I've travelled a lot. I've photographed weddings in various places around the world. And the one thing that stands out about home is it's rugged beauty. Sure, it may not have the epic mountain ranges of the Swiss Alps, or the green rolling hills of Ireland, the unending dark forests of Germany, the eloquence of France or the fjords of Scandinavia.
In it's endearing rugged facade and endless deep blue it is, well, beautiful.
Nostalgia sets in as I sort through a few belongings of my grandparents since passed. They'd spent decades in this place. It's as thought they're here... but they aren't.
It is a surreal place. It is a lonely place.
Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains, on that northern shore, Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever, ever more... [Emily Jane Brontë]
When people would ask me what I did for a living, I'd sometimes hesitate in answering. You see, I had an issue with being known as a photographer or even being referred to as an artist. And it was more than just the connotations and expectations people had of those titles.