Issue 23

I love jazz; it’s my go-to when I’m working in the studio or relaxing late at night with a cup of tea. With modern technology and a modicum of knowledge, I can change the ambience in the room at the flick of my wrist—or a voice command—such is the range of this genre.

Juno, my four-legged companion, is used to me having random conversations with Siri; she knows who I’m talking to, just as she knows we’re going to play when I reach for my walking belt—a camera belt and pouch I repurposed for our adventures—or when we’re about to have a tug-of-war on the studio floor.

It isn’t well appreciated how much time and effort it takes for a jazz musician to become fluent enough to improvise at the drop of a key, nor that each musician has a unique signature, even when they improvise. Yet they all learnt by imitating the greats. The same is true with photography as a medium of expression.

Both mediums require their practitioners to practise by doing, not sitting around and thinking. There is a place for the latter, but music—or images—truly advance when we focus on the doing.

In March, I realised something had changed in my practice when I got stuck at a broken window and derelict bus shelter. These were not the usual starting points for the images I had made up until then.

Broken Windows are carefully constructed, with thoughtful consideration of geometric structure, layers of detail, and the colour palette—all of which are animated, or abstracted, with patience, waiting for just the right character or shift in light.

As with all pivotal moments in my life, I knew something was changing, but I didn’t quite understand what was happening until I heard Sam Abell explain how he constructed this image as a young photographer.

Perhaps he didn’t have the same visual language then that he does now, a few decades later, but the basics were present, and he built on them. Another important aspect is that Sam had to be present; he had to recognise the essence of himself in that image and work with it. And oh, did he succeed! Today, he is a living legend and a joy to listen to.

The company I keep—Shore, Vitali, Gibson, and, of late, Leiter—has given my work a much-needed impetus and influenced my visual aesthetic. The longer I played—in the time between my travels, I take long walks with my camera, sketching, working things out, and playing with new ideas—the more my sketches revealed who I am as an artist.

Play has truly been the key to developing my visual language—along with an evening in the company of a great photographer.