For much of my life as a photographer, I had been drawn to water.
The ocean provided an endless source of inspiration. Sunrise over a beach, waves moving around rocks, reflections across a harbour — these were landscapes I instinctively understood. Many of my earliest photographs were made around Newcastle and Port Stephens, where the coast was never far away.
Then I moved inland.
Living near Canberra meant the landscape around me was very different. There was no ocean waiting at the end of the road. If I wanted to keep exploring landscape photography, I needed to learn to see beauty differently.
This photograph from Burra, just south of Canberra, came from that period of exploration.
The scene is wonderfully simple: rolling hills, scattered eucalypts and a small shed sitting quietly in the valley. A break in the heavy clouds allowed the late afternoon sun to sweep across the hillside, turning the landscape gold while the foreground remained in shadow.
There was no dramatic coastline. No waterfall. Just light, land and a fleeting moment.
A changing landscape
Photographing the countryside around Burra, Royalla and Googong felt like learning a new visual language.
Instead of watching tides, I began watching light move across the hills. Instead of waves, I looked for layers in the landscape. Eucalypts, ridgelines, fog, frost, changing grasses and enormous skies became the elements I worked with.
The more I explored, the more I realised the landscape wasn't lacking anything. I had simply been looking for the wrong things.
That realisation had a deeper significance because, at the same time, I was beginning to see myself differently too.
Moving to Canberra represented a new chapter. My surroundings had changed, my work was changing, and questions about what I wanted from the future were becoming harder to ignore.
For a long time, much of my identity had been built around my Air Force career and the roles I had worked hard to achieve. Photography was beginning to show me that there might be other possibilities.
Learning to look again
In my local area, I couldn't simply recreate the photographs I had made on the coast. I had to stop searching for what was familiar and become curious about what was actually in front of me.
I didn't recognise it at the time, but I was doing much the same thing with my life.
This photograph reminds me that a change in circumstances doesn't necessarily mean losing what inspired us. Sometimes it means discovering something we hadn't learned to appreciate yet.
I had moved away from the sea, but I hadn't moved away from beautiful landscapes. I just needed to discover a different kind of beauty.
And as I learned to look at the landscape with fresh eyes, I was beginning to look at myself and my future the same way.