I'm reposting this from 2017 as although I seem to be the last to know, I'm on a bit of a break from the blog. Hope you are enjoying your summer wherever you are. Rosebay Willow Herb, Foxgloves, Blackberry blossom, Pale Flax, Meadowsweet, Thistles, Daisies......We've been talking about re-wilding. It's a word we picked up recently. . . .
O I could gush! Spring has arrived and underfoot things are hotting up. Although these wild couple of acres give fantastic cover to all sorts of small animals, every field outside of these boundaries is now preserved for a local a gun club. The guns are a worry for a wandering photographer like myself. Another reason to avoid . . .
I regularly witness people come to rural Ireland and begin to unravel some of the stress of their lives. Urban living for all of its convenience can lack a connection with nature and land. I've seen this with Irish people in particular, that their being is soothed by landscape. At a deep level the land and the sea bring them back to their . . .
It is summer. Maybe it rains a bit too much, maybe it's been too cold to swim recently. But the flowering in the wild garden goes on regardless. "Weeds" as they are sometimes called, wrap themselves around bushes and bulbs. The whole exuberant over the top lushness of it will be short lived. Light catches petals and pinks dazzle in a . . .
Ten times a day something happens to me like this - some strengthening throb of amazement - some good sweet empathic ping and swell. This is the first, the wildest and the wisest thing I know: that the soul exists and is built entirely out of attentiveness.” Mary Oliver Primroses, Violets, Honesty and Whitethorn. Our ditches and . . .
"Ten times a day something happens to me like this - some strengthening throb of amazement - some good sweet empathic ping and swell. This is the first, the wildest and the wisest thing I know: that the soul exists and is built entirely out of attentiveness." Mary Oliver See more images from my wild garden and from Ireland's lush . . .
Photography is fraught with cliches. You couldn't get through a day without re-creating most of them. Even so, I'm in France, in a field of poppies and I stand awe struck and think, why not? I'm guilty as charged when it comes to romanticising the natural world. Even though I don't enhance or photoshop at all. (I'm . . .
Always in the same spot under this large tree. Who planted them or when? In the morning light, their petals glow, sparkling gems of amethyst and gold. So climb over two strands of barbed wire. Get even closer. Any photographer would yearn for gritty urban street drama? But down in this dewy grass, in the sweet scent of crocuses . . .
Sometimes you just snap what you can, following your photography path and documenting each step. On other days you fall into a flow, visualising the image before you even see it, lost in a reverie and yet connected to every fibre of the present. You anticipate certain factors that add up to . . .
It's proving a challenge to capture the colours, shapes, and sheer abundance of the wildflower meadows and olive groves here; the scents underfoot, the way the breeze rustles the seeding grasses, the buzzing of bees. The sheer number and variety of flowers and plants self seeding and thriving everywhere. At times as . . .