On my recent short trip to London, I spent an hour at the Royal Academy's current exhibition "Braque, Miro, Calder, Giacometti". I had no idea about the rationale for bringing these four together, but the names Calder and Giacometti were enough, two artists that I stumble across quite regularly and whom I have come to appreciate more and more. I had intended to go to the Francis Bacon show at Tate Modern. Although I don't favour these sort of big circus type events, Bacon is special in 20th Century painting, and one can only admire his artistic credentials when set alongside the conceptualists and the businessman-artists of the current day. There is also nostalgic appeal as I recall his Triptych in Aberdeens small but superb Art Gallery.

However, the Royal Academy it was, and I'm glad I went. I'm sure the Tate would have been a log jam and the RA is a nice, comforting institution with none of the din associated with the big shows.

I sometimes wonder why we go to large exhibitions, especially single artist ones. If we are not academic specialists, what do we expect to get from looking at such a vast arrangement of an artists work other than being able to see items which are normally in far off galleries, or indeed inaccessible. Understanding art is quite difficult - it often can't be done at one sitting even with a single painting. It is interesting of course to see the range and scope of a great artist and to compare early and late works, or different genres. But these shows often have to be taken in one huge gulp, and the result is naturally indigestion.

I rather like exhibitions which shed light on the process of artistic creation. Influences, collaborations, friendships, rivalries. Sometimes this means an exhibition supported by contemporary references. I remember seeing a big Monet show in Zurich, and while the huge water lilies left me a bit cold, I found the documentation, description and photographs of the garden at Giverny very satisfying.

When we look at art of the 19th and 20th centuries things like this predominate - they are everywhere. Whether they are famous alliances (Picasso/Braque), whether or not artists belonged to distinct movements or groups, the juxtapositions are inescapable, memorably because a lot of them are captured on film by the likes of Cartier Bresson who had access to many during the middle of the last century.

And, finally, that is what makes the RA show. There are no so-called "big hitters" here but a coherent selection that contrasts the work of these four artists and illuminates where they drew on each other. A good example is the friendship that developed between Calder and Miro. Not artistic bedfellows, but you can see how Calder went from bemusement to understanding and assimiliation - in his paintings at any rate, and to a certain degree maybe in some of the sculpture. It is interesting as well to see the two sculptors Calder and Giacometti together. Both great individualists who developed their own styles and added something genuinely new to the genre.

What links the four is their collaboration with the collector and gallerist Aimé Maeght. (The show is sub-titled "Aimé Maeght and His Artists"). This is also interesting, to follow the part played by the patron or gallery owner in all of this. I'm thinking also of the role played by todays movers and shakers - the Charles Saatchis and Steven Cohens of today. I'm not sure it is quite so benevolent, or that it will result in such an enriching legacy for the future.

Well worth a visit in my opinion if you are passing.

Sounds like some tacky dance band compilation, but it is in fact an exhibition of photographs collected by Mark Rich and donated to the Kunsthaus in Zurich. Opinions may be divided about Mr Rich (rich, indeed) and I don't know enough about it to comment, but I liked the opportunity to see this interesting collection.

It spans the history of photography relatively evenly up until the mid 20th Century, but in a collection of 74 images, it has to be selective. There are quite a few early examples, gum bichromate prints for example which are very interesting to study physically. I liked a very early cyanotype by Anna Atkins. The "indexical sign" quality of this type of image is striking. Like a fossil, you feel that you are looking at the actual object, transported over the years, centuries in this case. Something that can be unique also to ordinary photography.

Like the Steichen exhibition of vintage prints from earlier in the year I was struck just how dull many of them are - tonally speaking. Maybe I don't have to fret so hard about my own inkjet printing endeavours. The exceptions were, naturally, a couple of Ansel Adams prints. Like my impressions of the Edinburgh exhibition, these still seduce by their pure beauty.

The most interesting examples for me were 8 or so prints from the 1930's by Herbert Bayer. These are carefully constructed photo montages, surreal and Dali-esque, that would put many latter day Photoshop-ist to shame. I searched the web for some examples, but although Bayer is well known as a typographer I couldn't find any examples of the prints in this exhibition. The one shown here is later.

All in all an interesting survey, both from the point of view of style and technical processes

Back in Zurich now but still feeding off Paris photos. The Rodin museum, installed in his former studio and surrounding garden is light and airy and worth a visit, although personally I can never see what the fuss is about Rodin. His sculptures for me exhibit none of qualities I expect from a great artist. There is no depth or power or grace or pathos or indeed just beauty of form. I get irritated by the incessant lumpiness which just seems to be there for it's own sake. "The Thinker" and "The Kiss" are difficult to approach objectively because of their familiarity, but I feel that even these are just gestural, rather than anything deeper, and I couldn't live with them on a regular basis. They would be consigned to the attic. Maybe I need someone to explain it all to me. I make a bit of an exception for the Balzac pieces which do seem to capture something beyond the mere form

Last of a flurry of pictures from the Kunsthaus Zürich. An attractive gallery- I've heard people complain that it doesn't have many "big hitters", and there is a dearth of "old masters", but this in reality is because it is a recent institution, and isn't full of plundered art like some other national collections I could mention. The highlights for me are the Swiss, originals such as Fussli and Böcklin (although for the best of Böcklin you need to go to Basel), Giacometti of course, and strong appearances from Munch and Chagall.

I first came across the work of Ansel Adams in the 70's, when I was a student, and a lot of time was spent browsing bookshops and arty type establishments. I remember being struck by the clarity of the images and the distinctive black and white treatment, but I didn't engage much more with them and I hadn't yet developed an interest in the nature of photography. Over the years since then my interest in landscape photography dwindled, and my memories of the Adams images were consigned to a vaguely felt "nice but sterile" category. Like most people I never ever saw any of the original prints.

Recently the opportunity arose to revisit his work at the Ansel Adams exhibition in Edinburgh, brought there by the efforts of Scottish landscape photographer Lindsay Robertson, some of whose work is shown along with 150 original Adams prints from the 20's to the 60's.

It was quite an eye-opener for me. I was prepared to be disappointed for the reasons mentioned above. I have seen, and taken, too many landscape photographs that fail to capture the essence that impresses you about nature. It seems that with the realist approach all you need to do is point the camera at nature, once you have found it. It never worked for me. However the devil is in the detail and unlike others it's obvious that Adams never just "pointed his camera" at the subject.

Two main points struck me as important in distinguishing his work.

The images are all compositionaly interesting, striking or classical, but there is also an indefinable ingredient that is difficult to pin down. He captured not just what he saw, but a sense of being there and feeling something that never fails to resonate somewhere with us when we look at the work. The viewpoints and subjects are, I suspect meticulously chosen, and probably involved a bit of hiking around and trial and error to find the ideal spot. Although he used a variety of lenses, the technology never intrudes - we never find ourselves asking what lens did he use for that effect, something that is often the first thing to strike us about modern landscapes especially where wide angles and prominent foreground objects predominate.

A second characteristic that raises these photographs above the ordinary is the processing. These days it would be called post processing. Nowadays we can select any image at random and apply an arsenal of techniques to enhance or turn it into something "better" or something else. What Adams did was slightly different. He saw, or "visualised" the finished print at the time of capture - so it was almost pre-processing. To produce the negative that he knew he could use in the darkroom to create the vision that he had at the time. Nothing stops you doing this with modern techniques, but it does require the vision at the time of capture. I suspect many of the beautifully enhanced images that we see today emerge as a result of seeing what you can do with what you have in the can. For this reason many modern landscapes are missing that indefinable spirit that Adams has. His prints have a great feeling of continuity, of connection as viewer with the artist at the moment of his vision.

It has been commented before, but there is indeed a slight melancholic refrain in the background of his work. Maybe it's just that nature humbles us with our short lifespans, or perhaps it comes from his lifelong protective sense for the environment.

On a phsyical side, the prints themselves look fabulous, once your eyes have become accustomed to gloom of the gallery space. I recommend giving yourself a good twenty minutes before starting to move around the exhibition. Some could do with being remounted, but that's a small gripe.

Lindsay Robertson is obviously a fine photographer, and I hope he would not mind me saying that looking at his work rather underlines what is different about Adams, particularly when his prints come at the end of the show. Many of the photos do seem to have the "point the camera at a beautiful landscape" feel about them, and yet they capture little more than the view. An obsession with size does them no favours, and tends to feel a bit bombastic. However, he has a difficult muse to live up to to, and we must thank him for his efforts in bringing the work over here

The exhibition is on until the 20th April and I can highly recommend it

City Art Centre, Edinburgh

Some shiny buildings as promised. I'm in Düsseldorf to to attend the opening of the Model Lie Exhibition, but I also wanted to have a look at the Frank Gehry buildings down at the harbour. No prizes for originality in this shot, but it might interest people who haven't seen these quirky office blocks before

What I didn't realise is that the entire old harbour area of Düsseldorf has been turned into a gigantic sort of Disneyland of architectural showpieces. Worth a visit if you're interested in that sort of thing

Another shot from my visit to the Vallotton exhibition. This surpised me because I normally expect to see this sculpture by Aristide Maillol outside my local pub. However it's been shifted, presumably to complement the exhibition. Maillol was amongst the circle of artists that included Vallotton around 1900 in Paris

For the technically curious - 1/6 sec at F4 ISO320, handheld)

Leica M8 28mm Elmarit

I was recently in Edinburgh, and visited Stills Gallery in Cockburn Street. I've often passed the gallery, but never realised that as well as regular photo exhibitions, they have fantastic resources available. Wet darkrooms and digital workstations for rental (Including Imacon Flextight scanner), computers for internet access, free public wi-fi, a photo library and meeting area with comfy chairs and nice relaxed atmosphere.

Worth dropping in - very helpful staff as well. (The website appears to be still under construction)

In Basel yesterday to have a look at the Andreas Gursky exhibition. I knew little about his work other than that the prints were very big and that one of them holds the current all time record for a photograph sold at auction (99c Diptych II - 3.4m dollars). So I confess to going along with rather jaundiced expectations, but as a photographer I wanted to judge for myself what all the fuss was about.

It is easy to form preconceived ideas about work you have never seen in person. There are some types of artwork which must be experienced face to face, rather than through reproductions. It makes a big difference to see works in an exhibition setting, especially with photographers where the style and intent is often only apparent from seeing a body of work arranged and selected. I experienced a similar thing with the large canvases of Mark Rothko, which have a strange almost physical resonance when you are in their presence, and look just plain stupid on the printed page. So it was with Gursky.

There are 25 recent works in the exhibition. Yes they are big, but their big-ness is not a result of just making the image bigger. Although many are manipulated and are composed of multiple images, on the whole they are representational and show us real views and situations. However they are views of real life that we never really see ourselves, because they encompass huge areas of space that the eye doesn't normally scan. In addition many, but not all, are taken from viewpoints not available to you and me (cranes, helicopters).

You can look at the pictures from a normal viewing distance, some meters away, this often produces an abstract effect, it is like looking at a landscape from very far away. As you move in closer it as if you were scanning that same landscape with a pair of binoculars. All the pictures are crammed with details that you only see on close inspection, and from a viewpoint where the entire composition is no longer available. In some of the images the detail is just that - small details multiplied countlessly, such as an image of a cycle race (Tour de France), or a vast archipelago of small islands dotted here and there with the traces of human occupation. In his recent F1 Pit Stop pictures, they are again crammed, but this time with activities rather than fine-ness of detail - so much going on.

I might have ascribed this to a certain technique which impresses the first time you see it, but becomes tedious. However the thing that won me over to the exhibition, and the work, is the variety that he brings to the subjects. Some motifs are repeated - the pit-stops for example, but in that case this only reinforces the power of the image - identical situations, but slightly different in each. There are many ways to look at this. An obvious one is that the comment is about the rigorous procedure required to refuel and change the tyres, how it is performed again and again, by different groups of people, and the visual results are almost identical, but each has it's own characteristics. Aside from these series, and similar ones from open-air gatherings in Pyong-Yang, the exhibition is, as I said, fascinating in it's diversity. An image of a church interior contrasts a group of tiny figures with the huge stained glass windows (I'm not sure if it's an actual church interior). A photograph of the Bahrain F1 circuit in the desert looks at first site like a freely made gouache abstract, and only on close inspection reveals its true nature. Interior pictures of stock exchanges bustle with movement and energy. The interior of a nightclub provides an endless succession of groups of people under a sci-fi stage where small screens or mirrors reflect individual parts of the action.

The images are all digitally processed to subtly, or dramatically alter the colours and colour balance which gives a slight technical style to them, but while some people make a lot of this, I think it's a secondary effect compared to the content.

So I was surprised and enjoyed the exhibition a lot - I can recommend it. However you need to shut out the effects of the "Art Market" when you go and see something like this - otherwise you won't see the details for dollar bills.

Unless you have recently arrived from Mars you must be aware of the struggle currently going on in the UK to acquire/save "The Blue Rigi" for the nation. (only kidding) The London Review of Books has a nice little article about it . The Rigi is a modest mountain in central Switzerland, not far from where I live, but the effort in question has nothing to do with speculating in Swiss real estate, rather it is the painting by J M W Turner that is the object.

Turner painted relatively few fully finished watercolours and experts adjudge his Rigi paintings (there are three) as among the finest examples. The UK has none of them. I have a personal interest in it because Turner is fascinating as an artist, and because I know his subject rather well. Unlike Turner I have "climbed" the Rigi many times (it's just a long hard walk actually) but despite it's modest claims as a mountain it is a fabulous viewpoint.

However It's interesting that he picked the Rigi as a subject - maybe it was picked by a client - because there are many more spectacular mountains and vistas within spitting distance. I think I know why. If you regularly travel around this part of Switzerland the image of the Rigi becomes very familiar - seen across Lake Lucerne, or maybe from Zug you will know that the scene is ever changing - the atmosphere and light have a bewildering variety. It becomes a conspicuous landmark - a great wedge shaped lump - not beautiful or gracious or awe inspiring, but distinctive and iconic. I'm assuming that this was the case in the 1840's as it is today. I have to admit that this reflection makes me rather happy in our ever-changing global world. I have many photographs of the Rigi, but none from the vantage point used by Turner.

This is the view from the foreshore at Zug - seen well from the train from Zurich

Here it's seen from alongside the concert and congress centre in Luzern - looking down the Vierwaldstaettersee. Turners viewpoint was a couple of kilometers down the lake on the right hand side of this image. It probably looks more like the profile he recorded from there, although Turner was famous for adapting viewpoints to his own ends, as anyone who has tried to identify his Venice ones will know. I'm toying with the idea of loitering around in the early morning sometime to see if I can capture a photographic replica of Turners vision from the original place.

Venice is a living art gallery. Even if many great works were looted during the period of decline and domination, there is a lot to enjoy. I especially like the fact almost all the art is in it's original settings - churches mainly, and municipal buildings. And above all there is the greatest of Venetian painters, Tintoretto. He lived and worked just round the corner from where I am staying in Canareggio. First a digression.

"When I was very young, I was suitably impressed to learn that, appearances notwithstanding, the whale is not a fish. Nowadays such problems of categorisation move me less."

The words of E H Carr in his usual witty and pointed style, introducing a discussion about whether history is a science in his book "What is History". Researching some images for this post on the web I came across an article from an American university which listed a series of pairs of paintings, informing the reader that one was Renaissance and the other was Baroque. One such juxtaposition was Titians Ascension (renaissance, obviously) and Tintorettos Virgin being presented at the Temple (baroque, of course). What a load of drivel. Neither Titian nor Tintoretto would have a clue what you were on about. This is not to say that there are no styles in art, but the obsession to pigeon hole and categorise everything is not at all productive when it comes to appreciating art. Let me allow another quotation. In E H Gombrich's "The Story of Art", a popular, but nonetheless wise work, he advises us disarmingly in the Introduction that "There is no such thing as Art - only artists". This is well worth bearing in mind.

The area of North Canareggio is home to two churches - San Alvise and Madonna del' Orto. Both have a fine collection of art - the latter particularly associated with Tintoretto. His workshop was close by, he provided many of the paintings for the church and is buried there. Taking two paintings, one from each, by different artists, it is interesting to compare them with an open mind without falling into the pitfalls of categorisation.

In San Alvise we find Tiepolo's "Ascent to Calvary". The painting has a very strong, almost overdone compositional device with a great curve leading from the figure of Christ to the summit of Calvary in the distance. The figures, particularly that of Christ are painted with a rather theatrical pathos - almost overacting, I would say. It's wearing it's emotions on it's sleeve.

In Madonna del' Orto is Tintoretto's "Virgin Presented at the Temple" mentioned above. Here again we have a strong compositional device, leading the eye though the important details to the crux of the composition. However Tintoretto is rather original with the low viewpoint and the use of light as well as line to underline the composition. If I was to make a key distinction I would say the Tiepolo is melodramatic, where the Tintoretto is realistic. We can imagine being observers of the scene in the Tintoretto.

Our web university would require us to plonk both paintings in the Baroque pile which tells us nothing. Both paintings can be enjoyed in their own right without any recourse to such things. What is more important probably is to understand the circumstances and social conditions surrounding the paintings. Tintorettos comes before the Catholic counter reformation, Tiepolos comes afterwards, at a time when the Catholic church consciously set about trying to win or retain hearts and minds by the use of art. Tintoretto is his own man, despite the religious setting, and his painting also reflects the independence that Venice always had from Rome.

I'm in the Kunsthaus quite a lot, and usually end with a stroll through the permanent Giacometti exhibit - its right by the entrance. Familiarity with these pieces seems to be etching them into my subconscious, and I'm liking the artist more and more.

A few years ago I wouldn't have thought i'd be attracted to any sort of sculpture. This is one of the benefits of being able to experience artwork like this on a regular and casual basis. It gradually informs your opinion. Much different from the hectic exhibition experience when you feel obliged to gorge yourself on works at one sitting and end up only with indigestion instead of a pleasant aftertaste.

Something else strikes me about Giacometti. He is one of the few artists whose personal image is almost as familiar as his work. Another that springs to mind is Picasso. The reason for this I think is that they were all photographed by people like Cartier-Bresson during what seems now like a golden age of artistic collaboration. I have no idea what Damien Hirst looks like. Probably like any other grey suited businessman, because that is indeed what he is, like many of his contemporaries.

Giacomettis work and friendships span some of the best know movements and characters of the 20th century, Surrealism, Existentialism, Sartre, Eluard for example. On the surface he seems to be constantly experimenting and striving to find an artistic goal and I suppose most people recognise this as the spindly attenuated figures that are so well known. Looking at the span of his work on display in Zurich gives a much better impression of artistic cohesion throughout the periods of his life than you would think. There are obvious progressions and relationships, especially between the paintings and drawings and the sculpture. The one area where there seems to be a disjunction is with the earlier surrealist works, and indeed the break was more than artistic - he was excommunicated from the surrealist circle.