I am not a landscape photographer. Sure, I have some nice photos of landscapes, and skies - after all, who doesn’t love a good sunset? But these tend to lean towards the abstract - a sea of light and colour, the undulating forms of cloud or water - rather than a detailed or lifelike depiction of a scene.
Nowhere was this more apparent than in last year’s summer holiday to North Wales. We were surrounded by beautiful scenery, glorious sweeping views of the Lynn Peninsula. And I loved looking at it. I could happily gaze for hours, soaking it in. But I didn’t want to photograph it. Instead, I found myself, as ever, drawn to the little details. The tiny, insignificant things I often overlook and ignore, unless I have a camera in my hand. When I go out with the intention of photographing, something shifts. I start paying attention, and noticing, and my chattering mind calms and stills, and I lose myself in the moment; the beauty of yellow lichen against grey rock, the textures of rust against sea weathered wood. It’s magical. And it makes me feel better, every time.
