Behind the lens with Jim Richardson

The Isle of Muck lured me with several charms. Having only 39 people (when I visited) was one. It’s place in the Small Isles west of Malaig was another. But most of all was the craggy, eagle-eyed face of Lawrence MacEwan, the Laird of Muck.

Just his title suggested medieval lore and legend, a certain romance out of place and time in our age. In actual life farmer MacEwan turned out to be the kindliest of overlords one could ever wish for. I first laid eyes on him as our boat approached the quay where a jumble of island visitors, family members — and dogs — jostled bicycles, shotguns, suitcases and grocery deliveries mixed with greetings and goodbyes. Obviously, this was a happy island.

If anything Lawrence’s inner glow eclipsed his riveting face. I had two nights on the island and I was desperate to make them count. Most of all I wanted to capture this man in his realm.

It shouldn’t have been that hard but then the lightbulb doesn’t always come on in my mind as fast as it should. I climbed the highest hill on the island twice before it happened. Obviously, I told myself, I have to have a picture of this watery realm, Muck beneath my feet, the Isle of Eigg nearby, Rum further off. Finally it hit me: I needed Lawrence up on the hill with me.

Thankfully Lawrence was up for it and we climbed the hill, once again, in a heavy wind. Up on top it was blowing a gale. Worse, I couldn’t think what to do to make the picture I so desperately wanted. I tried all the usual photographer stuff, verticals, horizontals, close up, backing off — and it all looked terribly inadequate. Nothing like the full story I wanted the picture to tell. Just a man standing there trying not to get blown into the sea below.

Soon, we’d all had enough of the wind and we hunkered down, leaning into the hillside. In that moment Lawrence’s dog came creeping up and Lawrence, seeing it out of the corner of his eye, reached up to pet it. And then he looked back at me, and there it was: the gentle, atop his island, surrounded by his realm. It all fell into place. I shot frame after frame, the seconds ticking past, knowing it couldn’t last.

Wise photographers know the fear that comes with a great opportunity, that we will somehow lose it, let it slip away from us. It happens, you get over confident, you miss focus, some stupid mistake spoils everything. But not this time. When I got the chance to look at the take it was all there — plus an unexpected gift. Several frames were everything I had hoped for. But on one, an extra gust of wind blew through his hair at the same moment that his eagle eye pierced through the gloom. That was the picture.

It would be nice to take credit for such moments, but a lifetime of photography has taught me caution. In this case credit the wind, credit the dog, most of all credit Lawrence MacEwan, Laird of Muck. 

To view more of Jim’s work visit: jimrichardsonphotography.com To find out more about Jim’s wonderful stories visit: instagram: @jimrichardsonng