Is there an English setting more elusive, or intoxicating than the West Country?

To me, this land was never suited to a fleeting experience.  It demanded surrender… inhaled like a nerve agent, the end of the line.

It’s not just the scenery & light, it’s about what's possible…  the untapped, unseen, and yet-to-be - An entire region mad on potential - fearless in the mist of isolation, and with all the time in the world.

With 40 centuries of human resilience buried beneath us, this excitable condition detonates a bewitching toll… thumping like a broken heart, rallying the lawless for another night on the cobbles.  It can never be tamed - It won’t be silenced. For decades it anticipates a stampede of visitors, drunk on the scent of freedom, chasing a zealous & unrestrained existence… A truly breath-taking disturbance.

The cameras stand for posterity, but serve as an excuse for hosting such convergences - Cultivating memory, suspended in perpetual motion. They generate an endless exchange of effort & intimacy… What was previously leisure becomes a creative undertaking, becomes work - a melting pot of performance, passion, revelry and human connection.

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In these precious moments… when the music swells and the fires rage  - When the food and wine flow and the land flourishes and thrills beneath a smoky sun - I am enraptured, spellbound, irreversibly in love. I am especially grateful when all of these things come together like a dream… When the visitors notice my cameras in the distance and realise they are part of an artistic work…  and in a leap of faith, they rise to the occasion.