Lately, I’ve been diving deep into refining the colours within my photography—a process that’s been quietly evolving over the last decade. It’s funny how something so subtle can have such a powerful impact. The first thing we notice about a photo isn’t the subject or the scene—it’s the colour. Before we even realise what we’re looking at, the colour sets the mood, the feeling, the atmosphere. It’s the first bite, that initial spark that pulls you in, often without you even knowing why.
For me, getting the colour just right isn’t about perfection—it’s about creating a feeling. And on the coast, with its endless interplay of light, texture, and nostalgia, colour does so much of the heavy lifting. It’s the first thing that tells the story, the element that whispers, “This is how it felt to be here.”
Photography isn’t just something I do—it’s something I feel. Especially along the coast. There’s a magic here, a sense that time has slowed down just enough to notice the small details—the ones you might walk past if you weren’t looking closely. For me, photography is about capturing those fleeting moments: the glow of a neon sign at dusk, the soft pastel tones of a beach hut, or the warm, golden light spilling from an old arcade at night.
Colour and a nostalgic palette
The colours of the coast are so much more than just scenery—they’re pure mood. They whisper of summers past and seaside holidays: the pale yellows of a melting ice cream, the cool blues of the ocean stretching out to the horizon, or the almost electric reds and pinks of a neon arcade sign flickering in the twilight.
What I love most is how these colours carry a kind of nostalgia. They’re cheerful but also bittersweet, reminding you of long days that felt endless but weren’t. For me, colour is the starting point—it’s where the image begins to tell its story.
Shadows, highlights, and atmosphere
Tonality is the quieter element, but it’s the one that holds everything together. It’s the way the soft shadow of a striped deck chair falls across the sand or how the light catches the edges of an old amusement ride, giving it a glow that feels almost cinematic. Tonality is where the atmosphere comes alive, where an image feels like it’s breathing.
I think of tonality as a kind of balance—like the ebb and flow of the tide. Too much light and it feels flat, too little and the details disappear. Somewhere in the middle, there’s this perfect harmony where the photo feels as alive as the moment it was taken.
The play between light and life
Contrast is the fun part—the playfulness in the process. It’s in the sparkle of sunlight on a freshly fried batch of chips or the bold glow of neon cutting through the fading light of a summer evening. High contrast adds drama, while softer contrasts let the quieter moments shine.
The coast I photograph is full of contrasts—not just between light and dark, but between the past and the present. An old mechanical claw machine sitting beside a brand-new row of flashing arcade games. A crumbling beach sign next to a perfectly scooped ice cream cone. These juxtapositions are what make the coast feel alive to me—a place caught between memory and the now.
Chasing that feeling
Photography, for me, isn’t about perfection. It’s about feeling. It’s about capturing the way the coast makes me feel: nostalgic, curious, and just a little bit enchanted. Every image is a kind of conversation—a moment frozen in time that holds something fleeting, something you can’t quite put into words but can definitely feel.
And that’s the beauty of this process. Whether it’s the soft tones of a sunset or the vibrant chaos of a neon-lit arcade, photography is my way of holding onto those moments that make the coast—and life—so endlessly fascinating.
