Life on the Stairs

When I arrive for a family shoot at home, I always have a little walk round to peek at the light. More often than not, it's spilling onto the staircase. You can almost hear the feet over the past few years. The rushings to school with half done laces, the slow procrastinating walk to bed, parents hollering from the first step that 'tea's on the table'. The patter of pets, carpet worn, and piles of things to take up. Staircases see a lot of life, they're a good spot for a photo.

I took the photo below the other day as first light crept into our house. 

I saw moments ahead of us around life on the stairs. In a few weeks, we'll be bringing our baby bean home and gently walking up the stairs for our first night together at home. Up for baths and down to welcome visitors. In a few years, tiny hands holding onto those spindles as first steps are made. Bum shuffles down them, school bags left at the bottom, winter jacket hood hooked over the bannister. Excited feet racing down on Christmas Day morning, a hug on the landing and a moment to stroke the cat on his favourite middle step. Moments to look at the photos hanging on the wall on the way up, and moments to look in the mirror on the way down. In this moment, I saw life on these stairs. 

Ernest Journal

At the beginning of 2017, as one of my new year's intentions, I said to myself that I wanted to write more. A few more blogs, maybe documenting the change in the seasons in photos and words, and just enjoy it again as I used to when I was younger. I used to love writing song lyrics and tried my hand at a few nature poems when I was in primary school. Mum still has a poem I wrote about a curlew. It's a little faded now as I think it was pinned to the cork board in the old kitchen for a while. Somewhere along the way, I lost all confidence in expressing myself in this way. But when I went on my Scottish road trip last year, I took time out each day to reflect on how I was feeling and what I'd seen. Suzi had bought me a beautiful journal with crisp magnolia pages. I packed a fountain pen too. I don't want to come over all fancy, but I find scribbling in biro sends my handwriting into a spin. Being left-handed, writing with a fountain pen comes with its own challenges, but that's outweighed by my love of the smell of the fresh ink, and the sound of the nib gliding over the paper. After a day on the road, and after I'd eaten dinner and checked into my Air BnB, it became a nightly ritual. I'd always unpack my journal first, and place it on the bedside table. Reading lamp on, I'd relive the past day as those fresh memories were committed to the paper.

When I came back, I wrote a series of blogs about the trip. I was glad to have my journal as a reference point. Last summer, Ernest Journal, a magazine dedicated to slow adventures and craftsmanship (and one of mine & Suzi's favourites), asked me to write a piece about my North Coast 500 travels with accompanying photos. In autumn, I relived the trip again as I wrote an abridged version of my days travelling around the very northern tip of Scotland. This edition of Ernest Journal is out now if you did want to follow my trip. If you're in Hebden Bridge, they're available at both Heart Gallery and Snug. I'm in good company as there are other articles about photographic duo the Kearton brothers, bread making in space, and mapping Antarctic women.

We're going to have some of my Scottish prints on sale from the trip (amongst others) at Hebden Bridge Open Studios. 50% of what we make will be donated to MIND.

The North Coast 500 trip was an absolutely amazing experience for me.  I witnessed the most beautiful landscapes and nature and it gave me the confidence I needed to get back on track with my mental health. If you're interested in doing the route and would like to know more, I'm always up for a chat about it over a cup of tea.

Finding The Light

A couple of years ago, I took the photo above and I posted it on Instagram and Facebook. And then an intriguing comment appeared, "Ooh, that looks just like a Vermeer". At this point, please forgive my ignorance. What's a Vermeer, I thought. One quick Google later, I knew. I didn't think I'd heard his name before, but I had back in school days, I just hadn't retained it. What I did remember, in those dusty recesses of my mind, was looking at those beautiful paintings in over-sized books in the school library. 

It was the start of a new year, and I'd been itching to take photos a little differently. This moment was a turning point for me, I knew I loved this image, but couldn't quite put my finger on it. I loved the tones, the simplicity of it. I've always been drawn to the dark, but a dark that's shattered by a pop of light, whether from a window, a gap in the trees, or a sunny spot on a staircase. Especially with shoots in a family home, I naturally look for this type of light. It's the light that really makes me tick. Suzi always knows when I've found it as I'll take a sharp intake of breath! Looking at more Vermeer paintings online, I was so taken with the light, the contrasts and shadows and how he managed to capture the beauty in the everyday in such a striking way.

There are a few theories that Vermeer used a camera obscura that may have helped him to create depth and composition and intensify the contrast between light and shadows. To me he is the ultimate lightseeker. The way he used light went hand hand in hand with his style.

Since then, I've been seeking a more painterly quality in my photos and using light a little differently to how I was before that photo of a mother and her new baby. 

We've been discussing how we use light on our retreats too, we love passing on what we've learnt. It always seems to be the subject that people get most excited about. If you'd like to join us on our next retreats, just let us know, or take a look at the retreats page on our website here.

And keep a look out for those gorgeous pools of light spilling through curtains in the morning, illuminating your favourite walk through the trees, or highlighting the stairs. There's magic in the everyday.