Punting along the Cam in Cambridge

Memories don't come better than punting along the Cam with Ally, work mates and mum and Mike when they visited us.

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Favourite photographers: David Doubilet

David Doubilet’s photographs fill me with an almost childlike sense of wonder. For me, no one captures the extraordinary underwater world of the ocean more beautifully—whether he is photographing the brilliant colours and teeming life of a coral reef or the cold, mysterious blue beneath the Antarctic ice. His images reveal a hidden world that feels vast, fragile and profoundly alive, making us see the ocean not as an empty expanse but as one of the most beautiful and miraculous realms on Earth.

I especially adore Doubilet’s split-level photographs, in which half the image lies above the water and half below. He has perfected this technique both technically and artistically, transforming the waterline into a threshold between two worlds—the familiar world of sky and land above and the secret universe beneath. I was introduced to his work when I attended a presentation he gave at the Sydney Opera House in 2014, and I was completely blown away. Seeing his images on that scale, while hearing the stories behind them from Doubilet himself, left an unforgettable impression on me.

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The artist at work, immersed in his medium

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Favourite photographers: Frank Hurly

Frank Hurley is one of my greatest inspirations as a photographer. He was the official photographer on Ernest Shackleton’s ill-fated Endurance expedition to Antarctica, which became one of the greatest survival stories ever told and has inspired generations. Yet I often wonder whether the story would have retained quite the same power without Hurley’s photographs. Shackleton’s leadership and the endurance of his men were extraordinary, but Hurley gave their ordeal a face. His images allow us to enter their frozen world, turning an incredible historical account into something immediate, intimate and unforgettable.

It seems miraculous that the photographs survived at all. After the Endurance had been abandoned, Hurley returned to the flooded wreck and plunged into freezing, slushy water to retrieve his glass-plate negatives. He and Shackleton then selected 120 plates to carry with them and smashed roughly 400 others because their weight threatened the men’s survival. Hurley sealed the chosen negatives inside a soldered metal container and somehow protected them throughout the ordeal. Considering the enormous cameras, glass plates and other equipment he had to transport, it is astonishing how inventive he remained—climbing the ship’s rigging, venturing onto the ice and photographing from extraordinary angles to create images of breathtaking drama. 

His photographs captured far more than the Endurance trapped, splintering and finally being crushed by the ice. Hurley also recorded the exhausting work of pulling sledges and lifeboats, but he was equally attentive to the quieter life of the expedition: the men reading, playing music and whiling away the endless hours aboard ship; the friendships and humour that sustained them; and the huskies, seals and penguins that shared their strange white world. These beautiful, intimate images give the story its humanity. Hurley was not simply documenting an expedition—he was creating an extraordinary visual portrait of people living together at the very edge of survival.

My appreciation of Hurley was deepened by a presentation Sue and I attended at the State Library of New South Wales in 2016. It also connected profoundly with my own journey to Antarctica in 2013 as a photographer for Upschool. We sailed past Elephant Island, where 22 members of Shackleton’s crew endured four bleak months while he attempted to return and rescue them. Seeing that desolate, windswept place made their survival seem almost impossible. That all 28 members of the Endurance party eventually returned alive remains one of history’s most remarkable testaments to courage, resilience and extraordinary leadership—but it is Frank Hurley’s photographs that allow us to feel the story, rather than merely know it.

Photos Hurly took in Antarctica

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First World War

Hurley carried that same courage and visual imagination into the First World War, serving as an official Australian war photographer on the Western Front. His photographs captured the almost apocalyptic horror of battle—the shell-torn earth, blasted trees, endless mud, smoke and exhausted soldiers moving through landscapes stripped of life. Yet he never lost sight of the human beings caught within that devastation. He photographed soldiers resting, caring for the wounded and finding brief moments of companionship amid the terror. This combination of horror and humanity makes his war photography so powerful: he showed both the terrible destruction human beings can inflict and the courage, tenderness and comradeship that can survive even in the darkest circumstances.

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Other photos

Hurley’s restless curiosity later took him to Papua New Guinea, where he photographed its dramatic landscapes, remote communities and richly varied cultures, before turning his camera closer to home and creating an extensive record of Sydney—its harbour, beaches, architecture and rapidly changing cityscape. I find it wonderful that I have also been able to photograph two places that held such fascination for him: Antarctica and Sydney. They could hardly be more different, yet both are deeply special to me. Knowing that I have stood with my own camera in places where Hurley once searched for beauty, drama and human stories gives me an even stronger sense of connection with the photographer who has inspired me so greatly.

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The wondrous planets of our solar system

 

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Ode to the planets

I was fascinated by the planets when I was a child. Their names alone seemed magical: Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and distant Pluto, which we then knew as the ninth planet. I loved seeing pictures of them in books and imagining these extraordinary worlds turning silently in the darkness. They made the universe feel immense, mysterious and alive with possibility.

Each planet seemed to possess its own personality. There was fiery Venus hidden beneath poisonous clouds; rust-red Mars with its deserts, volcanoes and tantalising possibility of life; enormous Jupiter with its swirling storms; and magnificent Saturn, encircled by rings so beautiful they hardly seemed real. Beyond them were the cold, mysterious worlds of Uranus and Neptune—remote blue giants drifting near the edge of everything I could imagine.

What captivated me was the realisation that these were not simply lights in the night sky. They were entire worlds. Each had its own landscapes, weather, seasons, moons and mysteries. Some possessed mountains higher than any on Earth, storms larger than our planet and oceans concealed beneath frozen surfaces. I could stand in my garden, look upwards and know that all of them were truly out there, travelling with us around the Sun.

The planets opened my childhood imagination to the sheer scale of existence. I imagined what it might be like to stand beneath another sky, to watch two moons rise over an alien landscape or to float among the rings of Saturn. Long before spacecraft sent back their astonishing photographs, these worlds had already become destinations within my mind—places of adventure, beauty and endless discovery.

And among them is Earth: the planet that can seem ordinary only because it is our home. Seen within the family of planets, its wonder becomes even clearer—a blue and white jewel with oceans, forests, clouds, birds, animals and billions of human lives. As far as we presently know, it is the only world where the universe has awakened into life and become able to look back at itself.

My childhood fascination with the planets has never really left me. We now know far more about them than I could have imagined then, yet every discovery seems to deepen rather than diminish their mystery. They remind me that our world is part of something far greater: a magnificent procession of planets and moons, each following its ancient path around the Sun, together crossing the darkness of space.

Fascinating facts about the planets

• Our solar system contains eight wonderfully different planets. The four inner planets—Mercury, Venus, Earth and Mars—are small, rocky worlds. Jupiter and Saturn are gas giants, while Uranus and Neptune are ice giants without solid surfaces upon which anyone could stand.
• Mercury races around the Sun faster than any other planet. It completes an entire orbit in only 88 Earth days, meaning that a year on Mercury lasts less than three of our months.
• Mercury experiences an extraordinary range of temperatures. Daytime temperatures can reach approximately 430°C, but without a substantial atmosphere to retain that warmth, nighttime temperatures can plunge to around −180°C.
• A day on Venus is longer than a year on Venus. It takes 243 Earth days to rotate once, but only 225 Earth days to travel around the Sun. Venus also spins in the opposite direction from most planets, so the Sun would rise in the west and set in the east.
• Venus is hotter than Mercury, even though Mercury is closer to the Sun. Its thick atmosphere traps heat in a runaway greenhouse effect, producing an average surface temperature of roughly 467°C—hot enough to melt lead. Its atmospheric pressure is around 93 times greater than Earth’s.
• Earth remains the most wondrous planet we know. It is the only known world with abundant liquid water on its surface and the only place in the universe where we have confirmed the existence of life. Its oceans cover approximately 71% of its surface.
• Mars possesses the largest volcano in the solar system. Olympus Mons rises more than 40 kilometres from base to summit and covers an area about the size of Arizona. Mars also has a canyon system more than ten times longer and wider than Earth’s Grand Canyon.
• Sunsets on Mars are blue. During the Martian day, dust gives the sky a rusty reddish colour, but near sunset the fine particles allow blue light to remain concentrated around the Sun—the reverse of the familiar red and gold sunsets of Earth.
• Jupiter is so enormous that around 1,000 Earths could fit inside it. It is more than twice as massive as all the other planets in the solar system combined. Yet it is composed mainly of hydrogen and helium and has no true solid surface.
• The largest planet also has the shortest day. Despite its colossal size, Jupiter spins around once in only about 9.9 hours. This rapid rotation causes the planet to bulge around its equator and helps create its powerful, swirling weather systems.
• All four giant planets possess rings. Saturn’s are the most spectacular, but Jupiter, Uranus and Neptune also have ring systems—fainter and more difficult to see, yet beautiful in their own right.
• Saturn’s rings are astonishingly vast and incredibly thin. The main ring system stretches as far as 282,000 kilometres from the planet but is typically only around ten metres thick. The rings consist of billions of fragments of ice and rock, ranging from dust-sized grains to pieces as large as mountains.
• Saturn is the only planet less dense than water. If a bathtub large enough could somehow be constructed, this enormous planet would float—although finding a bath more than 120,000 kilometres wide could present a problem.
• Uranus travels around the Sun lying almost completely on its side. Its axis is tilted by nearly 98 degrees, possibly because an Earth-sized object struck it long ago. This produces the most extreme seasons of any planet, with parts of Uranus experiencing approximately 21 years of continuous darkness. Its moons are equally enchanting: they are named after characters from Shakespeare and Alexander Pope.
• Neptune was discovered through mathematics before it was seen through a telescope. Its existence was predicted from the strange behaviour of Uranus’s orbit. Neptune has the fastest winds measured on any planet—reaching about 2,000 kilometres per hour—and takes roughly 165 Earth years to orbit the Sun. It completed its first full orbit since its discovery only in 2011.

The wondrous sun

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Ode to the sun

Before almost everything else I have ever loved, there was the Sun. Before the first human opened their eyes, before the first bird lifted into the sky or the first flower turned towards the light, it was already burning—pouring its warmth into the darkness and awakening a small blue world. Every sunrise is therefore both utterly ordinary and quietly miraculous: the return of the light, the unveiling of colour and the beginning of another day.

As a photographer, I am mesmerised by light—by the way it transforms an ordinary landscape, illuminates a face or turns clouds into fire. For me, there is almost nothing more wondrous than a sunrise or sunset. Each is fleeting and unrepeatable, the sky becoming a vast canvas of gold, crimson, pink and violet before changing again moments later. No matter how many I witness or photograph, I never tire of them. They remind me to stop, look and be fully present for the brief beauty unfolding before me.

And there are few sensations more wonderful than turning my face towards the Sun and feeling its warmth upon my skin. It is such a simple pleasure, yet it feels almost like a blessing—a direct physical connection with the star that makes our existence possible. Its light has travelled across the emptiness of space to reach this particular place, this particular moment, and me.

The Sun is the great giver. Its energy moves through forests and oceans, through clouds and rivers, through every leaf that unfolds and every creature that breathes. It warms our world, guides the seasons and paints everything with light and shadow. The food we eat, the winds that cross the planet and the countless forms of life surrounding us all trace their story back to this magnificent star. We do not merely live beneath the Sun; we live because of it.

It has also illuminated the entire human story. The Sun shone upon our earliest ancestors as they stepped onto open plains, upon the first cities rising beside rivers, and upon every journey, discovery, celebration and sorrow that followed. Civilisations worshipped it, poets praised it and artists tried to capture its radiance. It has been a god, a clock, a compass, a symbol of hope and rebirth—and the silent witness to every life ever lived.

Yet for all its familiarity, the Sun remains almost beyond comprehension: a colossal furnace suspended in the blackness of space, transforming matter into light and sending that light across the void to reach us. We may understand something of the science, but wonder begins where mere understanding ends. To stand in the warmth of sunlight is to feel my connection to something immense—to remember that I am part of a living world, circling a star, held within a universe more astonishing than I can ever fully grasp.

So here is my ode to the Sun: our nearest star, our faithful companion and the blazing heart of our little corner of the cosmos. Each morning it reminds me that darkness is never the whole story, that life depends upon gifts we did nothing to earn, and that even the most familiar things become wondrous when we truly stop and look.

Fascinating facts about the sun

• The Sun is a star. It looks unlike the stars of the night sky only because it is so much closer to us. In cosmic terms, it is a fairly ordinary, medium-sized star—but to Earth, it is everything.
• It is approximately 4.6 billion years old. The Sun formed when an immense cloud of gas and dust collapsed under its own gravity, with the leftover material eventually becoming the planets, moons, asteroids and comets.
• The Sun contains 99.8% of all the mass in the solar system. The planets, moons, asteroids, comets—and everything humanity has ever created—share the tiny fraction that remains.
• Around 1.3 million Earths could fit inside it. The Sun is about 1.4 million kilometres across—roughly 109 Earths placed side by side—while more than 330,000 Earths would be required to equal its mass.
• Sunlight takes about eight minutes and twenty seconds to reach us. This means that whenever we look at the Sun—through proper eye protection—we are seeing it as it appeared more than eight minutes earlier.
• The Sun’s core reaches approximately 15 million°C. The pressure and heat there are so extreme that hydrogen nuclei fuse together to form helium, releasing the energy that ultimately becomes sunlight.
• Every second, the Sun converts around 600 million tonnes of hydrogen into helium. About four million tonnes of matter disappear in the process, transformed directly into energy according to Einstein’s famous equation, E=mc² 
• The energy warming your face today may have begun its journey around 170,000 years ago. Energy released in the core is repeatedly absorbed and re-emitted as it struggles through the Sun’s dense interior. Once it finally escapes the surface, it needs only another eight minutes or so to reach Earth.
• The Sun has no solid surface. What we perceive as its surface is the photosphere—a glowing layer of plasma about 400 kilometres thick, with a temperature of roughly 5,500°C. There would be nowhere upon it to stand.
• Its outer atmosphere is mysteriously hotter than its surface. Although the photosphere is approximately 5,500°C, the corona can reach around two million°C. Why the Sun becomes hotter as one moves farther from its surface remains one of solar science’s great puzzles.
• The Sun does not rotate as a single solid object. Its equator completes a rotation in about 25 Earth days, while the polar regions take approximately 36 days. Its surface is constantly twisting, flowing and churning.
• The Sun is carrying us through the Milky Way at astonishing speed. Our entire solar system travels around the centre of the galaxy at roughly 828,000 kilometres per hour—yet one complete galactic orbit still takes about 230 million years.
• The Sun has an approximately 11-year cycle of activity. The number of sunspots rises and falls as its immense magnetic field changes, with the most active periods producing more solar flares and eruptions.
• Solar storms can create beauty on Earth. Vast clouds of magnetised particles can be hurled from the Sun at more than 1.6 million kilometres per hour. When they interact with Earth’s magnetic field, they can ignite the magnificent aurora australis and aurora borealis—although powerful storms can also disrupt satellites, communications and electrical grids.
• In a sense, Earth exists inside the Sun’s atmosphere. The solar wind creates an enormous magnetic bubble called the heliosphere, which stretches beyond the planets. Our entire world—and almost all of the solar system—travels within this vast, invisible extension of the Sun.

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Favourite photographers: Peter Eastway

Peter Eastway is one of Australia's leading landscape photographers, and I first got to know his work through Mosman Camera Club, where he gave several presentations over the years. I was struck not only by the quality of his photographs but also by his editing skills. He has a remarkable ability to get the very best out of an image, and I learned a great deal from watching him explain his workflow.

One of the highlights of my own photography journey was joining Peter on trip to the Arctic in 2022. It was a real privilege to photograph alongside someone whose work I respected so much. My favourite memory is the two of us lying on our backs at the foot of a cliff, cameras pointed straight up as we photographed the birds flying overhead. It was a sublime moment; one I'll always remember.

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With Peter in Svalbard

Spectacular lighthouses around the world

As you can see, I'm completely hooked on lighthouses at the moment. What started as a photography project has quickly turned into another excuse to explore the world. Every lighthouse has its own story, shaped by the coastline, the weather and the people who built it. Some perch on impossibly narrow sea stacks, others stand alone on tiny islands or cling to dramatic cliffs where the ocean seems determined to reclaim them. Here are some of the most spectacular and unusual lighthouses I've discovered so far. 

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The remarkable history of lighthouses

Humanity's first beacons

Long before GPS, radar and satellite navigation, there were lighthouses. For thousands of years they stood as humanity's promise to sailors: there is land ahead, and someone is watching over you.

The earliest "lighthouses" were surprisingly simple. Fires were lit on hilltops or coastal cliffs, creating beacons that could be seen from miles away. Ancient civilizations, including the Egyptians, Greeks and Romans, realised that a single light could save countless lives by warning ships away from dangerous rocks and guiding them safely into harbour.

Few structures have served humanity so faithfully for so long.

The wonder of the ancient world

The most famous lighthouse in history was the Lighthouse of Alexandria, or the Pharos, built around 280 BC in Egypt. Standing perhaps 100–120 metres high, it was one of the tallest structures in the world for more than 1,500 years and was counted among the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

By day, its polished mirrors reflected sunlight far out to sea. By night, a massive fire burned at its summit. It became the model for countless lighthouses that followed, and its very name—Pharos—became the word for lighthouse in many languages.

Although eventually destroyed by earthquakes, its influence can still be seen in lighthouse design today.

The Romans spread the idea

The Romans understood that safe harbours were essential to trade and military power. They built dozens of stone lighthouses around the Mediterranean and Atlantic.

One remarkable survivor is the Tower of Hercules, built in the second century AD. Astonishingly, after almost 1,900 years, it still functions as an active lighthouse, making it the oldest working lighthouse in the world.

Tower of Hercules

A thousand difficult years

After the fall of Rome, many great lighthouses disappeared. Europe entered a period when navigation became much more hazardous. Coastal communities improvised by lighting hilltop bonfires or hanging lanterns from church towers.

Many early "lighthouses" were little more than coal fires burning in large baskets.

From open fires to oil lamps

For centuries, lighthouse keepers relied on wood, coal or charcoal fires. These produced smoke, required constant attention and were surprisingly inefficient. Nevertheless, they represented a huge improvement over complete darkness.

By the Middle Ages, engineers began using enclosed oil lamps fuelled by animal fat, whale oil and later vegetable oils. These lamps burned more steadily, produced less smoke and could be protected from wind and rain.

The invention of specialised lamp burners in the late eighteenth century dramatically increased brightness while using less fuel. Every improvement meant ships could spot the coastline from farther away.

The age of gas and kerosene

The nineteenth century brought another leap forward. Many lighthouses switched to gas lighting or highly refined kerosene (paraffin), which burned brighter and more reliably than earlier oils.

Gas systems could even be automated to some extent, reducing the workload of lighthouse keepers. Engineers also developed ingenious clockwork mechanisms that slowly rotated the lantern, creating the distinctive flashing patterns that allowed mariners to identify individual lighthouses.

Suddenly, a lighthouse wasn't just a light—it had its own unique signature.

Engineering transformed everything

The great leap came during the eighteenth century.

One of history's most influential engineers, John Smeaton, designed the third Eddystone Lighthouse in 1759. Standing on wave-battered rocks, it introduced interlocking granite blocks shaped much like today's Lego bricks. Its elegant, curved profile copied the trunk of an oak tree, allowing waves to flow around it instead of smashing into it.

Many modern lighthouse designs still follow principles Smeaton pioneered.

Eddystone Lighthouse

John Smeaton

The revolution of the Fresnel Lens

No invention transformed lighthouses more than the Fresnel lens.

Invented in 1822 by French physicist Augustin-Jean Fresnel, this remarkable lens used hundreds of carefully shaped glass prisms to capture and concentrate light into an incredibly powerful beam. Instead of allowing most of the light to scatter in every direction, the Fresnel lens focused almost every ray toward the horizon.

The results were extraordinary. A relatively modest lamp could now be seen from over 30 kilometres away.

Many of these magnificent hand-crafted lenses stood several metres tall and contained thousands of precisely cut glass prisms. To keep the enormous lenses turning smoothly, they floated on baths of mercury, reducing friction so dramatically that even a small clockwork mechanism could rotate several tonnes of glass.

Even today, many historians consider the Fresnel lens one of the greatest optical inventions ever created.

Building in impossible places

Constructing lighthouses often required extraordinary feats of engineering.

Some were built on tiny reefs that disappeared completely beneath the waves at high tide. Workers had only a few hours each day to labour before the sea returned. Materials had to be transported by boat, often in violent conditions.

Scottish engineer Robert Stevenson and his family became legendary for designing lighthouses on some of Britain's most dangerous coastlines. The Bell Rock Lighthouse, completed in 1811 on a reef submerged for much of each day, remains one of the greatest engineering achievements of its era.

Engineers developed interlocking stone blocks that fitted together like giant three-dimensional puzzle pieces, allowing towers to withstand the relentless pounding of waves for centuries.

Many still stand today.

Bell Rock Lighthouse

The lonely life of lighthouse keepers

For most of history, every lighthouse depended on people.

Keepers trimmed lamp wicks, polished enormous lenses, wound clockwork mechanisms, cleaned soot, monitored weather, maintained buildings and kept meticulous logbooks. During storms they often worked through the night, knowing that the light could mean the difference between life and death.

Many stations were isolated on tiny islands or remote cliffs. Supplies sometimes arrived only once every few weeks, and entire families lived in remarkable isolation.

It demanded resilience, discipline and an unwavering sense of duty.

Perhaps the most famous mystery concerning lighthouse keepers occurred in 1900 at the Flannan Isles Lighthouse. Three keepers disappeared without trace. Meals were left unfinished. A chair was overturned. The lighthouse was perfectly functioning. Despite extensive investigations, nobody has ever discovered exactly what happened, making it one of maritime history's enduring mysteries.

Electricity changes everything

The arrival of electricity in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries transformed lighthouse operation.

Electric lamps were brighter, cleaner and far more reliable than oil or gas flames. Electric motors replaced clockwork mechanisms, while increasingly sophisticated optics extended the visible range even further.

As power supplies improved, many stations became fully automated, gradually eliminating the need for resident lighthouse keepers.

Across the world, the lonely profession slowly disappeared.

Why many lighthouses became obsolete

By the late twentieth century:

• GPS revolutionised navigation.
• Radar became standard equipment.
• Electronic charts replaced paper charts.

Satellite positioning achieved remarkable accuracy.

Most lighthouses became automated, and lighthouse keepers gradually disappeared.

Yet remarkably, very few lighthouses were demolished. Instead, they became treasured landmarks, museums, and symbols of maritime heritage.

The modern lighthouse

Today's lighthouses bear little resemblance to their ancient ancestors.

Powerful LED lights consume only a fraction of the electricity used by earlier lamps while lasting for decades. Solar panels and batteries allow even remote towers to operate without external power. GPS, radar, electronic charts and satellite navigation now guide most ships with astonishing accuracy.

Yet lighthouses remain vital. They provide an independent visual navigation aid that continues to function even when electronic systems fail. In aviation and marine safety alike, redundancy saves lives.

Many historic lighthouses have also found a new purpose as museums, heritage sites and beloved landmarks.

Why we still love them

In purely practical terms, technology has reduced our dependence on lighthouses.

But emotionally, they have never been more powerful.

Few buildings carry such rich symbolism. They represent guidance in darkness, steadfastness through storms and quiet service without recognition. For generations they have stood exactly where they were needed, asking for nothing in return.

Perhaps that is why photographers, artists and writers continue to be drawn to them. They are beautiful structures, but they are also reminders that even a single light—faithfully maintained—can make an enormous difference.

That idea has remained unchanged for more than two thousand years.

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.

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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.

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Favourite quotes

• Photography is nothing-it’s life that interests me.
• Of all the means of expression, photography is the only one that fixes a precise moment in time.
• Oop! The Moment! Once you miss it, it is gone forever.
• Photography is like fencing. You must keep your distance, wait, and then thrust.
• To me, photography is the simultaneous recognition, in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event.
• In photography, the smallest thing can be a great subject. The little, human detail can become a Leitmotiv.
• It is through living that we discover ourselves, at the same time as we discover the world around us.
• Photography is not documentary, but intuition, a poetic experience.
• To take photographs is putting one’s head, one’s eye, and one’s heart on the same axis.
• A photograph is neither taken or seized by force. It offers itself up. It is the photo that takes you. One must not take photos.
• We must avoid however, snapping away, shooting quickly and without thought, overloading ourselves with unnecessary images that clutter our memory and diminish the clarity of the whole.
• In every photographer there is something of a stroller.
• Your first 10,000 photographs are your worst.

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.

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Favourite quotes

• Photography is an austere and blazing poetry of the real.
• The camera is for life and for people, the swift and intense moments of life.
• When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.
• A good photograph is knowing where to stand.
• Twelve significant photographs in any one year is a good crop.
• I do not think there is any question of photography being an art form!
• Life is your art. An open, aware heart is your camera. A oneness with your world is your film. Your bright eyes and easy smile is your museum.
• The photographic negative is the equivalent of the composers score and the print is the equivalent of the conductor’s performance.
• I believe the world is incomprehensibly beautiful – an endless prospect of magic and wonder.
• I hope that my work will encourage self expression in others and stimulate the search for beauty and creative excitement in the great world around us.
• A great photograph is one that fully expresses what one feels, in the deepest sense, about what is being photographed.
• There is nothing worse than a sharp image of a fuzzy concept.
• You don’t take a photograph, you make it.
• There are no rules for good photographs, there are only good photographs.
• No matter how sophisticated you may be, a large granite mountain cannot be denied – it speaks in silence to the very core of your being.
• The whole world is, to me, very much “alive” – all the little growing things, even the rocks. I can’t look at a swell bit of grass and earth, for instance, without feeling the essential life – the things going on – within them. The same goes for a mountain, or a bit of the ocean, or a magnificent piece of old wood.

Favourite photographers: Steve McCurry

Steve McCurry is one of my favourite photographers. Over the decades, he has created many iconic images for National Geographic, capturing people and cultures across the world with extraordinary intimacy and sensitivity. I particularly love his portraits—the vivid colours, expressive faces and, above all, the remarkable way he reveals the individuality and dignity of each person. I was fortunate enough to see an exhibition of his work near The Rocks in Sydney and was completely blown away by the power and beauty of his photographs. His images transcend geographical and cultural boundaries and beautifully illuminate our shared humanity.

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The amazing Lyrebird

The superb lyrebird is one of Australia’s most extraordinary birds: a shy, secretive creature of the forest floor with an almost magical gift for mimicry. It can reproduce the calls of other birds with remarkable precision—and sometimes even human-made sounds such as camera shutters, alarms and chainsaws—folding them into its own elaborate song. While the laughing kookaburra is officially NSW’s bird emblem, the lyrebird is the emblem of the NSW National Parks and Wildlife Service, and it feels every bit as symbolic of the Australian bush. I have seen them several times in the Royal National Park, usually slipping quietly through the leaf litter or suddenly revealing themselves among the ferns, and every encounter gives me a real thrill.

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Wondrous photos of galaxies

What an incredible universe we live in! It fills me with such awe.

 

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• Stars

The amazing sand sculptures of the Pufferfish

How incredible. Humans are by no means the only artists on planet earth.

 

Birds of Paradise

Nothing makes me sense the benevolence of the universe more than scenes like these.

Favourite songs: What a Wonderful World (Louis Armstrong)

I love this song so much. The video is lovely too.

The wonders of pollination

What an amazing video!

Favourite photographers: Brad Wilson

Brad Wilson is one of my favourite photographers because of the extraordinary dignity he brings to his wildlife portraits. Against their simple, dark backgrounds, these beautiful creatures seem to meet us as equals, their eyes revealing an inner presence that is almost impossible to describe. Eyes truly are the doors to the soul, and when I look into the eyes of Wilson’s animals, I sometimes feel as though I can see God looking back at me. His photographs awaken a profound sense of connectedness—a recognition that we share this mysterious gift of consciousness and life with every living being. I discovered his work in 2015, when Sue gave me his book Wildlife. It remains one of the most cherished gifts I have ever received.

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Favourite photographers: Vivian Maier

I discovered Vivian Maier through the documentary Finding Vivian Maier I saw with Sue at The Orpheum and was immediately captivated by her remarkable portraits and street scenes. Working largely in obscurity as a nanny, she was extraordinarily prolific, creating an immense visual record of everyday life—fleeting expressions, chance encounters and small human dramas that most people would have walked past without noticing. It is astonishing that so much of her work, including many undeveloped rolls of film, was discovered only later, revealing a great photographer who had remained almost completely unknown during her lifetime.

A large part of my own enjoyment of photography comes afterwards, when I edit, organise and carefully curate the images I have taken. Maier’s relationship with photography seems to have been very different. She did not need an audience or even a finished print to validate what she was doing; for her, the deepest joy appears to have been in getting out into the world, observing it intently and taking photographs. I find that wonderfully pure and inspiring—the act of seeing and capturing the moment was apparently reward enough.

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