The Journey Back to Photography

I don’t expect the phone to start ringing—at least, not just yet.

Photography has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. For the past 23 years, I’ve been in love with it—sometimes actively, sometimes from a quiet distance. My first formal step into the world of photography was at 19 years old, when I took a course run by the National Gallery. It was taught by Art Pasquali, a well-known fashion photographer who had shot the likes of Cameron Diaz and other models. That experience left an imprint on me, but my journey had already begun long before.

Growing up, I worked as a sports journalist at my father’s newspaper company. It was inevitable that when the opportunity arose to buy my own camera, I jumped at it. I took up extra work at my aunt’s print and signage company, Quick Images, after college in the afternoons, saving every bit I could to afford my first DSLR—the Canon Rebel XT… I remember eating cups of rice with Oxtail Gravy for CI $1.50 to maximise how much I saved.

But even before that, I had been capturing moments. I had a collection of images taken with small Canon point-and-shoot cameras, and even earlier, photos of myself as a child, wielding a camera and snapping shots of anything that caught my eye.

Beyond that single course with Art, I have no formal education in photography or art. But that has never stopped me from doing what I love—taking pictures of things that intrigue me, that spark curiosity, that tell a story only I might see. And perhaps that’s where my journey took an unexpected turn. Because I shot primarily for myself, many of my photos remained unseen, unrecognised, gathering digital dust on hard drives.

Over time, life took over. I stopped shooting altogether. I even sold my cameras, convinced that chapter had closed.

“But passion has a way of finding its way back.“

In 2023, I rekindled my love for photography, making a bold switch—selling all my Canon gear (save for a couple of tripods) and stepping into a new era with my first Sony camera. It felt like a fresh start, a new training sequence in my ongoing story.

I’ve never been drawn to photographing people. It’s not that I can’t—I just find it awkward. Directing someone, telling them how to pose, where to look, how to tilt their head—it never felt natural to me. My photography has always been about capturing what exists organically, rather than staging a moment. And yet, recently, something inside me has shifted.

“Photography is limitless. It’s the art of distilling a story into a single frame.”

Maybe it’s a newfound curiosity. A desire to step outside my comfort zone. A growing appreciation for the depth of human expression—the smiles, the energy, the unguarded moments. Maybe, deep down, I do want my work to be seen, to be recognised in some way.

Photography is limitless. It’s the art of distilling a story into a single frame. Unlike film, where time and motion weave the narrative, photography demands that you capture everything—the emotion, the light, the atmosphere—in a fraction of a second. That’s what I adore about it. That’s what I want to master.

So, as part of this journey, I’m pushing myself to explore new terrain. To embrace the challenge of photographing people, to capture their moments as I would a landscape, a shadow, a fleeting light. Maybe one day, someone will look for my work the way they do the greats of the industry.

But beyond that, this is about growth. About breaking my own barriers. About experiencing photography in ways I never have before.