Receiving this feedback on Part 5 has been really encouraging and thought-provoking. It’s helped me pinpoint where I’m starting to grow as a photographer and where I can push myself further.
One key takeaway was the importance of shifting my position more deliberately when composing a shot. The example of the tap image and how the alignment of the window and tiles created a sense of control and anticipation made me realise how subtle changes can significantly affect how an image feels. I plan to revisit similar scenes and experiment by shifting my position just slightly to see how the relationships between elements shift. This small but powerful exercise will help me better understand composition as a dynamic tool.
I appreciated the comments on my homage to Vivian Maier, particularly the encouragement to look more critically at how she uses composition, not just theme. Her use of shadow and reflection isn’t accidental, it’s very much about positioning and geometry. I want to challenge myself to pre-compose scenes in a similar way and then experiment with how I place myself within them. Instead of “adding myself in,” I’ll aim to build the whole frame around where I might appear.
The feedback on the basketball shot reminded me how physicality affects photography. I stayed at a distance, but getting closer by physically moving would have pulled the viewer into the moment more powerfully. It’s a good reminder that decisive moments benefit from immersive framing, and that “zooming in” is often more impactful when done with the body rather than just the lens.
Moving forward, I’ll be including more contact sheets and alternative image sets in my blog posts. This will allow me to reflect more on subtle differences in framing, light, and composition and how these impact the mood and message of the final image. I’ve started treating each shoot not as a one-off, but as part of a process of idea development and refinement across multiple attempts.
This feedback has helped me shift from a reactive to a more reflective process. I’m learning to treat each shoot as a chance to build ideas slowly and intentionally, while still keeping space for spontaneity. I’m also realising that being “done” with an image or a shoot isn’t the goal, it’s the process of experimenting, analysing, and reshooting that helps ideas fully take shape.
The feedback for Part 4 highlighted both strengths and areas for development in my recent work on lighting and long exposure photography. I was pleased to see that my reflections on lighting and its impact were acknowledged, particularly through the exercises where I experimented with different artificial light sources. This process helped me begin to understand how various types of lighting can dramatically change the mood and outcome of a photograph.
One of the key suggestions was to explore lighting not just as a tool, but as a subject in itself. Meaning I could consider how lighting can create atmosphere, evoke emotion, and contribute to storytelling within a still life or indoor setting. While I had started to do this in the banana exercise, it was noted that the image of the “banana sunbathing” felt disconnected from the others. In hindsight, I could have embraced the humorous tone more fully by developing that narrative across the whole set. Perhaps through actions like peeling the banana or introducing props that enhanced its character. This would have created a more cohesive and playful approach.
Technically speaking, I need to improve my handling of exposure when using experimental light sources. Some of the banana images were underexposed, which resulted in a loss of tonal range. Going forward, I’ll pay closer attention to exposure and consider bracketing shots or adjusting lighting placement to ensure that the full range of tones is captured, especially in low-light setups.
In assignment 4, I was encouraged by the feedback on my choice of subject and the development of the theme through a consistent visual approach. I found Marcus Doyle’s work especially inspiring, particularly the way his use of artificial light suggests a human presence that’s just out of frame. His cinematic style gave me a new perspective on how urban night photography can feel narrative-driven even when no people are present. I need to build on this by comparing the visual strategies of different photographers more directly in my reflections, deepening my analysis.
The feedback also pointed out that the first two images in my cityscape set were brighter and quite similar to each other, which affected the overall cohesion. This reminded me of the importance of curating a final selection that feels consistent not just in subject but also in tone. I plan to reflect more critically on what each image brings to a set and explore alternative combinations of images to better understand how small tonal or compositional changes can shift the impact of the work.
I acknowledged that working without a tripod limited the sharpness of my images. In future shoots, I will either secure a stable position, using a wall or another surface, or fully embrace the motion blur, using it creatively as seen in Dominic Pote’s work. This would allow me to lean into the expressive potential of movement rather than see blur as a flaw.
In summary, this feedback has shown me that I’m on the right path with my experimentation and reflection, but there is much more I can do to push my creative and technical development. I need to treat lighting as both subject and storyteller, refine my technical control, reflect more deeply on image selection, and become more intentional about presentation. These next steps will help strengthen both the visual impact and the conceptual depth of my photographic work.
Reflecting on the feedback for my (In)Decisive Moment section has been a valuable experience, both in terms of refining my approach to street photography and in understanding how to strengthen my final set of images. My tutor noted the two images that stood out most: the man photographing while I photograph him and the figures focused on a camper van in the car park. These images caught my attention too, and it’s clear to me now how their composition and narrative work well as decisive moments. What I didn’t realise before was just how much potential these moments have for storytelling and for further developing the direction of my street photography.
The idea of photographing people as they photograph others is an interesting avenue to explore. There’s something captivating about capturing the interplay between photographer and subject, especially when the roles are reversed in the image. This moment gives the viewer a glimpse into the act of photography itself. Similarly with the camper van image, despite its flatness creates a solid narrative and provides a subtle story about what these people are doing. I see how these images fit into a coherent set, and this is something I want to build on as I move forward.
One of the key takeaways from my tutor’s feedback is the importance of being open to refining my work. The suggestion to reshoot and expand my ideas is something I’ll be putting into practice. I’ve already started thinking about how I can add more variety to my approach. There’s a need to capture more “decisive moments” that feel authentic, and I’m now aware of the power of getting closer to my subjects. Street photography can often benefit from a certain level of intimacy, and I’m keen to push myself out of my comfort zone in this regard. By getting physically closer to the action and exploring more varied lighting and locations, I’m confident I’ll add more depth and diversity to my imagery.
I also appreciate the suggestion to incorporate contact sheets into my process. This would give me a way to demonstrate how I am refining my choices throughout the process. I’m starting to see the value in reflecting on my contact sheets, not just as a documentation of what I shot but as a way of visually tracking my thought process and decision-making. Additionally, I’ll be using these reflections as part of my ongoing practice of sustaining creativity, as suggested by Gibbs’ Reflective Cycle. This method could help me gain deeper insights into my work, offering a more structured approach to my reflections, which will ultimately support my creative growth.
The feedback also mentioned to include images from other photographers whose work I admire. I see how this can add further depth to my own creative process. For example, street photographers like Alex Webb, Garry Winogrand, and Bruce Gilden have had a significant impact on my approach. Their ability to capture fleeting moments with a sense of narrative is something I want to emulate. Reflecting on their work, comparing their compositions, and understanding their techniques will provide valuable lessons as I refine my approach to capturing the decisive moment.
In conclusion, I’m excited to build on the ideas from this assignment and explore new ways to develop my street photography. I look forward to pushing myself further and producing a stronger, more refined set of images that truly communicate the essence of the decisive moment.
Working through Part 2 and Assignment 2 has helped me push my technical skills further, especially with using perspective, line, and compositional techniques in my photography. I’ve started noticing how small choices like the angle I shoot from, or the way light hitting the ground can completely change the feeling of an image.
One of the big takeaways from my tutor’s feedback was the encouragement to keep applying these techniques across different subjects, locations, and lighting conditions. As I keep practicing, I can already feel myself becoming more aware behind the camera. I’m realising that it’s not just about taking a “good” photo but about understanding what the environment gives me each time I go out to shoot. Weather, time of day, even the mood I’m in, all these things affect the image.
The reflection around the roads appearing in my final set of eight images was interesting to think about. Five out of the eight photos include the curve of a road, creating strong leading lines and offering a real sense of the ground beneath our feet. I hadn’t fully noticed this pattern when selecting them, but looking back, it feels very connected to the act of walking and moving through the landscape, which was a subconscious part of this project. It’s something I want to be more deliberate about in future assignments: reflecting on the balance of recurring elements in a set and making sure they support the story I’m telling, rather than feeling repetitive.
The feedback also pointed out the importance of visually evidencing my process more clearly through showing contact sheets, thumbnail selections, and reflections on my planning stages. I can see how this will help me deepen my creative process, by not just choosing my final images instinctively, but understanding and explaining why I’m drawn to certain frames over others. It’s about documenting the thinking behind the choices as much as the choices themselves.
Research has been another important area of focus. The advice to look at photographers whose work connects to my own ideas has opened up new possibilities. Exploring the work of Charlie Waite, Richard Long, and Matthew Chase-Daniel has already shown me how different approaches to landscape can influence not just technique, but the meaning behind an image. Including this kind of research alongside my own practice will help me build a stronger critical and contextual base for my projects. It also feels exciting to know that I can borrow methods, styles, and ways of seeing from a wide range of artists and mould them into something that feels like my own voice.
Overall, Part 2 has been a chance to slow down, look more carefully, and start layering more thought into every stage of the photographic process. I’m looking forward to planning more intentional shoots, experimenting with different locations and lighting, and paying attention to both the grand views and the tiny details under my feet.
This reflection marks an important point for me. Moving from simply capturing moments to consciously creating a body of work, built on technique, thought, and personal interpretation.
Reflecting on the first part of the course, I’m realising how important it is to let go of overthinking and just start making images. The Square Mile exercise was a gentle but valuable reminder that there’s creativity to be found in the familiar. I didn’t need to search for something extraordinary or travel far, just stepping outside and paying attention to what’s around me was enough to get going.
My tutor’s feedback highlighted the contrast between the diagonal, dynamic compositions and the more flat-on building shots in my early work. That observation made me pause and think about how different compositions guide the viewer’s eye, and how intentional or instinctive some of my choices were at the time. The diagonal shots that draw the eye toward the horizon carried more energy, while the head-on images offered a quieter, more contemplative feel. Noticing this contrast has made me want to be more deliberate with how I frame scenes moving forward, depending on the story or mood I’m trying to convey.
The artist research section really helped me begin to explore where my interests lie. Looking into the work of Gawain Barnard, Roni Horn, Tom Hunter, and Karen Knorr was like unlocking different corners of photography that speak to different parts of my curiosity. From atmosphere and subtle storytelling to more conceptual or staged approaches, each artist brought something different into focus for me. What stood out most was how they each made the ordinary feel worthy of attention, something I hope to carry forward in my own work.
The feedback also reminded me that this assignment was about simply beginning. The Square Mile was never meant to be perfect; it was about developing an eye for themes, connections, and the potential in local surroundings. I can already feel how valuable it’s been to view my photography as a series, not just isolated images. That way of thinking, seeing my photos as part of a set or story, is something I want to build on throughout the course.
In many ways, this first part felt like the foundations being laid. Paying attention to my surroundings, exploring what grabs me visually, and taking inspiration from artists who help me look differently. From here, I’m excited to keep building confidence in both my technical skills and my creative intuition.
For Assignment Five, I was asked to explore the idea that “Photography is Simple” by creating a series of ten images. The focus was on capturing a unique viewpoint and moment in each photograph, without repeating information.
I chose to focus on three interconnected themes: everyday small moments, walks through the neighbourhood, and people’s movements. These subjects naturally resonated with me and felt like an authentic extension of how I see the world through my camera. My goal was to stay present and observant, capturing moments that might otherwise go unnoticed.
I took my camera on slow, mindful walks through my neighbourhood, paying attention to the familiar and the ordinary: small objects, passing strangers, shifting light. I concentrated on my viewpoint (where I stood) and waited for the right moment to release the shutter. Sometimes it was a fleeting glance, a passing movement, or the way a shadow stretched across the pavement. I kept my approach simple, trusting my instincts and allowing the subject to reveal itself without staging or interference.
In the first part of my series, I captured everyday small moments. I photographed reflections in water, shadows cast across surfaces, and a can of drink left on a bench. These images represent the unnoticed poetry of the ordinary, details that exist briefly before changing or being forgotten. They demonstrate how photography can transform passing fragments of life into subjects’ worth attention.
The second group of photographs came from walks through my neighbourhood. I looked for visual contrasts and textures like fallen brown leaves nestled among bright green foliage, cracks in the pavement and the intricate pattern of tree branches viewed from below. In these images, I aimed to show how familiar spaces can tell new stories when we change our perspective. By paying attention to detail, I simplified the chaos of the world into small, composed frames.
The third part of the series focused on people’s movements. I experimented with shutter speed to reflect the motion of cars passing, people walking crisply frozen with a fast shutter, and a person lying still on the grass. These images were about capturing human presence and rhythm, both movement and stillness.
My final image was of a group of men playing basketball, captured at the decisive moment just as one of them took a shot. Although there are distractions in the background, I believe the energy of the scene comes through. The photograph might not be compositionally perfect, but it captures a real, vibrant moment, which, to me, aligns perfectly with the idea that photography is about “where to stand and when to press the shutter.”
After completing the series, I reconsidered the idea that photography is simple. As Tor Burridge notes, when photographing purely for enjoyment, it does feel simple. But underneath that simplicity are many layers: my understanding of light and composition, the technical knowledge of my camera, and the subtle influence of photographers whose work has shaped my eye.
I was particularly inspired by Miho Kajioka’s reflections on beauty in fleeting moments, and Michele Groskopf’s statement that photography teaches us about ourselves. What we notice, what we’re drawn to, what we value.
This project reminded me that while photography can be as simple as being in the right place at the right time, the emotional connection and deeper intention behind each image add a rich layer of complexity.
Artist Statement
Photography, at its core, is about the moment. A fleeting instant that captures more than just a scene. It holds emotion, atmosphere, and the often unnoticed beauty of the everyday.
For this series, I focused on simple, spontaneous moments: quiet details observed on walks through my neighbourhood and brief encounters with people in motion. These subjects felt natural and intuitive to photograph.
Rather than forcing a narrative, I embraced presence and spontaneity, allowing the images to emerge as I wandered. I paid close attention to my viewpoint and the timing of the shutter, capturing moments that may seem mundane, but carry quiet significance when viewed closely. Each photograph is an attempt to find beauty in the ordinary, to tell a story of a moment that might otherwise slip by unnoticed.
This series reflects my belief that photography is, in its simplest form, about being in the right place at the right time. But beyond that, it’s also about noticing, feeling, and connecting with the world in meaningful ways. As I progressed through this assignment, I realized that photography is simple, until it isn’t. Until you see how your choices in framing, light, and timing are shaped by personal experience, emotion, and influence.
In a world of constant distraction, these photographs offer a quiet invitation to pause, reflect, and rediscover beauty in what’s already there.
When I think about ‘Behind the Gare Saint-Lazare’, the “point” my eye always comes back to is the small, delicate space between the man’s foot and the reflection in the puddle. It’s not so much the man or the water that grabs me, but that tiny breath of air, the pause right before impact. It’s a space full of tension, possibility, and mystery.
Inspired by that idea, I created my own photograph of a droplet of water suspended under a tap just before it falls. The most important “point” isn’t the water itself; it’s the fragile space around it. The invisible pause between one moment and the next.
The information these “points” hold isn’t about objects, but about potential. The water droplet clings to the tap, impossibly heavy and light at once, moments from surrender. In these tiny gaps, time feels like it folds in on itself, like the future has paused to take a breath.
This echoes what Flusser and Berger talk about. Photographs capturing an eternal return, a circle rather than a straight line. Just like Cartier-Bresson’s puddle moment, my droplet image isn’t about action, it’s about almost action. That hypnotic, magical hesitation. Every time I look at it, I fall back into that stillness. Photography isn’t just recording what happened. It’s creating a space where something might happen.
I captured four different shots that, while visually similar, each hold their own subtle differences. Two images show the water just as it detaches and falls, leaving behind a delicate trail, almost like a thread pulling the drop back toward its source. The other two freeze the moment just before release, when the droplet clings stubbornly to the tap, swollen with tension.
What I found most fascinating was how such a small, everyday event could carry so much emotion when frozen in time. The images don’t just record what happened; they hold the feeling of waiting, of something inevitable about to occur. Even though the photos are quiet and simple, there’s a lot of invisible energy inside them.
Seeing them side by side made me appreciate how photography can turn even the tiniest shift like a wobble, a stretch, or a fall, into something worth noticing. Each frame feels like it holds its own tiny, suspended world. The experiment made me much more aware of the power of timing, and how the smallest moments can create a lasting visual impact.
As I’ve been exploring the current course materials and reading Terry Barrett’s essay “Photographs and Context”, I’ve been thinking a lot about how meaning in photography isn’t fixed. It changes depending on so many factors, from where an image is displayed to what surrounds it. This idea really resonates with something I’ve always believed: anything can be art if you give it context.
Barrett breaks down context into three types: internal, external, and original. Internal context is what we see in the photograph itself. Its subject matter, composition, colors, and emotions. External context is all about how the photograph is presented, whether it’s hanging in a gallery, posted online, or printed in a newspaper, and what words or images accompany it. Original context involves the story behind the photo, why it was taken, who took it, and under what circumstances.
This has made me realize that a photograph isn’t just about what’s captured inside the frame. It’s also about the world that surrounds it, both at the moment it’s taken and later when it’s shown to others. Its meaning can shift depending on when, where, and how we experience it.
I also found Quentin Bajac’s conversation with Paul Graham really inspiring. They talked about how even if you set out with a strong idea in mind, the real world will inevitably change it. You have to stay open and let yourself be “seduced” by what you encounter. This fluid relationship between planning and perception feels really important, not just for photography, but for creativity as a whole.
Reflecting on all this has made me more aware that as I continue photographing, I’m also building a context around my work. It’s not just about taking “good” photos, it’s about telling a story, creating a feeling, and deciding how I want my work to be seen and interpreted. And I love that. It reminds me that even the smallest, most everyday moments can become meaningful art if they are framed and presented thoughtfully.
Moving forward, I’m excited to embrace this more intentional way of working. Holding space for both my ideas and the unexpected beauty of real life.
Over the past few years, I’ve taken countless selfies with my phone if I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a car window or a mirror at the gym. Quick snapshots to capture a mood, a memory, or just a fleeting moment. But recently, I started thinking about these casual selfies in a deeper way. Could they be more than just quick captures? Could they be intentional self-portraits?
While reflecting on this, I found myself drawn to the work of Vivian Maier. A photographer who often turned the lens on herself yet rarely made herself the center of attention. Her self-portraits are clever, hidden, playful, and beautifully composed. She captured herself through reflections, shadows, and glass, blending into the world around her without ever fully revealing herself. Something about her quiet observation felt deeply familiar. Even though we come from completely different eras, I felt a connection, the same impulse to document, to appear and disappear at the same time.
This project really made me slow down and think about the way I take self-portraits. Instead of quickly snapping a selfie with my phone, I had to be more deliberate, noticing reflections, framing my shadow, and thinking about how to appear in the image without making myself the main subject.
The first two images I captured were of my shadow while sitting on a bench. In the first one, the frame is zoomed in quite tightly, almost giving the impression that it was intentional and staged. In the second, I zoomed out, letting the whole path and even a bit of the road into the shot. It felt much more natural, and I liked how it gave more context to the scene.
The next two images were attempts to capture my reflection in a window. I tried different angles, and both were interesting in their own way. At first glance, they just look like photos of some plain glass doors, but if you look a little closer, you can spot my reflection tucked inside the frame. It reminded me of how Vivian Maier often played with visibility, being there but not immediately obvious.
For the final three images, I continued exploring reflections. The first of these three shows me reflected clearly in a shop window, where I also noticed a mirror in the background. I tried to line up the shot so you could see two reflections of me at once, but it didn’t quite work how I imagined. The second was a reflection of just my feet, again more obvious, but still grounded in the textures of the scene around me. The last photo was taken quickly in a charity shop changing room mirror, a fleeting glimpse of myself caught unexpectedly, almost like an accident, but it ended up feeling very true to the spirit of the project.
Overall, this homage to Vivian Maier taught me that self-portraits don’t have to be about posing or being the center of attention. They can be about being part of the environment, half-hidden, half-seen, a quiet observer, even in our own stories.
According to Terry Barrett’s framework, the context for this project is largely internal, meaning the images speak through their style, composition, and emotional tone. It’s about creating a visual homage, not an exact copy, and letting my own personal connection to the subject shine through.
For this exercise, I chose my dog as the subject. Someone I share everyday closeness with, but who also moves in and out of connection depending on mood, environment, and attention. Using my camera as a measuring device, I wanted to explore not just the physical space between us, but the emotional shifts that occur as that space changes.
I began by photographing him indoors while he was sleeping. I kept quiet and respectful, moving slowly as I took each frame. The first images were taken from across the room, with his body curled up and relaxed, unaware of my presence. As I crept closer, I captured the gradual awareness building in him, a twitch of the ear, a shift of his body, and finally, direct eye contact with the lens. That moment of eye contact felt like a bridge being built, the space between us closing not just in proximity, but in presence.
Later, I took the camera outside as he wandered freely, nose to the ground, totally absorbed in the world of smells. At first, I hung back and simply observed, capturing his movements from afar. Then came the shift: he noticed me. In an instant, he broke into a joyful run towards me, tail wagging and barking, full of playful energy. I kept shooting as he circled around me, as if inviting me into the game. The photos became chaotic, slightly blurred and full of motion. The camera now recording not distance, but the collapse of it.
My favourite image comes from the first sequence. It’s the frame where he’s just woken, still resting, but looking directly into the camera. There’s a quiet connection there. He’s not performing, not reacting, just being, and meeting me in that moment.
This exercise made me aware of how photography can document not only presence but the relationship. The distance between a photographer and their subject isn’t just spatial. It can be emotional, energetic, even ethical.
The two sequences revealed different sides of our connection. One tender, still and slow, The other wild, energetic and playful. It also reminded me to look beyond the shot I planned and stay open to what the image reveals. The movement, the blur, the unexpected expressions. They all became part of the story. As Alexia Clorinda suggests, I included what I didn’t mean to do, and it made the work more honest.
A Journey Through a Creative Arts Degree 