Reflections on Travel - Somewhere over the Pacific

What is it about travel that inspires so many? It’s not always the destination that captivates, but the act of journeying itself — the movement from one place to another, the passage through time and space. 

The journey itself becomes a kind of liminal space, a brief pause where time stretches and contracts in odd ways. It’s a rare moment in modern life where the world slows down, where the usual demands of daily existence—emails, texts, notifications—fall away.

The journey itself becomes an act of exploration — not just of the landscapes ahead, but of the inner terrain of who I am, who I’ve been, and who I am becoming.

There’s something profoundly freeing in this space of possibility. As the clouds pass by and the hours unfold, I have no obligations but to think, to dream, to prepare myself for what comes next. For me, travel is as much about the spaces in between as it is about the places you visit.

Walking the Camino de Santiago, Spain

They say there are three phases to the Camino (The Way of Saint James). The first is the physical phase, the second the mental, and the third the spiritual. The Museta (the second phase) with its expansive flat plains and 220kms of minimal landscape offers little in the way of distraction from the reoccurring thoughts and continuous chatter in the mind.

Observations of a modern-day Flâneur, Rue de Rivoli

I find beauty in the quiet moments—an unnoticed glance, the soft glow of lamplight against stone, or the dance of shadows on the cobblestones. Paris is a city that unfolds like a story, revealing new layers with each turn. In this moment, I pause, capturing the timeless intersection of history, architecture, and everyday life—where the past lingers and the present moves ever forward.

The Blue Grotto, Capri

The Blue Grotto in Capri is a place where light and shadow meet in a surreal embrace. As I swim through the narrow entrance, the water below transforms into an almost otherworldly shade of blue—intense, luminous, and alive. It feels as though you've entered a secret realm, where the very air hums with mystery. The glow of the water, reflected off the cave’s limestone walls, casts an ethereal, almost liquid light, turning the grotto into a dark womb—a sacred space where time slows, and the outside world fades away. The deep blue seems to pulse with an ancient energy, both soothing and overwhelming, as if the sea itself is breathing with you.

Hiking the Cinque Terre, Italy

The sky was a deep indigo as I stepped onto the platform. The train to Monterosso al Mare rumbled through the quiet, sleepy countryside, its soft clatter accompanying my thoughts as I sat with anticipation. There was something magical about setting out so early.

Arriving in Monterosso, I stepped off the train into the crisp, cool air and started my ascent. The climb to the first peak felt like an initiation—each step a commitment to the journey ahead.

After rounding the first peak, the five towns of the Cinque Terre appeared in view. Each village, embedded into the rugged coastline, the vibrant hues of terracotta roofs standing in contrast to the dark blue of the sea.

Bus journey to Bolongna, Italy

With each passing kilometre, the sky slowly shifts—a soft gradient of pinks and oranges staining the horizon. The curtain flickers slightly, letting in just enough light to paint the inside of the bus with a pale, golden glow. Despite the passengers around me, it’s a quiet, private moment, suspended between an almost dream like state and the reality of a busy travel day ahead. I’m bound for Bologna, where I will board a train to Venice.

Desert heat - Luxor, Egypt

There’s something about the dry, intense warmth of the Egyptian desert that feels almost like being enveloped in history itself.

Navigating Matera, Italy

With streets that seem to loop back on themselves, every corner I turned revealed a new vantage point, a new view of the honey-coloured stone buildings stacked precariously one on top of the other. The way the staircases would rise and fall, reminded me of an engraving I’d once seen by Escher.

Mekong River, Vietnam

As the sun sets across the town of Sadec, the street lamps and the tail lights from passing motorbikes start to become more visible and intense. Walking along the roadside, I wipe the sweat from my forehead. A light breeze drifting across the Mekong provides a moment of relief.

Reykjavik, Iceland

The lure of Iceland was for me very much influenced by it’s strong independent music scene. Coming form Australia, Reykjavik ready did feel like the furthest place on earth. It was while on a work trip to Europe in 2014 that I came to visit the island as part of a photography project I’d been working on.

On arrival I set to work on my assignment which was to comprise of a series of editorial portraits and interviews. To my surprise, finding people to participate as subjects was relatively easy. I’d heard that Iceland had a strong arts culture. What I’d never imaged though was the generosity and support I’d encounter.

Speaking with the locals, one of the first things I’d picked up on was a sense of cultural isolation. While trips to New York and London were popular amongst the younger generation, people still seemed to retained a strong sense of independence. There was a candidness and an honesty about them that really struck me. As a portrait photographer, one of the key elements when working with people is trust. To have complete strangers open up to you in this way is without doubt one of the most rewarding aspects of my job. 

On the last day of my visit I decided to take a trip to The Blue Lagoon, a thermal volcanic spa in the south east of the island. It was one of the most beautiful and surreal places I’ve ever experienced. The air around the lagoon was thick with humidity. While not the most camera friendly environment, there was no way on earth I was going to leave without a few good pictures. Within minutes my Nikon was covered in a thick film of mineral salts. Wiping the condensation from my view finder though revealed a pool of pale aqua blue water set against a ridge of grey volcanic rock. I set about capturing people as they appeared and disappeared behind clouds of mist. It reminded me of some of the theatre sets I’d photographed in my earlier years at the opera. I could never have imagined back then that places like this really did exist. 

Reykjavik, Iceland

According to locals, Iceland's colourful houses are part of a program to offset the climactic depression brought about through the lack of sunlight in the winter months.

Night Markets, Morocco

In a roof top cafe in Marrakech, light from the setting sun, is reduced to a ball of amber as it is filtered through my glass of apple tea.

In the town below, a labyrinth of streets feed into an 11th century square. Vendors, begin to wheel their carts and trollies into position, in preparation for the Jemaa el Fna Night Markets. Aside from the invention of the gas cylinder and the electric light bulb, it’s a procession that I can’t imagine would have changed much over the last few centuries. 

Along with the restaurant carts, there is a young boy with a snake in a basket, a small troupe of dancers, and a story teller. All of which will provide entertainment for the hungry crowds of people that are being to gather.

Queenstown, New Zealand

I have long believed that the mountain ranges of New Zealand hold a deep resonance within their core. It’s almost like a sound or a vibration that, if you stand still long enough, you can hear. The only time I have experienced something similar, was at a Mark Rothko exhibit at the New York Met. 

La Catedral, Buenos Aires

Somewhere in the backstreets of Palermo, there is an old wooden hall, where couples dance and an old man sits with his cat playing the violin.

New York

The longer I stayed on the more I came to accept that random events were just part of daily life there. One morning, I'd wake and find an elaborate shoot taking place outside my door (fashion photographers such as Ellen Von Unwerth would often use the location for their editorials). Another morning, NYPD would be sealing off a door with police tape where a body had been found.

The hotel roof top had a flat, black tarred surface with a panoramic view of Manhattan. There were walls facing off in a various directions meaning it could be used through out different times of the day depending on the angle of the sun. It was by pure accident, the perfect roof top photography studio. Using a scrim which I erected on sunny days to diffuse the light, I assembled my medium format camera and quickly got to work.

1st Arrondissement, Paris

I remember back when I was a photography student, packing my camera bag and heading out at night with my tripod slung over my shoulder. Even now, as a professional photographer I’m still drawn to this type of work in my spare time, particularly when I’m working overseas. I can find myself drawn to the way in which a light coming from an apartment might be diffused by curtain, or the way in which a street lamp reflects off a wet pavement. There is something about the way in which light emerges from darkness that captivates me.

The city of Paris has a particularly special quality due to its mix or traditional and contemporary architecture. I recall a recent trip during the summer month of July. The late evening sunsets, which usually did not occur until 10pm, would create an exceptional display of warmth and colour in the air. This was even more pronounced in the southern cities of Montpellier and Aix-en-Provence, where the pink and orange dust particles in the sky seemed to reflect back to the earth. In Paris, rainy nights would not only add to the depth and richness of colour, but also cause the roads to reflect neon lights from surroundings hotels and cafes, creating a river of light. 

West 17th Street, New York

A nightly visit to one of the city’s 24 hour darkrooms soon became a therapeutic ritual for me. The amber safe light and the sound of dripping water from the wash trays offered a creative sanctuary away from the stress and noise of the city during the day. It's a mediative process I think most new photographers will never get to experience due to the digital era.

New York

New York City

Before September 11, New York City was an environment where brashness and creativity were celebrated without apology. Photographers were encouraged to take risks and push the boundaries. Nothing, could be too outrageous or controversial. Gaining access to places as a photographer was fairly easy, and so it was n’t long before I started to take advantage of the city’s unique landmarks and locations. At night, using only available light sources such as street lamps and neon signs, we would setup photography shoots in random locations. This would often include the subway, the Roosevelt Island Sky Tram, Coney Island and the Meat Packing District. In one setup, a waif thin fashion model would be pictured, eating pancakes at a diner in Hell’s Kitchen, in another, she is pictured waiting for the F train at West Fourth and Washington. Funnily enough, none of it seemed to draw more than a passing glance from the locals.

One of the things that has always appealed to me about New York is it’s overriding sense of spontaneity. This is particularly evident when it comes to events and collaborations between artists. I recall one evening, while walking past a church hall off Saint Mark’s, I heard a distant but  familiar voice. On entering the hall I discovered Kim Deal from the Pixies, strumming away on an acoustic guitar, while the god father of Beat, Allen Ginsberg read verses of a poem he’d just scribbled down on a napkin. Another time, while getting coffee on Mulberry and Spring I came across the musician Moby. He sat quietly painting a mural in the playground, while further down the street, some local kids danced to the music of the Beastie Boys. The tune Sure Shot, blazing from the speakers of their ghetto blaster. 

New York City

After a conversation one morning with a barista on Prince Street, curiosity and the need to find more permanent lodgings lead me to a hotel near Union Square. Hotel 17 was a local hub for rising artists, actors, drag queens and photographers. Thinking that perhaps this was fate, I decided there and then to make this the launch pad for my new city. The following week I checked into a room on the 5th floor. The window had a view of the neighbouring rooftops, in an Alfred Hitchcock kind of way it became a source of constant fascination, offering a ‘behind the scenes’ insight into the workings of my new neighbourhood. The room itself which was covered in original 70's flock wall paper consisted of a single bed with a chenille bedspread, a writing desk and a lamp for reading. As simple as it was it had everything I needed to begin my new life with.

It was n’t long before I was taken in by the local community. There were weekly invitations to social events ranging from talent nights at Jackie 60, a new underground club in the Meat Packing District. There were also writer’s talks held at the local bookstores, where surprise guests such as Susan Sontag, an early inspiration from my art school days would drop in.

Once a month the hotel would host an art night, converting it's spare rooms into pop-up spaces and galleries for performance based and visual artists. Walking the corridors of this 7 story building, particularly on Art Night often felt like being on the set of a David Lynch film. You could never be too sure who you'd run into around the corner or what you would find behind the next door.

Hong Kong

I’ve often thought of Hong Kong as ‘the New York of Asia’. While it’s a business powerhouse, it’s distinctive lack of ego gives it a warmth that is often lost in other cities it’s size. I’ve worked there over the years as both a photographer and a model. I recall one of those occasions, in 2005. I’d been offered a contract by Models International and was to be staying at the model’s apartment located on the Kowloon side of Hong Kong harbour. My room mate was to be Dora, a slender German model from Berlin. We had met a year earlier, forming a friendship that had gotten us through some challenging times while working in Guangzhou.

It was n't long before I got around to meeting the other models from the agency. Each assigned to various levels of the New World Apartments. Basically when you sign with a model agency as an overseas model, the agent sets you up with accommodation on-arrival, a metro card and a city map for castings. They later deduct it all from your earnings. Most agencies are connected to sister agencies around the world, making it easier to fly in and out of cities and work for short periods of time.

On Friday nights everyone would meet at a club in Soho called Dragon-i. It was an opportunity to catch up and talk shop with the other models in town. With their flawless olive skin and chiseled bodies, it was hard not to notice the Brazilian models when they entered the club. Amongst the other regulars were a group of Australians, some Dutch, and a Latvian by the name of Olga. I recall meeting her for the first time. Wide eyed with translucent skin, Olga walked with the grace of a gazelle. Through her many travels and her love of books, she had a quiet wisdom about her. One of our favourite topics of discussion was to compare the traits of cities as if they were people, dividing them into masculine and feminine. Paris and Riga were both feminine, London masculine, while Hong Kong was left undecided. Perhaps one has to spent time away from a place to truely have an objective view.

Because we’d all come to the city for work, the idea of having a night out on the town, and paying for it the next day was indeed rare. Often, we’d leave the club by ten in order to make the last ferry crossing for the night. From the outer deck of the Star Ferry, we’d sit, watching the neon lights of the city  as they danced their way across the waves. For less than a dollar a ticket, it was easily the best show in town.