What Inspires My Photography

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Inspiration doesn’t arrive all at once. It builds quietly, over time.

I’m a true nostalgic—I tend to look back on the past with more affection than I do toward the future. I’ve come to realise how much I cherish earlier times. I also enjoy the rainy, moody days in nature more than anything: a hot coffee in the van before stepping out into foggy weather, the sound of rain on a forest canopy, and the smell of wet, saturated earth. This brings me the kind of peace I rarely find elsewhere.

I’ve always been drawn to art—especially drawing and painting—but it’s the darker, more atmospheric moods that have consistently caught my eye and influenced my artistic journey. Given the dark and pensive nature of my photography, I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise :)

As inspiration, I take plenty from the old masters — the Dutch painters, the Russian landscape naturalists, the Hudson River and Barbizon schools.(Constable, Shishkin, Corot, Cole, Bierstadt, Calame) They didn’t need to shout to make something powerful. It was all in the mood, the atmosphere, the restraint, and the strength of their muted palettes.

Painting has also influenced my preference for panoramic and landscape compositions over portrait crops—which, in my opinion, invites the viewer to explore the frame. It’s also made me appreciate a certain roughness and texture, something that pulls the work away from a polished, digital feel.

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This isn’t to say I don’t take any inspiration from photography.

I’m a heavy JPG and photo book consumer, and have many favourites (Albarran Cabrera, Neil Burnell, Tim Smith, Todd Hido…), and enjoy many styles and genres, but I rather think my creativity is fed more by other mediums—even music or literature.

I don’t chase perfect postcard shots with loud colours, clean lines or saturated sunsets. I’m interested in the quiet side of things. The kind of beauty you notice once you’ve slowed down: soft light on an overcast day, the history and character behind a dying tree, or the quiet chill of a dense forest. Jack London once called it “the spirit of the place.”

Textured. Imperfect. Poetic. That’s the kind of visual energy I want to bring into my photographs—as if the scenes depicted had something to say, regardless of whether there is anyone there to listen.

My direction now is slower—for my own benefit, and more intentional for the benefit of the medium. The fog chasing feels enriching, and helps me cleanse from the demons of polluted airport energy and urban noise I manage in daily life. There was a time when the sole purpose of a morning walk was coming home with usable shots, but that pressure has long faded. I don’t raise the camera so quickly anymore. I’d rather let the moment settle, even if it means missing the shot.

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That shift has quietly transformed how I approach photography.

The goal now is to practice silence and introspection, and try to convey this into the final work. Hopefully it will bring stillness and serenity to the viewer.

If any of this speaks to you — the pace and the mood — I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Feel free to leave a comment or share this with someone who might connect with it. And if you’d like to follow along more closely, please join my mailing list. I send updates now and then, along with early access to new prints and small notes from the field.