In this issue, we talk to Juan Tapia. His early fascination with photography was personal, rooted in childhood memories. In parallel with his career in agriculture, analogue workshops deepened his passion, and over time he gravitated away from grand landscapes to the subtle beauty of nearby environments. Influenced by art and music, his work embraces abstraction and symbolism, and he is continually seeking new ways to express and connect through visual storytelling.

Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself: where you grew up, what your early interests were and what you went on to do?

I was born in Roquetas de Mar, a coastal town in the province of Almería, southern Spain, in 1979. It is where I have lived all my life and where I currently reside. After completing high school, I decided to go into agriculture, working in my parents' greenhouses and growing vegetables. Like many young people, at the beginning I was not sure about my professional future; if I had known about photography earlier, I might have studied Fine Arts. In my spare time, I played various sports, as I was quite good at them. I was also passionate about fishing and puzzles. Eventually, I realised that the patience required for these activities would be an important virtue in my career in photography.

What prompted you to pick up an old camera in 2002 and register for a photography workshop? Had photography previously been important to you?

Photography was always important in my life, especially after the loss of my mother when I was only six years old. Many of these images became visual memories that helped me maintain a connection with her as if each photo captured fragments of her presence. My first photos were taken with an old Minolta film camera in the house; curiously, I photographed my own black and white photos from the family album, looking for new angles and details. It was like exploring a small intimate universe and discovering, in each frame, hidden stories and new meanings.[paid]

Thus, photography began to captivate me deeply, especially because of that mixture of uncertainty, magic and waiting that accompanies developing the film in the lab, as if each image came to life in the shadows. Shortly afterwards, I discovered that my local town council organised annual photography workshops. That brief immersion on my own awakened in me the desire to delve even deeper into this visual world, where the every day can become eternal.

‘Workshop’ doesn’t fully describe the duration and extent of your studies. What led you to continue, and how did your craft and subject matter evolve over the following years?

In those days, people still worked in analogue format. My first years of training were in workshops organised annually by the city council, which were held in parallel with other disciplines such as painting, sculpture, music and more. During this first stage, I acquired general knowledge, delving into the workings of photographic equipment and exploring historic processes, such as solarisation, cyanotype and pinhole photography, each with its own magic and artisanal character. It was then that I developed a diverse range of subject matter, although I eventually became the only student in the workshop to focus on capturing the essence of landscapes and wildlife. Perhaps my passion for nature, cultivated as a child in a Scout group, led me to gravitate towards this.

With the advent of the digital age, I thought that the workshop no longer had much to offer me and decided to leave it, convinced that my path had to take other directions. However, over time I realised that learning never stops and that there are always new details, techniques and perspectives capable of enriching my vision.

Since then, I continued to train in specialised weekend workshops with renowned nature photographers, and discovered in books and photographic talks a vast world full of inspiration. Today, after having taught many workshops with David Santiago and trained numerous students, I have returned as a student to the same workshop where I started, in search of new aesthetics and processes. My teacher is still there, at the helm, after twenty-two years, reminding me that in the art of photography, learning and unlearning is the key to assimilating new knowledge and applying it creatively.

Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you, or driven you forward in your continued development as a photographer?

As a child, I was fascinated by the elegance with which words could evoke deep emotions, a fondness I inherited from my poetry-loving parents. This early connection to poetic language was a prelude to what, years later, would define my vision in photography. Over time, my artistic exploration evolved into visual poetry, a quest to capture the essence of a moment or scene as evocatively as a poem would.

Throughout my photographic development, I have found inspiration from numerous photographers, but a few marked a turning point in my creative process. The work of Isabel Díez, for example, taught me to fragment the landscape, a technique that allows me to discover more intimate and personal perspectives in each natural environment. Similarly, Antonio Camoyán's series on the Rio Tinto opened up the world of abstraction for me, giving me a new language to express myself visually. On the other hand, the symbolism of Chema Madoz inspires me deeply. Although he does not work with themes from nature, his way of playing with everyday objects and giving them alternative meanings has taught me to see images as an invitation to reinterpret reality.

In painting, I find constant inspiration in the figure of Pablo Picasso. His tireless ability to reinvent himself, exploring diverse styles and taking risks at every stage of his career, is an example of boldness and authenticity. His work reminds me that artistic growth is a journey that never stops and that every change, however uncertain, can be the bridge to a more genuine and profound expression.

Tell us a little more about your local area and the places that you are drawn back to?

In the early years of my career as a nature photographer, I was attracted by the possibility of travelling to remote and imposing locations, seeking out expansive landscapes that, in themselves, provided visually stunning scenes. Over time, however, that idea began to fade, and I began to notice a certain dependence on scenery.

Over the years, I have come to greatly appreciate so-called ‘proximity photography’, which invites me to find beauty in nearby environments. In my case, the Tabernas desert and Cabo de Gata, two natural treasures barely an hour away from my home, have become recurring backdrops for my work. Likewise, the greenhouses, which form part of my everyday environment, have provided me with some of the most significant images of my professional career. These experiences have reaffirmed my belief that, while places are important, they are not essential.

Will you choose 2 or 3 favourite photographs from your own portfolio and tell us a little about why they are special to you, or your experience of making them?

Here are three images that have been fundamental in my photographic development. They may not be the best in my archive, but they clearly represent my personal search and artistic evolution. Each of them marks a moment of change, a significant turn in my career that redefined my understanding of photography. Through these photographs, I explored new visual languages and techniques that expanded my ability to express deep emotions and concepts. These images are ultimately milestones that remind me of the transformative power of experimentation and constant reinvention in art.

Alga

This image was taken at Cabo de Gata, shortly after a storm that had left the shore covered with seaweed, witness to the power of the sea. The landscape conveyed a profound sense of desolation, marked by the debris that the heavy swell had washed ashore. During a long walk along that small cove, my attention was captivated by a group of seaweed that, despite the adverse conditions, remained clinging to a rock, showing an impressive resilience to stay in their natural environment.

This photograph has a special meaning for me, as it was one of the first that did not arise from a visual reference or the influence of my photographic references, but was born out of pure and genuine emotion. One of the fundamental principles in the development of a personal gaze is the ability to select the stimuli that we want to transform into images, and this was one of those occasions when emotion dictated the composition.

Eucalipos

This image is part of the series entitled ‘The colour of their skin’, a collection that narrates the transformation of eucalyptus bark over time. Each photograph in this series represents a significant turn in my artistic trajectory towards the world of abstraction. This evolution began after a trip to the Tinto River with the master Antonio Camoyán, where my photographic vision underwent a profound transformation, moving towards abstraction.

Before, when walking through this forest located in the Tabernas desert, my gaze was limited to the trees as a whole. However, over time, I began to discover the hidden details that lie beneath the surface, revealing visual secrets that only emerge through new forms of representation. Thanks to this photographic work, I was able to make a name for myself in the field of nature photography.

Paisaje De Cal Y Plastico

The last image I present to you is a pareidolia that I discovered on the roof of my greenhouse. After the process of bleaching its structure to reduce the temperatures affecting the plants, surprising graphics began to form on the plastic. As the days went by, I captured several of these shapes that evoked natural landscapes: a tree leaning on the bank of a river, a stream meandering over a virgin blanket of snow, or, as in this case, a snow-capped mountain range seen from a zenithal perspective.

Up to that point, I had already made numerous pareidolias in the middle of nature, but this image marked a turning point, as it was the first symbolic representation of nature outside its own environment. It was at that moment that I became truly aware of the poetic power of the image, capable of transporting us to magical places inaccessible to others.

How surprised were you to achieve success in the 2015 Wildlife Photographer of the Year awards with your image Life Comes to Art? Tell us a little about how you came to make this image.

In 2015, I was in a transitional stage between bird and landscape photography when I decided to revisit an idea I had conceived years ago: to break with the cliché of capturing a swallow flying through a window. So, I came up with the somewhat absurd idea of photographing a swallow breaking a frame to fly through it.

I found the ideal frame in my farmhouse, a painting of a rural landscape with a wide sky where I imagined the swallow would fly. This bird, common in rural areas, fitted perfectly with the theme. As the painting was somewhat deteriorated, I made a hole in the sky to allow the bird to pass through.

After a few weeks, I took the first photographs. I placed two flashes at 45 degrees to illuminate the canvas and stop the bird's flight with their partial powers. From my van, about 30 metres away, I used a remote shutter release. After eight hours of intense work, I captured hundreds of images; most with technical errors, but a few were saved, and only one was chosen for its expressive power.

Although I was initially satisfied, doubts arose as to whether the image looked too artificial. I entered it in several nature photography competitions, but only the Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition went for it. It was a surprise, as this competition values documentary style and purity of image capture. However, that edition introduced a new category called ‘Impressions’, which sought to showcase images of nature that broke clichés under a personal gaze. I think this category was tailor-made for my photography, as it fitted perfectly with what was proposed.

What difference did your win in the Impressions category make to your photography – for example, your enjoyment and confidence, the time you devote to it, or the balance between it being a hobby or something more?

This recognition marked a significant change in my photographic career and gave me greater confidence in my ideas, however absurd or unusual they might seem. The win allowed me to break free from the constraints imposed by competitions and their aesthetic policies, which often cause creative blocks. Before, I adapted my photographs to meet the requirements of the competitions, but now I focus on developing my work authentically, exploring each concept without worrying about whether or not it fits within the parameters of a competition. This creative freedom has been one of the most valuable lessons of this achievement and has allowed me to connect with my most personal vision.

In addition, being recognised in such a prestigious international competition as the Wildlife Photographer of the Year gave me unexpected visibility. This recognition transformed what seemed like a hobby into a second job that I now combine with my main activity in agriculture and has opened the doors to collaborations, exhibitions and new opportunities that I never imagined I would achieve

Can you give readers a brief insight into your set up – from photographic equipment through processing to printing? Which parts of the workflow especially interest you and where do you feel you can make the most difference to the end result?

In my photographic work, the greatest effort goes into the pre-production and production phases, where the creative process really comes to life. The observation and selection of subjects is fundamental, as it is in this pre-shooting stage that ideas emerge and the focus of each image is defined. In pre-production, I visualise the composition in my mind, identify the essential elements and decide how I want to represent them visually. I don't need extensive or complex photographic equipment; many of my photos could be captured with any camera because the value is in the vision, not the technology.

The production phase is where the camera becomes an extension of my perception, allowing me to apply techniques and composition to realise what I have conceptualised. My training in the analogue era taught me that the moment of the shot is where a photograph is truly complete: each capture is the result of careful planning and clear focus. Although digital development is part of this phase, I don't give it too much importance, limiting myself to basic adjustments of brightness, contrast and colour, similar to what we did in analogue labs. I do not seek to alter the image but to polish it and highlight the key elements that were already present in the capture.

Finally, the post-production phase also involves an additional effort, as I seek to give maximum visibility to my work through social networks, exhibitions and books. For me, the art of photography is a language to communicate and connect with others. To create images just for oneself, without sharing them, would be to lose the true purpose of art: the transmission of a message or emotion.

In addition to your love of the natural world, you have said that you try to bring painting and music into your photography. Can you elaborate on this are they influences for what you are drawn to, how you compose your images, or do you also paint or play an instrument?

Although I have never painted, art history is something I am passionate about. Photography and painting have shared key historical moments, influencing each other and shaping their respective evolutions. I find the artistic avant-gardes of the 20th century an endless source of inspiration and learning, as these currents challenged norms and opened doors to new ways of seeing and interpreting reality, allowing the every day to be represented through figurative and abstract approaches.

This pictorial influence is reflected in my photography through images that evoke different artistic styles. From impressionistic compositions to abstract and surrealistic approaches, each style brings a visual richness that enriches the viewer's perception and gives depth to the photographic representation. For me, knowing the history of art is a fundamental tool to develop a broader and more diverse view, always in search of new ways of seeing.

As for music, although I don't play an instrument, I am captivated by the serene melodies of the violin and the piano, which convey calm and uplift me. I try to capture that same enveloping and expressive atmosphere in my images, a mixture of deep peace and intimacy, although sometimes I don't know if I succeed completely. Studying the creative process of musicians is also very inspiring for me; their approaches and constant innovations throughout their careers show me that there is always room for reinvention and growth in art.

You have talked about transmitting sensations… trying to find something new each time you go out. You seem especially drawn to abstraction, and enjoy experimenting. What now motivates you?

In my early days, I conceived photography mainly as a tool to capture the beauty of environments, plants or animals. However, over time, I began to reflect on its expressive potential. This evolution arises from the understanding that photography is a means of communication between the author and the viewer, in which each shot can generate different interpretations in the beholder. When I talk about looking for something new in each outing, I am referring to that constant need to find new forms of visual communication that allow me to maintain my motivation in this world and continue to grow.

A key moment in my career was the discovery of the world of abstraction, which opened the doors to new interpretations through shapes, colours and textures. This kind of image invites the viewer to a state of search, where he is torn between what he sees and what those forms suggest to him. I am currently very interested in symbolism, an area that challenges and fascinates me in equal parts. The creation of a universe of meaning that departs from its origin, that defies expectations and proposes new visual readings, is a process that I find extremely stimulating and complex.

Exhibitions and books suggest that it is important to you that other people see your photographs in print. How do you choose to print and present your work and looking ahead do you have a preference for one over the other (exhibitions or books)?

At present, I do not have a definite preference between exhibitions and books, as I consider both forms of presentation to be valuable, albeit limited in scope. The digital environment, with its ability to reach a global audience instantaneously, is undeniably crucial in the contemporary world. Platforms such as social media allow us to share our work more widely and quickly than any physical exhibition or book, which generates a greater impact in terms of visibility.

That said, I also recognise the unique value of more traditional experiences, such as physical exhibitions and printed books. Presenting a work in an exhibition space allows for a more intimate and direct interaction with the viewer, creating a special bond between the work and the audience. Books, on the other hand, offer a lasting, tangible record that allows for a slow and thoughtful appreciation of the work.

In the end, regardless of the format, for me, the essential thing is the interaction with the viewer. Photographs become meaningful when they are seen and generate reactions in those who look at them. While digital platforms broaden our reach, physical exhibitions and books offer a depth that is also important in any artist's career. I believe that both formats complement each other, and I will continue to explore them as the project requires.

What do you feel you’ve gained through photography?

Photography has been my main ally in the exploration of my inner world, a confidant with whom I have shared my tastes, insecurities and concerns openly. I consider myself a naturally introverted and reserved person; I often find it difficult to express what is inside me. However, through photography I have found an authentic and sincere way to channel my emotions, sensations and ideas in a way that would be difficult to express in everyday life without the mediation of the camera.

Photography has taught me to pay attention to small details and to look beyond superficial appearances. In the same way that in life the most valuable essences are often found in the most inconspicuous details, I have learned that not everything is what it seems at first glance, but that the true essence is in how we interpret what we observe. This approach has not only transformed my view of the world, but has also enriched my daily life with valuable lessons about perception and interpretation of reality.

Do you have any particular projects or ambitions for the future, or themes that you would like to explore further?

I am currently developing a personal photographic project that explores the relationship between my passion for nature and my working environment, the greenhouse. Many of the images accompanying this interview are part of this work in progress, which still requires considerable development, but I am excited about the possibility of it becoming a work that innovatively reflects my artistic evolution. Like many photographers, I aspire to publish a book compiling my work, and in this project I have found a theme with which I feel deeply identified. Through it, I wish to highlight the importance of looking closely at the immediate environment, demonstrating through my images that it is not necessary to travel far to discover beauty and establish a meaningful connection with the viewer.

For me, there is nothing more personal than intertwining my daily work in the greenhouse with my photographic passion, as each image becomes a bridge that connects these two worlds. My project is also an invitation to reconsider everyday spaces to see how work and creativity can feed each other to shape a unique visual universe.

If you had to take a break from all things photographic for a week, what would you end up doing?

Sometimes I feel the need to completely disconnect from everything related to photography. In fact, during my summer holidays I usually spend almost a month without thinking about it. With the current pace, between workshops, conferences, articles, interviews and other training activities, I find it essential to take these breaks to recharge my batteries and keep my balance. From a creative point of view, I also find that these breaks are necessary to disconnect and then reconnect with a renewed perspective.

Disconnecting allows me to return to photography with fresh eyes, appreciating the creative process in a fuller and more open way. Also, by exploring other disciplines and feeding my curiosity outside of the camera, I find inspiration in unexpected places, which adds depth and unique nuances to my images. Each time I return, I feel I have something new to contribute, a vision that would not have emerged without these moments of pause. These reflective spaces not only keep my work fresh, but also help me remember why I started in photography and rediscover the pleasure of capturing moments that reflect my artistic identity.

And finally, is there someone whose photography you enjoy – perhaps someone that we may not have come across – and whose work you think we should feature in a future issue? They can be amateur or professional.

I would like to recommend two outstanding photographers from my homeland whose work I think deserves to be featured in a future issue. I would not be surprised if they have already published with you.

As for established authors, I would like to highlight Isabel Díez, who has been my main source of inspiration throughout my artistic development. Her work, mainly focused on coastal landscapes, stands out for the enormous sensitivity with which she captures the smallest details, transmitting calm, strength and mystery.

In the field of emerging artists, I would recommend César Llaneza. His work is also characterised by a meticulous attention to close framing, as well as a special elegance in the treatment of colour and the emotionality that his motifs evoke. Llaneza's images possess a unique vitality that makes them truly captivating.

Thank you, Juan. It’s going to be fascinating to see how your intermingling of photography with your working environment continues to evolve.

You can see more of Juan’s photography on his website.  You’ll also find him on Facebook and Instagram.

We have previously featured the two photographers that Juan has suggested, and you can read these interviews by following the links below.

• Isabel Díez  - 2 interviews
• Cesar Llaneza – Portrait of a Photographer 

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Whatever labels we prefix photography with, it is a fluid form of art and craft that largely follows the curiosity of the person behind the lens. Just as the countryside evolves over time and with weather, urban street scenes are in flux, shaped by changes in the built fabric, the movement of people, the play of light, and the unfolding of everyday life. Street photography invites us to see the city as a living organism, a landscape of opportunity with its own rhythms and stories.

In this issue, we feature Chris Harrison. While he always takes his camera with him on his travels, the majority of his work is made in his home city of Brighton, often from the same short section of the seafront. As you will see, the mix of Chris’ curiosity and the dynamics of the city mean that this is far from being a constraint.

Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, and what your early interests were?

Originally, I’m from a small, rural village nestled right on the edge of the Lincolnshire Wolds. I grew up there in the 1970s and 80s. From an early age, art and creativity were something I felt very drawn to. I’m not sure where that came from because nobody in my family had any interest in art!

Like many people from my generation, the 80s indie music scene became a source of inspiration. Some of my earliest memories of taking an interest in photography came from the sleeves of the LPs in my small record collection. Two names stand out from that period: Brian Griffin's photographs of Echo & The Bunnymen and the beautiful design and art direction that Peter Saville produced for New Order.

You credit one image in particular with opening your eyes to photography? Did this contribute to your choice of college studies, or had you already decided on a course?

My interest in art and design led me to apply to study graphic design at Lincolnshire College of Art & Design in the late 80s. I wasn’t the most academic kid, but I managed to just about scrape the 4 O levels I would need to go to art college.

I received a letter with a list of materials I’d need to get started at college. One of the suggestions on the list was to subscribe to a photography magazine. This kind of confused me because I’d signed up for a graphic design course – photography wasn’t really on my radar. At that time, I didn’t realise that graphic design and photography go hand in hand.

The photography magazine arrived, I opened it, and an image of a Great Dane, Chihuahua and a woman wearing long boots had me mesmerised. I had so many questions, “what am I looking at?”, “who made this?”, “why was this made?”, “who sees the world in this strange way?”. The magazine's main feature for that issue was none other than Elliott Erwitt. That’s when things really changed for me. My eyes became fully open to photography and its hypnotic quality, its ability to hold someone's attention and tickle their heart. It was love at first sight.

At art college, I felt the magic of printing my first photo. I remember being so blown away by the darkroom process that one of the photography department technicians laughingly told me to calm down! I’m not sure if I was high from the developing chemicals or on a natural high from finding something that I loved being a part of. It was, and still is, a magical and sometimes euphoric experience.

However, despite the strong connection I initially felt to photography, I didn’t have the courage to make it a bigger part of my life. After college, I needed to earn a living quickly. Full-time photography didn’t feel like the right choice for me, so I took the safe option and pursued my career as a designer.

What role did photography subsequently play for you? What prompted you to pick up the camera again after a break?

After I left art college, I kept my hand in with photography during the 1990s, occasionally being immersed in it (using my bathroom as a darkroom and printing my own work) while other times my cameras have gathered dust or been sold to pay for other things.

In 2016, after a 15-year hiatus and a chance visit to Arles Photo Festival, I reconnected with photography again. I saw an exhibition in Arles about the New York School of Photography from the 1950s – a collective known for candid street photography. Influential figures like Sid Grossman, Harold Feinstein, and Leon Levinstein captured raw, unposed moments of urban life.

Their work emphasised emotion and spontaneity, and I was taken right back to the original excitement of seeing Elliott Erwitt’s ‘Great Dane, Chihuahua, Legs and Boots’ for the first time. I asked myself, “Why did you stop? Why aren’t you doing this anymore?” I made a decision to dive back into photography and commit to it. I’m still plugging away.

Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you, or driven you forward in your development as a photographer – either in your early days or subsequently?

There are so many photographers who have greatly inspired me. As I’ve said, my first introduction to photography was with Elliott Erwitt.

Some of the earlier inspirations were Don McCullin and Steve McCurry. I bought a copy of The Shipping Forecast by Mark Power when it was first released in 1996, and that also really planted a seed for how a bigger idea could be handled in an original way.

In the year 2000, I lived and worked in Sydney and became familiar with the work of Trent Parke and Narelle Autio – their work is still a huge inspiration for me today.

A few years ago, I discovered the work of Jeff Jacobson, who made a mesmerising photo book called Melting Point, which is probably one of my all-time favourites, and became an inspiration for me to make my own book, ‘Sideshow’.

I also love Harry Gruyaert’s work along the off-season parts of coastal Belgium. I mentioned Brian Griffin's work for musicians earlier. I love his inventiveness and how he plays with surrealism, which is something I’m also naturally drawn to.

Going off on a bit of a tangent, there are artists who straddle the world of graphic design and photography. Two people who fall into that space are Storm Thorgerson, who was responsible for most of Pink Floyd's album artwork, and Jean Paul Goude, who created lots of wacky campaigns for musicians and fashion brands. I haven’t even mentioned Joel Meyerowitz, Luigi Ghirri, Saul Leiter, and Henri Cartier Bresson. I could go on and on!

You talk about curiosity and spontaneity being important to your enjoyment but mostly work the same stretch of seafront. This constraint of place is a good way of encouraging experimentation, and fostering creativity?

Photography can happen anywhere, and often, the most interesting work comes from places we already know well. For me, that’s Brighton. It’s not about how far you travel, but more about seeing the every day with a sense of curiosity, letting things surprise you that you might usually pass by without a second thought.

I’ve been working the same stretch of Brighton seafront for ages, and it can feel limiting at first like you’ve seen it all before, and there’s nothing new to discover. But that feeling, the constraint of the same spot, actually pushes you to look harder, to dig deeper and start seeing the ordinary in ways you might not expect. It forces you to look past the obvious and question how you're seeing it.

While exotic locations might seem like they’re overflowing with inspiration, I’ve found that real creativity tends to spark when you stay put and commit to seeing what’s right in front of you – whether that’s just down the street or around the corner from home. It’s not easy, though. It takes patience. There’s this frustration in the beginning, where you feel like you’ve already taken every possible shot, and there’s nothing new to capture. But if you stick with it and keep that curiosity alive, something shifts.

Working within the constraint of a specific place, like Brighton’s seafront for me, forces me to slow down, to stop looking for something dramatic and instead find the subtle details that usually go unnoticed. It’s a challenge, but that’s what makes it interesting. The more you pay attention, the more you realise that even the most familiar places can be full of surprises.

So yeah, that limitation of staying in one spot can actually be a gift. It makes me see beyond the surface, finding magic in the everyday things I might’ve missed otherwise. And sometimes, that’s where the best creativity happens – right there in the familiar, waiting for you to look at it differently.

You carry your camera wherever you go. Has this resulted in any unexpected opportunities? Perhaps we can tie this in with asking you to choose 2 or 3 photographs from your own portfoliotell us a little about your experience of making them.

17:06 – 17th March 2023

This is almost one of the most mundane and ordinary scenes that you will see in Brighton, and I have walked past these huts and the orange chairs hundreds of times. It’s the end of the day and spring will officially start in three days' time. The sun is low enough to make the huts look interesting, but it’s the chairs that are transformed by the late winter light.

13:08 – 20th December 2019

This photograph was taken on the way home. I’d been shooting for a few hours and was running to catch the bus. As I crossed the road, I glanced up into a hotel room window and saw this chandelier hanging from the clouds. Quite mysterious and a bit magical. There’s a quiet simplicity to the shot that I really like.

16:10 – 18th November 2019

I was struck by how much the reflected clouds in this shallow circular puddle resembled a picture of Earth. A curious crow hopped over to take a look, too; it felt like there wasn’t much that needed to be done to make the shot, apart from being patient.

Can you give readers a brief insight into your set up – from photographic equipment through processing to printing? Which parts of the workflow especially interest you and where do you feel you can make the most difference to the end result?

My setup, if you can call it that, is very simple. Just me, my Leica Q2, and whatever I find in the street. My journey with Leica began after attending a Bruce Gilden workshop at the Leica Store in Mayfair, London. I borrowed an M240 from the store for a couple of days and instantly fell in love with it. It felt intuitive, and the image quality was a significant leap from what I’d experienced with other digital cameras. Hooked from that moment, I soon bought a pre-owned M262, and a few years later, took the plunge and bought a pre-owned Q2, also from the Leica Store in Mayfair.

I've been using the Q2 almost exclusively for nearly four years now. It's far from mint condition – it's well-used, and it shows. But cameras are made to be used, and my Q2 has weathered rain and salty sea air many times without any loss in image quality or mechanical performance. What I love most is its simplicity and design. It’s not overloaded with unnecessary features; it’s fast, responsive, and compact, making it easy to carry for hours without feeling cumbersome.

My editing process is intentionally straightforward and efficient. After spending a few hours out on the streets of Brighton – anywhere from 2 to 5 hours, often covering several kilometres – I download all the photos from my camera as soon as I get home. This has become a bit of a ritual for me. Walking through Brighton, capturing candid moments, is where the heart of my work is, and when I return, I want the post-shoot process to be as simple as possible.

For all of my archiving, cataloging, and editing, I rely on Adobe Lightroom. It’s a tool that allows me to keep everything organised and in one place, without unnecessary complications. Lightroom’s functionality fits with my preference for simplicity, making it easier for me to manage my growing library of images.

Occasionally, when I come across a photo that stands out – one I feel has potential for a future book project or that I might want to sell as a print – I’ll take the time to print it. But even then, my editing process remains minimal. I don’t believe in heavy manipulation or drastic alterations. My approach to editing is all about preserving the authenticity of the image. I’ll make minor adjustments, usually just correcting or enhancing the colour slightly, performing minimal cropping, and possibly tweaking the contrast. That’s about the extent of my edits. I want the image to stay as true to the moment it was captured as possible.

For me, the goal is to spend as little time as possible sitting in front of a computer. That’s why I keep the editing side of things really simple and streamlined. I’d rather be out in the streets, with my camera, where the magic happens.

You’ve described the street as being “a set of ingredients in flux, where the challenge is to make something interesting out of it”. Of these is light especially important to you?

Yes, light’s really important to me, but it’s just one piece of a much bigger puzzle, really. When I say the street is “a set of ingredients in flux,” I’m talking about how everything is constantly shifting – the people, the movement, the mood, and of course, the light. Nothing stays still, it’s all changing, so you’ve got to be tuned in to all of it. Especially in street photography, where you’ve got no control over any of it, you’re just reacting to what’s happening around you.

Light can completely change a scene. It can take something totally ordinary and turn it into something a bit special – a shadow falling just right, light hitting someone’s face, or that warm glow you get on a wet street as the sun goes down. But even though light is key, I wouldn’t say I obsess over it. I work with whatever’s there at the time. I’m more interested in the energy of the moment, in what’s happening in front of me, rather than hanging around for perfect lighting.

You can’t really wait for the ideal light in street photography. You’ve just got to make the most of what’s in front of you. And I think that’s where creativity comes in – being able to see something interesting, even when the light’s not what you’d ideally want. It’s not about perfection, it’s about working with what you’ve got and still finding those moments. For me, it’s about being ready for something unexpected to happen. That’s the real challenge – not waiting for the light to be right but being ready to respond when it all comes together in a way you weren’t expecting.

How valuable has your experience of working in a design agency been in developing your ability to appraise your own photos and portfolios, and decide what works?

Working in a design agency has really shaped how I see and evaluate my own photos and portfolios. In design, you’re always making decisions about what stays in and what gets cut, figuring out what works visually and what doesn’t. It’s a constant process of refining, editing, and simplifying until you end up with something that communicates clearly. That discipline has naturally carried over into my photography.

Being able to self-edit is so important. Just like in design, I’ve come to realise that sometimes less is actually more. Not every photo needs to be a standout; some of them can just be good without needing to steal the show.

I think the design mindset has also taught me not to get too attached to any single image. Sometimes, you’ve got to be a bit ruthless, especially when you’re putting together a portfolio. It’s not just about picking out the individual shots you love; it’s about the overall narrative and coherence of the whole thing. It’s a bit of a balancing act, really. You want each image to play its part, but you also want to see how they fit together. Sometimes I find myself wondering if a photo really adds to the story or if it’s just there because I like it. It’s all part of the process, I guess, trying to find that sweet spot between personal attachment and the bigger picture.

Have you had the opportunity to exhibit your ‘Sideshow’ project? What reactions have the images prompted? It’s always good to show people something they think they know well in a different light.

I haven’t exhibited ‘Sideshow’ in its entirety. But I have had a small involvement in group shows, which have mainly been street photo festivals in Sydney, Rome, Brussels, Gothenburg, Miami and LA. I did have a small show at Finn Hopson’s Brighton photography gallery on Brighton seafront in 2022. Exhibiting is something I’d love to do more of. It's another discipline to curate a show and think through how the images will work together in a physical space.

Of the images that have been exhibited, I’m always surprised by people's reactions. I guess we spend so much time looking at our own images they can become so familiar that one wonders whether anyone else would find them interesting. So, seeing people puzzling over an image of mine in real life is quite a thrill. The images that tend towards an element of optical illusion tend to draw people in – they’re trying to decode the image or work out what's going on. That’s quite fun to watch. I guess there are also images that I feel very fond of that others don’t quite understand, and that’s also quite interesting to observe.

Overall, seeing the work printed large and displayed in a physical space does shift our relationship to the image. It becomes an object that exists in the real world rather than on a computer screen or viewed on Instagram through a phone.

What role do books play for you? Have any especially inspired you, and do you have plans to make more?

Books have been incredibly important to me. In fact, they don’t even need to be monographs or specific bodies of work for me to get excited. I mentioned earlier that my first job was in the ad agency Saatchi & Saatchi. One of my tasks in the early part of my career was to trawl through stock photography catalogues, looking for images to use in campaigns and brochures we were working on. Depending on the library, there could be some wonderful examples of great photographic work. Sure, most of it was commercial work for commercial use, but there were a lot of beautifully crafted images.

Looking back, I think this experience was invaluable to how I work today. I must have spent thousands of hours looking through hundreds of thousands of images, sometimes for days and days at a time. Nine to five, week in and week out. Although I didn’t realise it at the time, my mind was logging away all of these images, regardless of how successfully I’d be able to recall them. I think this gave me a sense of what works in an image because, again, I was evaluating the images for how we could use them in a campaign – too moody, too busy, too bright, too bland, etc., etc.

In addition to trawling through photo books for my day job, I’d also obsess over “real” photo books on the weekends. There was an art bookshop on Charing Cross Road called Zwemmer’s, which sadly doesn’t exist anymore. After walking around London for several hours with my camera, I’d go for a browse in Zwemmer’s. I couldn’t afford to spend lots of money on books, but some of the ones I did pick up from Zwemmer’s included a photo book by Richard Gere called ‘Pilgrim’. It’s a beautiful visual diary of his travels in Tibetan Buddhist communities and monasteries. I mentioned Mark Power’s Shipping Forecast’ earlier, which was another purchase from Zwemmer’s.

I guess I was just bumbling along looking for inspiration back then, because I bought a copy of ‘Photographic Notes: Everything is Important - Nothing is Important’, by Christian Vogt who was unknown to me at the time. He’s a Swiss photographer whose work I still really like. He has a unique way of exploring how to see things, playing with perception and time. His work is minimalist and thought-provoking. I had a period of trying to copy him very badly!

How do you feel that your photography has evolved, and where would you like to take it? Do you have any particular projects or ambitions for the future?

I think I spent many years with an idea in my head of the types of photos I wanted to make, but there was a large gap in my ability to either spot those photos or execute them in a way that I felt happy with.

I think I’ve made some images that do meet the internal vision of what I’m trying to achieve, but only a small number, really. So, in terms of evolution, I’d say my abilities have occasionally met with my idea for what I’m trying to achieve. And that does feel like some sort of progress.

In terms of where it goes from here, well, that’s a very big question mark if I’m being honest. I’ve invested 7-8 years in ‘Sideshow’ as a project, and I’m feeling a little adrift in what to do next. While that’s not the most comfortable place to be, I’m kind of OK with it, too. I know myself well enough to know that this is a bit of a cooling off period, and it (hopefully!) won’t take me long to formulate a new idea that I can work with and explore. I don’t feel quite done with Brighton just yet; I think there are other ways to approach it as a subject or a backdrop. I’ve got a few very vague ideas knocking around, nothing concrete, but something will emerge.

We all start off thinking that our photography is about place, subject, season… only at some point to realise that we are intrinsically part of it in what we respond to, and what we choose to show. What have you discovered about yourself through photography?

Through photography, I’ve realised just how much of myself is wrapped up in the way I see things. At first, I thought it was all about capturing the subject, the place, the season – like that was the whole point. But the more I’ve gone on, the more I’ve found it’s really about what pulls at me, even if I can’t fully explain why. It’s about the moments that resonate, the ones that feel right in some way.

There's a certain kind of joy in that process, in letting yourself be drawn to things without overthinking it. There’s a quote I love by Chögyam Trungpa, who was a Tibetan Buddhist Master. It’s a small part of a longer quote where he’s talking about how meditation can shape you – he says, "let the world tickle your heart". I think that's kind of what keeps me going – the simple joy of seeing something that does that sparks something in me. It’s not always obvious at first, but there's this feeling when I know I’ve captured it.

What I’ve also realised is that I’m doing this for myself, really. Photography’s become this way of figuring out how I view the world, but it’s not always clear, and that’s fine. There’s a certain amount of uncertainty in it, and I’ve come to appreciate that. I don’t always know where I’m going with it, and it’s more of a personal journey than anything else – one of discovery, really. I try to worry less about getting it “right” and just let it unfold, see what comes out. That’s what makes it meaningful to me.

If you had to take a break from all things photographic for a week, what would you end up doing? What other hobbies or interests do you have?

Tough question! Honestly, I can’t really imagine taking a week off and not taking my camera with me. If I was absolutely forced to do something different for a week, it would probably involve some sort of walking, scenery and hills. I love that, although I don’t do it often enough these days. I’ve been meditating for several years, so it could be a retreat of some sort, the kind where you leave your phone at home and just switch off for a whole week. That’s kind of bliss really.

For those who would love to experiment with street photography but are nervous about photographing around other people, and their potential reactions, what advice would you give them?

Well, I’d immediately say that street photography doesn’t have to involve taking pictures of other people; in fact it doesn’t even need to be done in or on a street. For anyone who wants to try out photography, or anything creative for that matter, then just jump straight in and do it.

I’ve read a fair few books written by artists who talk about their process and being creative. One of the best I’ve read is by Michael Craig-Martin, a book called ‘On being an artist’. His advice for anyone wanting to make a start with art or creativity is to simply START! He advocates for not needing to know what you're doing at first, nothing needs to be pinned down, and there doesn't need to be any concrete sense of certainty about where you’re going or what you’re aiming to achieve. Just let it unfold. Let that be the reason why you’d want to start any creative project – to see where it takes you. So that would be my advice, just start.

Although I discovered my love for photography at an early age, I spent way too many years not really getting started. I would kid myself that I’d start when I was less busy, had more time, knew what I was trying to say, had a project all worked out in advance. It really just doesn’t work that way. The conditions will never be perfect – you just have to commit to giving it a go.

And finally, is there someone whose photography you enjoy – perhaps someone that we may not have come across - and whose work you think we should feature in a future issue? They can be amateur or professional. Please include a link to their website or social media, as appropriate.

Yasuhiro Ogawa, a wonderful photographer from Japan - Instagram and website.

Thanks Chris, it will be good to see how your ideas take shape over time. I hope that our conversation will have encouraged a few readers to re-appraise what possibilities lie in their home towns and cities.

You can see more of Chris’ photography on his website.

Rannsy has had a long-standing interest in photography, beginning with capturing family moments with instant film cameras and moving on to explore people and places through travel. She credits one trip in particular with crystallising her desire to look at her surroundings in greater detail. Back in Iceland, she seeks quieter interpretations of her much photographed homeland. Encouraged by friendships online, she is currently studying creative photography.

Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?

Yes, sure. Until I was fifteen, I grew up in a small village in a suburb of the capital city Reykjavik called Mosfellsbær. At that time, in ’70 -’80, it was a part of the country you had to drive gravel roads to get there, but nowadays, it is a small town and just 5-10 minutes drive from Reykjavik.

I have four siblings, and I’m the second oldest. When I grew up, children had lots of freedom, every child was allowed to go outside and play; often we took part in group plays or we went on a small tour exploring the surroundings.

In this issue, we catch up with Nicki Gwynn-Jones to discuss how her photography has evolved. It's been seven years since our Featured Photographer interview with her, and in that time her connection with the rugged landscape, dramatic light and wild seas of Orkney has deepened. From her encounters with balletic Arctic terns, to the light of the simmer dim and the storms of winter, Nicki shares the profound joy and respect she has developed for her home. Her insights offer inspiration and encouragement for those wanting to grow a personal photographic style rooted in place and passion.

Our Featured Photographer interview with you was seven years ago, just one year after you had moved to Orkney. What has given you most enjoyment with your photography since then? What particular experiences or highlights come to mind?

Oh my goodness, so many highlights!

As you may remember from our previous chat, I am very drawn to the sea, so in addition to my wave photography I love to spend time with our seabirds. I have got to know a visiting colony of Arctic terns over the years, and they bring me a great deal of joy - and worry! By the time our long Orcadian winters finally morph into spring, I am so looking forward to their return.

I also enjoy doing creative flower photography - oxeye daisies are a favourite - but this spring I found wood anemones here for the first time. Visiting our small areas of woodland after a long winter I feel reborn, the spring light filtering through the fresh new greenery, and the first willow warblers announcing their presence after their long flight from Africa.

The arrival of orca whales always has me very excited. A particular highlight a couple of years ago was watching them as they passed by just 50 yards from where I was standing. I was almost unable to breathe from the excitement of being so close to these magnificent creatures. The experience of the first lockdown was also extraordinary, but more of that later.

Have your tastes changed at all, either in terms of your own photography or what you enjoy looking at and find inspiration in?

I have perhaps been known in the past for my high key photography, but I now embrace the dark side! The light here can be so extraordinary, and I am loving the low key/high contrast look that can produce very dramatic and evocative interpretations.

I am on a quest to capture the spirit of what it means to be an Arctic tern, so have been experimenting with images that are of a more abstract nature and with black and white conversions, which make a feature of the beautiful shapes that their elegant wings create as they are buffeted by the wind. The quest continues.

There is no doubt that picking up a camera is invariably a transformative moment. There are many routes into photography, and plans change: a first studio job led Mike Curry away from degree studies but led to a career in commercial photography. A commission with a generous brief was the seed for the development of a distinctive portfolio of abstract water reflections that, at times, border on the surreal. As Mike shares the artists and photographers whose work has inspired him, you will see how these find expression through his personal photography.

Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up and what early interests you had?

I was born in Goole, East Yorkshire, the most inland port in the UK. Early interests included football and abstract art. I was fascinated with kaleidoscopes and Spirograph and artists such as Rothko, Pollock and Hockney.

Matt Redfern grew up surrounded by the beauty of the outdoors. Nature was a source of comfort and inspiration, but his love for photography developed later after he settled in California. Initially influenced by what he saw on social media, he credits the Covid19 travel restrictions with encouraging him to explore more local and intimate scenes. Since moving to Oregon, Matt has concentrated on capturing scenes that convey a story or hold personal meaning for him.

You say that you hate writing about yourself, so apologies in advance… but let’s begin a conversation. Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do? It sounds like the outdoors has long been a place of comfort for you.

I should have said I struggle to write about myself. ‘Hate’ is maybe a little too dramatic. I think that’s because it’s hard to sum up who I am exactly in a paragraph or two, but I’ll do my best here. Ha-ha.

I grew up in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia. My childhood was filled with a lot of time in the outdoors, whether outside at our home or on family trips. We would often go on camping trips in our large three room tent to accommodate our family of six. It would almost always rain heavily on us, too, but somehow, we endured and mostly had fun. My dad was also an avid deer hunter. When I was old enough to go, we would camp for days and hike into the woods each morning before sunrise and again in the early afternoon before sunset. We’d carry heavy tree stands on our back used for climbing up tall pine trees where we would sit and wait for deer. I don’t hunt anymore, but I think this background gave me more of an appreciation and understanding of forests. It became a place of comfort. Most of the time, I’d never see deer, but I’d watch birds and squirrels going about their day, totally unaware of my presence. I learned how to notice certain features in the forest, such as spotting animal patterns/behaviors, as well as how to navigate before we had GPS.

In this issue, we have a rich and lengthy dialogue with Australian artist and educator Len Metcalf. Len has written for On Landscape before and gave an inspiring presentation at the Meeting of Minds Conference in 2016. Len’s images are distinctive – always square, always sepia toned. He has a love of wildness, trees and flowers; he is a passionate advocate for the environment; and likes nothing better than a quality print – and paper. To Len, photography on the wall or in a book or journal that stays with you is art, and this is an ethos that he shares with his students.

Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what has stayed with you from that time?

My formative years were in Leura, where I was born, which is now part of The Greater Blue Mountains World Heritage Area. This one million hectare Wilderness area was at my doorstep. My first overnight bushwalk was from the front door of our family home and out into the wilderness with my father. We walked for a day and camped overnight. In the era when our tent was made with waxed japara, the sleeping bag didn't have zips, and an old black billy was our only accessory. We cut bedding out of grass and cooked on an open fire. This first walk romanticised bushwalking (hiking) for me, and it has remained as my most important outdoor activity and mental health strategy for my whole life, which is only surpassed by art making, mostly with my camera.

In 2010 there was a seminal exhibition at the Victoria and Albert museum entitles "Shadow Catchers - Camera-less Photography". The show was dedicated to the use of various techniques that involved photographic processes but excluded the use lenses and typical photographic apparatus. I was inspired by the photography of Adam Fuss and particularly that of Susan Derges whose images captured evocative representations of natural processes in an innovative and beautiful fashion. When Michela Griffiths suggested we interview Oliver Raymond Barker, some of whose work played in the same area as Susan, I relished the opportunity to talk to him about the artistic approaches he uses to develop his projects.

Can you tell a little bit about your background and what started you in photography?

I was born and grew up in Mid Wales, a very remote rural area surrounded by farms, fields and woods and I feel very lucky to have grown up there. I think that has had a massive influence on who I am and what I do.

One of the key things that really got me into photography was that I had very little interest in other subjects at school apart from art, and maybe languages.

Then, at the age of about 14, my brother gave me my first camera, a Pentax MX. He was an artist and was studying sculpture in London. I was able to do a photography GCSE at school and there was a tiny little dark room with two enlargers. I thought, “I can do this”, and it was creative - making mistakes and exploring the process.

What were you photographing then?

I was at that age where your tutors were getting you to fulfil the curriculum. But I was lucky as just at that time when I signed up to do photography GCSE, they got a photography teacher from London called Paul Edgeley, who had been successful as a photographer in London in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s.And he was amazing in just really pushing our technique to do interesting things, things such as solarisation and lith and all sorts of darkroom magic. In terms of what I was photographing, I used to enjoy the landscapes of Wales. There was some portraiture too, I guess. A bit of a mix as you do at that age.

Gundula Walz

Bernd Walz

On this occasion, we have a joint interview with German photographers Bernd and Gundula Walz.

Bernd has a diverse but striking portfolio of work and is clearly comfortable with a range of subjects, techniques and styles. Long exposures give a sense of space, tranquility and extended moments. Pure Photography comprises abstract studies of light; Rural Areas is recognizable as minimalism along the lines of their joint projects; while Formschnitt | Topiary picks up on the strangeness of what we do to vegetation to contain it within our developments.

Gundula’s portfolio reveals a love of the sea and long exposures, capturing impressions and moods and contrasting these open spaces with the scale of humanity. There are also studies of the way that windows link the inside and outside worlds, while Hidden Abstractions reveals some of the art to be found through close observation.

They have a joint website and in addition to their individual portfolios, it features the projects that they work on together – Berlin’s Hinterland and Wounded Landscape ǀ New Lakeland. I’ll let Bernd and Gundula tell you about these, as well as the background to their shared passion for photography.

I hope these features broaden your definition of what landscape photography can be and the value of following what makes you curious in developing your own vision and style. Experimenting is an important part of this and is something that Sally Mason especially enjoys. At the time that she began lengthening the shutter speed and playing with movement, she hadn’t heard of ICM (intentional camera movement). It was simply something that, once stumbled into, spoke to her. Leaning more about her background, I wasn’t surprised to find threads that are apparent in her images, including a fluidity of movement and a delight in the play of grasses. Our photography is about so much more than the visual: it speaks of our own nature and our relationship with the land.

Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, and what your early interests were?

I grew up on the outskirts of north London in a very leafy suburb. The countryside was nearby, and one of my earliest memories is of running through meadows of tall grasses with the smell of summer in the air. From the age of five, I attended dance classes and showed some natural ability. I was soon taking classes 5 – 6 days a week after school and at weekends. My childhood was punctured by the death of my mother when I was 13 years old. My dance teacher took me under her wing, and at the age of 15, I left my academic studies to go to full-time dance school. I studied a range of dance genres, from classical ballet to contemporary jazz. This led to me becoming a professional dancer.

Meanwhile, I was growing up in the 1960’s – with considerable freedom. I was deeply interested in pop culture and influenced by the social and political changes of the era. Music was a huge influencer, and like many of my contemporaries, I went to numerous music festivals and concerts. I hungered to see the world and, at the age of 18, hitch-hiked with a friend to Morocco, travelling around the country for four months. These were exciting and experimental times, and I feel lucky to have been a part of them. Travel became a life-long passion and I have been to some wonderful places – camera always in hand.