I’ll be honest: I am first and foremost a photographer of colour. That is how I see the world, and I believe colour is often an essential part of the emotional narrative.
Whilst it might sound heretical to some, I feel black and white is sometimes overused —perhaps even as a 'rescue' for a photograph that didn't quite work. Having said that, every so often, a scene possesses a certain quality that from which colour actually distracts. This gallery is a selection of those moments where I felt the story of the image was better told in monochrome.

My love affair with Cornwall began as a boy in 1971, on family holidays that have been repeated every year since. It is a place of extraordinary light and mystery, where the Atlantic weather always sets the agenda.
These images are the result of many years of exploration, in recent years often shared with my good friend and mentor, Chris Simmons. Our trips are marked by pre-dawn starts, the fading light of long evenings, and the pursuit of that elusive 'perfect' frame that always leaves you wanting to return for more.

My first photography trip abroad took me to Cuba—a place of sun-drenched streets and decaying elegance. I spent my days documenting a world of beautiful contradictions: 1950s Chevrolets navigating potholed roads and palatial homes wearing a cloak of faded grandeur. The light is legendary, but the spirit of the people is what truly defines the island—a people of grit, grace, and an enduring sense of history.

Fine art photography is a genre I approach with a great deal of respect and a touch of envy. It requires a specific kind of imagination and vision which I am not sure I have. While I consider myself a beginner at this style, I find the challenge of stripping a scene back to its essential components very rewarding. These few images represent my ongoing journey to discover that illusive 'particular vision.'

Myanmar was my mother's birthplace and her home for the first 17 years of her life when political changes forced her to leave. In 2014, I fulfilled a long held ambition to visit the country and see, smell, and experience the world that shaped her. These images record that visit and are an emotional bridge to a place she had so often described and a people whose resilience is matched only by their hope for a better future.

This gallery marks the beginning of my photographic journey back in 2006. My fascination with the Northumberland coast began with a book of images by Joe Cornish which led to me signing up for a workshop with Lee Frost. That trip was the spark for my photographic obsession, and it became the first of many adventures with Lee, both in the UK and overseas. I have returned to Northumberland many times since; its ancient landscape and ever-changing light never fail to inspire.

Of all the places my camera has taken me, the streets of Kliptown in Soweto have had the greatest impact. My day job, working in South Africa, gave me a foot in the door, but it was my friend and guide Illan Ossendryver who fully opened it. In a place overlooked by its government, I was granted the kind of intimate access that most photographers only dream of. What I found was a community forgotten, yet entirely devoid of bitterness and possessed of a vibrant sense of kinship and resilience.
These images are among my most precious. They are a humble tribute to a people who taught me that even in the face of immense hardship, the human spirit can remain generous, proud, and deeply connected.

My only trip to Venice to date (I must go back!) was defined by a relentless downpour that lasted 3 days but, unexpectedly, added a sense of majesty to the city. Venice can be overwhelming to photograph; there is simply too much to take in. To help, I often turned to long exposure photography, forcing myself to slow down and using the rain and the water to simplify the scene. These images are the result of my slowing down to stop and think—capturing Venice's grand architecture through a lens of soft(ish!), rain-washed light.

My first journey through Vietnam left me with a single certainty: I have to go back. It is a land of extraordinary resilience; despite a harrowing history. I found a people of immense warmth who seemingly bear no grudges and look forward rather than back. These images attempt to capture the sharp, beautiful contrasts of the country—from the neon-lit, chaotic energy of city street life to the quietude and beauty of the rural landscape.

An ambition realised: Mongolia in 2024. More than just a bucket list destination, it was a masterclass in light and scale. I was struck by the raw contrast between the daunting emptiness of the landscape and the warmth of the people who call it home. I witnessed the ancient art of the eagle hunters—a 6,000-year-old partnership of trust and survival and have tried in my images to capture the balance between the intimacy of the ger, the majesty of the Altai mountains, and the proud gaze of the hunters and their magnificent eagles.

Few places feel untouched by time - Bhutan is one of them. My visit in October 2025 left a deep impression, marked by the deeply held faith of the Bhutanese people. I was fortunate to be allowed to capture the most intimate moments from meditative prayer to the vibrant, whirling sacred masked dances. I left feeling deeply humbled and in awe of a culture defined by devotion. This gallery is my respectful tribute to the extraordinary people of the Thunder Dragon.

When asked what I enjoy photographing most I struggle to choose between people and the sea.
To me, they are remarkably similar. Just like a great seascape, a person’s mood is never static; it is a constant ebb and flow of emotion. The essential ingredient for both is engagement.
So, whether I am standing in the tideline or in the heart of a village in the Omo Valley, my goal is to try to connect with the moment and capture the emotion that makes every wave, every human being, entirely unique.

Shooting waves is a recent obsession, sparked by my great mate and mentor Chris Simmons, whose work fully opened my eyes to the raw power of the sea. These images were shot at Porthcurno - a place of seemingly exquisite, tropical clarity, but demanding total respect. On this steeply shelving beach, the beauty is matched only by the danger. These images reflect that delicate balance: waiting for the precise moment but being fully alert to the power of the Atlantic.

My journey to Iceland in 2016 was a lesson in humility. We arrived during one of the harshest winters since the 1930s, facing weather that was as relentless as it was beautiful. While the storms often dictated photographic choice, they also provided a rare, moody atmosphere. I walked away with a deep respect for the North and a few fleeting moments of Aurora luck. These few images are a testament to my battle with the weather — and a perfect excuse for a return trip!