clarify my thoughts.

In the meantime I’ll reiterate my view that it’s quite rare that a single piece of equipment will magically improve our images. Often people rave about gear and I can't help but feel they are justifying their choices and the expense (see Guru comments above! :)). In most cases there are better ways we could improve our images than by buying new gear.

In Closing

Anyway there’s a few thoughts on my trip to Knoydart. It’s a beautiful part of Scotland, with a lovely feeling about it and a very welcoming community. It was great joining in with their Hogmanay celebrations. It was a cracking night and they definitely know how to party up there! It wasn't a hugely productive photography trip and I include the images here to show my failings rather than my awesomeness. But it was a time for my family and I don't mind coming home with little to show.

I think to make the most of Knoydart photographically you need more time than I had and a bit of legwork. There was a beautiful painting in our room at the Knoydart Lodge (which I can highly recommend; website) of a view from Sgurr Coire Choninnichen across several small lochans (on the Flats) looking towards the Inner Hebrides. I would love to go up and see it myself. I may even leave the camera behind. Maybe.

Using Lightroom with a NAS Server

Earlier in the year I bought a NAS (Network Attached Storage) Server and started using it to store my images on.

I've since had a number of people ask me about my set-up so here's a short post about how to use a NAS for Lightroom and your images.

There are lots of NAS models on the market so I'm not able to cover set-up and configuration in this post. The most popular ones have quite a lot of information about them on the internet already. I have a Synology DS413 and the Synology website has good information about setting it up.

How Lightroom Works

You may be aware that a Lightroom catalog is a database that stores the locations of your images and all of the changes that you've made to them in Lightroom.

It doesn't actually store the images within the catalog. Instead when you import images into Lightroom, it puts them somewhere on your computer that you ask it to and then stores the location within the database. When you view an image within Lightroom it goes away to that location to load the file up.

Most of the time Lightroom and the images are on the same computer so it's not something that we care about - though when we run a backup we need to make sure that we include both the catalog location and the image location.

Lightroom Doesn't Like Networks

When it comes to using a NAS the first reality to deal with is that Lightroom doesn't like networks. To be more specific you can't open a Lightroom catalog that's stored on a network. This is due to the way that Lightroom has been designed and its underlying, single-machine technology. To be honest even if you could open it from a network location then the performance would be frustratingly slow anyway.

However the good news is that Lightroom can reference and use images that are stored on the network. So when it comes to a NAS our strategy is to have the Lightroom catalog on our local machine and store the images on the NAS.

Before doing anything please make a fresh backup of your Lightroom catalog and image files in case something goes wrong!

Copying your Images to the NAS

Assuming that you currently have your images on the same machine as your Lightroom catalog, the first thing that we need to do is copy the images to the NAS. On my NAS I created a dedicated 'shared folder' which looks just like any other volume on my Mac. This way I can make sure that all of my images are in one place and without any other junk on the drive.

I always advocate having a single top level folder ('Photos') with a date-based hierarchy of sub-folders underneath. This makes management of image files much easier - backing up, locating and in this case moving images. All I need to do is copy the 'Photos' folder from its current location to the dedicated shared folder on the NAS.

Tell Lightroom to use the NAS Images

Once the image files have been copied over to the NAS we need to tell Lightroom to to look for the images on the NAS instead of their old location. Again having the images under one folder makes life easier - we just tell Lightroom to look in the 'Photos' folder on the NAS rather than on the local drive. To do this follow these steps.

Lightroom will now load images from the NAS, and that's that. The Folders pane in the left hand panel should now list your NAS volume rather than your local hard drive.

It's worth checking that you don't have any missing files at this point to make sure everything has transferred properly (go to the Library menu and then 'Find All Missing Photos').

One thing you must remember to do is update the destination when you next import files otherwise they will be imported to the old location. When in the Import dialog, change the Destination folder to appropriate location on your NAS.

Accessing your Images Over the Internet

One great advantage of storing your images on a NAS is that you can access them over the internet. Obviously this is going to be much slower than on your local network, but it's a workable solution if you need them.

The first thing you need to do is make your NAS visible to the internet. The steps required to perform this vary from NAS to NAS so you'll have to check the manual/internet for your particular model. This is a key feature of all NASs however so should be pretty straightforward. If you have a Synology NAS you can find the instructions here.

Once you've done that you need to connect to your NAS. On my MacBook I go to Finder and then Connect To Server (Cmd+K).

Type in the address of the NAS that you will have created in the previous step and press Connect. All being well a new volume appear in Finder for the NAS, and you can browse and open files over the internet.

To then get Lightroom working with the image files on the NAS, we follow the same steps as above. In Lightroom use ''Update Folder Location' on the top level 'Photos' folder. When the 'Update Folder Location' dialog appears we choose the 'Photos' folder on the NAS volume that we've just connected to.

This will again update Lightroom to use this location when it tries to find any image files.

When you get back home remember to repeat this step to update the folder location to use the local NAS volume rather than the 'NAS via internet' volume.

As a final point though the above works fine and is the simplest way of using a NAS I found the performance disappointing compared to what I was used to with local hard drives. Instead I've implemented a hybrid system whereby I store some images on my internal SSD drive, my image archive on an external RAID drive and then back all of that up to the NAS which then gives me access to my images over wifi or the internet.

It's more complicated and requires some more technical knowledge so it's really not for everyone. I'll write a follow-up post outlining how my set-up works (including the system of backups I use) for anyone that's interested.