Some of this was planned. Some of it wasn't.
The way a photograph unfolds in the viewfinder often surprises me — the dance of light, the movement of form, the balance of composition. Henri Cartier-Bresson talked of instantly recognising the organisation of form, and the decisive moment for when to press the shutter. It's a hell of a thing to aim for, but I give it my best shot. Let's work together to find the images you're looking for.
The ritual, not just the room — birch whisks, cold water on hot skin, a plunge pool looking out over the hills. Less about the building this time, more about what people do inside it.
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Nobody was told where to look. The whole set came from staying close and waiting for a moment that would have happened with or without a camera there — this one, turned toward the fire, mid-conversation.
Shot entirely on a pinhole camera — no glass, no autofocus, nothing sharp by design. Long exposures on the beach let the light drift and the figure blur, which was the point: a cover that feels remembered rather than posed.
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No viewfinder, no way to check the shot until it was developed — every frame was a guess about where the light would fall. This one made the sleeve.
A steam-filled room and thirty minutes of usable light. Flash had to do the work ambient light couldn't — controlled, but never obviously lit.
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Steam scatters flash unpredictably — most of the session was spent finding the one angle where the light behaved. This one caught the room the way it actually felt from the inside.
The same client, a second site — this one a trailer-built sauna parked out on the tidal sand, mountains on one side and open water on the other. The shoot chased the tide as much as the light.
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No stove smoke or steam here — the sell was the view. The window frame does half the composing on its own; the sand flat does the rest.
A design that never quite got finished — a set of toolboxes built to nest into one another, shot on a boat out on the estuary. The work stalled before the run was complete, but the photographs held up on their own.
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Unfinished as a product, but not as a set of images — the rope, the sailcloth, the flat calm water all did the work the toolbox itself was still figuring out.
Product photography for a working potter — speckled stoneware, hand-painted glazes, shot clean against white and linen, then again on raw wood for warmth. The brief was simple: let the glaze do the talking.
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Every piece is one-off, so the job was really thirty small jobs — each mug getting its own light and angle until the glaze looked the way it does in the hand.