Thursday, 9 March 2017

Goodbye, Friend


"How can somebody mean so much to you one day and become nobody the next?"

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Saturday, 21 January 2017

Moon & Mor



It's not often I find myself day dreaming of winter days during the summer months, but if I do, I dream of days like today. I have very mixed opinions of January, we are such a quarrelsome pair. But we're learning to live with each other and respect each other. Kind of. Maybe. Sort of. 
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Sunday, 1 January 2017

Nadelik Lowen: Eve




I suppose it's a bit late now. I had intended to share a documentary of our Christmas day; how we rose, and celebrated and rested. But when I woke up that morning, I knew I didn't want to pick up my camera, I didn't want to record moments, I wanted to live only in them. So I logged off for the day, or a couple of days, or a week.

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Wednesday, 14 December 2016

The Book of December: Life Lately



On Sunday, I woke just before dawn. I was early enough to hear the cockerel crowing and the sloping valley in front of the farm was drowned beneath a blanket of winter mist. I crept out of the house and started my car, the rumble of the engine sounding so unnatural and perverse on this silent morning. That Sunday was enchanting. I drove to Dartmoor for the first time to meet a good friend (known fondly as Abble Pie by me) who got engaged a few months back and to take some photographs for her and her fiance, D. The drive up there was beyond beautiful and therapeutic and I'm going to use the word 'serendipitous' here for the first time. Everything about that morning was accidentally perfect and any winter blues that I may have been feeling were dissolved by the comeliness of the landscape on a midwinter's morn. It seemed Cornwall itself was sleeping beneath the mists and as I drove up hills, I rose out of it to be greeted by clear blue skies and to witness the world as one sees it from an airplane; beneath an ocean of cloud, with the odd wind turbine and families of trees peeping through the fog. I wish I could have photographed those moments. I was overcome by the sheer perfection and serenity in the moment, to see the sun like a golden orb gleaming behind the haze of the sea fog, to see the hills rise like islands above the clouds and to be listening to the Sunday morning folk sessions on radio two. I wept like a babe to the sounds of Kate Rusby and the sight of a world I barely felt worthy of witnessing, a special world reserved for one winter's morning a year at the crack of dawn.

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Monday, 5 December 2016

Faded Heather: Tales from Goonhilly Downs


These downs are a curious place, an old place place. Older than the villages that surround it, untouched and left to be wild. Older than any of the structures and marks left by lives now finished, scattered across the heathland. Perhaps there are reasons why nobody wished to tame this wild place, maybe out of respect, fear or practicality because they go on for seemingly ever. 

There are most mysterious tales that surround the downs, local legends that are still as thriving as the unique species of plants that grow on the heath. There aren't just rare orchids and leeches to be found in these parts, but also derelict cottages belonging to highwaymen hundreds of years ago, abandoned gardens of unmarked graves and stories of ghost sightings along the great stretch of road that passes through. 
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Saturday, 26 November 2016

Seabirds & Shutters: Thoughts on ambition, careers & the story of Salty Sea Photography





What came first? The Salty Sea blog or Salty Sea Photography? 

I doubt any of you (even my family) remember my blog being under any other name. But if you scroll back through the years, to the nostalgic era of blogs that were so wonderfully handmade, patchwork & different from today's clean white, editorial-esque & pristine templated variety, back to the days when nearly everyone kept a barely-read blog which we poured our heart and souls into as if we were writing to the entire universe, you wouldn't have found the Salty Sea blog as you see it now. There was no bloglovin', the vlogger generation hadn't risen yet and everyone's space was like a delightful, GCSE art scrapbook of colour, personality, playful outfits & crafty endeavours. However you could still find me writing random-meandering-journal entires to the internet... on a blog named Daydreams & other fairytales. Those were nostalgic times indeed. I often find myself missing many blogs that have stopped existing, blogs that belonged to those days and have extinguished like a candle reaching the end of it's life, finding no place in this new, modern blogging world which I must say, I've never felt like I belong in. 

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Saturday, 12 November 2016

When the Swallows Left Us Behind



Winter was sudden in Cornwall. There was no slow build up, no gradual accumulation of frost and gentle dropping of the leaves onto the winding country roads.
No, there was a gust of wind and overnight, the idling autumn became winter as if somebody had reached the end of the chapter of a book. It was sudden and wilful. I was not prepared for it and all the dread and foreboding that I usually reserve for the winternoons had no time to manifest. 
All that there was was joy, relief and the now. Now was winter. Now was serene and calm and isolated. Now was the most beautiful moment that ever was. 
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