Photography has been part of my life for as long as I can remember.
My dad had a Nikon in the 1960s, and growing up there were cine films and slide evenings at home — long before I had any sense of photography as a craft. Cameras were simply part of the furniture.
Years later, they became a reason to step away from a busy, structured working life and into quieter spaces, usually on my own. Time alone in wild, remote places is still what makes me reach for a camera.
I don’t photograph landscapes by arriving, setting up, and leaving. My pictures come from being out in the weather. Watching a place long enough for it to shift.
I walk with a flask, sit in dunes, and watch small movements of light. I stay. I watch. That’s where my photographs come from.
That quiet, reflective approach has, over time, found its own audience. My work has been recognised by Landscape Photographer of the Year, published in their books, and featured by Apple, alongside appearances in photography publications.
That has never been the motivation. At its heart, photography remains a form of refuge for me — a quieter way of working — one that rewards time, patience, and attention.
This way of working underpins the photography workshops I’ve created — slow down, absorb, watch.
