Chasing solitude in a fast paced world
And the call that changed everything !
Lives in a van. Bimbles with a camera. Often pointing his pixel box at scruff. Has been known to run long distances. Would consider cake as a form of payment.
Recovering.
Welcome
Hello, and welcome back to another week behind the lens of a full time nomad working, living and travelling in his VW campervan. In my most recent post (2 weeks ago) I mentioned that after a rather wonderful sunrise photography session in Muxia, Spain, I had received a phone call from back in Ireland regarding my dad’s health.
Despite being paralysed he had somehow managed to fall and break one of his legs. Cue a quick, not to mention rather expensive (thanks Trump), drive back to Ireland where I’ve been based for the past 6 weeks. Upon my return, and dad's subsequent release from hospital, he was then readmitted a few days later to discover an (as then) undiagnosed double displaced fracture in his other leg. The whole situation not ideal for most folks, but an almost 90 year old man with severe dementia. Yeah, you get the picture.
It’s been a challenging time on so many levels, one of those being that while I’ve been here I’ve been unable to work - just another worry to add to the growing pile. Still, I’m glad I’ve been able to help, especially as mum isn’t in the best of health either. In a few weeks I know I’m going to have to make a very (very) difficult decision regarding leaving again, but I guess I’ll think about that when the time comes.
With all of the upheaval I’ve not been keeping up to date with my creative journal, but hope to get back to that in the coming weeks.
While I’ve been back in Ireland, moments in the landscape almost non-existent, I’m reminded that this too shall pass.
Chasing Solitude in Landscape Photography
My favourite time to be out with the camera is dawn, especially in the summer months when the landscape feels completely untouched - almost as if it exists just for me. No demands, no noise, often no-one around for miles.
Space, time and stillness.
Moments, such as these, become much deeper than simply the process of making an image.
In today’s fast-moving, always-connected world, true solitude can feel increasingly rare. Notifications, deadlines, and the constant pull of attention from doom scrolling leave little room to pause. Landscape photography offers me a way out, not as an escape from life, but as a return to something more grounded and present.
Standing quietly, dew settles on the legs of the tripod, cool to the touch, collecting unnoticed as time passes. My hands trace the cold of the metal, breath visible in the morning air. In that moment nothing moves quickly. Time becomes meaningless. I’m no longer worrying about what comes next, rather completely immersed in the here and now. It’s in these small, almost imperceptible details the experience deepens. The damp air, the silence, the slow build of colour on the horizon. The anticipation.
All moments that remain with me long after I’ve packed the camera away.
One of the most rewarding aspects of landscape photography is the opportunity for solitary exploration. Whether it’s a remote coastline, a mountain pass, or an empty stretch of countryside. There have been countless mornings where the camera hasn’t even been removed from the bag, and yet the memory of the experience fills my soul long into the future.
Perhaps most importantly, landscape photography creates space for reflection. With nothing competing for my attention, my mind has the freedom to wander, to process, to reset. It’s a rare kind of clarity, one that’s difficult to find in the noise of everyday life.
These past six weeks, though, have looked very different. Living on my parent’s drive, caring for dad, the days have felt heavier, more confined, at times, almost suffocating. The quiet moments I usually find in the landscape, and that help to reset, have been out of reach, and to make it harder still, the light has often been spectacular. I can only look from behind the confines of the window.
And yet, I find myself returning to those mornings in my mind; the cold air, the stillness, the slow arrival of light. Dew forming quietly on the metal legs of the tripod, cool beneath my hands as I wait in silence. Small, ordinary details that once passed unnoticed, now feel significant in their absence. Remembering what it feels like to stand there, with nothing to do but observe, has become its own kind of refuge.
A reminder that those places, and those moments, are still out there, waiting for me to return.
So when life begins to feel overwhelming, whether you can get out into the landscape or not, hold onto whatever space you can find. And when the time comes to step outside again, to return to that quiet with your camera, you may come back with the odd image or two, but perhaps more importantly, with a clearer, steadier mind than when you left.
Have a great day …
The Vloggy Section
A few of my most recent vlogs for your viewing (dis)pleasure :) Oh and yeah .. that’s me pulling my very best duckface .. did it work ?
The week that was
A few images from this particular week down through the years.
Other corners of the inter-webs you can find me.
The X100 Diaries
My Portfolio
Thanks so much for allowing me a few moments of your time. I hope you have enjoyed my words and images, and if so a quick share amongst your own community will help spread the word.
And if you really enjoyed it you can even consider throwing a few pennies into the tips jar. It helps most with diesel costs for the van to keep me on the road making images.
Until next time .. Happy Pixels …
Good luck with your Ma and Pa. Don't worry about us; we'll still be here when you're ready, willing and able to talk to us. Look after you, too, don't forget.
John in Mandurah WA
Caring for aging parents can be really difficult, and even more so when dementia is involved. I’ve been there. Praying you can find peaceful moments to help you regroup until you can get back out to where there’s no one around for miles.