Whilst being drawn to the topographical of the island with no apparent reason to substantiate the feeling of connectivity and the spiritual shift upon crossing the veil, my arrival announced the deepest of feelings.
For years I have been trying to understand why I am pulled to the island, constantly documenting its remoteness and nature. Making wistful and ethereal photographs because the landscape was so willing, I would spend hours upon hours hiking the Island, having a rough idea where I would start my journey but having no real plan where it would finish, it became about looking, finding and all so absorbing.
Once the winter days came, and the light dimmed quick, evenings became afternoons, and the weather became dull. The island went into hibernation, and people slowly crept back inside their homes and the landscape spoke much more. The seasonal changes made my photographs more mysterious; another side of the island was revealing itself to me and I couldn’t help but answer it’s call.
For years I have been trying to understand why I am pulled to the island, constantly documenting its remoteness and nature. Making wistful and ethereal photographs because the landscape was so willing, I would spend hours upon hours hiking the Island, having a rough idea where I would start my journey but having no real plan where it would finish, it became about looking, finding and all so absorbing.
Once the winter days came, and the light dimmed quick, evenings became afternoons, and the weather became dull. The island went into hibernation, and people slowly crept back inside their homes and the landscape spoke much more. The seasonal changes made my photographs more mysterious; another side of the island was revealing itself to me and I couldn’t help but answer it’s call.
