Originally published on 31 December 2018. Revisited for the Journal archive while preserving the perspective of that moment.
Here we are at the end of another year. I’m no longer one for feeling the need to celebrate on New Year’s Eve. In fact, I used to feel rather negative about this strange period of limbo, when the festivities were ending and the anticipation of a new year began to play on my mind. Photography, and becoming a dog owner, have given me a different perspective on time and achievement.
I’m naturally introspective, so the end of each year inevitably brings a substantial dose of self-reflection. It has always been too easy to burden myself quietly with thoughts of family, money, business and less important material things. This year feels different, though. In 2018 I became a full-time landscape photographer: my livelihood now depends upon the activity that had previously been my therapy.
Photography, purpose and integrity
Photography and woodland have heightened my yearning to understand my fundamental nature and purpose, but also how my creative goals fit alongside the desire to build a deeper relationship with the landscape and the local woods that have shaped both me and my work.
The outdoors has given me so much that it would feel selfish and disrespectful to frame my ambitions solely around financial reward, subscriber numbers or competition success. Don’t get me wrong: I need to earn a living, I value the people who follow my work, and competition success is a terrific feeling. But I feel strongly that, wherever possible, those achievements shouldn’t come at the expense of integrity or what we genuinely believe in as photographers and lovers of the landscape.
Letting go of perfection
I’m not going to write about all my plans and aspirations for 2019, as I think they’ll become apparent soon enough. What I would like to do is release myself from the shackles of always seeking perfection—or at least whatever feels close enough to it.
I know my idealistic and romanticised outlook can hamper my growth on YouTube because it restricts the kinds of videos I’m happy to publish. Perhaps 2019 should be the year that I share a little more.
Many things happen between videos and between the great moments of photography. I often value these quieter periods most because that is when so much growth, development and connection takes place. The key is balance: knowing when to share and when to keep a moment for myself—to enjoy it, be inspired by it, be creative within it and trust that it will ultimately have a positive influence on future work.
A year of milestones
Photographically, my highlights of 2018 included winning a category in Outdoor Photographer of the Year with an image from a local woodland discovery—a place I still love to amble through from time to time.
I’ll also never forget the magical wintry afternoon I spent among the Scots pines in Torridon, an experience I shared in this film from the trip. Finally, there was the very special day of my exhibition here in North Yorkshire. I wanted it to embody everything I hold dear about photography, and I was overwhelmed by the turnout and support.
The beginning of the journey
I wouldn’t be sitting here reflecting on my life as a photographer if it weren’t for the day that my partner, Adele, suggested that we get a dog to help me out of a rut. That selfless choice became the catalyst for a series of events that led from unhappiness to the joy of Meg, back to photography, into woodland, to happiness and finally to something much more profound—something that still stops me in my tracks and fills me with emotion whenever my mind takes me there.
I don’t and never will profess to be an amazing photographer. I simply take great joy in trying my very best to capture experiences and do justice to the places that have transformed how I live and see the world.
With love and thanks to Adele for supporting this journey, and to Meg for simply being Meg. Bring on 2019!
