Photograph What You Care About Before It’s Gone - Faultlines by John Volynchook
Welcome to this edition of [book spotlight]. Today, we uncover the layers of 'Faultlines' by John Volynchook (published by GOST Books). We'd love to read your comments below about these insights and ideas behind the artist's work.
Can a quiet landscape photograph carry the weight of a warning?
John Volynchook believes it can. His project Faultlines is the result of years spent walking and cycling across British countryside threatened by fracking, photographing places he feared might disappear, for anyone who thinks photography can still make people stop and care.
Volynchook made pictures not to document protest, but to protect the land.
Instead of pointing his camera at activists and banners, he focused on the earth itself, grass, roots, chalk, water. What looks peaceful at first becomes more powerful the longer you look, especially when you know what’s at stake. These black-and-white photographs are not dramatic, but they hold something urgent. They ask a quiet question: what are we willing to lose?
This is what it means to photograph with purpose.
The Book
Faultlines is a photography book by John Volynchook, published by GOST Books in December 2024. Between 2015 and 2021, Volynchook traveled by bicycle and on foot to capture black-and-white images of UK landscapes threatened by fracking. The photographs focus on the textures and details of these environments, such as grass, rocky outcrops, and natural cracks in the earth, highlighting the contrast between the land’s inherent beauty and the potential impact of industrial activities. The project was inspired by stories from individuals he met during his journeys, reflecting a deep connection between the land and its communities. The book features an essay by ecologist and writer Helen Baczkowska, discussing the geological history of the regions and the contentious nature of shale gas exploration. (GOST Books, Amazon)
Overview of the project: What inspired you to create Faultlines, and how did your journey by bicycle and on foot shape the way you documented these contested landscapes?
Around the time of completing my MFA studies at the University of Plymouth in 2014, proposals for a test drill site to explore for shale gas close to my then hometown of Southport had been approved by the government. The gas was to be extracted from the shale rock using the controversial method known as fracking, which uses high pressure, hydraulic fracturing with toxic fluids to release the gas. Fracking is widespread in the USA and online articles and pictures showed the devastation fracking can cause, with serious risks to health due to pollution, contamination of groundwater and the damage to properties caused by earth tremors. With the imminent development of fracking throughout the UK and the government determined to “…go all out for shale” (David Cameron), I felt compelled to make a series of photographs with the hope of contributing to the debate about fossil fuel extraction in a time of climate crisis.
Travelling throughout the UK oil and gas licence blocks by bicycle on foot was a conscious decision to maintain a low carbon footprint. In addition, the slow pace of traveling allowed for a more immersive experience when wandering through the landscape. Traversing the licence blocks along footpaths, tracks and bridleways, provided a different perspective of the landscape from that seen from the roadside.
Was there a particular place or moment along your journey that made you stop and really take in the weight of what was at stake?
A teenager in the 1970’s, my formative values were influenced by the tail end of the counterculture hippy zeitgeist, including an awareness of the human impact on the environment. Working on urban farms and community garden projects with children and vulnerable adults in the 1980’s and 90’s provided innumerable examples of the therapeutic properties of the natural world and how direct contact with the land can create a sense of belonging and attachment to place. In this regard, the Faultlines project was loaded with half a life of concern for the environment, sharpened by the imminent danger posed by the ruinous development of the fracking industry.
Stumbling upon the unexpected beauty of the landscapes under threat served to reaffirm these concerns, with some moments quite overwhelming. During the early stages of the project and following a long walk through parts of West Sussex, the sight of the tree roots seeking water and nutrients following the cracks through the chalky embankment was particularly poignant. The mature tree with its exposed roots was strong yet seemed precarious and vulnerable, symbolic perhaps of the dependence of life on the underlying structures in danger of being flooded with toxic fracking fluids.
Environmental and political storytelling: Your photographs capture landscapes threatened by fracking. How do you balance artistic expression with environmental and political commentary in your work?
With indisputable proof of human agency in climate change and with previous commitments to environmental campaigning, it seemed appropriate to include an environmental element in my work. I adopt the view that the personal is the political and believe most creative expression contains an underlying degree of political meaning.
Portraying land as both history and battleground: The book’s essay describes natural gas as “part of an ancient story.” How do you see these landscapes as both historical archives and sites of modern conflict?
The reference in the essay to ‘part of an ancient story’ refers to the geological process of shale rock formation amongst the many other strata formed over the history of the earth; each layer representing specific events or time periods. In this sense the layers form a temporal archive, one which is now mined for the relatively recent phenomenon of fossil fuel extraction.
The landscape, dependent on the superficial strata and shaped by the attrition and deposition of the weather world, continually changes and is also a type of archive. The contested landscapes under threat from fracking, as depicted in my book are both landscapes of modern conflict and part of a more ancient story.
Capturing a disappearing landscape: Your black-and-white images highlight intricate textures of grass, fungi, and rock formations. How did you decide on this visual approach to convey the beauty and vulnerability of the land?
My MFA studies at Plymouth University, focused on representation of land and sense of place. Although protests against fracking were in place throughout designated shale gas exploration and extraction areas, I decided not to make photographs of protestors and colourful banners and instead consider the landscapes under threat.
Cycling and walking through the licence blocks provided a means of slow observation, allowing for things to disclose themselves for what they are. This unhurried method of travel offered the experience of being in the landscape and an opportunity to provide space to think and reflect. As such, the mode of travel contained a performative element and was an integral part of the project, with the aesthetics of the subject matter revealing itself as the landscape was slowly traversed.
You chose to focus on the land itself rather than the protests against fracking. Was there ever a time when you questioned that decision, or did it feel important to let the landscape speak for itself?
During the years of making the project, like many people I interviewed, I shared substantial concerns and fears relating to the development of the fracking industry in Britain. I was involved with protests at fracking sites and at town halls and with local campaigns; it was an emotionally draining time. In this sense, the photographs made for Faultlines were both a record of landscapes under threat and a reflection of my own relationship with the land; the journeys made, were a type of personal odyssey. I deliberately sought the solace of quiet landscapes, not only to visit potential fracking areas but to reaffirm a sense of attachment and belonging for myself. It was inevitable that these landscapes should become Faultlines.
Challenges of documentary photography in remote areas: What were some of the biggest logistical or creative challenges you faced while photographing in the UK’s fracking-licensed areas?
One of the early changes I made was the switch from large format to medium format camera equipment. It soon became apparent that the restrictions posed by a limited number of potential shots for a day influenced my choice of subject matter.
The routes planned through the licence blocks were largely determined by the location of footpaths and bridleways as detailed on OS Explorer maps (1:25000 scale). However, the cartographical information, did not provide much botanical or geological detail and sometimes lead me to uninspiring locations, such as areas of mine spoil waste and I discovered that even the most unappealing landscapes contained patches of natural world with their own beauty.
Apart from journey planning, logistical difficulties included where to sleep, what to eat and ensuring adequate supplies of water. When wild camping in England, due to trespass laws it is advisable to seek permission from the landowner, be discrete and leave no trace. Some years ago, when cycling around Corsica, I had rolled out my sleeping bag on a piece of what I thought was wasteland 50 metres from the road only to be woken up by an irate landowner who fired a shotgun over my head – not the best start to the day.
With any lengthy project stretching across many years, there are bound to be occasional issues of motivation and commitment to complete the work; it was important to keep a healthy perspective and maintain good relationships with family and friends.
The contrast between maps and lived experience: The book juxtaposes the rigid grids of government land licensing with the organic complexity of the landscape. How do you see photography as a tool for resisting or reinterpreting these bureaucratic classifications?
In addition to uses for navigation and exploration, early maps often told stories about the world in religious studies, history, and mythology by means of pictorial annotation. In the UK, Ordnance Survey maps were specifically developed to assist with military strategy following the state-encouraged acts of internal colonialism of Wales, Scotland and Ireland. The grid letters and numbers of OS maps represent a two-dimensional method to assist accurate surveying of the land and for creation of government planning documents; a rigid system of control, for identifying and ordering the landscape into specific and identifiable blocks. In this instance, the cartesian nature of the maps provide a means of dividing the country into areas to be licenced to shale gas exploration and extraction companies.
Of course, this is not how we experience or perceive our environment. A map is a static device, with its content fixed in time, quite the opposite of the temporality of the ever-changing nature of the landscape. Although the photograph too is a static representation, it provides an inherent indexicality to the continually changing phenomenological perception of the photographer as they move through the environment. Unlike a map, which represents the land as a quantifiable homogenous mass, the photograph has the capacity to represent the qualitative and heterogenous nature of landscape and the environment.
The role of community resistance in the project: You gathered stories from people you met along the way. How did these encounters influence the way you photographed and shaped the narrative of Faultlines?
The photographs were inspired by the stories gathered from the people met along my journeys, not only people from protest sites but many others who took an interest in the project. People spoke of their affection for the land and often described memories from childhood or the landscapes of recreation or the landscapes of work. A central theme was one of a close and lasting attachment to their local landscape creating a sense of identity, which people felt was in danger of being taken away by the industrialisation of the countryside. The commitment and passion of protestors to prevent the development of fracking was instrumental in creating the photographs in Faultlines.
Was there a particular story or conversation that stuck with you and changed the way you saw the land you were photographing?
Although Gillian’s story and her reasons for becoming involved in protests against fracking proposals was not untypical of the many other stories I heard throughout the project, it was particularly memorable not only for the passionate content but also the idyllic setting. We had arranged to meet on the edge of a Lancashire village nearby some woodland. The early morning frost had disappeared in the spring sunshine and voices of young children could be heard amidst the birdsong.
Gillian, who was now settled in the village of her birth, had worked for many years in London, Hong Kong and New York. Throughout her career she made frequent return visits to the woods, which she described as “replenishing her soul”. As a young girl, the woods were her playground; building dens and swimming in the lakes with her older brothers; the woods became an innate part of her. Gillian described her spiritual relationship with the land, the air and the trees and how the ecosystem was interlinked with her own sense of wellbeing and feeling rooted in the community.
When Gillian heard about fracking proposals, it seemed the very essence of everything she held dear was under existential threat from the industrialisation of the countryside, the poisoning of the earth and the polluting of the water catchment area; the unrecovered toxic fracking fluids would enter the groundwater aquifers and have a major impact on wildlife, especially in the wetlands of nearby bird reserves. Deeply worried, Gillian attended various meetings, gained new organising skills and established a protest group near to her home involving other local people, sharing information about the dangers of fracking and making plans to campaign against its development not only in her area but across the UK. Thousands of signatures were gathered and submitted to the local council requesting the area be declared as ‘frack free’.
Gillian’s story is one of concern for her environment being transformed into positive community action; she felt a sense of responsibility to protect what was precious to future generations, an inspiration for others and for my own appreciation of what was at stake.
Photography as a form of activism: Your project has received support from the Arts Council and has been part of environmental discussions. How do you see photography contributing to public awareness and activism around land conservation?
Photography has always played an important role in highlighting environmental concerns and to provoke discussion. In the 1860’s the photographs of Carleton E. Watkins made in Yosemite had a significant influence in the creation of the US national parks.
With a broad interpretation of land conservation to include biodiversity and political or environmentally contested landscapes, examples of contemporary photography used to highlight injustices or areas of conflict are plentiful. In the USA, Robert Adams has made extensive works about the industrial clear-cutting of old growth forests. Here in the UK Fay Godwin’s book ‘Our Forbidden Land’ examines the ownership, access and commercial exploitation of the land.
Magnum photographers Alessandra Sanguinetti, Mark Power and Joseph Koudelka have all documented the separation wall between Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories. Paul Graham produced a major body of work “Troubled Land’ containing images of the sectarian marked landscape of Northern Ireland made during the conflict between republican and loyalist paramilitary groups.
Global neoliberalism increasingly threatens entire forest and river systems and indigenous lands for the sake of agribusiness and mineral extraction. Photographers Ignacio Acosta and Xavier Ribas document the scarred landscapes despoiled by extractive industries and examine the mineral wealth of copper and nitrates removed from Chile to feed global markets. Canadian photographer Edward Burtynsky creates large scale photographs from around the world that represent increasing industrialization, the impact on nature and on human existence.
Dependence on shared common land was once a defining feature of the British rural life with the landscape a place of livelihood and customary rights. Using what is known as ‘late’ photography, my current project memorialises the enclosure of the commons and the acts of slow violence perpetrated against peasant communities.
An activist friend once cynically commented that there are no artists on a dead planet, to which I replied there are no activists either. A set of photographs might not change the world, but they do have cultural significance and an important role to play in communicating concerns.
Advice for photographers documenting environmental issues: For photographers looking to tackle environmental or political issues through long-term projects, what insights from Faultlines would you share to help them navigate the creative and ethical challenges?
I’m reluctant to offer advice to others as everyone has different ideas and working methods but happy to make a few suggestions that worked for my own practice:
Make photographs about issues you feel strongly about; the authenticity will be integral in the work.
Make pictures of things that interest you and/or pictures that you would want to look at. With Faultlines, the photographs are of things that could be lost and of things I would miss rather than pictures of industrial sites or pollution.
Check out ideas on the Sustainable Darkroom website; they are “…committed to exploring sustainability and its nuances within the world of photography… and acknowledge the role of analogue photography in contributing to the global ecological crisis.”
The grant from the Arts Council was a huge financial help in the early stages of making Faultlines and contributed to the viability of the project. The funding, being dependant on the application, required detailed feasibility planning, including timelines, collaborations, community involvement, locations, aims and objectives. Even if external funding is not required, spend sufficient time researching and planning the project; you might not know what type of pictures you will ultimately make but you will better understand your subject matter.
Keep a journal / notebook throughout both the research stage and the making of the work; it will be your reference point and a record of progress.
Consider working with communities that might be affected by your concerns. The photographs in Faultlines were inspired by the people I met and interviewed and in return, when the work was completed, they received a darkroom print of their choice.
Consider collaborations with other creative types (poet, writer, artist, sound recordist, film maker etc.) - anyone who may complement your work. I worked closely with the ecologist and writer Helen Baczkowska who wrote the essay Not Here, Not Anywhere for the book. This was based not only on her own experiences as an environmental activist but also the recorded interviews made throughout the project; abridged in the book, I recommend reading the full essay, available on my website.
Ensure you maintain a peer group – essential for mutual support, to discuss ideas and to reflect on the direction of the work.
To discover more about this intriguing body of work and how you can acquire your own copy, you can find and purchase the book here. (GOST Books, Amazon)
More photography books?
We'd love to read your comments below, sharing your thoughts and insights on the artist's work. Looking forward to welcoming you back for our next [book spotlight]. See you then!
