Come Hell or High Water
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. Charged images from cyclonic weather reawakened something deep within me, rekindling my love for photography and inspiring a new way of seeing my hometown. The shifting light, the turbulence in the skies, and the raw energy of the elements reignited my creative instincts, showing me that beauty still existed in the familiar - I just needed to look at it differently.
Simple moments took on new significance. A fuel station in the early morning light, its fluorescent glow reflected in the wet pavement, the rain streaking across my windscreen, the road ahead dark and gleaming. Trees danced wildly in the wind, chaotic yet graceful, their movements dictated by forces beyond control. The tides surged, water pushing further inland than I’d seen before, consuming the edges of the land. High tide felt heavier, more urgent, as if the ocean itself was restless. I found myself drawn to these fleeting scenes, moments that once seemed ordinary now carrying a quiet intensity.
For the most part, these images stand alone, solitary glimpses of a place in flux. Yet, in the depths of darkness, I began to find pairs. Images that spoke to one another, connected through mood, movement, and meaning. It was as if the chaos of the storm mirrored my own creative rediscovery, forcing me to embrace the unpredictability of the process rather than resist it.
This shift has given me a new direction, a renewed sense of purpose. After years of feeling lost, I am rediscovering the place I call home—not just geographically, but emotionally and artistically.
The title for this series is drawn from Imminence’s latest album, a fitting nod to the idea that creation often emerges from destruction, and that sometimes, we have to weather the storm to see clearly again.