Whimsical Musings of a Loon

There are a few places in the world that just by name, conjure evocative reactions. Often these are areas where, unfortunately, tragedy has struck - places where events unravelled that have sent tremor waves of shock felt across the globe. One such location has been a fascination of mine for a long time. And that place is Chernobyl. Photographing decaying and derelict buildings has long been an obsession of mine, something I've written and blathered on about many times. I yearn for it. I crave the ability to traipse through stale, dank crooked structures; rotten walls, peeling paint. Their ghostly existence crying out to be photographed - the documentation of manmade decline as nature engulfs it. Photography lends itself so well to capture these haunting scenes, the emptiness, the decay - which never stops, never pauses - only within the four walls of the photograph. Visiting Chernobyl had become a dream of mine. I had dreamed of seeing Pripyat, the city near the Chernoby...

Iceland. A mystical country that has intrigued me for years. When I stepped off the plane at Reykjavik airport in August, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Beautiful clear blue skies, and blindingly strong sun. Not weather you always associate with the coldly named country. Admittedly, I wasn't expecting iceberg arctic conditions, and to be greeted by a north face clad penguin to collect my bags, but still. As the bus from the airport took me to Reykjavik, I was struck by the volcanic landscape. Similar to the canaries, the land looked almost desolately lunar. It is an odd view, with its black, almost dead sensation, and yet not without it's own special kind of beauty. I was also struck by how sparse things felt - maybe too conditioned to the UK and in particular the city claustrophobic feel, where buildings are squidged next to other buildings to exploit as much millimetre of the space as possible. Reaching Reykjavik itself in glorious sunshine, I could almost ad...

Peaked arms of comfort, beckon yet mock, The luscious siren of greens & rock; Nature's vast canvas, over it shrouds, Charcoal sunk bleak, nefarious clouds. Majestic beauty so persuasive, Yet icy insults so abrasive.  Drenched relentless, to the beat; Yet un-abating, suffocating heat. Through pain,  Through pleasure, The mountains call. Despite the weary battle fight, Unseen demons of hidden fright; Suddenly I thrive. Suddenly: I become alive.

Murakami. Hokusai. Sushi. Samurai. Ghibli. Kurosawa. Japan had always been my dream destination. My fascination in the country and culture started in slightly an unusual way - sifting through my Van Gogh print book aged 11, I saw Vincent's Japanese art work, The Bridge in the Rain (after Hiroshige) and was rather taken by the image. On further inspection, I learnt of the original by Hiroshige and how Vincent had been influenced by the ukiyo-e prints. I had no conscious awareness of the why, but I just knew the style ticked a certain box within my sense of order. As I got older, the more I delved into Japanese culture, the more obsessed I became. I read the Pillow book of Sei Shonagon. I watched all the Kurosawa films I could get on VHS from the library (I've been concocting a whole blog post dedicated to my love affair with Ikuru for months), I bought all the Murakami I could afford (I remember trying to explain to a friend once why I loved his books "He writes what...

When I first started studying photography, mobile phone technology was still relatively primitive. Digital photography was still in its infancy (I learnt on a second hand 35mm film Nikon and dark room processing). Digital cameras were the golden grail of its time, the extra legroom supplement of technology - expensive but you didn't really get that much more for your money. To think of our lives without digital photography, or indeed, smart phones, is akin to imagining us existing without air.  Digital imaging and mobile technology has become an integral part of how we live - a repercussion of the internet emerging as the centre of modern life. Smart phones, or rather, camera phones have changed photography as a medium. It has changed the way we take photographs, obviously, but it has changed the way we share our images, the way the media use and publish images, and perhaps most interestingly, the way we even experience our lives. The first camera phone I ever owned was...

New year. New outlook. Usually new(ish) reflections; reviewing the past 12 months can be cathartic, it can also be for some of us painful. At new year, I always feel reflective, its the very nature of the time - the dark evenings and harsh weather turn me into something of a clam shell. I want to hibernate and ponder; I feel myself morph into something I don't always recognise. It's also a time when I see so many people pour scorn on the year that has just passed. A quick glance across social media sites result in a textual cornucopia of  similar statements: 'good riddance to this year!', and 'this has been a terrible year, can't wait for the new one' etc. etc. My immediate response always seems in agreement: "How true! X year has been appalling, let it die a nasty horrible death and bring on the great hope of placebo new year!" I suddenly stopped myself. Why did I think 2014 had been particularly bad? What evidence was there to support th...

When Kate Bush announced she would be performing live again after over 30 years of absence from audience shows, I had to pinch myself it was real. It was surely yet another myth. It was surely yet another silly rumour, created to tease and taunt. I had heard and suffered this disappointment so many times over the years. It was part of being a Kate fan. It was part of the deal. She was elusive. She rarely, if ever, appeared in public anymore, neither did she do interviews. As I was growing up in the late 90s and as the internet fuelled mass media driven celebrity obsessed culture expanded faster than you could say 'world wide web' - this elusive behaviour seemed even more intriguing, and yet even more frustrating. By the 00s, I was resigned to watching old Aspel clips on youtubes or getting very excited when Top of the Pops 2 showed old Kate videos. But it was part of the pact. Part of accepting her work into your domain. Accept her work into your life, but this is the pr...