What happens after the wire is isolated? You follow it further. Into the shadow it casts. Into the pixel-width line that is neither object nor background. Draad II is about erasure as art practice — the slow, meticulous work of subtraction, and what arrives when the last pixel is finally tidied away.

Photography is always an act of translation. Three dimensions become two. I find the answer to that problem in the same place every time: by slowing down, stopping, looking closer. This is what happened with a hinge joint fence on the road to Findhorn — and what I found there surprised me.

Honey is not just honey is a personal essay about terroir, belonging, and what a teaspoon contains. It began as a piece of copywriting research — the kind of thinking that goes into writing well about food, place and provenance. It ended up being about where I've lived, and how I now live, here.

If you're curious about working together on something similar, you're welcome to get in touch.

Soft Blue Eyes began as a creative exercise — a fictional body oil brand, conceived and written as a piece of speculative work. The product doesn't exist. The philosophy behind it does. What follows is the About page copy I developed for it: the place it comes from, the thinking behind the formulation, the rhythm it works with, the ritual it supports. If you're curious about working together on something similar, you're welcome to get in touch.

Fairy Glen Falls on the Black Isle — two waterfalls, photographed in black and white. Then the water removed from its setting, the background replaced with a gradient. What remains is the shape of falling — abstracted and surreal.

A birthday on 23 December calls for its own kind of celebration. Something new, somewhere quiet. First visit to Pluscarden Abbey — a working Benedictine monastery in a valley in Moray, two days before Christmas.

The winter solstice on the Moray coast — a long walk on the shortest day. From Findhorn to Roseisle Forest and back. The hinge of the year, marked on foot.

A phrase heard in a dream, repeated, just before waking. Made into an alphabet — one letter at a time, black watercolour, night by night — and then arranged into the words that needed hearing.

#scottishwinter Early December, 5pm on the Ness. Dark already — but the city alive. Christmas market at WASPS, coats freshly out, that particular anticipation before the winter hinges on solstice, Christmas and Hogmanay.

Autumn light, low like a sideways glance, and long shadows. Inverness after the summer, after the tourists are gone. The out-of-season city, seen slowly on foot.

The waters. The waters. The waters. A day at Logie Steading on the River Findhorn — and a meditation on water in all its forms. River water. Rain water. Sea water. Flow and confluence.

Downstream and upstream of the River Findhorn on a summer day. Pond. Estuary. Bay. Shore. Stream. Green boats on green water.

A yellow buoy on Findhorn Bay. And a shadow that wanted to play.

Found these whites on the shore of the bay at low tide. Findhorn Bay, summer — feathers, shells, bleached wood and pebbles. The colour that contains all colours, collected at the water's edge.

The unsold prints from my Iona exhibition didn't go in the bin. They became something else. This is what happens when photography meets Caran D'Ache Neocolor II aquarelle pastels, Hahnemühle bamboo paper, and a practice broad enough to move between mediums without apology.

Soft summer indoors. Not the made bed — the laundry behind it. Duvet covers, fitted sheets, towels; washed, dried, folded, stacked. The satisfaction of a well-kept laundry. The backstage of hospitality, in black and white.

Soft summer outdoors in the rain. Poppies after rain, and melon — the moisture on petals and the cool wet flesh of the fruit. Black and white photography exploring softness, scent and the texture of a rainy summer day.

Seven days, seven colours. A week of photography following the chakra sequence — red on Monday, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white on Sunday. Root to crown. All photographs taken in Cornwall.

One post, all flowers, entirely pink. From bud to dried flower — roses, peonies, freesias, zinnias, water lilies, proteas from Tresco Abbey Gardens in the Isles of Scilly. Photographs taken over several years in Cornwall and beyond. The most flower flower-colour, given its full due.

Soup Philosophy began in a café kitchen, where making Soup of the Day every day of the week became an exercise in thinking clearly about ingredients, technique and simplicity. This is the philosophy that came out of that period — written as both a personal record and a piece of copywriting research into how to write about food with a point of view.

If you're curious about working together on something similar, you're welcome to get in touch.