I took this photo in Crovie, on the Northern coast of Scotland. It’s a tiny fishing village stuck between a cliff and the sea.

I took this photo in Crovie, on the Northern coast of Scotland. It’s a tiny fishing village stuck between a cliff and the sea.

Your kitchen counter at 7 AM. Someone’s unmade bed caught in afternoon light. A stranger’s mug collection on open shelving. These images shouldn’t matter. They’re compositionally unremarkable, technically forgettable, and utterly ordinary.
If we really only cared about excellence, these should end up in the bin. Yet to me they’re among the most compelling photographs.

I’ve taken a lot of lighthouses in my years because I find their idea insane: build a structure in the most inhospitable places, put a few guards in it, and make them keep the light on. It’s crazy.
This insanity made me go round a lot of the Scottish East coast lighthouses to photograph them.

I’ve noticed something about the photography advice floating around online. Everyone talks about finding your “style” or upgrading your gear, but nobody mentions the one thing that actually separates competent photographers from exceptional ones: obsession.

I took this picture in October 2006 in Findhorn, Scotland (see previous posts to see more photos from that spot).

Other people’s photos are always more interesting to me. When I look at other people’s photos, I always find them better made than mine: the technique is better, the composition is better, the tones are better, the colours or contrast are better, the artistic vision is more obvious, they’re more innovative, and the general idea is more interesting.

Last week I visited the lighthouse at Cordouan, on the French Atlantic coast, not far from where I live. It’s one of those things that aren’t far, but as a local you don’t do (e.g. when I grew up in Paris it took me many years to visit the Eiffel tower the first time even though I saw it nearly every day).

One of the things I’ve struggled with lately is what I called to myself “the trap of meaningfulness”. I need to put names on things to think about them, even if it’s not the right one others use, don’t judge me.

I’ve watched, and sometimes was involved in, countless conversations about creativity that devolve into the same tired refrain: “Quality matters more than quantity”, “creativity can’t be controlled”, and my personal favourite “I prefer creating high-value work rather than churning out rubbish”.
This thinking is nonsense.

Since I restarted photography after long hiatus, I decided to concentrate on monochrome. For some reason, it came naturally to me to not produce colourful images anymore.
