If the Vendée is Jane Birkin — elegant, understated — then the Pyrenees are full-on Marilyn. Proper mountains. Vast. Unapologetic. Even in May, some peaks were still capped in snow.
I was in Lourdes hoping to strengthen my faith. I think Killian needed that too — but more than anything, he needed his mountains. Now, finally, I get it. Up there, I saw him more clearly: less the boy I once knew, more the man he’s becoming.
Like most of us, he has his issues — but he’s working through them. And sometimes, he even lets me help. Those are the moments I think I might just be getting somewhere as a father.
He’d decided we were heading to see his beloved mountains. The place? The Pont d’Espagne — yes, in France, despite the name. I may have mentioned that. Maybe.
We left the impressive foothills of Lourdes behind and climbed into the real mountains. Snowy peaks against blue sky and drifting clouds. Windows down, music low, we drove toward the famous pont. It had better be worth it.
Killian and I travel at a relaxed pace. If the view’s good, we’ll pull over. Get the camera out. Take a few shots. See what happens.
Sometimes it works. Sometimes it’s a fiasco. But more often than not, we come away with something.
Oh no! Catastrophe! A village where you can park, and go and get an ice cream. Ah well. We took one for the team, and the lady behind the counter told us that the previous week they had snow and were shut, yet this week everything looked just like a day in May should look like. Ice cream seems to have this way of just hitting “that” spot. It’s not the tidiest of foods to eat, but it’s one I’ve developed a great fondness for it over the years.
I was already learning how to approach the infamous concept of the hairpin bend. As you know, a full head of hair hasn’t been my issue for years — let alone hairpins. But the name fits. The main thing is to drive slowly, carefully, and not die… Given I’m writing this now, reports of my untimely demise were, as they say, greatly exaggerated.
We arrived at the Parc National des Pyrénées. You go through a barrier that didn’t seem to be working — one that had given up on life and was just standing to attention, waiting for whatever ‘it’ might be. So, being the thoroughly decent chaps and all-round good eggs that we are, we tried to find a ticket. We couldn’t, but since we had tried, we said something that rhymes with bucket, and started walking to see, at long last, the bloody bridge. It had better be worth it.
I had the X100F with me and Killian was carrying my DSLR and kit. What a good lad he is. He later said that if I wasn’t lugging it around, we might’ve gone just that little bit further. So back to the pont…
Before we even saw the bridge, we heard it: the sound of the water was tremendous. Water is a primeval force, and this was huge. I wanted the “money” shot, and decided to try with the X100F, giving it a sporting chance. The Canon 6D Mark II, with its stabilised lens, would come out on top. Handheld at 1/6th of a second? Not ideal — but fun to try. You get the feeling of movement in your shot, and with the magic of ND filters, you’re not overexposed.
The site itself is just astounding — not just because of the view or the sound, but because of the raw power of the place. Killian led me grumbling up the hill and we sat down to have our picnic. We fed the ants a bit of our pâté en croûte and watched them discover it, then devour it completely. And devour it they did.
He led me past the téléphérique — closed, of course — and followed the river until we reached a wide, flat-bottomed valley with water snaking through it. We saw traces of horses and wild boars, which are a lot less boring than you might think. I noticed the clouds coming round the mountains as they go, but not singing. I don’t know a huge amount about mountains, but that’s usually a cue to get back to the car…
The walk back to the car was just about being father and son — taking the mickey out of each other as we went. It seemed to be the way we operated, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
It had been a relaxing day. I’d emptied my mind by wandering around Shenzhen, taking colour photos for my wife, editing them on the go with Lightroom CC on my phone—all the power of Lightroom, neatly packaged for mobile. The afternoon had been just as easy-going. I could get used to this.
Corentin, Monsieur Lover Lover, and Paul “the Duck Tongue” Trouillet had decided that, since we weren’t performing that night, we’d head out for a bit of fun. Thus, Operation Shenzhen Nights was born. They’d planned everything down to the last detail. The walk to the tube station was about a kilometre, and even with my gammy knee, it was doable.
So, off we went—a whole group of us—to the Shenzhen tube. Along the way, we passed bustling restaurants where people were already seated for dinner. We walked by a pet shop where people were cuddling kittens. At least, I hoped it was just a pet shop and not a restaurant! The kittens were adorable.
The Saturday night energy was in full swing, with people out for meals or simply strolling. We were about to do much the same.
First, the journey into town. Entering the tube station, I was relieved to see all the signs in both Chinese and English—a lifesaver, as my Chinese still needs work. Passing through a baggage and body scanner was certainly out of the ordinary, but I quickly got over it. People often talk about personal freedoms in China, but it didn’t faze me in the least.
We bought our tickets—or more accurately, small green plastic disks that you scan to access the platform. Then came the stairs, and that’s when my gammy knee started to let itself be heared. Fortunately, there was a lift, which would have been a shame not to use. When the train arrived, I managed to grab a seat, camera ready to snap photos of the metro ride.
About an hour later, we reached our destination, where Operation Shenzhen Nights would truly begin.
Corentin, always as eager as a five-year-old at the zoo, practically bounced with excitement. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I tried to keep up, though one day I’ll have to explain the “pace of the slowest man” rule to him.
As we exited the tube, we were greeted by a sea of lights, red lanterns swaying overhead in celebration of Chinese New Year, and professional TikTok setups. These weren’t just quick phone clips—this was full-scale production, complete with lighting and sound. I still don’t quite get TikTok, but they sure seem to.
Paul and Corentin were already eager to dive into the street food, and it wouldn’t be the first stop of the evening. Skewers with all kinds of “supposedly” edible things lined the stalls. I was fine with chicken and octopus but drew the line at scorpions and crickets. Maybe next time I’ll embrace my more adventurous side.
The place was packed, with street restaurants everywhere. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a shop selling mineral water and bought a litre. I felt much better after hydrating. I knew it would mean a bathroom hunt later, but I threw caution to the wind. “Bugger it,” I thought. Some risks are worth taking.
The night was buzzing with energy—smells, sounds, and lights everywhere. Red lanterns swayed overhead, casting a warm glow as the city geared up for Chinese New Year.
Paul and Corentin thrived in the chaos, eagerly planning their next round of snacks while some of the group veered off to McDonald’s for a quick bite. As we waited, we soaked in the atmosphere. When the others rejoined us, I was already with my camera taking shots of a city that seemed to be in perpetual motion. Operation Shenzhen Nights was rich with everything that mattered—good company, questionable snacks, and memories destined to linger long after the evening faded.
We continued walking, and the boys ended up finding tofu in sauce, which they let me taste. I must learn how to cook tofu like that at home. But again, I drew the line at eating durian. “It can have a rather pungent smell,” he said, going for the understatement of the year.
As we left the main drag, the goal was to find a watering hole. And we did! More beer, and a last chance to have a bit to eat. I kept it simple with my food choices, but one of the group tried roasted silk worm chrysalids. Definitely interesting, but it turned out to be one of the less than tasty things of the evening.
The youngsters wanted to go to a nightclub, an idea which wasn’t really for me at nearly 53 years old. I’m not a fan of nightclubs and haven’t set foot in one since the early ‘90s. Still not a fan 30 years later. The elders of the group headed out for a beer, and the more adventurous of them had rice wine—or rather, rice alcohol. I ended up chatting to one of them until half past six in the morning. He had things to get off his chest, and I entered Uncle Ian mode.
Now, you might think of accusing Uncle Ian of feeling a little delicate this morning after the previous evening’s “fun,” but I’m going to disappoint you. My head did not feel as if it had gone through 10 rounds with a certain Mr Tyson, though I will admit to feeling a little tired. Slightly less bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than I’ve known myself to be. Will that satisfy you? Good, then we shall move on. Today’s destination was Foshan, much further south, and our first stop in Guangdong Province.
We were to have a mere 500km bus ride to Foshan. I decided to be anti-social and put my headphones on, just staring out of the window. A more relaxed way of passing the time and something that allowed me to simply take in the countryside. And what countryside it was. Now, the Vendée, where I live, isn’t exactly known for its mountainous terrain. Think more Jane Birkin than Marilyn Monroe—flat, laid-back, and subtle. At first, I didn’t realise what the trees were; some appeared bent over and broken. I just thought they were very young trees, before eventually cottoning on to the fact that I was looking at bamboo forests on the hillsides. They reached high up, gently moving with the wind. It was something I had never witnessed before.
We passed houses and farms along the way too. Again, a stark contrast to the cityscapes we had previously contemplated.
There was, of course, the inevitable “stop pipi,” and we all shuffled into the service station, which still wasn’t selling overpriced sandwiches. But the snacks available were certainly something to behold.
Now, you may be wondering if I partook in the tasting of these delicious-looking snacks. I did not. I was afraid they might be a little on the spicy side. Otherwise, absolutely no problem with eating poultry feet. Really, none whatsoever! I ended up getting something that vaguely resembled a chicken burger. Cheap, filling enough, and actually quite nice!
We arrived at the hotel. Before lunch—well, you know the drill: passports, room keys, and then we could finally eat. By now, I was really getting into Chinese food, and my chopstick funk was over. I was back in form! I managed to grab a couple of photos of the table we were eating at to show you, Dear Reader. The central turning platter took up most of the space and, by the end of the meal, was piled high with dishes that were certainly on the interesting side. In French, we say “tout est bon dans le cochon,” as a means of justifying eating the whole animal. In China, there is no mistaking what you’re eating. The whole beast goes into or onto the serving plate. Even the chicken’s head and feet. It was on this day that I ate tortoise for the first time. It was delicious! I think I had to get over any Western superiority complex I may have had and just eat what was in front of me. It would save trauma later on, and my belly would be full. Oh, sweet ignorant bliss!
Inbetween lunch and getting ready to go to the theatre, I decided to relax by having a go at some street photography to get the “vibe” of the city. The main “vibe” was the amount of electric scooters everywhere, and the fact that they drive on pavements. The French might have called it “un joyeux bordel” but somehow, don’t ask me how, it all seemed to work flawlessly. You had couples on scooters, mother and small children on scooters, gentlemen on scooters. Everybody in that place was on an electric scooter, or so it seemed. The only downfall of such a system especially with me being hard of hearing, was that I could only hear them when they honked their horns at me. Usually I hate this, but they were all honking! The sun was out. I was out, and the whole process gave me a mental clense that was greatly appreciated!
If you know China at all you will know that they have a reputation for pollution. Oooooh. Pollution bad! Pollution very nasty. Not good. However, it does give a wonderful diffused light for photography, and one of the way theys fight pollution is not only by a huge amount of electric scooters and electric cars, but also by spraying water vapour in the streets hoping to capture some of those not very nice particles. You can see this in a couple of my street photos above It is said that all their electricity comes from coal powered power stations, but I saw plenty of solar panels as well as wind turbines. I think they’re really trying, and should be encouraged.
Back to the hotel, getting washed, and changed, and dressed to go to the theatre for the rehearsal and concert. But that will be for another day…
Good morning, Dear Reader. Now, I know from the photos below you will find it hard to believe that it was actually Christmas Day! I didn’t believe it either. But it was! We were about to get to know the routine of our tour. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty: Get up, skip breakfast, get on the bus, stop off at a service station along the way, buy snacks and water, get to the next city, get to the hotel, drop off luggage, go to a restaurant for lunch, hand over our passports, get the keys to our room, inspect our rooms, get a quick shower, get into concert attire, get to the venue, rehearse, and get used to the acoustics of the venue. Then, get back to the hotel, eat, go to bed, and repeat. This was to be my life for the next two weeks. Oh, and get some photographs to show you, my Dear Reader.
We had been warned that the seats on the bus had been decided and there would definitely be no changes. Final. End of story. Out of the question! Don’t even think about it! So, of course, my roommate Corentin decided to raise a massive hoo-ha about the whole situation and at our December concerts, started dropping slightly unsubtle hints, which were to continue in the SBL China WhatsApp group.
Christmas Day came around, and on our bus was Corentin. The little bugger had succeeded and worn down Madame le Président. So not only was he to be my roommate for the tour, but also my bus mate. He was happy! As was I. He’s an amiable boy and also good company. He looked after Uncle Ian very well during the tour. His enthusiasm, albeit sometimes tiring, was infectious.
As the Boy Scout I once was many, many moons ago, I had learned the importance of “being prepared.” For our first service station stop, I knew they don’t use cards as we do. Apple Pay etc., are not used either. But it wasn’t a problem as I had Alipay. I knew there was something about scanning a code or being scanned, and that payments could be done this way. I was ready. I had done everything correctly. But, as in most military campaigns, no plan survives first contact. The bloody thing wasn’t working. I had had my daily happy pills, so I didn’t feel the need to panic, even though my heart was racing. I created another account, and it worked from there on in. I was still furious, though. Those snacks looked amazing. Although the chicken feet might have been a bit of a challenge—not your first idea of a tasty snack… Ah well. The youngsters at the back took pity on Uncle Ian and let him taste some of their snacks. Certainly different, slightly more spicy, and not like what you might find in a French service station, with their legendary overpriced sandwiches…
We eventually arrived at Yongzhou, and we were shepherded into our hotel. We dropped off our bags and crossed the road to the restaurant. On the way over, one of our bassoon players had a funny turn and ended up visiting a Chinese hospital ER. Not what we were hoping for, but we saw him later that day, and everything was a lot better, though he was still being watched over. We were all very worried about him, but all we could do was pray, hope, and not worry. He was in good hands.
The restaurant was in a shopping centre. Lunch? When I say lunch, I mean banquet. We were seated at enormous round tables, though I thought that taking on the role of Arthur might be overdoing it a tad. In the middle of this huge round table was a circular glass tray, where, as if by magic, dishes laden with Chinese food would appear. The drink served with the meal was jasmine tea, which was very nice too and felt so very refined. Then somebody said the magic word: Beer! Surprisingly, smiles appeared on our faces too! I’ll tell you a little more about that later on…
The food, of course, was amazing, and I started feeling that I could get used to this—and of course, I did… At the end of the meal, the Corentin love machine went into action, and he was covered with Chinese ladies of all ages vying to get a selfie with him. It was then that I dubbed him Sir Fanny Magnet! He was very happy with his new name and fame. So that’s what it’s like taking one for the team! Bless his cotton socks.
Then it was my turn. Walking to the restaurant, I had noticed a shop selling goat’s milk products, and the ladies inside seemed overjoyed to see us passing by. They were even more buoyed up when we passed by them again! They asked me if they could take a photo of me with a small bottle in hand. I, of course, acquiesced as one must, and I have the feeling that my Chinese modelling career was just about to take off. It was also most amusing, and certainly flattering. I felt amazing. The Corentin for the more mature and discerning Chinese lady… The others laughed as they passed by, taking photos and giggling. But why on earth not? You have to get into the swing of things!
The lady responsible for my bourgoning China top modelling career…
Back at the hotel, I got showered and changed into my concert suit and looked rather dashing, if I don’t say so myself. After the success of my photoshoot post-lunch, I was still on a high! Off we went to the concert venue for the evening’s performance. It was all very impressive, as was the welcome by the theatre staff. The actual stage was huge, and for the afternoon rehearsal, everything was ready for us. We just had to walk on stage and play. I could definitely get used to this. I even managed to get a few photos, including a short series of the boss playing Gabriel’s Oboe from the soundtrack of the film “Mission.” Not the impossible one, I hasten to add.
It was during this rehearsal that I got to know our soloist, Jennifer Councier, a little more. That girl’s voice is amazing and fills up the whole amphitheatre. She’s an absolutely wonderful singer.
The concert went very well, and the audience was on grand form. When Jennifer sang the Chinese song, we had only played the first two bars when the audience joined in. Can you get any better than spontaneous audience participation? Probably not. Apparently, the Chinese love a Viennese waltz by Strauss. They were also tickled pink when Corentin and Catherine, one of the first violins, and another couple of dancers went into the audience to waltz around. That poor boy got far too much attention. But he seemed to love every minute of it, judging by the grin on his face when he came back to join us on stage. The audience lapped up each piece of music, and their reception of our music was something I’m not going to forget for a long while. After our “Christmas” concert, we got back on the bus to go back to the hotel and eat. I know, more delicious food.
We were to eat at a different restaurant that evening. The food was amazing, and the place had a feeling of being a place for the locals too. Not just that, but they had beer too. Alipay had decided to work. Uncle Ian was about to have a “sesh.” Our colleagues drifted back to the hotel for a well-earned sleep. Uncle Ian was having a grand time of it. Uncle Ian was very happy about Alipay working, and the bonhomie was infectious, so much so that a table of Chinese lads offered me a beer and wished me a Happy Christmas. It certainly was turning out to be a very Happy Christmas. Now, these lads had a box of beer by their table and quite a few bottles on their table. They were having a great night. After our French colleagues left us, we invited them over to share some merriment. I wouldn’t describe myself as a drinker, but I will say that I have a knack for downing a beer at a rapid rate of knots. By the end of the night, our new friends for life, and of course, bosom buddies, were starting to feel a little wobbly on their legs. Corentin made me promise that I would just have one last beer. So one last beer it would be. He seemed a little terrified of the way the soirée was heading. He’s such a lovely boy for worrying about Uncle Ian… He managed to drag me away from our new friends and got me back to the hotel. Was he saving me from our new friends for life, or was he saving them from me. Only time will tell. I think the key phrase to the evening was “as happy as a pig in shit.”
Our new friends for life. Thank you Corentin for allowing me to use these images! The poor buggers didn’t know what hit them…
Beer, you see, has a special kind of magic to it. There’s something about it, something fundamental, that bridges gaps and makes two men from opposite corners of the world feel like old friends. Wine might carry elegance, and liquor can be quicker, but beer? Beer is no-nonsense. It’s a drink that demands little more than appreciation for its simplicity.
There’s a quiet dignity in a cold bottle, clinking against a glass, that says, “We’re here, we’re sharing this moment.” In a way, it carries a sense of noblesse, a kind of unwritten rule of hospitality: come, sit, have a drink, and let’s talk without pretense. There’s no rush, no grandiosity—just two people connecting. In the unlikeliest of places, beer brings people together, like a bridge that spans cultures and backgrounds.
I don’t mean to sound too lofty about it, but there’s something wonderfully egalitarian about beer. No matter where you’re from—be it France, or far-flung places like China—a beer is always the same. And, like some sort of unspoken contract, it helps dissolve differences.
Of course, there are jokes about beer that always float to the surface in these moments. Take, for instance, the old Irish joke about the “Irish queer”—and by this, I mean someone who prefers women to beer! It’s a bit cheeky, a bit irreverent, but in those rare moments when the last sip of beer is shared, it feels just right. Nothing can quite compare to the camaraderie that forms over a few cold ones, whether you’re bonding with a colleague or making a new friend halfway around the world. It’s this pure, unspoken connection that beer uniquely brings, and in that, it’s a drink that transcends.
And on these very wise words, I will leave you until the next installment…
This marks the beginning of a journey I’m eager to share—a series about my recent orchestral tour to China with the Symphonique des Bords de Loire (or SBL for those special people who know). Before leaving, China was a distant, almost abstract concept to me: a country whose language I couldn’t speak, whose script I couldn’t read, and whose cuisine I knew little about—aside from my clumsy attempts at wielding chopsticks.
Fast forward to today, and although I’ve only just returned—less than 48 hours ago—China feels much less foreign. I’ve wandered its streets, performed in its theatres, and shared meals with people who reminded me just how much we all have in common, no matter where we’re from.
Through this series, I’ll invite you into the world of an orchestra on tour, from long-haul flights and pre-concert rehearsals to quiet, reflective moments exploring unfamiliar cities. Expect stories of camaraderie, cultural discovery, and the universal language of music. And, of course, I’ll share the photographs—nearly 500—capturing the essence of the places we visited and the people we met.
Our first stop is the journey itself, from Nantes to Changsha, where it all began. Along the way, I’ll recount how we celebrated Christmas and New Year far from home, the magic of our performances, and the unexpected connections made along the way.
Are you sitting comfortably? Then we shall begin…
Like most people, I had a certain reticence about the unknown. I was basically terrified! But, as one must, I thought the best place to begin was the beginning. I knew it would be a long trip, but this was possibly the longest for me. We had our itinerary and knew where we were going. We had all installed the app Alipay on our phones to pay for things. There’s also a translator on the app, so we should be fine.
My wife and daughter dropped me, my suitcase, and my instrument off at the rendezvous point in Nantes at 1:30 am, giving us enough time for the 2:00 am departure by coach to get us all to CDG Roissy airport. We stopped off in Angers to pick up the last of the orchestra members and headed off to the airport.
We were split into two groups: us and them. We would be flying with Air China later that day, and the other group would fly almost immediately with Xiamen Airlines. There weren’t enough seats on the plane for us to travel together. As a result, we had the pleasure of spending all day in our terminal at CDG. This felt like the longest part of the whole trip.
We split up again—one group to Starbucks, the other to the bakery Paul. We felt a little more exclusive in our little group, made up of a horn player (yours truly), two violinists, Eléonore and Marie, and Nicolas, a percussionist.
What does one do for eight hours while waiting for a flight? Well, you go to the loo, eat, chat, become bosom buddies with your fellow travellers. You talk about your jobs, share photos, realise the adapter you bought won’t work in China, so you buy another one, have lunch, share jokes, and then realise too late that the small children around you can actually understand those jokes, so you dial it down a bit. You wander around, one person looking after the luggage, making sure it doesn’t get blown up by security. Excitement, excitement, excitement!!
Tired of remaining exclusive, we joined the hoi polloi of the Starbucks group and headed to security together. Passport control, however, was a different matter altogether. You may have guessed that I am not French, so I had the privilege of going through a different line to be let out of the country. I was scanned, as was my passport, and then made my way through to the other side. We had to go through security again.
My hand luggage was my instrument, and I felt very pleased with myself and my choice of clothing. It’s amazing how much “stuff” you can stuff into the pockets of a sports jacket and still look relatively good. You take off the jacket and pop it into the bins along with the horn, camera, phone, wallet, etc. It all felt like being in a queue at Disneyland…
I had nothing else planned, so I took it all in my stride. Going through Duty-Free was an interesting experience. Gone are the days of cheap booze and perfume. Now it’s all about luxury brands, and definitely not cheap. I’d have to wait until I got home to restock my perfume.
The departure lounge had a public piano, and of course, the colleagues had to let rip. And let rip they did. A productive way to get through the tediousness of waiting. I was reminded of the British Army philosophy of “hurry up and wait.” Take it in your stride, lad, take it in your stride.
The first flight was Air China from CDG to Beijing. When they talk about long haul, they forget to tell you how long long haul really is. We weren’t in business or first class but in economy, where long haul takes on a completely different dimension. The flight, though long, was very pleasant, and between meals (served with forks), it went smoothly. As part of my research for this trip, TripAdvisor had become a reference, and my experience was obviously much better than that of certain reviewers. The food was great, although it was the first time I had rice and fish for breakfast in a long while. I sat next to Fran, one of the English members of the orchestra, and we chatted about everything and nothing. It helped pass the time and allowed us to get to know each other in ways you can’t when just playing concerts and rehearsing in France.
We arrived in Beijing, descended, and started looking for the loo—the first of many visits to the loo during this trip. I had heard about Chinese loos being a little different from those back home, but in the airport at least, everything was fine.
We went through the airport to the domestic transfers, filled in the form with the information we had provided on our Visa application form, and went through immigration. Now, we were all on a level playing field, much to my satisfaction! We made it to the other side and headed to our gate, where we would board flight number two to our final destination for the day: Changsha. Changsha is one of those places that will amaze you with the colour of its lights around the buildings—one of the many cities that do this. It was resolutely modern and vibrant. To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect before arriving, so I just decided to take it all in.
At the hotel, we were greeted by colleagues who had arrived earlier. My roommate was still out in town, but thanks to WhatsApp, he was told we had arrived and it would be nice of him to come back to the hotel and let me into our room with our shared key. He returned with a huge smile on his face—not only happy to see me but excited to tell me about the girl who had stopped him in the street to take a selfie with him. This would be the first of many such occasions for my friend Correntin to satisfy his ever-growing fan club. Poor lad! Not easy being girl-bait every day! He would get used to it.
The man in action. What more can I say!!! Tank you Corentin for letting me use your photo…
The room was posh, and I thought, “I could get used to living like this.” And indeed, I did. Those pillows were huge, soft, and when your head landed on them, you just seemed to float off into another world. Eventually, I had to leave my pillow and get ready for the evening Christmas meal and Secret Santa exchange.
Now, I had presents for Eléonore, Mathilde, and Titaua—whom I met while dabbling a little more in music in Cholet, and who convinced me to join this orchestra. I’m very glad they did because here I was, offering them their Christmas presents in China! Secret Santa is where you’re assigned someone in the orchestra to buy a small gift for. My person had messaged me to ask for an orange, but I couldn’t just give them an orange. I made the effort to find a Terry’s Chocolate Orange for him. My Secret Santa, Barbara, presented me with a mini-tote bag from the Paris Olympics. It’s just the right size for the car! The meal was somewhat less French than the Olympics, but it was the first of many discoveries in this new country. Well, one must show willing…
As we reach the end of A Photography Philosophy Series, I hope this journey has been as rewarding for you as it has been for me. Through these articles, we’ve explored the philosophy behind why we photograph—going beyond equipment and technique to dig into the heart of what makes photography so meaningful. Each theme in the series has shed light on a unique layer of photography, from capturing emotions to telling stories, reflecting identity, building connections, and even embracing impermanence.
We began with Why Do We Photograph?—a question that sits at the root of every image we capture. For some, photography is about preserving memories; for others, it’s about self-expression, documenting moments, or sharing perspectives. Over time, our reasons for photographing often shift and evolve, bringing more layers to our work as we grow. This first article set the tone for the series by reminding us that photography is a deeply personal journey, and our motivations shape each image we create.
Then we delved into The Emotions of Photography, exploring how images can carry feelings, from joy and nostalgia to solitude and contemplation. Photography allows us to express emotions that words often fail to capture, communicating through light, composition, and mood. Each photograph holds the potential to resonate with viewers in a way that feels both personal and universal, offering a window into the photographer’s emotional landscape.
The Art of Storytelling in Photography came next, where we looked at how images can create narratives—small windows into people, places, or moments that form part of a larger story. Photography has a remarkable way of capturing both detail and the bigger picture, allowing us to document stories that speak to shared experiences or unique perspectives. In a world full of words, photographs can often tell a story with a quiet eloquence.
In Identity and Self-Expression, we explored how photography offers a chance to express who we are and what we see. Our images inevitably reflect parts of ourselves—our backgrounds, our worldview, and our personal journey. For many, photography is as much a journey of self-discovery as it is a creative practice, helping us find our own voice and share it with others. Photography encourages us to see ourselves more clearly and to reveal something of that to the world.
Then came Connection Through Photography, a theme close to my heart. Photography, as we’ve seen, can forge connections—between photographer and subject, among fellow photographers, or with viewers who see something of themselves in the image. These connections remind us that we’re not alone in this world; they foster a sense of community, shared understanding, and empathy that goes beyond language. Photography has a unique power to unite us, even if only for a moment.
Lastly, we explored The Philosophy of Impermanence, where we reflected on the fleeting nature of each photograph. Every image captures a moment that can never be repeated, lending photography its unique poignancy. Impermanence reminds us to treasure the moment and see beauty in the transient. Photography, like life itself, is filled with unexpected moments, and it’s often the imperfections or mistakes that give images their authenticity and depth.
As we close, I invite you to reflect on your own photographic journey. What drives you to take photographs? Which themes resonate most with you—capturing emotions, telling stories, connecting with others, or perhaps embracing impermanence? These reflections aren’t just theoretical ideas; they form the personal philosophy that shapes how each of us approaches photography.
Ultimately, photography is about connecting with the world and each other through shared moments and meanings. If this series has encouraged you to think more deeply about your motivations, experiences, and the meaning behind your work, then I hope you’ll carry those reflections forward. Photography gives us a way to see, to understand, and to share in ways that words alone can’t.
Thank you for joining me on this exploration. I’d love to hear about your own experiences—what drives you, what connects you, and how photography shapes your view of the world. Let’s keep the conversation going and continue building a community of thoughtful photographers, one image at a time.
IJM Photography 