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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.
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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.
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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.
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How a summer holiday on Lefkada and a point-and-shoot Lumix brought colour, fun, and childhood nostalgia back into my photography.
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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.
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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?
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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.
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Every photograph is an act of framing — and framing is always an act of exclusion as much as inclusion. What we leave out of the frame shapes the story as much as what we include. The same, it turns out, is true of how we talk about climate change.
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Photographs and reflections from a visit to the Port of Felixstowe — and what 152,000 shipping containers tell us about the world we’ve built, and the unexpected optimism to be found in it.
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Photographs and reflections from a visit to the decommissioned nuclear reactors at Dungeness, Kent — and the questions they raise about progress, landscape, and what we leave behind.