For years, I drifted through my photography, searching for meaning but unable to grasp the spark that once fuelled me. The passion remained, buried beneath routine and repetition, but it felt distant like I was chasing something just out of reach. Then came the storm.

Dreaming is essential, especially now. In a world of turmoil, from political chaos to constant climate disasters, it’s easy to feel disillusioned. But as a photographer, dreaming is my survival.

As I drive the Pacific Highway south, heading home, I watch the light gather, building like ink spilling across a page as the clouds drift, soft and shapeless as forgotten thoughts.