Something unexpected has happened. I’ve managed to get my own exhibition; yes me! On for a month at the Peter Blake Gallery in Dartford Library.

The show is called Moment because, well, what do you call an exhibition? I took the same tact I take with naming the pieces (and why some of them seem rather random), which is to think of words and phrases which instinctively come to mind in relation to my viewing of them, and go with the one which makes a vague bit of sense in the knockings of my consciousness.

So, Moment. It does encapsulate the process in which I produce photographs, the emphasis being on curious composition and striking detail rather than technical perfection. This set of images were all taken impromptu; no set up or endless test shots, but the capture of a moment in time which struck me as being beautiful in some way.

I get enjoyment from seeing beauty in the mundane. A photo of an unusually shaped water stain will often be far more enduring to me than a traditional landscape scene which may be more obviously pretty. I try to convey my own sense of pleasure at seeing these odd things, through capturing them in a shot.

That’s not to say I don’t use outside influences. Although the shots aren’t set up as such, I do use photoshop to edit them to my particular liking. A crop here, up a level there. These tweaks can turn a drab detail into a captivating one. I consider it a skill in itself to be able to spot the potential in a seemingly discardable image.

This set of images are only linked by my use of this process of immediacy. In every other way they are a varied mix of subject matter, style, colour and tone. But I like it that way. I feel that it reflects both me as a personality and the way in which I view the world around me.

If you would like to visit the exhibition it is showing at the Peter Blake Gallery in Dartford Library until 10th June – Opening hours and directions here. Or join us at the private view Thursday 19th May at 6.30pm where there will be some drinks and nibbles.

Here’s a selection of some of the works on show.



Human beings produce a lot of useless and often ugly crap. So when you come across something which is both functionally beautiful and aesthetically stimulating, it provides an interesting subject to photograph.

These images are part of a series detailing the working elements of a backstage management system at a theatre in Leicester. I have deliberately lost the clarity of purpose in order to focus on the images as visually abstract works.





Invert mindful

Close your eyes. Back straight, arms relaxed. Start at the toes. It’s quite difficult to feel your toes without moving them. Are they really there? There’s one; the very tip of my little toe hardly pressing at all on the inside of my boot, but pressing nonetheless. My heel. I feel that. Even as I sit, weight supported on the train seat, I am aware of my heel. The innate pressure of gravity on my leg pushing out through the bottom of my foot. The floor. I am aware of the floor. Pushing upwards to meet my foot. Solid, so as to stop my foot from pushing down through it. The balance in the battle for up and down reaching its terminal velocity; a harmonious point of mutual agreement. Foot stops – floor stops. My leg. How did I not notice before, the cold breeze washing over my jeans, seeping through to my skin. That tingling feeling. Not cold, but almost pin and needley. What is that? It’s in my feet too a little. Is that always there? Knees. I’ve never noticed before how much they stick out when you sit down. My jeans feel tight across them; a second skin. Arms. Resting heavily on my thighs; another stopping point. Gravity pushing down on them like invisible hands. Chest. The constant rise and fall inevitable and expected. Unmanaged and unchecked. It just is. I just am. I am.

Damn. Missed my stop.


It’s so easy to lose track of yourself. To find yourself morphing into a different type of person with whom you have little in common. Someone who doesn’t look – who doesn’t see the beautiful shapes in a ripped piece of wallpaper, or notice the startling effect of light and shadow cast on a busy pavement. You can very quickly become part of the melee who walk over them, heavy footsteps smashing the composition blindly. But that’s part of what I love about myself. Part of what makes me proud to be me. I notice these things. I find them more beautiful and interesting than most artworks in a gallery. The beauty of man-made nature. The stuff which is so natural to us it may as well be placed in the same category as trees and plants; concrete, tarmac, trains, windows, pavements and doors, shopfront reflections, burnt edges, peeling paint. They’re everywhere. The fact that others don’t notice them gives me a little rush, it makes me feel as if I’ve been treated to a personal glimpse of something. Like the children in the Narnia stories who see the portal to the other world, while others around them see nothing but a wall. My experience isn’t that dramatic of course but it has that same special feeling. It brings me joy. Sometimes I can stand at the edge of the tube platform and see so much beauty and art in form and shape that it makes my heart full. The other side of this coin is when I don’t see it. When my heart is sad and my eyes are down. When I look at the wall and see only degradation and the need for a paint job. I’ve been feeling like that recently and stopped seeing the beauty. But today I saw it again and it’s as stunning as ever.


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