The earth is my bones. The sky is my breath. The tree is my body. The water my life-blood. The geography of life a complex web of interconnectedness, a symbiotic relationship worthy of respect.
‘Esho Funi’ is a Japanese Buddhist term used to express the ‘oneness of self and the environment’, it is sometimes translated as ‘two but not two’.
Water Is Life
Goodwick Moor Nature Reserve. Late afternoon winter sun burnishes the water and reeds. Gnarled hawthorns make stark silhouettes. Shadow and light embrace, yet neither diminish. I wonder what my camera and I can make of this all too brief conjunction.
The dreaming water brings solace to my heart/mind. Letting go, I become the ripples and reflections.
These images were taken over the course of one morning. Such was the richness in variation of the reflections on the water’s surface that I moved only few metres over that time to record this work. I used single and in camera double exposures.
Many years ago I lived close to the sea. At night, I would watch the stars and listen to the waves. The soundscape saturated my sleep. Now, I live a little further from the coast - yet still I hear the sea in my dreams.
A gentle but persistent rainfall. A silvery, serpentine stream. A small town, snug on a hillside. The stream breaches her banks, becoming a wide shallow pool. Gentle winds create waves in which the reeds whisper. The town falls into the water….or so it seems.
Walls of soft rain obscure my vision making the sky impenetrable. Puddles of shallow water mirror the winter trees. Each season has its own beauty.
I have a habit of walking my home town and its environs at dusk. I like the cloak of invisibility that darkness lends me.
I am often drawn to the seeming insignificance of a scene, and because of this, many of the resulting images take on an abstract nature.
I use various camera techniques, most commonly, ICM and in camera double exposure.
Water and sky are the same hue - losing their individuality and becoming one. The air is still and therefore, so is the water. Yellows, greens and silver greys merge with the moment to produce a tender palette reflecting the beauty and the fragile nature of our precious planet.
An alchemical mix of movement, light and shadow, girded by dark tree stumps and the branches of vertiginous trees. Fish, which we cannot see, swim beneath the shallow, rushing, foamy water. Life’s mystery encapsulated in a fragment of time.
I rarely work using strong colours but sometimes their vibrancy seems essential to the message or feeling I am trying to portray. For example, the first image on this page is a bucket from my parents’ garden, an inconsequential thing, abandoned, part full of rainwater and fallen orange blossom. Yet for me, each drop of water, each petal, a bittersweet memory of time shared with my aged mother and step-father. Fragile, fleeting, illuminated, fragrant treasure.