Canadian Brian Harris has been photographing traditional cultures around the world since 1972. Since 1989, his photography has helped raise funds for Seva Canada, through such multimedia projects as Tibetan Voices, India: Eye to Eye, and the upcoming Himalayan Visions
October 2004
Himalayan Visions
A Photo Essay
words and photos by Brian Harris
I first went to Tibet in 1987, after five months of travel and photography in China. I chose Tibet as my destination because of my long interest in traditional cultures and Buddhist practice. Upon arrival, I was deeply affected by the qualities of the Tibetan people, particularly the elders. Their warm expressions of kindness and light hearted humor made me feel deeply and unexpectedly welcome. I felt as if I had returned home after being gone so long I had forgotten my original identity. During my first days in Lhasa, I was aware of the lingering fragrance of Tibet’s ancient culture — a hint of what it once was. For the past 17 years, I have returned to Tibet and other regions of the Himalayas to photograph this disappearing and profound beauty. During this time, I dedicated my photography exclusively to raising funds and public awareness on behalf of Seva Canada’s sight projects in Tibet, India, Nepal and Tanzania.
Seva Foundation and Seva Canada were started about 30 years ago by visionaries who shared a deep commitment to “compassionate action” as a means to address the suffering they witnessed in the world. In villages across Tibet, India and Nepal, Seva supports and funds programs that treat people blinded by cataracts. Using my camera to support that effort permits me to fulfill the Buddhist principal of “right livelihood.”
Tibet and other Himalayan regions never were a Shangri-la. The country’s rugged terrain and ongoing struggles make for a difficult and sometimes harsh existence. Tibetan society’s firm roots in the profound teachings of ancient Buddhist culture have helped its people to persevere in spite of their hardships. When the Dalai Lama was born 69 years ago, few Tibetans suspected that they might be the last generation in their country’s long history to live a traditional way of life. The current generation of elders is the last to have any personal knowledge of Tibet’s traditional culture. My photographs aim to present a portrait of Himalayan Buddhist culture’s last days — a sketch, really, since the photographs offer but a glimpse of what was once a profoundly complex and ancient society.
One of my favorite photographs portrays a manistone carver. A manistone is a slab of rock with the Buddha’s teaching or prayers carved into the stone’s face. Once carved, a manistone will be sold to a pilgrim and taken to a sacred site and left as an offering. For me, the image evokes the carver’s endurance and strength and also the relative permanence of the Buddha’s teaching made manifest in stone. I feel kinship with his craft, and hope that I, too, can create lasting images that carry an inspired message.
“As above so below.” This cosmic equation is particularly true of Himalayan Buddhist culture. The apparently irresistible effects of modernization as well as the damaging consequences of China’s Cultural Revolution and uncompromising policies have undermined Tibet’s traditional culture. Because I focus on beauty and tradition, I, perhaps, have contributed to the idealized view of Himalayan culture. There is a reevaluation of Tibet happening in contemporary scholarship and popular writing. Today, the sanitized, Shangri-la image has begun to fade as naïve, exoticized notions of Old Tibet are examined more critically.
As a part of this more clear-eyed process of understanding Tibet, I have collected memoirs of Tibetan elders in hopes of preserving a record of a way of life that is fast disappearing. Some of these accounts are earthy and honest but they present a view of Himalayan Buddhist culture that is more believable than the idealized, romantic view.
Residents of these high mountains don’t seem to experience the same self-conscious angst many Westerners feel in front of a camera. Most people I know (including myself) suffer a mini-identity crisis as we prepare ourselves for a visual summation of our being. From my experience, people who have had little contact with modern technological culture are more at home in their own skins. They know who they are and don’t seem crippled by self-doubt.
Religion and science remind us that human beings are profoundly connected to each other and that our common happiness and survival depends on a deep and lasting understanding of this truth. This basic message is at the heart of what the Dalai Lama and all Buddhist teaching strive for. This goal is both majestic and simple. It is in the service of this goal that I take and use my photographs.
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