Art and Culture

 Art does not reproduce what we see. It makes us see. Paul Klee

• Favourite artists
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Favourite photographers: Yann Arthus Bertrand

Yann Arthus-Bertrand has had a profound influence on the way I see both photography and the world itself. I still remember visiting his Earth from Above exhibition in London in 2001 and being completely blown away. Seeing the planet from the air revealed patterns, colours and landscapes that I had never imagined. It was one of those rare experiences that permanently changed the way I looked at the Earth.

What I especially love about Arthus-Bertrand's work is the idea that the world itself is a work of art. His photographs reveal a planet of astonishing beauty, where rivers, deserts, forests and mountains become abstract masterpieces when viewed from above. At the same time, his work carries a deeper message—that this beauty is precious and worth protecting. He reminds me that photography can do more than create beautiful images. It can awaken wonder, deepen our appreciation of the world, and encourage us to become better stewards of this extraordinary work of art that we call home.

People who inspire me: Albert Einstein

Albert Einstein has always been one of the people I most admire. Of course, he revolutionised our understanding of the universe, but what draws me to him is something deeper than his scientific achievements. I love his insatiable curiosity, his childlike sense of wonder, and his willingness to embrace mystery rather than pretend to have all the answers. He reminds me that the greatest minds are often the most humble in the face of the unknown.

As someone who loves collecting quotes, many of my favourites are Einstein's. They reveal a side of him that is often overlooked—a man who was not only a brilliant scientist, but also a deeply philosophical and spiritual thinker. He understood that imagination, awe and mystery are essential parts of the human experience, and that science and spirituality need not be in conflict. His life is a reminder that the pursuit of truth is at its best when it is guided not only by intellect, but also by curiosity, humility and a profound sense of wonder.

People who inspire me: Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt

Watching Ken Burns' documentary The Roosevelts gave me a completely new appreciation for Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt. I came away deeply impressed not only by what they accomplished, but by the strength of character they displayed through extraordinary adversity. Franklin's determination after being paralysed by polio was remarkable. Rather than allowing it to define him, he developed an inner resilience that helped him lead the United States through both the Great Depression and the Second World War. His optimism, calmness and ability to inspire confidence during times of immense uncertainty made him one of the most consequential leaders of the twentieth century.

I was equally inspired by Eleanor Roosevelt. She was far more than a First Lady; she became one of the great advocates for human rights and social justice. Despite her own difficult upbringing and personal struggles, she dedicated her life to serving others and giving a voice to those who had been overlooked. What impressed me most about the Roosevelts was the way they complemented one another. Franklin provided visionary leadership at moments of national crisis, while Eleanor expanded the nation's moral vision through compassion and courage. Together they showed how resilience, purpose and service can leave a lasting impact on the world.

Favourite photographers: Heni Cartier-Bresson

Another of the photographers I admire most is Henri Cartier-Bresson. What appeals to me isn't just the beauty of his photographs, but the way he observed the world. He had an extraordinary ability to recognise the significance of an ordinary moment and capture it at exactly the right instant. His idea of the "decisive moment" reminds me that the difference between an ordinary photograph and a remarkable one often comes down to patience, awareness and timing.

I also appreciate that Cartier-Bresson didn't try to control or stage his subjects. He trusted life to provide the moment rather than trying to create it himself. His photographs have a naturalness and authenticity that still feels fresh today. Looking at his work encourages me to slow down, pay closer attention, and remember that some of the most compelling images come from simply being present and noticing what others might miss.

Favourite artists: Salvadore Dali

One of the artists I find most fascinating is Salvador Dalí. At first glance his paintings seem bizarre, almost dreamlike, but the longer I look at them the more they invite reflection. They challenge my assumptions about reality, time and identity, and remind me that the world we experience is not always as fixed or straightforward as it appears. His work rewards curiosity, revealing new details and meanings each time I return to it.

What I admire most is Dalí's imagination and technical brilliance. However strange his visions were, he painted them with extraordinary precision, making the impossible feel almost believable. His art encourages me to think beyond the obvious and to appreciate the power of symbolism and metaphor. In many ways, his paintings feel less like images to be understood and more like invitations to explore the deeper landscape of the mind.

Favourite photographers: Amsel Adams

One of the photographers I admire most is Ansel Adams. His landscapes have an extraordinary sense of clarity, scale and stillness. He had a remarkable ability to reveal the beauty of the natural world, not by exaggerating it, but by helping us see what was already there. His photographs remind me that nature is full of grandeur, subtlety and order if we take the time to look carefully.

What I appreciate most about Adams is the combination of artistry and craftsmanship. He was a master of light, composition and tonal range, creating images that feel both technically perfect and deeply emotional. His work inspires me not only to become a better photographer, but also to spend more time in wild places, slowing down and paying closer attention. His photographs are a reminder that some of life's greatest experiences come simply from being present in nature.

Favourite artists: Leonardo da Vinci

What fascinates me about Leonardo da Vinci is not just that he was a brilliant artist, but that he seemed endlessly curious about almost everything. Painting, anatomy, engineering, architecture, geology, flight—he approached each subject with the same desire to understand how the world really works. He reminds me that creativity and curiosity are inseparable, and that the most rewarding discoveries often happen at the intersection of different fields.

I also admire Leonardo's ability to combine scientific observation with artistic vision. He looked at nature with extraordinary care, believing that the closer we observe reality, the deeper our understanding becomes. His notebooks reveal someone who never stopped asking questions or seeking better ways of seeing. His life encourages me to remain curious, to keep learning, and to remember that the pursuit of understanding can be just as important as the answers themselves.

Favourite artists: Michelangelo

Another of the artists I admire most is Michelangelo. His work combines an extraordinary level of technical mastery with a profound understanding of the human form. Whether in sculpture, painting or architecture, he had an unmatched ability to express strength, beauty and emotion. I still remember visiting Rome in 1996 and standing beneath the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel for the first time. I was completely blown away. No photograph had prepared me for the scale, complexity and sheer brilliance of what he created.

What I find especially inspiring is the way Michelangelo seemed to see potential where others saw only raw stone. His famous idea that the sculpture already existed within the marble, and that his task was simply to reveal it, has always resonated with me. It feels like a powerful metaphor for life itself—that beneath the surface there is something waiting to be uncovered through patience, effort and vision. His work reminds me that great art is not only about skill, but about revealing something deeper that was there all along.

Favourite artists: Monet

Claude Monet changed the way I look at the natural world. Rather than trying to paint every detail, he captured something more elusive—the quality of light, atmosphere and the feeling of a particular moment. His paintings remind me that what makes a scene beautiful is often not the objects themselves, but the way light transforms them. Looking at his work encourages me to slow down and notice those fleeting moments that are so easily overlooked.

What I especially appreciate is Monet's ability to find endless inspiration in familiar places. He returned to the same subjects again and again—the haystacks, the water lilies, Rouen Cathedral—not because they were unchanged, but because the light was never the same twice. That way of seeing has had a real influence on my photography. It reminds me that I don't need to travel to extraordinary places to create meaningful images. There is endless inspiration in the familiar if I return often enough, pay close attention, and learn to see each scene with fresh eyes.

  

Favourite artists: Picasso

Pablo Picasso fascinates me because he refused to see the world in conventional ways. He was never content simply to reproduce what the eye could already see. Instead, he explored different perspectives, broke familiar forms apart, and rebuilt them into something entirely new. His work reminds me that creativity often begins by questioning assumptions rather than accepting them.

What I admire most is Picasso's willingness to keep evolving throughout his life. He constantly experimented, took risks, and reinvented his style instead of repeating what had already made him successful. That commitment to exploration is deeply inspiring. It encourages me to stay curious, to keep learning, and to remember that growth often comes from having the courage to look at familiar things from a completely different perspective.

Favourite artists: Renoir

Pierre-Auguste Renoir's paintings always leave me with a sense of warmth and joy. He had an extraordinary ability to capture the beauty of everyday life—friends talking, families gathering, children playing, people enjoying a meal or an afternoon outdoors. His work reminds me that life's most meaningful moments are often the simplest ones, and that ordinary human experiences can be deeply beautiful.

What I appreciate most is the sense of light and humanity that runs through his paintings. His subjects feel alive, relaxed and connected, never posed or distant. Looking at his work encourages me to notice those same moments in my own life and photography—the shared smile, the quiet conversation, the warmth of sunlight on people simply enjoying being together. Renoir reminds me that beauty is not only found in dramatic landscapes or extraordinary events, but also in the richness of everyday human life.

Favourite artists: Henri Matisse

Henri Matisse reminds me that creativity is ultimately about vision, not technique. His work is full of colour, simplicity and joy, yet behind that apparent simplicity is a remarkable ability to communicate emotion with the fewest possible elements. He had a gift for stripping away the unnecessary and revealing the essence of a subject, showing that great art doesn't always need complexity to have a profound impact.

One of the things I find most inspiring about Matisse is what he did later in life. When illness meant he could no longer paint in the traditional way, he refused to stop creating. Instead, he began making his famous cut-outs, using painted sheets of coloured paper that he cut into bold, expressive shapes. Rather than seeing his physical limitations as the end of his artistic life, he turned them into the beginning of a completely new chapter. His example reminds me that creativity is ultimately a state of mind, and that obstacles can become opportunities if we are willing to adapt and keep creating.

Favourite artists: Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo's art speaks to me because it is so deeply personal and honest. She painted from her own life, transforming physical pain, emotional struggle and questions of identity into works of extraordinary power. Her paintings remind me that great art doesn't have to avoid suffering. Sometimes it is through our deepest challenges that we discover the most authentic forms of expression.

What I admire most about Kahlo is her courage. Despite living with chronic pain for much of her life, she continued to create work that was uncompromisingly original and unmistakably her own. She never tried to fit into someone else's idea of what an artist should be. Her life reminds me that creativity is not about having perfect circumstances, but about expressing truth as honestly as we can. There is something deeply inspiring about her determination to turn adversity into beauty and meaning.

Favourite artists: Vincent van Gogh

Vincent van Gogh's paintings have always had a special place in my heart. There is an intensity and emotional honesty in his work that is unlike anyone else's. His use of colour, texture and movement gives his paintings a remarkable sense of life, making landscapes, skies and everyday scenes feel almost alive. I vividly remember visiting the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam in 1997 after having a joint. Standing in front of his original paintings, I was completely blown away. Seeing the thickness of the paint and the energy of every brushstroke was an experience I'll never forget.

What I admire most about Van Gogh is his ability to find beauty and meaning in ordinary subjects. Whether he was painting a field of wheat, a chair, a pair of old boots or a night sky, he brought an extraordinary depth of feeling to his work. His paintings remind me that art is not simply about recording what we see, but about revealing how we experience the world. They continue to inspire me to look more carefully, feel more deeply, and appreciate the beauty that surrounds us every day.

Lighthouses

"I can think of no other edifice constructed by man as altruistic as a lighthouse. They were built only to serve."  George Bernard Shaw

Why I love lighthouses

There has always been something about lighthouses that draws me in. They carry the weight of history, standing through storms, wars, changing coastlines and countless human stories. Each one has watched generations come and go, quietly fulfilling the purpose for which it was built. They are monuments not to power or glory, but to service.

Perhaps that is why they feel so deeply symbolic. A lighthouse does not force its light on anyone; it simply shines, offering guidance to those who choose to navigate by it. There is something profoundly beautiful in that image. And then there is their sheer visual presence. Perched on rugged cliffs, lonely islands or windswept headlands, they are among the most photogenic structures ever created—where engineering, landscape, history and metaphor come together in a way that never fails to stir my imagination.

Map of lighthouses I've photographed

All posts tagged "lighthouse"

• All

Sydney

• Barrenjoey Lighthouse  (Palm Beach)
• Hornsby Lighthouse (Watsons Bay)
• Macquarie Lighthouse  (Vaucluse)
• Maritime Museum  (Pyrmont)
• Bradleys Head
• Cremorne Point

Australia wide

• Kiama  (NSW)
• Point Perpendicular  (Victoria)
• Great Ocean Road  (NSW)
• Freycinet  (Tasmania)
• Nobby Lighthouse  (Newcastle, NSW)

South Africa

• Cape Point  (Cape Town)
• Green Point  (Cape Town)
• Kalk Bay  (Cape Town)
• Port St Johns  (Transkei)

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Memorable moments: The pot plant contingency

When I was in my early twenties, I went to see the doctor. I can't recall the exact reason for the visit, but at one point, he decided he needed a urine sample.

"Oh dear," I said, wincing. "I actually just went to the loo right before I came in."

"Not to worry," he replied smoothly. "I only need a tiny drop."

He handed me a small plastic container, gestured to the room, and stepped outside to give me some privacy.

I positioned the bottle and began, pleasantly surprised and relieved that my body was cooperating enough to squeeze out a modest sample. But then, to my great surprise, the flow didn't taper off. In fact, it gathered momentum.

I watched in mounting panic as the fluid reached a quarter full... then half full... then three-quarters full—and I was still going at full throttle.

Oh no, I thought, a wave of sheer desperation hitting me. The bottle isn't big enough! What on earth am I going to do?!

Panic-driven calculations raced through my mind. Stepping out into the packed waiting room mid-stream was obviously out of the question. I scanned the small consultation room with wide, manic eyes. My gaze darted to a potted plant in the corner—could I get away with watering the Ficus? Then I looked at the window—could I somehow crack it open and aim for the flowerbed outside without the passersby noticing?

Just as I was on the absolute brink of making a terrible, life-altering decision, the tide miraculously turned. The flow sputtered and stopped, leaving the urine exactly one inch from the absolute brim.

A moment later, the doctor walked back in. He took one look at the sloshing, overflowing vessel handed to him by the young man who five minutes earlier insisted his tank was completely empty, and stood there in silent, utter astonishment.

Favourite directors: Christopher Nolan

I’ve just come home from seeing The Odyssey, and once again I was reminded why Christopher Nolan is my favourite filmmaker working today. Every time I walk out of one of his films, I feel like I've experienced something rather than simply watched it. His movies linger. They invite reflection. They make me want to see them again—not just to catch what I missed, but because they continue unfolding long after the credits roll.

Part of his genius lies in the remarkable creative team he has built around him. He has worked alongside his wife and producer, Emma Thomas, since the very beginning, and his brother Jonathan has been instrumental in shaping many of his greatest stories. More recently, editor Jennifer Lame has brought extraordinary rhythm and emotional precision to his films. It's a reminder that while Nolan is a visionary, great art is often born from enduring creative partnerships.

Then there are the stories themselves. Nobody constructs a narrative quite like Nolan. The Prestige remains, in my view, one of the greatest screenplays ever written, with not one but two breathtaking twists that completely transform everything that came before. Memento turned storytelling inside out, allowing us to experience memory loss rather than simply observe it. Interstellar somehow combines hard science, breathtaking spectacle and one of the most moving father-daughter stories ever put on screen. And the ending of Inception—that spinning top—may be the perfect ending because it leaves us wrestling with a deeper question than whether Cobb is dreaming: what is reality, and does our experience of it ultimately matter more than certainty?

But what elevates Nolan above almost every other blockbuster director is that he's never really making films about explosions, spies, superheroes or space travel. Those are simply the vehicles. Beneath them lie profound existential questions. What is time? What is identity? How much of who we are is memory? Can love transcend space and time? What is sacrifice? How should we live when faced with uncertainty? He trusts his audience to engage with these questions rather than reducing them to simple answers.

Perhaps that's why his films resonate with me so deeply. They embody what I believe great art should do. Great art doesn't merely entertain—it expands consciousness. It stretches the imagination, deepens our perception, and leaves us seeing ourselves and reality a little differently than before.

After The Odyssey, I'm more convinced than ever that Christopher Nolan isn't just one of the great filmmakers of our time. He's one of the great storytellers. And in a culture that often underestimates the power of story, that's a rare and precious gift.

Memorable moments: From Party Animal to Grumpy Old Man

Mackie, my beautiful Jack Russell, underwent a profound shift in his relationship with the younger generation as he aged.

When he was in his prime, he loved kids with all his heart. I have vivid memories of taking him to my friend Andreas's house for his young son Lucas’s birthday party. Mackie was the undisputed life and soul of the event. The kids had endless fun throwing a tennis ball for him, and Mackie had the time of his life chasing it down and bringing it back, completely tireless.

Then, around the ripe old age of sixteen, a switch flipped. Mackie officially retired from his role as party entertainer and decided he was completely over youngsters—whether they were energetic human children or overeager puppies.

At the park, if a young whippersnapper of a dog bounced up to say hello, Mackie would let out a low growl and occasionally even snap to enforce his personal space. He took the exact same stance with children. This posed a bit of a diplomatic challenge, because even in his twilight years, Mackie looked utterly adorable, and kids would naturally wander over wanting to pet him. I constantly had to intervene and explain that the cute little dog had grown very grumpy in his old age.

My daily routine involved walking Mackie and sometimes tethering him outside the local shop for five minutes while I popped in for a few items.

One afternoon, standing near the back of the store, I glanced toward the front entrance to check on him. To my horror, I saw a small child stepping toward Mackie, arm already outstretched to give him a pat.

It instantly became one of those ultra-slow-motion action movie sequences. In my head, a deep "NOOOOO!" echoed as I lunged toward the doorway, desperate to prevent a nipping incident before it was too late.

Thankfully, Mackie merely let out a stern, warning growl rather than a bite, and the child pulled back safely. But that was the end of his solo waiting privileges outside the shop.

Grumpy or not, I adored Mackie in every single one of his moods. After all, when you are pushing close to a hundred in human years, you’ve earned the absolute right to assert your seniority and tell the young whippersnappers to get off your lawn.

Memorable moments: A seasoned disappointment

I will never forget the first big raffle I ever won. It was at a massive event—I can't recall the exact occasion now—and anticipation in the room was running high. There were two major prizes up for grabs.

The ticket for the first prize was drawn, and a woman was called up to the stage to collect her reward: an all-expenses-paid trip to Italy. It was a magnificent, dream-of-a-lifetime prize, and the crowd applauded wildly as she went up to accept it.

Then came the moment for the second prize. The host read out the ticket number, and to my absolute shock, it was me! I am normally the kind of person who never wins anything, so I was surprised and thoroughly delighted. As I walked down the aisle toward the stage, my mind was racing with possibilities, wondering what exotic corner of the globe I was about to be whisked away to.

I stepped onto the stage, smiled, and was promptly handed... a large, heavy black bag filled to the brim with something bulky.

What on earth have I won? I thought, holding the sack. A bag of refuse?

I peeked inside, and the reality set in: it was packed to the top with spices. A lifetime supply of culinary seasonings.

Now, a professional chef might have been overjoyed with such a bounty, but I don't cook. The transition from imagining a romantic getaway in Tuscany to holding ten kilograms of ground coriander was an utter, hilarious disappointment.

Needless to say, those spices lasted me for a very long time. In fact, over twenty years later, I have a strong suspicion that a few forgotten jars from that faithful night are still quietly lurking in the dark recesses of my spice drawer.

Memorable moments: The sonic wake-up call

I have a rather unfortunate physiological quirk that causes me profound embarrassment every now and then.

It usually happens when I’m commuting on a quiet train or settled into a long-haul flight. The soothing rhythm of the travel lulls me, my eyes grow heavy, and I start to feel tired. My head slowly sinks down toward my chest, and I momentarily doze off into a peaceful, blissful sleep.

Then, without a single second of warning, my airway collapses and I let out the loudest snort imaginable—a real ripper from deep within the nasal passages, sounding remarkably like a walrus in heat.

The violent sonic boom of my own body shoots me instantly back to full consciousness. My head snaps up, my eyes fly open, and I am immediately met with the horror of thirty fellow passengers who have all turned in their seats to identify the source of the mighty blast.

Thankfully this doesn't happen too often, but when it does, I want to be swallowed up by the floorboards. My only survival strategy is to instantly join the rest of the carriage in looking around with an expression of deep, horrified disgust, silently asking the crowd, "Can you believe the nerve of whoever just did that?!"

Pyrmont

Lovely to explore Pyrmont with my Photography Meetup on a beautiful winter's day. 

Memorable moments: The British Pub Test

My friend Gavin comes from the UK, and during his younger days, he and his mates used to partake in some wild and rather disturbing pub games. One of their absolute favorites was an incredibly bizarre tradition known simply as "cock or ball."

After several pints of beer had been consumed, the game would begin. One of the lads would carefully pull a tiny, isolated piece of skin through the zipper of their trousers—sourced from either the shaft or the testicles. The remaining players then had to examine the exposed sample and make their official deduction.

Apparently, differentiating between the two under dim pub lighting is a lot harder than you might think. Whoever guessed incorrectly was penalized and had to down their drink. For Gavin and his crew, this high-stakes anatomical guessing game caused a great deal of mirth and became a staple of their nights out.

While it certainly makes for a memorable story, I am incredibly glad Gavin has long since moved on from his wilder days. It is definitely not a game I would relish participating in. When I go out for a pint, I prefer to keep my private life completely private, leaving my anatomy safely tucked away exactly where it belongs.

Memorable moments: The existential check-in

James was a wonderful hiking friend who joined us on several of our trail outings before he eventually moved back to New Zealand. He is a profoundly thoughtful chap with a deep interest in existential issues, so I always felt a strong intellectual resonance with him. He also happened to have a highly unusual hobby: several times a week, he would sit inside his broom cupboard, take a heroic dose of magic mushrooms, and attempt to tap directly into the fabric of the universe.

One night, fresh off a session in the cupboard, James came to meet Gavin, me, and a few mates at the local pub.

When he walked in, he greeted us normally but looked a little preoccupied. As the rest of the table fell into our usual loud banter and storytelling, James sat quietly, not saying much of anything, just observing the scene with a distant look in his eye.

Then, during a brief lull in the conversation, he suddenly leaned across the table toward Gavin and me. Lowering his voice to a hushed breath, he asked with total seriousness, "Guys... am I actually here?"

It became instantly clear what was happening. The dose had been so intense that he was struck by the disturbing thought that he was still sitting alone in the dark among the mops and buckets, entirely hallucinating the pub, the pints, and his friends.

Gavin and I quickly reassured him that he was, in fact, physically sitting in the pub with us. A look of great relief washed over his face, and he slowly settled back into his chair. I have never taken mushrooms myself, and listening to a grown man ask his mates for structural confirmation of his own physical existence convinced me right then and there that I probably never would.

Malabar Headland

I was hoping to see the Peregrine Falcon that lives here but I saw Nankeen Kestrel instead. The scenery around the Malabar Headland is spectacular.