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The ruined Ynys y Pandy slate mill at dawn, built to serve Gorseddau Quarry, its gable end and arched windows silhouetted against the sky.

We live in difficult times. But sometimes taking the long view can help us make more sense of our present moment. I use my camera and my writing to explore the impact of time, and our impact on the environment and the world we live in.

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  • Half Light

    At 6am on a Monday, Newcastle hovers between weekend revelry and the working week. A dawn walk to the Quayside with a Mamiya C3 and twelve frames of black and white film.

  • Observation

    In an age of image saturation and algorithmic image generation, what does intentional photography mean?

  • Bittersweet

    There’s something wistful about the end of August. As summer fades, we’re drawn to reflect—not on the year ahead, but on the season we’re leaving behind.

  • Pseudo-Creativity

    Why the hours we spend reading, watching and researching about photography can quietly replace the actual making of it — and what walking a Kent quarry taught me about pseudo-creativity.

  • Invisible

    A warm Sunday evening walk along the Thames at Purfleet, among the industrial hinterland I’ve only ever seen from the QEII Bridge, and, briefly, a place where I can’t be seen at all.

  • Seeing in colour

    How a summer holiday on Lefkada and a point-and-shoot Lumix brought colour, fun, and childhood nostalgia back into my photography.

  • Old Vein

    Images from three abandoned slate quarries in Eryri — slowly returning to the mountains.

  • Insignificance

    The only nuclear reactors ever built inside a national park stand on the banks of a manmade lake in Eryri. I came to photograph them. I left thinking about insignificance — theirs, and mine.

  • Underwhelm

    The UK’s largest solar farm covers a piece of land the size of a small English market town. So why did standing beside it feel so strangely empty?

  • Ruins

    I came back to Sizewell because I felt the first visit had left something unresolved. Walking the coast the following day, I found myself at the ruins of Leiston Abbey — and through the gap in its crumbling walls, the white dome of Sizewell B. Two monuments to belief, centuries apart.