There comes a point where staying matters as much as starting.
When I first began my career as a photographer, it wasn’t part of some grand plan. In fact, after travelling, I took a short stint working in the AA relay office at their headquarters — a practical decision to earn money, pay off a credit card, and work out what I was meant to do next.
That experience changed everything.
I hadn’t realised how completely I had surrounded myself with creative people until I found myself in what I can only describe as a real job, with real systems, routines, and expectations. I simply wasn’t cut out for it. I was too sensitive. It felt as though my soul was quietly shrivelling up inside.
That moment brought a clarity I hadn’t known before. A sharp focus. A gritty determination I didn’t realise I possessed. I knew, deeply, that I was here to create — and that failing wasn’t an option. I had to find a way not just to make photography work, but to build a life where I could truly thrive. An empire, if only in my own mind.
Fast forward, and here we are.
I can’t help myself — I still see in 35mm. I’m always framing, noticing, witnessing. Photography quietly pulls me back, again and again. It isn’t something I do so much as something I am.
What has changed — and what hasn’t?
Everything, and nothing.
The way I work has evolved. Digital has brought many advantages, particularly when photography is your livelihood. But what has remained constant is the pull to witness and capture this beautiful, complicated world we are fortunate enough to live in.
The biggest shift now is internal. I feel no need to prove myself. The questions that matter are no longer about recognition or achievement, but about meaning. About truth. I allow myself to pause and ask: What do I really think about this now?
There is great relief in loosening my grip on old ways of working, old beliefs, old markers of success. I no longer need to hold on to the past — the awards, the expectations, the definitions.
Now, I get to be curious again. Fully present. Fully myself.
And, wonderfully — joyfully — free to play.
That is why I’m still here.