Introduction

 

My photographic process is often what I describe in one of my previous articles, “On Process and Practice,” as a "narrowing cycle from serendipity to intellectual consciousness." It does not begin with a fully formed concept, but with an intuitive spark, an inexplicable urge to photograph. This is the widest point of the funnel, a period of intense, often unstructured image-making marked by exciting uncertainty. 

    But this initial freedom carries a peril. Without a method to harness this raw energy, a project can drift aimlessly, suffocating under its lack of definition or dissolving into a collection of "random" photographs disconnected from any deeper intent. This is the central problem the Field Guide is designed to solve: it is the bridge between a vague, powerful feeling and a concrete, articulate project.

    Think of it like the guides carried by 19th-century naturalists, filled with observations, sketches, and pressed specimens that help identify and understand the intricacies of the natural world. They were a methodical catalogue of known species and a framework for identifying new ones. It was a blueprint for discovery.

    In my practice, the Field Guide serves a parallel, and equally vital, purpose. It’s the initial foray into a new photographic landscape, a space for exploration that lays the foundation for everything that follows. It also marks a commitment to a project’s visual and thematic DNA, ultimately narrowing a broad concept into a focused and manageable endeavour.

    It is the space to ask the fundamental questions that lead to authorship: What is this work about? What am I seeing that resonates? And most importantly, what ideas are "falling out around the edges" of my initial exploration? By forcing a preliminary structure onto the beautiful chaos of discovery, it helps to narrow an amorphous idea into a specific, manageable, and articulate body of work. 

    Like in the case of Citramarine, the project which I’ll use as an example, the lingering feeling of the emotional impact colour and light had to be translated into photographs and eventually a finished book and exhibition.

 

The Field Guide as Process

 

The power of the Field Guide emerges in its ability to distil a vague concept and find a fitting, tangible visual language. It's in this early stage that the theme and visual expression of a project begin to coalesce. The Field Guide becomes a dedicated space to define the "rules of the game,“ establishing not just what I’m shooting, but how I’m shooting it and, crucially, why. What subjects draw my eye? What photographic approaches feel most compelling? What underlying questions am I trying to explore?

    My process is about defining the rules for the world I’m building. As I noted in my reflections on visual signature, each project should become a "sovereign unit," a self-contained universe with its internal logic. The Field Guide is where the constitution for that universe is drafted, creating the coherence. Just as a filmmaker chooses a specific film stock, lens package, lighting approach and colour grade to create a consistent mood, the photographer uses the guide to establish a unified visual syntax.

    This process is rarely linear; it’s an iterative dance between seeing and recording, thinking and experimenting. This stage is inherently iterative, a space for rigorous play. Calling it a laboratory doesn’t just serve literary purposes; it is where hypotheses are tested. One project, like my work in progress book Incubus, might require a visual language of grainy, high-contrast monochrome to reconstruct a fractured memory. Another, like Citramarine, may demand the psychological intensity of bright, saturated colours. The Field Guide is where these decisions are trialled and refined to see how they shape the implied narrative they’re in the service of.

 

The Weight of a Tangible Output

 

Crucially, this work happens in the physical realm. The guide forces me to get the images off the sterile glow of a monitor and into my hands. I can spread the pages on a table, carry them in a bag, leave them on the coffee table, live with them, rearrange them, and see the relationships that emerge. This tactile engagement is essential. It slows down the editing process and allows for a deeper, more considered interaction with the work. While the screen encourages endless, frictionless scrolling, the printed page encourages contemplation. In this space, the project can breathe, and I can respond to what the images themselves are telling me, allowing the body of work to grow organically.

    In my practice, these Field Guides—created as inexpensive print-on-demand magazines from providers like MagCloud—serve as crucial waypoints in the creative journey. Unlike the polished final product, the Field Guide embraces the messy, nonlinear nature of creative discovery. They capture the project at a specific moment of development, complete with working titles that may bear no resemblance to the final work. Passé Parfait evolved into The Floating World, The Strip became Midnight Eclipse, while A White Sail Gleams is yet to find its final form. Each Field Guide represents a snapshot of understanding, a moment when the project's direction becomes clearer while still maintaining the flexibility for future evolution without the crushing pressure of producing a definitive statement.

The Hub of the Project

 

The Field Guide serves as the central conceptual core from which all derivative outputs of a photographic project emerge. The thematic concerns and visual language established within its pages become the guiding principles for every subsequent stage. Whether it's the selection and sequencing of images for a finished book, the curatorial choices for an exhibition, the creation of individual prints for sale, or the development of digital content for online platforms, the Field Guide provides a foundation of cohesive and coherent vision.

    From this single foundation forged in the guide, a multitude of forms can be derived: selecting images for an edit and sequencing them for the final photobook, a gallery exhibition or a portfolio of prints. The guide acts as the project's anchor, its point of origin, ensuring that no matter the final format, the work remains true to its foundational principles and maintains a consistent authorial voice. It is the tool that facilitates the reinvention I seek in my practice, allowing each project to develop its unique visual signature while still being recognisably mine. It’s how I can build my "island chain" of varied work, ensuring each island is meticulously charted.

 

The Field Guide vs. The Finished Photobook

 

The relationship between the Field Guide and my favourite medium, the photobook, is one of fruitful, dialectical tension. They are two distinct objects with fundamentally different purposes, representing the vital dualism of the journey and the destination.

    Yet this apparent opposition masks a deeper symbiosis. The Field Guide's experimental nature often gives birth to the polished structure of the finished book and allows for experimentation with essential components like text and typography. The freedom to fail in the Field Guide creates space for the bold choices that make the final work sing.

The Field Guide is a living document; it is a question. It is inherently messy, raw, provisional, and volatile. It is a conversation with oneself. The artist’s private workshop. Its pages are marked with notes in the margins, circled images, rejected sequences, and half-formed thoughts. It is a tool for the process, a roadmap that is constantly being redrawn as discoveries are made. Its lightweight, inexpensive, and disposable nature is a feature, not a bug. It creates a space where ideas can be auditioned without the crushing weight of commitment. Its value lies in its fluidity, its dynamism, and its function as a private workspace for discovery and refinement.   

The Finished Book is a definitive statement; it is an answer. It’s the project’s public face. It is curated, polished, and immutable. The book is a carefully constructed monologue delivered to an audience. Every single element—from the precise sequence and pacing to the typography, the paper stock, the binding, and the cover design—is meticulously considered to create a complete, immersive experience. It is the public articulation of the private vision forged in the guide. It represents the "what" of the project. Where the guide is my space for exploration, the book is an object designed for consumption, a "paper film" where I, as the director, control the tempo, the silence, and the revelation, creating what I call a "third/fourth effect" in the sequence to allow the audience to create their meaning between the lines.

 

The Psychological Side Effect

 

While the finished book is a deliberate, final full stop, a powerful act of closure that frees me to move on to the next cycle of creation, the Field Guide also serves a similar psychological function. It provides tangible evidence of progress during the often lengthy and uncertain process of project development. When the inevitable self-doubt creeps in, the Field Guide offers proof that meaningful work is happening, that the project is evolving toward something significant.

    When working on multiple projects simultaneously, Field Guides become essential organisational tools. They allow rapid mental switching between different creative contexts, each guide serving as a portal back into a specific project's world. The physical act of picking up and paging through a guide reconnects me with that project's particular visual language and thematic concerns.

 

As a Collaborative Tool

 

The Field Guide proves to be invaluable when engaging with others. In the early stages of a project, discussing abstract ideas can be challenging. The Field Guide offers a tangible focal point for these conversations, whether with editors, curators, or fellow artists. Instead of relying solely on verbal descriptions, I can share the physical guide, allowing collaborators to see the emerging visual language, the thematic preoccupations, and the overall direction of the work.

    This tangible representation fosters a more concrete and productive dialogue. Because the Field Guide is a work-in-progress, feedback feels less like a critique of a finished product and more like a collaborative brainstorming session. The stakes are lower, encouraging a more free-flowing and open exchange of ideas. It provides a relatively well-defined starting point for discussion, preventing conversations from becoming too abstract or unfocused. Sharing the Field Guide offers a window into the creative process, allowing others to understand the underlying intentions and contribute meaningfully to its development.

    And finally, handing someone a physical object immediately changes the dynamic of the conversation. It telegraphs seriousness.

Artistic Development

 

For any photographer seeking to move beyond individual images toward coherent bodies of work, the Field Guide offers an invaluable bridge between vision and realisation. It transforms the daunting prospect of creating a finished photobook into a series of manageable steps, each Field Guide building toward greater clarity and artistic confidence.

    The Field Guide’s deeper long-term value lies in its role as a creative act in its own right. The process of selecting images, writing accompanying text, and designing layouts becomes a form of artistic practice that develops skills essential to more ambitious projects.

    The constraints of the Field Guide format—modest page counts, limited production budgets, pre-set size requirements—force creative problem-solving that strengthens the photographer's overall craft. How do you communicate a complex idea in eight pages? How do you sequence images to create narrative momentum? How do you balance pictures and text to create complementary rather than redundant meaning?

    These challenges prepare photographers for the more complex demands of finished photobooks while providing immediate satisfaction and concrete progress markers. Each completed Field Guide represents a small victory, a project brought to temporary completion that builds confidence for larger undertakings.

 

As Documentation

 

And finally, elements of the Field Guide can be powerfully integrated into an exhibition format. Alongside finished prints and book dummies, displaying pages from the guide—with their handwritten notes, contact sheets, and preliminary sketches—offers viewers a unique insight into the journey of the project. This demystifies the creative process, adding another layer of engagement with the work. It allows the audience to see the evolution of ideas, the discarded paths, and the moments of discovery that led to the final presentation. In a gallery setting, the Field Guide transforms from a private working document into a public testament to the unseen stages of artistic creation.

 

The Fight Against Commoditisation

 

The Field Guide also addresses one of contemporary photography's central challenges: the overwhelming abundance of images and the difficulty of creating work that rises above the noise. The Field Guide naturally filters out the superficial and ephemeral, focusing attention on projects with genuine depth and staying power.

    The Field Guide keeps the work honest. In a digital age and an era of quick fixes, it insists on physical form, on material and artistic commitment and sustained investigation. The Field Guide is an act of deliberate resistance against the kind of passive, trend-driven image-making that saturates our visual culture. To create work of substance, one must escape this echo chamber. The Field Guide is the escape route.

Andras Ikladi

Yantai, China

2025-08-07