Lee Acaster Photography

I recently read an article by Bob Fischer, in Fortean Times magazine which had quite a profound effect on me. (Im a subscriber, although a hardened sceptic about anything supernatural, I’ve still always had a fascination with the unexplained, and this blog might go some way to explaining that), which can be read here. It’s pretty long, but for some of you, particularly those born in the early 1970′s it might resonate pretty strongly so its worth a read. 

It deals with a concept called Hauntology, which I’d never heard of before, but the reason Im writing a blog about it is that as soon as I started reading it I realised that it almost perfectly encapsulates both a lot of my photography, and the photography I enjoy viewing.

To put it in a nutshell for those who don’t want to read the full article, those of us born in the early 70′s or thereabouts grew up in one of two different worlds. There are those who remember the popular nostalgic view of the late 70′s and early 80′s of Roller skates, Abba and Pop Socks (look them up you younger ones). For some of us though, it was a childhood of Impending nuclear armageddon, frankly terrifying public information films, and a constant diet of oddly sinister children’s TV programmes. If this (the opening music of Picture Box)  makes the hairs on your neck stand on end then you are probably one of the Hauntology generation too. Whilst we had the usual light hearted kids TV shows such as Swap Shop and Supergran, the fact that kids TV was only on one or two channels for an hour or two a day meant we often ended up watching some altogether darker stuff. Z for Zacharia, Children of Green Knowe, Moondial and Children of the Stones all spring to mind. Basically junior horror films. Even the pre-school stuff was pretty unsettling. Fingerbobs is all I need to say here. 

The upshot of all this is that many of us who grew up in this time are instilled with a strange sense of uneasy nostalgia about it, and are often trying to express it creatively. I’ve tried to explain something along similar lines to this before in a couple of photography magazines interviews without really succeeding, it was only after reading the article that I realised that it did the job much better. 

In photography terms, I think I often see the landscape with a slightly darker view than some. Im naturally drawn to those elements that have a sense of disquiet and tension about them, and often make them the subject of my images. I kind of assumed I was alone in thinking along these lines to a degree, so its quite reassuring that there are loads of us out there. 

I first visited Shingle Street on 28th February 2014, not long after really starting to take photography seriously. Still being quite new to East Anglia I knew nothing whatsoever about the place and just thought the name sounded quite intriguing, so popped it onto the satnav and set off in the dark hoping for a nice pretty sunrise shot of whatever was there. Arriving in the semi darkness, I parked up and trudged up a rather unpromising shingle bank where I was rewarded with my first view of what was to become one of my favourite places in England. This surreal, desolate little coastal hamlet stirs something in me in a way that few other places do. In reality there is very little here. A ramshackle collection of houses running parallel to the shoreline for about half a mile, a more orderly row of coastguards cottages, and then a little further to the north a small weatherbeaten cottage almost next to the sea. Other than that, there is shingle. Lots and lots of shingle. It stretches out in all directions and is dotted with ecologically important plant life, which looks very pretty when in flower and for the rest of the year looks like it is barely clinging to life. It’s my kind of landscape though. There is something vaguely unsettling about it, and if you do an internet search of its history you will discover a wealth of rumours and whispers of fantastical events that may or may not have occurred here in the not too distant past. Above all its feels a slightly lonely place. Which perverse as it sounds is what I really love about it. You could almost feel as though you are the last person on earth there.

That first morning was the day before a huge storm hit the region. The sky was black and menacing, but despite that it was beautifully calm, and out to sea the sky was clear. When the first light hit the line of cottages I had one of those euphoric rushes that landscape photography very occasionally delivers when it all comes together perfectly. One of the shots I got that morning, At The Edges, is still probably my favourite image I’ve taken and one of the few I still feel some pride about.

But it has been a bit of a mixed blessing in many ways. It was commended in the Outdoor Photographer of the Year, in the competition’s earlier incarnation when there were only a handful of commended images, and has been published in various magazines and newspapers so has received quite a lot of publicity, and I am still regularly asked about it, more specifically I am regularly asked where it was taken, and this is where the problem comes in….

After that first day I became a Shingle Street addict. I usually visited at least once or twice a month, and for the first year or two since then I could have counted the number of people I saw there on the fingers of one hand (allowing for the Norfolk number of fingers). A few solitary early dog walkers, one old chap who used to regularly take a bracing pre-sunrise skinny dip in the still waters of the natural lagoon. I didn’t see a photographer there until early last year, in fact I had barely seen a photograph of it other than a few phone snaps from beachgoers who knew the secret, on a couple of facebook groups.

When I saw that first tripod set up, exactly where I had planned to be, it was all I could do not to challenge him to a joust. My Giottos was fairly robust compared to his little spindly Manfrotto. (Even though the only fight I’ve ever been in involved me hastily running away from a big lad at school, Im pretty sure I could have taken him.)  I have rarely taken a photograph Im happy with when there are other people around. There something in me that needs a bit of solitude to really be productive photographically. I love a good jolly with friends on location, but I am always very relaxed about the fact that I probably wont get any images I like much, I’ll roam around snapping away, but I have low expectations of the results and tend to just enjoy the scenery and company. If there is somebody nearby, I just can’t seem to get into the zone.

This was a new development though, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Shingle Street was MY location. Nobody else should be here. Now Im well aware this is ridiculous. Im sure thousands of people have always visited, and no doubt countless photographers amongst their numbers. By this point I’d had another Shingle Street shot awarded in LPOTY, which made the Sunday Times and exhibition, but within my limited social circle of photographers on social media I had still never seen another image from here. I know a couple of local friends had been and shot here, very probably before I’d even heard of it, but I’d never actually seen their images of it so it still felt very much like it belonged to me in a funny way. Maybe its because I tend to go in winter when the weather is pretty grim, or maybe its just that nobody else really did go there for a while.

Anyway, I headed off onto a shingle spit muttering under my breath and tried unsuccesfully to make some images. Inevitably this interloper eventually wandered over in my direction and we got chatting, and disappointingly, but unsurprisingly he was a nice chap and very friendly. A couple of minutes in the bombshell was dropped. The reason he was here was because he had seen a black and white shot of the coastguards cottages in a magazine, and had headed down from the midlands specifically to shoot them. This was my own fault. My pride and vanity in entering my image in a competition had directly led to somebody making a trip of a couple of hundred miles to invade my little nation of Shingle Street, but this time it was a hard fact (back to those whispers and rumours). As it happens its impossible to replicate that original shot now anyway as the shingle banks have shifted considerably since then, which is one of the other appeals of the location as it subtly, or dramatically, changes after each big storm.

Since then, the frequency I’ve encountered other photographers there has steadily increased, to the point where its now more unusual not to see one than it is to see one, and on a couple more occasions, its been because they’ve seen one or other of my shots from here.

Now Im not trying to claim that everyone who goes to Shingle Street with a camera is purely there because of my photography, but after being told it a few times, it felt a bit like that in a way. And undoubtedly it’s also an organic thing. Its a superb location for photography, yet relatively unknown, so inevitably anybody who does go there posts a striking shot of it on social media, and a few other people probably visit after seeing them. We’re lucky in this part of the world that compared to other honeypot locations. Even at the mecca of Southwold Pier or Herringfleet Mill there is a good chance you will be the only photographer there at sunrise. I saw a couple of videos on SM recently of the Wanaka Tree in New Zealand and the beach with the Ice washing up in Iceland, where literally scores of photographers were shoulder to shoulder trying to get the iconic shot. That would be my worst nightmare for photography. I want to be alone with the landscape, not waiting in line to get the same shot as the person before and after me.

Lots of people I know have been and got great shots there over the last year, but I have to confess my heart sinks a little bit every time I see another Shingle Street posted online, but Im getting better with it. I know it’s not MY location, and I have no claim to it, much like those who shot it before me and those who have yet to shoot it. I’ll keep going, because Im an addict, but I’ll also keep hoping that nobody else will make the long trip down the winding single track roads, probably stuck behind a tractor, to get to a pebbly beach with not much there.

Having had some success in photographic competitions over the last few years, I thought this was the year that my luck had finally run out. I failed to have any images shortlisted in the Landscape Photographer of the Year competition, and despite having quite a few selected for the Outdoor Photographer of the Year, unfortunately none of them made the final shortlist. 

Having had images commended in all the previous years I had entered them I was disappointed not to make the books this year, but I am fairly pragmatic about entering competitions. The standard of photography is exceptional in the major ones, so I’ll buy the books and just soak up the wonderful images on offer and try again next year. 

That left the International Garden Photographer of the year (IGPOTY) as the only chance I had left of making it into one of the big coffee table books. It’s always great to see your work in magazines or on websites, but for me there is something special about getting an image in one of these high end books, they are always full of such inspirational photography and it is a real honour to be included amongst it. I had only become aware of the competition a couple of years earlier when lots of photographers I follow on social media had posted about getting images into the book. I decided to enter last year and was awarded runner up in the portfolio category the previous year, so I was hopeful that I might stand a chance of at least getting an image commended this year. 

I had put a selection of images into the Trees, Woods & Forests and Breathing Spaces categories, and sometime back in November I got one of those much anticipated emails to tell me I had an image shortlisted. When I checked which shot it was I must admit I was a little disappointed. It was a fairly recent one, and a particular favourite of mine, but being a quite abstract tree detail I didn’t hold much hope of it getting any further. I take a lot of shots that I think of as being purely for me really. They tend to be ones that don’t work very well in the transient world of social media where an image may get a few seconds appreciation if you are lucky, but they are usually the ones that I print up and enjoy both taking and looking at, much more so than those that have the immediate ‘wow’ factor. I sent over the high res image anyway and some further information and then pretty much forgot about it. 

I’d been getting lots of unsolicited sales calls on my mobile in January for some reason, so when an unknown number called one day and I answered to a crackly line, I couldn’t hear very clearly what the caller was saying. I was about to give up and hang up when the line cleared a little and I heard the words International Garden Photographer of the Year. It turned out to be the managing director of IGPOTY, Tyrone McGlinchey, and the conversation that followed became a bit of a blur. I hadn't really expected that my image would even make the book, so to be told that it had been a firm favourite of the judges and had been chosen as the overall winner left me literally lost for words.

Despite being bursting to share my news I obviously had to keep it to myself until the competition results were announced on the 3rd February, the day of the private view at Kew Gardens. I took my family along with me on the day, and probably owe them an apology as I spent most of the train journey responding to a tide of congratulations on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. I’ve got to know so many great photographers and lovely people via social media, and I was really touched by all the warm wishes people sent.

The exhibition at Kew was great fun last year, and it was good to put some faces to names whilst looking at all the images. This year I didn’t actually manage to even see the whole exhibition for people coming up just to say hello and offer congratulations, but the standard of work that I did see was superb. I was really delighted at how my image looked, beautifully framed and printed, and I can’t compliment IGPOTY and Kew enough on the event. If you get chance it is definitely worth paying a visit to see some fine photography in beautiful surroundings, or if not then the book has even more images in, many of them just breathtaking. 

In my occasional series of blogs (3 years since the last and only one!) I thought I’d add an interview I did with the very talented Michela Griffith for On-Landscape magazine. I keep intending to blog more regularly, and thought posting this might spur me on to keep it up! 

Can you tell me a little about yourself – your education, early interests and career?

I grew up on the edge of a small town in East Yorkshire, where my dad was a dustman and my mum worked in factories, often on nights, so needed to sleep during the day. Like many children back in the 70’s and 80’s I was often ushered out of the house to go and “play outside somewhere”, so I spent much of the time exploring the nearby farmland and countryside. I’ve had a love of nature and the outdoors ever since. Two or three days indoors soon has me climbing the walls.

I’d always been fairly good at art at school, so after leaving with underwhelming exam results, I enrolled on a general Art and Graphic Design course at a nearby art college. This included a small amount of photography and was where I first got my hands on an SLR camera. I learned the basics of aperture and shutter speeds etc., and how to process and print in the darkroom. Although I really enjoyed the photography aspect, I found it slightly frustrating that my pictures always seemed to be a pale imitation of what I had seen through the viewfinder, and as I progressed through higher education I concentrated on graphic design, rarely picking up a camera again.

After leaving education, I moved to Bath where I got my first design job working in a printers, moving to London a couple of years later where I began working as an in-house designer at various music and film labels. I had around fifteen very enjoyable, and probably slightly hedonistic years in the city, towards the end of which I started up my own business and got married. On a whim, we decided to move out of London, and based on nothing more than where I could get a mainline train back to the city for work we ended up living in the completely unfamiliar territory of East Anglia, in a small village on the border of Suffolk and Norfolk. I immediately felt reconnected to the countryside and realised how much I had missed it in all the years of living in the capital.

You’ve credited a workshop with kickstarting your serious interest in landscape photography, but said that the most important thing that you learnt from it was patience?

I picked up a camera again shortly after moving, wanting to try and capture the beauty of my new surroundings. The move from film to digital made a massive difference to me. Due my job I felt very comfortable working with digital files, and the ability to be able to see what I was shooting on an LCD meant I didn’t have the same disappointment that always seemed to come when I processed a film, as I could recompose and reshoot until I got something I was happier with. My wife bought me a voucher for an afternoon group workshop with a local landscape photographer, Chris Herring, which provided a bit of an epiphany. Apart from the invaluable technical knowledge I gleaned, such as the use of filters and some compositional tips, the understanding of light was what really changed everything for me. I’d obviously read all the magazines articles about its importance, but it was only when experiencing it in reality that the penny dropped.

We were at a windmill  (it was Norfolk, what do you expect?) and all set up on tripods having decided on our compositions. The weather was pretty changeable, and it started raining just after we got there. If I had been on my own, then undoubtedly I would have taken a few disappointing images, packed up and headed home. Chris pointed out a break in the clouds in the distance, and we waited for about 15 minutes under umbrellas as it got closer to the sun. When the light hit, the mill and foreground were suddenly illuminated against the dark skies and the whole scene completely changed. It only lasted for a few seconds, and I didn't even get a decent shot as I’d moved my camera at the last minute, but the moment stayed with me ever since.

I realised then that the light was a huge factor, not just in photography, but in my connection with the landscape. I’ve always had a rush of elation from dramatic and interesting light and weather, but ridiculous as it sounds It had just never occurred to me that this was what I had really been wanting to capture all this time. Not just the sky and the big vistas, but the way it changes every detail of the landscape. These days I am constantly studying the sky, trying to predict what the light will do, where it will fall, and where I need to be to experience it, and when I am shooting I am more than happy to wait as long as it takes for the composition in front of me to evolve into something worth shooting.

How formative has the East Anglian landscape – and sky – been to your image making

It’s been a hugely important factor in the direction my photography has taken. It’s a very familiar feeling landscape to me, it's quite similar to the flat arable stomping grounds of my youth, but wound back about 50 years and with the benefit of being much nearer the coast. Being somewhere you don’t really drive through to get somewhere else, its a bit of a time capsule in many ways. There are no motorways, and you could count the dual carriageways on the fingers of one hand (no six finger jokes please). FallingThe sudden demise of the textile industry here means that all the wealth suddenly dried up, and as a result, most of the rural areas are pretty much as they were a hundred years ago, and that really appeals to me. I vividly remember watching the BBC’s M.R. James Christmas ghost story adaptations when I was little, many of them were set here, and the landscape evokes the unsettling atmosphere which was really prominent in them, and I’m often striving to try to portray this sense of unease in my photography.

Many of the traditional conventions of landscape photography are difficult to achieve in such a flat landscape; I love using a wide angle, but you would probably have to drive a hundred miles to find a vista with leading lines in the foreground, and some middle and background interest. This suits me fine though as I think it makes you work that much harder to find an image, and as a result leads you down your own path a little more. The big skies here are well known; it’s not that the skies are actually bigger or more interesting I don’t think, its just that with the lack of elevation your field of vision is usually limited to the next hedgerow or slight slope, so the sky becomes much more prominent. I’m sure many other local photographers would agree that the sky can really make or break an image here, as it often the dominant part of a shot. I often look at a scene as an inverted landscape shot, treating it as though it were a foreground, and try to find leading lines in the clouds to pull the eye down into an image.

Who (photographers, artists or individuals) or what has most inspired you, or driven you forward in your own development as a photographer?

I can‘t overstate the impact social media has had on my photography, initially Flickr, and latterly Twitter, has introduced me to the work of lots of great photographers, I often see people criticise a lot of current photography as being clichéd and lacking in originality, but I think that the popularity and accessibility of digital photography and social media just means that there are just such a vast amount of incredibly good images being produced that it can seem that way

.Just because there are so many of them doesn’t devalue them in my eyes, though. There are far too many photographers I greatly admire to list here: Colin Bell, Verity Milligan, Richard Thomas and Paul Mitchell locally to me Matthew Dartford, Jon Gibbs and Justin Minns have all been very influential... I could go on indefinitely, but in terms of those who have had the most impact on my photography then I would probably say Russ Barnes, David Baker and Mark Littlejohn. They all have that certain magic about their images which makes them recognisably their own, whatever the subject, and that greatly appeals to me.

What opportunities have you found that competition entry and success opened up for you? What advice would you give to those who are new to or have so far made little headway with competitions? How much of a focus should this be for aspiring photographers?

I think you need to be of a very particular mindset to enter photography competitions. On a daily basis, I read people bemoaning and criticising them, and getting very worked up about their successes and failures in them. I do believe that first and foremost, photography should be something you do for yourself, but having said that deep down I think we all crave some recognition for what we produce. I‘ve been very lucky in them so far (and I am in no doubt that luck is a big factor) and had probably more than my fair share of success in them over the last two or three years, but I enter a lot of them and have also had plenty of complete failures. I’m very pragmatic about them generally, if I do well then that’s brilliant, but if I don’t then I tend to forget about it pretty quickly. At the end of the day, they usually come down to the opinions of one or two judges. Your images either appeal to them, or they don’t. If they don’t then it doesn’t in any way invalidate or diminish them, they just weren’t what they were looking for at the time.

If you enter any competition with expectations of success, then you are setting yourself up for a fall, it doesn’t matter how many people have praised your image or how pleased you are with it (and bear in mind nearly everybody who enters a competition will feel the same about their shots), it won’t appeal to everybody, and that may well include the judges.

If you are the kind of person who doesn’t see this as rejection or will see it as an incentive to do better next time, then I would whole heartedly recommend entering them. They can be great for inspiring you to develop your photography, and it’s a great feeling to win a big photo competition. Successes for me have led to a lot of opportunities, leading workshops, tv, radio and magazine interviews, giving talks, commissions and lots more. I think the key thing is to just shoot what you want to shoot, though, that way competitions are a potential bonus, rather than an end in themselves.

How does your graphic design training influence your image making and presentation? Is it important to keep things simple?

My design training and experience over almost 30 years has undoubtedly had an impact on what I produce. Sensing what to put where in a composition comes pretty naturally to me now, much as it does in my job, so I think that helps when I‘m out shooting, and also helps when visualising what will work as an image. I spend most of my days working in Photoshop and know it inside out, but for photography I actually rarely use it, choosing to do most of my processing in Lightroom which makes it feel less like work. Although processing is a vital part of my photography, its by far the least enjoyable part for me.

I was interested to read that although your work would be considered by many to be creative, it’s photography that is your real creative outlet, as that was my experience too. To what extent does this influence where you want to take your photography?

I don’t think its a coincidence that every other photographer I know seems to be a graphic designer or work in a similar field. Personally speaking its a very natural outlet for me to express my creativity without the constraints of commercial work. I think most of us who work in similar fields have a deep seated need to produce something, whether that be music, writing, paintings or photographs.

Although most people would see my job as being very creative, it's always within the boundaries of working to a brief, and not on something I would have chosen to do for purely personal reasons, so landscape photography offers me complete control over what I produce. I don’t have to worry about shelf impact, the immediacy of the image, legal requirements, and most crucially, nobody else has any input. At work it doesn’t matter how proud or pleased I am of something I‘ve produced, if a client doesn’t like it gets changed, whereas if somebody doesn’t like one of my photographs, then, by all means, they can make comment or criticism, but it’s entirely up to me to listen and take heed, or disagree and stick to my instincts. I think this is fairly apparent in my photography; I quite often jump around stylistically and in the subjects I shoot. I might spend a month only shooting in the woods, or go to the same beach week after week. With no commercial constraints, I can just shoot whatever appeals to me at the time.

Which cameras and lenses do you go to as of choice and how do they affect your photography? Has this changed with time?

I’m not very much of a gearhead (although the weight of my camera bag would probably disagree) and take little interest in new camera and lenses. When I am happy something does what I need it to do then I’ll happily stick with it until I break it, which usually isn’t very long. My first DSLR was a Canon 60D, which I then upgraded to a 5Dmkii. I also have a 5Dmkii which is converted for infrared use. These have happily served my needs for the last few years and despite its limitations (which for me are the dynamic range and the lack of a tilt screen) I’d still consider it a great camera. I bought a Sony A7R earlier this year though to give my aching back some respite, and although the mkii would be very nice, it more than meets my needs.

It has everything I need from a camera, great image quality, full frame and reasonably light. It has plenty of faults, mainly the battery life and completely incomprehensible menus, but as the only things I ever really change are the aperture, shutter speed and ISO then I can live with that. My go to lens is a Zeiss 18mm Distagon, which I still use on the Sony with an adaptor. It’s a beautiful lens, built like a tank (it's been swimming on a few occasions), and undoubtedly the best investment I‘ve made in terms of camera equipment. It perfectly suits my style and needs most of the time. I ought to switch it for the new Batis 18mm for the Sony to avoid messing around with adaptors, but I‘m just too reluctant to part with it so far. Many other ill-advised lens choices down the line, I now just carry a Zeiss 50mm and Sony 70-200 f/4. I miss the wider aperture of my old Canon f2.8 version so will probably add a suitable 100mm option at some point as I love wide apertures when shooting details and woodland.

You’re a big advocate of manual focus?

Purely on a personal level really, what I want when taking pictures really is complete control, and manual focus is part of that. It’s also something that slows me down, another thing that I find really beneficial. I often see people saying how liberating it is to ditch the tripod and heavy camera gear, but whenever I try that I usually come back disappointed. I use a heavy tripod with a geared head, and along with the manual focus it all makes me more considered when I press the shutter. I find it helps me examine the viewfinder or LCD much more closely. There are few things as disappointing as coming away with what you think is a great shot only to find you have a stray branch spoiling it or the focus is slightly off. Focussing manually makes me think about where the interest is, what I want to be sharp, what I don’t. Obviously, there are times when autofocus is the better option, but its no coincidence that you would struggle to find a person in any of my shots; I ought to learn how to turn it back on really.

Can you choose 2-3 favourite images from your own portfolio and tell us a little about them?

At The Edges -Shortlisted: Outdoor Photographer of the Year 2014

I have mixed emotions about this shot. It’s a couple of years old now, and I often wonder if it will be the best image I’ll ever take, which can be slightly demoralising. I feel it encapsulates everything I try to include in a photograph and is one of the only shots I look back on and still like as much now as I did when I took it. Part of that may come from the actual act of taking it. It was the first time I had visited Shingle Street in Suffolk, and it soon became my favourite location due to the eerie solitude of it, although its rare to visit without seeing another photographer there now. It was the morning before a huge storm and sea surge hit the area, and the brooding atmosphere was palpable from the moment I got out of the car. It was a wintry sunrise, and the colours were quite intense, and when the light hit the row of cottages it was one of those moments of elation that make the painfully early mornings worthwhile. Unusually for me, I didn’t take the shot with black and white in mind. It was only a few months later when I actually tried it in mono that it really worked as I wanted it to, and I still remember the morning vividly whenever I see it.

Turmoil

I usually go through a pretty reliable timeline when it comes to my own images, which normally goes along the lines of initially I'll love it, then a few days later I like it, then I’m not sure about it, before finally settling on hating it. This is usually either down to seeing how I could have improved it at the time, or just wondering what on earth I was thinking. I think this is probably quite common amongst photographers, though, and probably a very useful attitude to help you improve and evolve. So when I look back on a shot and still like it, then I find it quite satisfying. I enjoy making images from not very much, and I‘ve stood on this beach countless times when there was no shot there, so its just a shot of the moment really. Having said that this one is fairly recent so, I might hate it by next week.

Hardship

Plucked for this one for a couple of reasons. Its pretty far out of my comfort zone, in both subject and location. It was taken in Snowdonia while helping out on a workshop with Greg Whitton. Unbeknown to each other we both took the same shot, almost down to the millimetre while we were wandering around in the breathtaking Dinorwic quarry workings, it was only when we got back to the hostel that Greg showed me the back of his camera. Mountains are his natural habitat, and nobody does them better in my opinion, and they’re the polar opposite of what I am used to, so I was partly disappointed to see he also had what I thought was a really unique and original shot, and partly delighted that I had been able to see the potential that he had in such an alien environment for me. In terms of the actual image, I could look at the detail in it for hours; the more you look, the more you see, and to me, it’s quite different to my usual work. The light and conditions are pretty much irrelevant, its just a snippet of a place, but it has so many stories within it.

Tell me a little about your typical workflow and how much emphasis you place on post-processing?

My workflow is disorganised at best. I usually get the images off camera pretty quickly when I get back, highlight a couple to process, then the rest just get swallowed up into my bloated library of unlooked at shots. I occasionally have a look through and come across whole shoots that I was really pleased with at the time and have never even taken an image from. The actual processing is a vital but annoying part of the process for me. I don’t really have much interest in taking literal representations of the landscape, so I usually try to put my own stamp on things. As I touched on earlier, I try to evoke some emotion in my images, whether it be unease, nostalgia, drama, etc. This is often something that only really comes to life in the processing.

I’ve usually visualised what I am trying to achieve as a final image when shooting, and compose and expose accordingly, then its just a case of trying to translate that in the processing. Sometimes that will involve very little, and sometimes a fair bit of work, but usually just involves some dodging and burning, and playing with colour balance or split toning.

How important is it to you that your images become prints?

Even though I print quite a lot, its still not often enough really. I think printing an image adds validity to it in many ways. Although I upload to Flickr and the like, social media is so transient that if you shoot a lot, as I do, lots of your images soon disappear into the ether. Having them in print provides a more tangible end to the whole process. When composing or processing a shot, I consider every tiny detail and, often discard images based on what is really very little or spend inordinate amounts of time getting something just right. When you put them online, they are looked at, most likely very small on a phone, maybe appreciated by somebody for a few seconds if you’re lucky and then swiped away for the next one. Having them in print allows you, and maybe others, to really look at them. It’s a much more fitting end to all that work and thought that went into them, and I’d heartily recommend anybody who doesn’t to print their images to close the circle on the process.

Do you have any particular plans, projects or ambitions for the future?

I’ve got two young boys, so have been pretty limited in how far and often I can travel for the last few years, so now they are reaching school age I’ll hopefully be able to make a few trips further afield to explore some new landscapes. I love my adopted home of East Anglia, but I do crave a rocky beach and a few hills now and again. I vaguely have a couple of ongoing photographic projects, which I sporadically add to, but in the main, I just shoot whatever is appealing to me at the time.

If you had to take a break from all things photographic for a week, what would you end up doing?

Since moving back to the countryside I start to climb the walls if I’m stuck indoors for more than a day or two, so I would probably spend it gardening which I really enjoy. It’s just another creative outlet in a way, and also gives me that connection with nature and the outdoors. It also tells me I’m turning into my father.

Which photographer– amateur or professional - would you like to see featured in a future issue?

Well I’ve never written a blog post before, and this seems the obvious place to start, although maybe it can only go downhill from here!

  Those of you who know me will know that in the last two or three years I have become an increasingly avid photographer. Those who know me but I don’t see too often due to geography and children might have an idea I like photography a bit, but not quite how much I’ve been bitten by the bug. Those of you who don’t know me at all have probably found yourselves here as a result of an image of a Greylag Goose, and might assume that I’m an experienced and dedicated wildlife photographer but this couldn’t be further from the truth (well maybe a bit).

  When it comes to photography I try my hand at most things, I like to shoot architecture, and I’ve had a go at some still life, and a bit of macro, but it’s landscape and nature photography that really does it for me. Usually at least once a week I'll get up at 4 or 5am and drive off into the darkness of the East Anglian countryside hoping to catch a spectacular sunrise over the coast or a heavy mist hanging in the forest, and though I’ve always had a great love of wildlife, Ive never really had the desire or opportunity to spend days, or even weeks in a hide waiting for an elusive bird or mammal to appear and star in a photograph.

  The Tourist - Urban Category and Overall Winner - BWP 2014

 So it would be an understatement to say it was a shock to receive a phone call from Maggie Gowan, organiser of the BWPA, back in June, to be told that my image had caught the judges' eye in the Urban category, but not only that, it had actually won the category... and not only that, but it had actually also won the overall competition. (I think Maggie must really enjoy making these phone calls as she kept delivering progressively more amazing bits of news as the phone call went on, eventually leaving me completely shellshocked trying to take it all in).