all the time I was living here, I felt I was fading into the background, dwarfed by London. feeling constantly worthless and with a dark cloud hanging over every action & thought

“photography provided an outlet for my state of mind.”

since I left College I didn’t show my work to anyone.

I’d learnt not to.

“it was a private passion”

friends I’d met knew I had  cameras. I carried them with me most of the time.

but there was always the overwhelming question of what kind of photographer I was and what the reaction would be. 

Fish or Foul?

Documentary or Art? 


waste of time?

“but what are they meant to be about?”

the pictures I was making took the form of a continuous free-form essay.

free of a commercial rationale I could explore recurring themes, obsessions, and motifs in the spaces around me.

some lingering traces of influences from my time as a student remained but the darkness & depression I was experiencing made making sense of what I was doing difficult.

I was being led to places by instinct, mostly unconscious of any sense of danger.

here I was living in London, in one of the most overcrowded markets in the world for photography. but what could I offer?

what skills did I have to show?

I reasoned I was creative but not commercial.

I knew I had to make difficult choices. do other kinds of jobs to make money. 

after achieving so much at Portsmouth, it was painful to have to consider my options were leading me elsewhere.

the constant feeling of failure was overwhelming and continuous

I couldn’t rest. all the time my mind was shouting out