• To focus upon a detail, to dwell upon something so particular, can, for me be a form of meditation. To see the world through a rectangular box instantly breaks a convoluted and chaotic world into something far more fluid and orderly. It changes what is before me and rids worldly objects of their mundane functions; breaking them free of their boundaries in which we place them.

Corner

Cloth

Alarm

Bathe

Plant

Branch
  • Form is aesthetically pleasing; shapes arise from delineated boundaries in colour, light and mass. Some forms are easily distinguishable albeit the hard line of a concrete strut or the harsh shadow of a sunlit object. Others are far less certain; the soft edges of diffused light; the hidden shadows seeping through a morning mist. In form I find beauty, mystery and stories to be told.

Cloud

Shadow

Dry

Line

Fading

Shilouette
  • Dusk: an odd word describing an unusual time of the day. Light fades into darkness, shadows recede and descend all at once. One light gives way to another, street lamps flicker and awake as daylight falls sleepily beyond the horizon. Colours one only thought possible in fantasy splash across the sky, a last ditched goodbye to the living. The land gives way to the dead. An imaginary world of darkness is pierced by soft ambers, harsh blues and neon signs pronouncing mans domination over what once was sacred, black and still.

Burning

Richmond

Time

Windows

Warp

Lamp
  • A memory, be it good, bad or ugly is always a valuable asset in the greater path of life. Something we learn from, something we cherish, something we struggle with. A photograph manages to bring back the feelings, the stories and the smells with the speed of a bullet. Our mind’s intricate workings distinguish colour, light, lines, places and people, reviving something that was seemingly forgotten, lost in the passage of time.

Sister

Blue

Hum

Prophet

Room

Mirror
  • Mother: a warm and earthly word given to both a parent and the land on which we live. She is our sustenance, our hope, our source of knowledge and our sense of place. Ever present, she watches and listens. She is life itself, without her where would we be?

Grandfather

Still

Last

Moore

Brother

Mother
  • Stories are all around us, they are within, behind and before us. They speak of history, of fantasy, of personal hopes and dreams. Stories make us, and so they break us. Every picture tells a story and every person imagines their own. There is no right or wrong when it comes to the translation of these narratives. That is the beauty of a photograph.

Penned

Waiting

Imagine

Peter

Stone

Dappled