I don’t take photos when I am happy. Photography, in some way, has been responsible for nearly all of my pain. But it is, to some extent at least, my only salvation. For me at least, it's about reshaping a world that has disappointed you yet again. About repainting a place with a wash of colour that once came to you in a dream. A warmth that has long since vanished, a sense of calm in a chaotic world. It is about building a new world where you are happy and where no one has hurt you. One where you feel real. And that is why I found myself, alone at Kimmeridge Bay, a few hours ago. I say alone, but there were a plethora pf photographers lined along the shore, all taking identical images from similar angles. There were the typical unhappy-pretending-to-be-happy families trudging along, shouting at their children and wondering where everything went wrong. But even though not literally, metaphorically I was completely, spiritually, emotionally alone. Photography has always been a lonely path, one that I have preferred to visit in a state of complete solitude. It is not a surprise that I find myself at this moment completely alone. For some reason, I can see the world clearer, as if they layer of bullshit that clouds everything and everyone has partially lifted. I can see, for the briefest of moments, behind the curtain of lies in which we all live. None of the scenes that the majority of photographers capture, look anything like they do in reality. They are bland, colourless and lack any sense of movement. We are armed with coloured pieces of glass and plastic and the ability to slow down time and to remove the things that normally ruin places of supposed beauty. What we do is try and add something that is rarely seen, at least not in this world - a sense of actual beauty. We are hopeless liars and failed romantics, desperately trying to make up for our failures and previous heartbreaks. We want a world we remember, a life that we recognise. We want it to look like this.
The Line To Sea
