Abstract photography has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. I’ve always loved art, especially anything abstract or surreal. Those styles take me to places I can’t reach in any other way. Even as a child, I seemed to see things differently — not just visually, but in how I understood the world. So when I finally gave myself permission to devote all my time to art, I knew it had to be abstract and surreal. That’s where my mind naturally lives.
Inspiration: The Way I See Things
Most of my inspiration comes from the smallest details. In urban areas, I’m constantly scanning everything around me — colours, shapes, design elements, patterns. I look for anything I can pull apart and examine more closely, almost like turning something inside out to find a new story hiding in it.
Even something tiny, like a simple drinking glass, can spark an idea. Recently, I was holding a glass and suddenly saw these incredible colours and shapes, even the ice was doing something interesting. That moment led me to create another piece where I built the contents myself using oil, ink, and leaves to make a miniature scene. That image ended up winning the ArtGemini Prize for photography, which still amazes me considering it came from such an ordinary object.
I’m also drawn to buildings — especially modern ones. Urban architecture gives me bold colours, strong lines, and reflective surfaces that can tell their own stories inside and out. My surreal work is more personal and emotional, more like “what if” scenarios that come from my imagination. I love that with abstract and surreal art, anyone can see something different. That freedom of thought is what keeps me creating.
My Process: Thoughtful Preparation Meets Creative Instinct
People often ask how much planning goes into my work, and while I’m naturally spontaneous, there is a lot of quiet preparation behind every piece. I spend time studying conditions long before I press the shutter — the angle of the sun, how light moves across reflective surfaces, the time of day when colours intensify, even how the weather will shift the entire mood of a scene. Light is as critical to me as paint is to a painter, and getting it right can take days of watching, waiting, and returning to the same spot until everything lines up.
Once I know the conditions are right, that’s when the instinctive side of my process takes over. Ideas come quickly — sometimes sparked by a single shape, sometimes just by the way the light behaves for a split second. I prefer to keep everything as natural as possible. For my abstract reflections, I don’t use filters, I don’t manipulate anything, and I never use Photoshop. My setup is simple:
- A Nikon Z7 II
- A Nikon 24–120mm lens
- And my favourite tool of all: natural sunlight
Sunlight is what gives my reflections their depth and colour. If I’m working at home, I’ll build a scene and shape the light until it feels right — not using typical studio gear, but whatever objects help construct the atmosphere I’m after. For me, the magic of abstract photography comes from instinct meeting intention: careful observation first, spontaneity second.
Even though my process looks effortless on the surface, the timing, light, and precision behind each image are anything but accidental. It’s the same level of commitment a painter gives to their canvas — just expressed in a way that relies on the world’s most unpredictable collaborator: natural light.
Why I Don’t Edit My Images
My “no editing” philosophy goes all the way back to being eight years old. I was absolutely captivated by the idea of this little box — a camera — creating exact images. And that magical roll of film that came back from the chemist developed into perfect little prints.
At school, I joined the camera club, and that’s where I discovered the darkroom. I still remember the thrill of putting a blank piece of paper into the chemicals and watching an image slowly appear. That, to me, was real photography. Honest. Pure. Exactly how it was meant to be.
I went on to work as a commercial photographer in a fine art studio after school, eventually building my own darkroom at home. I miss that process every day. I only work digitally now because I don’t have the space for a darkroom, but that’s where I draw the line — no AI, no Photoshop. I want my work to come from me, not from software.
Sometimes I’ll add a tiny bit of contrast to my reflections so viewers can see all the detail I captured, but that’s it. People often assume my images are manipulated, and they’re genuinely surprised when I explain how I use natural light to achieve that painterly look. I want to show what real photography can still do.
A big part of my values is preserving traditional arts and crafts. So many skills are disappearing, and it breaks my heart. I want to keep the joy of creating something yourself — with your own ideas — alive.
What I Hope People Feel
When someone looks at my work, I want them to feel like they’re seeing something unique. Something different from the typical idea of photography. When people ask if a piece is a painting, it makes me smile because that’s exactly the reaction I hope for.
My process has evolved over the years. I started out photographing streets, people, and buildings. Slowly, I became more and more fascinated by reflections in modern glass architecture. I ended up studying reflections intensely for about 18 months — different times of day, different seasons, different angles. That work eventually led to one of my most meaningful pieces, Outside In.
That image made me realise I’d finally reached the level I was aiming for. It’s been seven years, and it’s still my most loved and best-selling piece. Even before people hear the story behind it, they connect with it. That’s the greatest feeling an artist can have.
Through photography, I’ve learned that if you truly use your own mind — not shortcuts, not technology — the results are far more rewarding. You can achieve so much more than you ever expect when you trust your own creativity.