I’m drawn to certain places to take photos. I’ll visit them. There are also places I avoid, or don’t bother to bring a camera. I don’t really like Exeter, though I do like the outskirts – and of course there’s the bridge. I do love Bristol, and the grubbier the better – yesterday’s river walk was heaven. And while I’ll walk in lush woodland or magnificent coastal scenery, I’m not really there for the photos – though obviously these do happen. When I’m out specifically to take pictures, and also when I’ve decided not to bother, it’s worth thinking about. 

I think I’m looking for something, or looking for a means of expressing something, or of thinking something through. The places I choose are often damaged, but they’re also beautiful, and it’s that clash of such things I seek. They’re places where melancholy, desperation and joy coexist. They’re contradictory but I can make them complete through photographing them, chaotic but I can find order through photographing them. I can’t think of anything more fundamentally therapeutic than that. When I photograph, I’m externalising the mess of thoughts and emotions inside me. I’m making sense of them, finding equilibrium, embracing all of it, and finding beau