People often assume the work is made by a filter. It isn’t. Each piece takes a photograph the long way round to a signed, numbered print, and most of the time goes on the part that turns a building into geometry.
1. The photograph
It starts on foot, with a camera, in the right light — not the dramatic golden-hour kind, but flat, even light, which is easier to abstract because it doesn’t impose its own drama on shapes that need to speak for themselves. Most images are shot around the harbour, the older streets and the green edges of the city.
2. The reduction
This is the slow part. The image is rebuilt as planes — every arch, roofline and reflection resolved into interlocking shapes. It’s a long series of decisions: what to keep, what to merge, where a hundred bricks become one field of colour. The Granary on Welsh Back, all Bristol Byzantine arches and crenellation, can take days to break down into stone-coloured shards that still read as the building.
3. The colour
Only once the structure works does colour go in, and it’s rarely the colour the camera saw. It’s pushed — warmer, cleaner, more saturated — until the piece holds together across a room as well as up close. A good test is to shrink the image to a thumbnail: if it still works at the size of a postage stamp, the colour is doing its job.
4. The print
Every piece is produced as a giclée or archival pigment print on matt cotton-rag papers — never gloss, which reflects, marks and cheapens the work. Prints come in a limited edition, most between 50 and 100, each signed and numbered by hand. Sizes run from A4 up to A1, with gallery framing on the larger pieces.
That’s the whole journey: a walk, a long sit at the desk, and a careful print. No filter does the middle bit.
The camera finds it. The work is everything that happens after.