My alarm blared, indicating 5am had finally come. It had been a long and restless night, waking up every half an hour and barely getting back to sleep. I struggled with my suitcase, urging it up the stairs and into my boot with tired muscles. I blasted the heaters and swept snow from my car, warming my hands on a cup of tea as I set off on the four hour drive. In the darkness of night, it was easy to see how ominous and surreal this landscape could be. Paling white clouds of steam or fog oozed up from the ground, as if a mass of spirits had ascended from beneath the earth. I didn’t see another vehicle for about an hour and enjoyed the solitude as I made my way across the south coast. Snowploughs started to emerge and I saw the heavy cloud covering the horizon. Before long, I was enveloped by the snow once again, and watched powder whirl up in my rearview mirror as I carved out some fresh tracks.
Nearing the coastal town of Vík, the wind gusts got up to 80mph, snowdrifts and blizzard mixing together and pummelling the side of my car. It was unrelenting for another hour and a half, and I sighed in relief as I got away from the storm. The sun had risen fully by now, the sky unbelievably different, bright and blue as I reached my destination. I ate some Skyr and started to layer up with my snow gear and before long, Ryan and the group had arrived. I was thrilled when I heard back from Hidden Iceland as I knew they were not only passionate about the landscape, but about preserving it too. They hold a number of small and private hire trips, showing off some of the most remarkable and breathtaking places around Iceland, whilst informing us about how quickly things are changing too. Ryan’s passion really shined through with the sheer wealth of knowledge he held, his energy and enthusiasm contagious. He’s recently written a piece about the effects of climate change on glaciers, you can read the full article here. Read More
It has felt like early summer these past few days with sunlight absorbing into my skin with a serene ease. It was last Thursday and I woke up to the birds singing, and something like life moved through the air. Cold and still and bright with a change of season. It was then that I realised signs of growth were all around me. Snowdrops bloomed and buds started to appear on branches, all of these subtle changes that were hard to believe I’d missed.
Plans to pick up my friends on the way over to the Lake District had been made, and I rushed to leave on time. Only a month had passed since my last visit with Robyn, but I already craved the intimacy of mountains around me. I can still remember visiting the Lakes for the first time with my dad, after he’d convinced me to go fell walking with him. We drove through Glenridding and Patterdale, weaving in-between the narrow roads lined by trees and lakeside cottages. We’d hike above Ullswater, sometimes taking a dog or two to enjoy the walk with us. I loved these day trips, and found myself wanting to go back for longer and explore more single track roads and hidden spots. I must have spent about three weeks there last year, visiting in spring, summer, autumn, and again in early January to see the snow hugging the peaks. It lay like a blanket, the mountains in hibernation for the coming spring. 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