Michael Jackson is best known for his 4-year-old (and continuing) exploration of the beach at Poppit Sands near Cardigan in west Wales. That length of commitment, which startles most photographers, is all the more remarkable because his chosen patch is little more than the size of a football pitch. He always uses the same camera, an ancient Hasselblad 500 CM and a 50mm lens that always stays on the same settings.
That particular camera has paid dividends in his photographic career. Three years running he has been shortlisted for the Hasselblad Masters Competition for some quite beautiful images; they immediately struck me for their wide range of tones from deep, rich blacks to startling, silvery highlights. There is an otherworldly, almost alien, quality to his work. What you’re looking at is ambiguous, with a tendency to carry you to a different place. Relying primarily on sweeping lines, intriguing shapes and contrasting textures formed by the interaction of sand and water, you could almost think of it like music, a beautiful melody or a song. And that’s not just your author spiralling off into some metaphorical epiphany. Ansel Adams said, “I can look at a fine art photograph and sometimes I can hear music.”