I mostly work in black and white, partly because I love how it simplifies things—and partly because I’ve never quite figured out what to do with colour. Black and white takes away the noise and lets me focus on shape, texture, and light without getting distracted by whether someone's jumper clashes with the background.
It’s not that I have anything against colour—I know it’s important, and it definitely has its moments. I just often find it gets in the way of whatever vague idea I’m trying to express. Colour tends to walk into the frame, demand attention, and start doing jazz hands while I’m still fumbling around trying to find the right composition. Stripping it out helps me stop faffing and focus on the mood or story I’m actually trying to tell, or at least pretend I meant to tell.
My inspirations are a fairly serious bunch—Michael Kenna’s minimalist landscapes, the Bechers’ obsessive industrial grids, Karl Blossfeldt’s weirdly beautiful plant studies, and Imogen Cunningham’s elegant portraits and botanicals. They all remind me that it’s okay to be quietly obsessed with detail. Or at least that I’m not alone in it.
As a member of the Royal Photographic Society, I’m always trying to learn, refine, and occasionally fail more creatively. Whether I’m photographing windswept hills, crumbling buildings, curling leaves, or fleeting street scenes, I try to tune in to the quieter details—the moments that might otherwise go unnoticed. For me, photography is mostly about noticing things. Seeing a little more clearly. And every so often, pressing the shutter at just the right time… even if it’s mostly by accident.
