FORAGING ON SKYE
In August 2017 I found myself driving to a beautiful Western Isle on the coast of Scotland for a day visit. To this day, this location continues to be a popular tourist destination, and is well known for its dramatic cliffs, its infamous lookout bothies and its unpredictable weather. Over the last couple of years, I’ve attempted to return to Skye for a longer stay. Unfortunately, something has always happened to cancel the trip i.e an allergic reaction and then Storm Ali.
When I was approached by Scottish Sporting Journal to visit this place in a slightly different way, I jumped at the opportunity. This was a dream pitch for me, aligning with my exploration into Rural Life photojournalism perfectly. The brief was as follows:
To shoot and write the Skye foraging feature with Mitchell Partridge of Skye Ghillie, capturing the beauty of the island and this ethical, back-to-nature practice.
You can order the full first edition online here. Read More
Editorial Brief: I want this to be a story of two people who care deeply about each other. It will be through the use of both body and facial language that we show this connection, which can be either platonic or romantic. I want there to be room for the viewer to have their own interpretation of the photographs. By pairing my imagery with my own poetry, it will give a complete sense of the beach and the story of these two characters. The photographs will visually tell a story, and the poems will describe the deeper feelings, allowing the reader to experience the smaller things that happened within these pictures.
This has been one of those projects that has been building up for a while, but took no real form until early May. I have always looked to tell stories with my photography, and I've been practising this skill over the past months with both landscapes and portraits, mixing into a sort of documentary/travel style feel. Focusing on my own ideas and refining how I capture particular stories or feelings has been very eye-opening for me. It's allowed me the time and space to feel freely about the world around me and the lifestyle I would like to capture. Read More
March came and the first signs of spring were emerging. Slowly, snowdrops fought to the surface against hard ground, then the land seemed to swell from the thaw and birds started to chirp in the early hours. Sunlight spilled through my windowpane, diffusing through condensed glass before casting a glow of promise into my attic room, waking me from groggy sleep. I never seemed to get enough rest during winter. The long hours of darkness merged both days and nights together. Comfort of warm blankets became increasingly desired, and leaving the cosiness felt unnatural. It wasn't until spring had started properly, bringing more hours of daylight with it, that I started to feel like the hibernation was over and I could truly stretch out with yawn, ready to start the day.
I'll never tire of the fresh air that fills my lungs whilst I watch the sun rise on cool mornings, enjoying the view with a smile lingering at the corner of my mouth. Mist lifted from the fields, casting beautiful pastel tones across my field of vision. Drives to and from home were spent watching the lambs skip and jump in the warmth of sunny days, a blissful break from the rain and fog that liked to hug the ground. Packing up my car, and finishing the warm mug of sugary tea, I headed off towards Scotland for my first adventure on home turf in 2018. Read More
I always felt out of place growing up, and to an extent, still do. Seeming to view and feel the world in a different way to those around me; living with an appreciation for nature and life that I hope will one day be a harmonious give and take. When I step outside into the wilderness on cold and blustery days, I hear more in the wind than the bitter cold that reddens my cheeks and tangles my hair. I see more than just light when the sun starts to shine, instead looking at smaller details like leaves with that beautifully warm colour, almost like they’ve been drenched in golden honey; or to the mountains, watching the shadows shift under cloud. I feel I belong in isolated places where time can pass freely; it makes me feel connected to the earth and, therefore, at peace.
This winter in Northern England has been grey and dreary, an almost constant monotone with sun on so few occasions that I could count them on one hand. There is however, one aspect of winter that reaches into my child-like soul, filling me with an incomprehensible giddiness that overflows: snow. Unsurprisingly, I found a lot of snow on my recent trip to Iceland, along with horizontal hailstorms and over 50mph blizzards. I had never felt so alive, or perhaps it was the constant flow of delicious strawberry cheesecake Skyr that kept me going whilst I travelled. Read More