In a world that often feels unmoored, I’ve found grounding in the simple act of making and sharing photographs. I’m pleased to share that IJM Photography is now officially a registered micro-entreprise in France—a quiet but meaningful step forward.
Next month, I’ll be launching a small, carefully curated collection of print-on-demand photographs, drawn from images I’ve shared here over the years. To begin, I’m offering six 8×10 inch prints—some in rich colour, others in classic black and white—each printed on museum-grade archival paper and ready framed.
These are more than pictures. They’re fragments of light, memory, and place—moments I’ve carried with me, now offered to you.
I hope one of my images finds a home with you.
While the print collection launches next month, if you’d like to support IJM Photography today, donations of any amount are warmly welcomed.
Welcome to this strange new world—where nations are treated like commodities, and young people stay silent whenever they don’t feel concerned.
I’m not talking about the clusterfuck that is Trump’s lingering shadow over Venezuela, or the absurd spectacle of U.S. leaders eyeing Greenland like real estate. Nor am I pointing fingers at the eerie quiet from European students and campuses while protests rage in Iran.
Maybe I’m not saying the world is going to hell.
But let’s call a spade a spade: something vital has gone missing.
Any sense of decency—gone.
And what a good job I’m not depressed.
Oh wait.
Shit.
I think back to a year ago—to the China tour—and how I still smell it on my skin. Not literally, maybe. But in the way my pantry fills with new ingredients, in the way I stir-fry now without measuring, just feeling. And the sauces I make…
Google Photos keeps nudging me: “1 year ago today.”
And just like that—I’m back there.
A before and after.
Definitely.
I see the same friends at rehearsals and revel in the memories we made.
I also look to the future. This sick leave has given me space to rest—and I feel the energy slowly returning to this body of mine.
On New Year’s Eve, my son did some “daddy-sitting” for me. I shared the evening with his friends—and for once, I didn’t feel like the spare tire, or a discarded condom in a student halls of a residence.
I felt… present.
The beard is gone, and of course my daughter hates it. At least she didn’t cry this time, like when she was two.
I’ve actually gone out and shot some film: a roll I started during summer holidays and finished in Montaigu, and another I exposed in the cathedral in Nantes over Christmas.
The first photos I’ve taken indoors since the fire.
I’m getting there.
Trying to be present in this new crazy world—where our leaders are anything but leaders, and older ways of doing things seem to be shifting beneath our feet.
I don’t know where we’re going.
But we certainly seem to be on our way…
Come along if you like. I’ll keep the window cracked — just enough to let the light in.
Content Note: This post discusses depression and emotional exhaustion. Please read with care.
That was the old Royal Family rule—stoic, impenetrable, forever above it all.
I, alas, am not royalty. I’m an overthinker with a camera and a blog, and I owe you nothing… but I’d like to offer a little explanation anyway. Call it common courtesy. Or perhaps just the need to name what’s been happening.
So here’s the situation report from IJM Photography.
I haven’t written in a month for two reasons. First: the season. If you’ve followed this space for a while, you know I’ve long wrestled with melancholy—especially as the days shorten. This year, it hit harder than usual. I made it through November, but only just. By December, I was physically and mentally exhausted.
Second: my health. After a conversation with my manager and HR, I was referred to the médecin du travail. She diagnosed me with dépression aiguë—acute depression (not the cute, Hello Kitty kind)—and noted a heart murmur. Frankly, I was relieved to have a name for what I’d been carrying.
She ordered me to go straight home—not back to work—and to see my GP the next day. She mentioned my brain chemistry was “in a bit of a mess.” Which, in its odd way, reminded me of three things:
— I have a brain
— I have a heart
— and I am profoundly tired
Not broken. Just worn thin.
I was referred to the local Centre Médico-Psychologique. There, I broke another unspoken rule: when the nurse asked how I was, I didn’t say, “Fine, thanks.” I told the truth—calmly, factually, without blame—about the weight I’d been under since returning to work after my accident, and how even the resilience I’d inherited from past generations suddenly felt out of reach.
To my surprise, a session with a psychiatrist opened up right away. He was kind, thoughtful. We talked about identity, belonging, and the quiet strain of straddling cultures. He said I carry “the mindset of an immigrant”—and that perhaps I’ve become more French than I realize. He suggested working on communication with my spouse, and that a trip back to the UK might help me reconnect with myself.
He might be right. If funds were no object, I’d book the ticket tomorrow.
For now, I’m taking things one day at a time. Resting. Recharging. And slowly returning—to my camera, to my words, to myself.
A creative’s guide to using AI wisely — with the A.C.T.D. framework.
I will seem a little controversial in this article, but AI (artificial intelligence) is becoming a constant in this creative world. Do I use it? Yes. How? When I don’t know how to do things, like speak Chinese. When I need to have a copy editor to check my grammar and spelling. When it comes to photography do I use it? Not in the creation of a photograph, but sometimes yes to edit for me. There are tools in Photoshop that are useful to the photographer like generative fill, for example..
But what is AI? The large language models, the generative image tools? Does it write code for developers? Yes it can, but as most things it is a machine and never forget that. It is learning, and think of it as being an eager student ready to learn. It doesn’t get it right all the time, and it can, like any human, make mistakes. It is a computer. It does exactly what you tell it to do. Does it understand British understatement, sarcasm or banter? No, because it still needs training.
But like most things, does it live up to the hype? No, especially if you don’t know how to talk to it. When I talk to people about how I use AI, I always share my A.C.T.D. framework.
A is for Actor. I tell AI: “Act as my editor,” or “Act as my literary agent.” AI thrives on context — so give it one. For example: “Act as a specialist in vegan cooking.” (Yes, very controversial — I did warn you.)
C is for Context. AI thrives on it. Give it background — what you’re trying to achieve, who your audience is, or why this matters.
T is for Task. Be specific. Tell it exactly what you want — not “help me write,” but “write a 300-word intro about AI for photographers.”
D is for “Think Deeply.” Ask AI to reflect before answering — in ChatGPT, click “Think”; in Qwen, you may need to select a reasoning-focused model.
And here’s the truth no one talks about enough: AI doesn’t create — it remixes. It feeds on human-made content — blogs, photos, code, songs, even tweets. And as anyone who’s scrolled the internet knows… a lot of that data is complete bollocks.
It’s trained on our best ideas — and our worst. Our genius — and our garbage. So if you feed it junk, it gives you junk back. If you give it context, clarity, and care — it can help you refine your own voice. Not replace it.
But tell me Ian what can’t it do? It seems to be replacing everyone in translation and creative industries? I get it, we all sorry about that, but you can learn how to spot AI content on the internet. People once said a photograph never lies, but we soon found out that it could lie to us. It can’t replace that personal interaction and accompagnement, such as sitting with a client before a shoot. It can’t replace the feeling you get when you receive your prints from the photographer, and you realise that all that prep was worth it.
I have met people who have told me that I have a beautiful camera, and that it must take beautiful pictures. Well? It can’t. Like the person who says yeah but I can do that on my mobile… Generally they can’t. We still have our craft. A computer can’t do that for us. I can’t replace our artistic vision, despite trying to tell us that it can. At best it can only provide an emulation.
I first wanted to learn about the internet when it first came out. I wanted to know how to use it before my children would tell me. That was over 25 years ago. I approach AI in the same way. It doesn’t have all the answers, but when well used, it’s a bloody good tool to have in your kit.
This isn’t about rejecting AI—it’s about reclaiming agency. When I give it clear context and a specific task, it becomes a mirror for my own creativity. But the song? The photo? The feeling in your hands when you hold a print? Those aren’t AI’s work. They’re yours. The tool sharpens the craft—but only the human holds the vision. So use AI like a darkroom chemical: a helper, not the artist. And never forget: the most revolutionary thing in your kit isn’t silicon. It’s you.
A illustration to a song written by AI about my Moly and my wife. That bitch who stole my man…
P.S. The song above? Written entirely by AI. It’s witty, structured, and even tugs at the heart—proof that AI can imitate craft. But it didn’t feel heartbreak. It didn’t choose to love a rescue dog more than its human partner. That irony, that ache? That’s still ours. AI remixes our stories. We give them meaning.
(Or: How I Became a Human Pancake on a Tuesday Night)
For about a month now I have been off work after “un accident de travail.” I was leaving work on the 24th of September and tripped over some uneven flooring. I’m not a small man or a light man and I landed flat on my face like a guardsman fainting. I think my arms must have been tucked along my rib cage, and my nose hit the ground. The resulting nosebleed left a bit of my DNA on the floor and I looked miserable, furious with myself — and in pain in my ribs.
We went to casualty that night at about 20h as I was in pain, which is not something I’m overly fond of. None of this pain is weakness leaving the body codswallop for me matey. Casualty was shut for the evening and we dialed 15 for the SAMU who declared that since my breathing was fine I must only have fractured ribs, go home, see your doctor, take a paracetamol and try not to move.
No shit Sherlock! However, that’s exactly what I did. Surprisingly enough I didn’t move very much that first night, and the next day my doctor confirmed what we thought and I was given the good stuff. Tramadol! Tramadol didn’t make me high. It made me numb. And for the first time since falling, that felt like mercy.
Over the last month my car has died, I have rested, still have pain when I turn over in my sleep, yet feel rested, and I have been eating a lot healthier with more veg and protein. My wife took over driving me from my appointments and shouting when I yelled out in pain. Do I feel better for the time off? I suppose so. But like a 68, you feel there’s just one thing missing, much the same as 70 but with the one extra thing.
Would I recommend it to a friend, not at all… 1 star out of 5 because of the rest and time off work…
IJM Photography 