I make fine art photographs in natural light: rye stacked in sheaves under a windmill, still intensely alive before it reaches the threshing floor. Or a deer holding its light at the threshold of the woods.
The collections are gathered around the days of Creation, an ancient framework for looking at the world as though it were still being made, and I photograph it the way I discover it: sometimes hushed, sometimes at full volume in a sunrise-soaked meadow.
Alongside the photographs I write Field Notes from the River, a serialised family history four generations deep. The same question runs under both: what does it cost to leave, and what survives the crossing of the parted waters.
