Tag: Travel photography

The Collection

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Travel photographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

I didn’t set out to sell prints.

Not really.

For years, I’ve shared images here — not because they were “good,” or “marketable,” or even finished — but because they stayed. They lingered after the shutter closed. They returned to me in dreams, in quiet hours, in the slant of afternoon sun months later.

Some moments refuse to be forgotten.

So now, carefully, tenderly, I’m offering six of them — made physical. Not mass-produced. Not disposable. Just… present. As they were meant to be.

Each print is produced through WhiteWall on museum-grade archival paper, using pigment inks rated for over 100 years. Made to order. Shipped with care — because if you’re making space for one of these in your home, I want it to feel like a conversation, not a transaction.

There’s no rush. No countdown. No pressure.

Just paper, ink, and a moment that mattered.

1.
Title: Path to the Pavilion
Location: Hangzhou, China — 2024
Caption:

A path curves toward still water — where ancient pavilions meet modern hills. The past doesn’t fade here; it leans in, softly.

2.
Title: Reflections on the Canal
Location: Shaoxing, China — 2024
Caption:

Old eaves and new towers share the same mirror — history and progress, neither dominant, both held in water’s quiet gaze.

3.

Title: Skyline of Absence
Location: Noirmoutier (viewed from mainland), France — 2022
Caption:

The sky writes its own language — contrails like scars, posts like ghosts, water holding silence. The island waits beyond the frame.

4.
Title: Coastal Sky, Vendée
Location: Near Fromentine, Vendée, France — 2021
Caption:

A long exposure blurs time into cloud — the sky moves, the sea holds still. This is not a storm. It’s the coast breathing.4. Coastal Sky, Vendée — Near Fromentine, 2021

5.
Title: Vespa & Whiskey
Location: Nantes, Quartier Bouffay, France — 2023
Caption:

A Vespa parked with purpose — a crate of Irish whiskey lashed to its back. Not delivery. Not advertisement. Just life, paused, in a cobblestone alley.

6.
Title: Steam and Sizzle, Shenzhen Night
Location: Shenzhen, China — 2024
Caption:

Smoke rises over skewers, prices flash in neon — food everywhere, people nowhere. This isn’t chaos. It’s rhythm. And hunger.

And then — because I believe in the power of the overlooked — there’s a seventh.

🎁 BONUS PRINT — Available for a Limited Time
7.
Title: The Smallest Museum
Location: Alnmouth, Northumberland, UK — 2023
Caption:

No grand entrance. No ticket booth. Just a wooden shed under open sky — holding stories too small to shout, too true to ignore.

It’s available for a limited time — for those who appreciate the quiet corners of the world.

I don’t make photographs to sell.
I sell them because some moments refuse to be forgotten.

If one of these finds its way to your wall, I hope it does more than hang there.
I hope it reminds you that some things are worth keeping — exactly as they were.

—

Take your time. These prints aren’t going anywhere.

— Ian
ijmphotography.net

NORTHUMBRIAN SUMMER PART IV

Posted on Posted in Architecture, Art, Black and White Photography, Family Life, History, Reportage, Scotland, Street Photography, The UK Chronicles, Travel photography, United KingdomTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Edinburgh, Scotland 2025

We’re still in Edinburgh. We’re walking down the Royal Mile. It’s festival season. There are plenty of shows to watch, and the one we saw first was by Max Von Trapp. Not to be confused with the Sound of Music Von Trapps, but a comic magician. One of my favourite kinds. The jokes and tricks rolled fast, as did my laughter.. Kate laughs at all the jokes, even the more adult-focused ones, just like Killian did when we visited the festival when he was that age.

Saint Giles was our next stop. As you know, I’m Catholic, not Protestant. As we wandered through the national Cathedral of Scotland, I was struck not only by the beautiful organ music, but by the lack of the familiar Stations of the Cross, the statues. The centre of attention was not the Lord and the sacrifice of the Mass, but the preacher’s pulpit. I felt this lack and prayed my daily Rosary, head bowed in prayer.

I joined Kate outside, slightly perturbed by the experience.

Lunch was a kebab. Simple and delicious. Kate loved it.

It was time to move on to see Greyfriars Bobby, a wee brown dog, famous for his loyalty. The legend is such that the people of Edinburgh raised a statue to honour him, and people rub his nose either for luck or as a sign of affection. I went into the Greyfriars Pub for some Guinness, reflecting on my own dog Molly, now 16, who greets me every morning as if I’m her favourite person and gets all excited when I get home from work. I can see why wee Bobby was a legendary dog, and why he inspired so many people.

We wandered through the graveyard looking at the tombs of the citizens of Edinburgh from the past. And we found a certain Thomas Riddell who JK Rowling used in her books. Kate acquiesced and allowed me to take her photo in front of it.

We ventured towards the Covenanters’ section of the graveyard, supposedly the most haunted section. I felt nothing and saw nothing, but Kate started to have a headache. We paid our respects and decided to find Bobby’s grave at the entrance. Kate noticed the sticks put on his grave, as you might leave a favourite dog toy. She just had to go and find him a suitable stick. Bless that dog. Teaching us a valuable lesson in pure love years after his death.

We ventured back out onto the streets of Edinburgh, leaving the relative tranquility of the graveyard behind us. This was about to be the reason she wanted to come to Edinburgh in the first place: a cocktail bar. But not any ordinary cocktail bar. The Geek Bar, decorated every four months into a new theme. The theme she wanted was from a video game that she plays with Killian. Oh no—they’d changed everything… It was now all about Stranger Things on Netflix—something I had heard by name but knew nothing else about.

Liquor? Maybe quicker, but it’s not something I’m a great fan of. The lady took our order and explained the concept. I felt as if I was in Starbucks for the first time. She asked which flavours I liked, and with her expert help, I made up my mind. The drink was obviously dangerous—too smooth, too sweet—and I couldn’t feel the alcohol. Neither could Kate, who was only allowed a mocktail. I have to be a responsible parent after all. The second round was just as deadly, and I was beginning to feel very happy. I wonder why…

So maybe, at the end of all this, the real magic isn’t in the tricks or the drinks or even the famous city. It’s just—being there. Following your children into their weird, wonderful universes, and watching them set the place on fire with laughter.
And really, what’s better than that?

The Pyrenees Mountains – and the Pont d’Espagne which isn’t in Spain

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Catholic, Family Life, France, Landscape Photography, Reportage, Travel photographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

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.

Saint Cado

Posted on Posted in Bretagne, Landscape Photography, Music, ReportageTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 6 Comments

The concert was for the municipality of Lorient and was more I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine. Sometimes as musicians we have to kowtow to certain political matters to keep the municipality sweet. They said it would be cramped, but it was, at worst, cosy, so no complaints there.

After the concert, I had organised my car so I could sleep in it. I parked up in front of my mother-in-law’s house to spend the night and get some photography in during the early hours of the morning — and because my mother-in-law can be intense, and I don’t like bothering people. It’s not that I don’t like staying overnight in people’s houses, but at one stage on exercise with the RCT (Royal Corps of Transport) back in the late 1980s, I learnt that I could sleep anywhere and that it was nothing to worry about. I didn’t have my sleeping bag from those days, which would let me sleep comfortably in minus temperatures, but I did have a couple of Scottish tartan blankets that would keep me nice and warm.

It wasn’t long before I got off to sleep. I actually slept quite well, considering, and bought myself breakfast at the local boulangerie. No snoring to contend with and no risk of being shouted at because the dog was awake and needed to go outside to poop. Yes, a very satisfying night.

After my wonderful bakery breakfast, I headed to St Cado, which really is a cadeau — a gift — for the eyes. You’ll see what I mean when you see the pictures.

I relish solitude, not just because I’m an introvert, but because I like calm and quiet. And the idea of being up at the crack of dawn is wonderful, especially when I don’t have to get out of my bed and stop hugging my wife. I was on my own and loving every minute of it.

I arrived at St Cado and used the public conveniences, as it is not the done thing to poop in front of everyone. I’m not a dog, after all. St Cado was there waiting for me to get some photos in some beautiful light. I’ve started bracketing lately to get as much as I can out of each image. Bracketing, for those who think I am speaking in Chinese, consists of taking the same photo three times — once with normal metering for light, once underexposed, and once overexposed. Back in the day, you would set up your tripod and take each photo one at a time, but now I press the button and it does it automatically. On film you would lose film doing this, but on digital, with an empty SD card — why not?

As the morning light continued to change and the village slowly came to life, I packed up my gear feeling quietly content. These simple moments — waking early, capturing the beauty of a place like St Cado, and enjoying solitude — remind me why I keep a camera close. It’s not just about the photos, but about being present and finding peace in the everyday. Saint Cado truly was a gift to the senses, and I’m grateful for the chance to savour it in my own way.

Where I’ve Been: Life, Photos & Bursting Tyres

Posted on Posted in Black and White PhotographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 8 Comments

Good morning, dear reader.

Hello lovely people. I know it’s been a couple of weeks since I shared any photography—nothing for your perusal, your viewing pleasure, your delectation—but fear not: I’m still alive and almost kicking.

Life has been happening, as it tends to do. But I have been busy behind the lens, and I’ve got photos from left, right, and even centre. Lourdes. The mountains. The wild coast of Brittany. There was even a family photoshoot for my mother-in-law and two of her daughters. All with stories attached, of course. I just need the time to edit the images and write them up properly for you.

Recent Life & Travel Updates

So what’s new in my world?

Well, my son has moved into his own place with a mate—which is both a proud and surreal moment for a parent. As for me, I managed to burst two tyres on my car by accidentally driving up onto a particularly cruel bit of pavement. I was properly disgusted with myself.

Thankfully, the garage reassured me that I wasn’t a rubbish driver—that stretch of pavement had claimed more than a few victims. Apparently, I’m just one in a long line.

I’m now looking into getting a different car for my upcoming summer trip to the UK. That, and I’ve been eyeing drones—yes, partially because a mate has one, but also because the cinematic potential is just too good to ignore.

Dipping Into Video & Drone Photography

Lately, I’ve been making short training films for work, which has nudged me into exploring video for myself. It’s been a learning curve, but I’m enjoying it. Drone footage, in particular, would give my personal video projects that sweeping, cinematic feel everyone seems to be chasing right now.

It’s exciting to try new creative tools—it stretches the eye and challenges how I think about framing, movement, and story.

Favourite Photography Gear Right Now

If you’re curious about the gear I’ve been reaching for lately, here’s what’s been in my rotation:

  • Fuji X100F with the 23mm f/2.0 (35mm equivalent) – perfect for mindful black and white street work.
  • Canon 6D Mark II with the 16–35mm f/4.0 – excellent for dramatic landscapes and travel shots.
  • Fuji XT-2 with the 18–55mm f/2.8–4.0 – a solid choice for work-related video filming.

And yes—I’m still working in both black and white and colour. I love both approaches, but when I shoot black and white, I try to do so deliberately, not just as an afterthought in post. The choice of tone affects everything—the light I look for, the lens I pick, even the timing of the shutter.

What’s Next: Photo Editing, Writing & More

Music is winding down for the season after some fantastic concerts. Meanwhile, the world rolls on—there’s a new Pope I quite like, and it seems Donald and Elon are in a bit of a spat again (but let’s not get into that).

As for me, I’m getting back to editing, writing, and creating. Thank you for bearing with the silence—new photos, stories, and perhaps even videos will be coming soon.

Until then, keep well, stay curious, and maybe avoid the pavements.

— Ian

China: The Final Frame – Reflections on a Journey

Posted on Posted in China, orchestra tour, ReportageTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 13 Comments

The tour is over. The bags are unpacked, and things are settling back into their usual rhythm at home. But even though I’m back, part of me is still in China—still thinking about the streets of Shao Xing, the energy of Shenzhen, or the moments shared with the orchestra. The journey may have ended, but it hasn’t really left me.

Reflecting on the Journey

From the moment I landed in Changsha to the final farewell in Shanghai, this trip was a series of moments—some I expected, and some I didn’t. The hustle and bustle in Shenzhen, the streets of Shao Xing, the quiet hills of Xian Ju, and the meals shared with colleagues between concerts. It wasn’t just about the places. It was about the little things—a gesture of hospitality, that mutual respect between musicians, or just watching the world go by.

This trip wasn’t just about playing concerts, it was about learning and adjusting. It was about connecting with people, understanding their way of life, and how we relate to one another in those brief encounters.

The Photographer Without Film

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t travel with my usual film cameras. The Fujifilm X100F was the only camera I had with me, and while I had mixed feelings about it at first, it became a good fit. There was no hesitating over which shot was worth the price of a roll of film. It was just me, the camera, and the present moment.

Not every moment needed to be captured. I found myself slowing down and soaking things in—sometimes shooting quickly, sometimes just letting the moment pass. It wasn’t about having everything on film; it was about experiencing it fully, even without the lens in front of me.

Respect and Connection

One of the most memorable things about this trip wasn’t the landscapes or the buildings—it was the people. Everywhere I went, I felt a deep respect and sense of community. It wasn’t about being given titles like “Uncle” or anything else. It was just how people engaged, how they saw me as part of something.

The concerts themselves were a reminder of this—the public wasn’t there for rehearsals, but they were there for the concerts, offering energy and appreciation. Music, like photography, is about presence. It’s about sharing a moment with others, and that’s something I’ll never forget.

Coming Home

Returning home after a trip like this always feels a little strange. The familiar feels slightly unfamiliar at first—the quieter streets, the slower pace. But there’s comfort in returning, and yet, it’s hard not to feel that shift in perspective. Things seem different now.

The Final Frame

So, what remains from all of this? The photographs, of course. They’ll hold the moments, the details, the things I might forget over time. But beyond that, it’s not just about the photos. It’s the way travel shifts your perspective and makes you notice the small moments—the ones that don’t always get captured in a frame.

This series was meant to document a tour, but it ended up being more than that. It’s a reflection on the journey itself, on photography, on what it means to truly be somewhere, to connect with others. The tour might be over, but this story isn’t done yet. And whenever the next journey comes, I’ll be ready to pack my bags again.

I have been posting these articles in the WhatsApp group made for the people on the tour, and people’s feedback has been amazing. What came out the most was the feeling of revisiting the tour through the photographs and how that made people feel. And if you make somebody feel something with an image, then you’re off to a good start. The other comment was, “Oh, I didn’t see that!” And that is part of our role as photographers, to record what people don’t see… My reputation as a photographer seems to have surpassed my reputation as a beer drinker, which is good, because I hardly drink a drop anymore. My reputation as a writer seems to be well established too.

So not only am I seen as a hornplayer but also as a photographer, a writer, and a sensitive soul instead of the gruff bear that sits at the back of the orchestra and makes farting sounds with his instrument. Quite the step up really!