Once upon a time, I fancied myself as a grand photographer. I’d gaze at the works of Henri Cartier-Bresson and Mario Testino with a real appreciation of the art of capturing the moment in black and white. Armed with my film SLR, I’d wander the streets of London and try to recreate the essence of place the old masters’ images exude. For years, I’d doggedly deny the galloping of time into a new digital age. The art of photography is lost when you no longer need to think to set up a shot, I thought. I developed my films in a darkroom in Uni from time-to-time, and get lost in the quiet, organized routine of developing. There was real satisfaction seeing your images come alive before your eyes. Slowly and surely, I succumbed.
Ceremonies are a regular occurrence and small communities, like this one in Padang Bai, come together to celebrate their ancestors and honour the ruling deities of the temple.
Male Bowerbirds decorate their nests with bright blue objects in an attempt to nab the perfect partner. But what did they do before blue plastic was invented?
The 52 Weeks Series :: a photo a week, every week, in 2015. I want to let you into a little secret. Or maybe it’s not so secret if you dabble on Instagram. I’m a runner. I run. Words I never thought I’d say. And if I’m honest, words that if you have known me for a while would make you guffaw out loud exclaiming, “What? You!” I’m still not sure if it’s a mid-life crisis or whether it’s my ageing body trying desperately to cling to the last sliver of health I have left, but it’s happening.
Only an hour and ten minutes by car from Melbourne and covering a whopping 30 hectares of bushland, Healesville Sanctuary showcases more than 200 Australian species and offers visitors the opportunity to see animals unique to Australia.
Deftly walking along the raised grassy paths between the paddies, the girls sauntered through the fields as if they’d done it a hundred times before while I wondered who was going to be the first one to get wet.
Flying over Eli Creek, you can see the tour buses and 4x4s gathered at the mouth of the creek. It gives an indication of the size of the sand dunes. It’s a wild island, constantly changing with the shifts of the sands, and, as it was on my first trip 18 years ago, instantly captivating.
Doing a really good job of pretending not to be there, the critter stood stock still and stared straight ahead. It was obviously scared and wishing internally for me to disappear.
There’s a real sense of calm when canoeing. Especially if you’re in a quiet backwater with little to break silence but the tip of an oar breaking through the surface of the water and the consequent drips and dribbles from the paddle on the arc.
Taken on a rainy, cloudy day in Catalonia, I love how the bright redness of the poppies manages to shine in the image despite the darkness. The poem Wild Poppies by Marion McCready is an ode to their colour and describes them wonderfully.