Death of a Duck

Death of a Duck

Even to this day, I still feel 'Death of a Duck' may just be the saddest photograph I have ever taken. It was shot a month into my first term at Plymouth College of Art, while out on one of our regular out of class, exploring Plymouth with a camera kind of sessions. Through much of the first year, there seemed to be far more emphasis placed on freedom to express oneself via imagery rather than the importance of subject matter and context (which did indeed come later), helping me as new student to find a true sense of exploring this medium without ever overcomplicating my practice.

As with many of our weekly activities back then, we were given a starting point to build from - colour, rule of thirds, etc - for this particularly session it was all about depth of field. Generally, as long as we kept to the basic structure of what was determined of us, the end result could be as open and varied as one could make it.

After a lovely Autumn morning of messing around and attempting to understand various aperture settings, I came across this rather emotional scene upon the rocky seaweed shores of the Barbican. Within seconds I was transfixed, lying on the ground without a care for my jeans, capturing the moment. There was nothing staged or constructed about the above either; the rubber duck tilted on its side was photographed exactly as I found it. I also  left it as it was for anyone else to discover before it would inevitably wash out to sea.

For some time I continued to wonder about this plastic duck and its final resting state and what possible (artificial) life may have led before this moment, and from that moment forward, I slowly began to notice that there was a potential story in almost everything around me, and that these instruments I used to capture could be perceived as a method of storytelling. I do miss the inquisitive nature one has as they begin a journey so special. Back then it didn't seem to matter what I was taking, it just mattered that I was taking something; when I got it just right, when all the elements finally came together, there was an undeniable sense of achievement, cementing further reason as to why I had chosen this career path.

The decision this week to re-edit 'Death of a Duck' in Lightroom has certainly been very rewarding and I firmly believe the outcome of this image is far better than it was before. As a first year student all those years ago, I was often quite heavy handed with my edits, pushing various levels a little too much this way and that, for no reason I can think other than perhaps because I could. With a great deal of practise and tuition from a wonderful and supportive group of lecturers, those four years spent studying certainly helped me develop a sensible level of control. 

Just as I find it important to continue to develop new material (such as I am with my Emily Rose project, featured again recently in Fishing News as a two page spread), I think it is equally importantly to look back on what you have already taken. With fresh eyes, looking back on the past can often make for a better and more interesting future. 

Two page spread in issue no. 5300 - 10th March 2016 of Fishing News

They Live on in Light

During the first few weeks of January I spent a great many evenings and nights continually photographing my family slides. It was actually one of the more harder photographic exercises I had involved myself within, simply to due the nature of how I was capturing these slides.  It may sound funny (and perhaps even slightly weak), but holding a camera in one hand at eye height towards a light, with the other holding a slide for hours on end really does take its toll on you; aches and pains as if I had spent countless sessions lifting weights at the gym, as well as Space Invader blotches plaguing my vision from constantly looking at the lamp.  It wasn't easy, put it that way.

Despite these issues, the results were immensely rewarding to begin with, yet there was a part of me that did feel somewhat disappointed.  I always thought that the image of my father (below) taken during my final year at Plymouth College of Art was simply perfect - the lighting, the silhouette of my hand, the crispness of the slide - yet recreating this same atheistic seemed almost impossible a few years on. Perhaps I was trying too hard with this project to replicate the result in the same way; when results didn't quite work out, rather than attempt to understand the problem, I pushed these alternate versions quickly aside and continued repeating the same process, making little or no progress evening after evening.

My father, taken during my final degree project, 'i am Alive'

After a few days of zero progress, I was almost ready to pack this project in.  I became increasingly annoyed with the end result; what I had in my head compared to what was looking back at me from my Mac screen was vastly different.  I took an evening off to clear my thoughts, completely forget about what I was doing or why I was doing this and hope that the following day I would have a better understanding of the direction for this project.  Knowing what I know now, this did seem to work a treat.

The problem I began to note with replication was this was simply down to human error, as opposed to something technical. We can not and will never have the ability of replication that a computer so easily seems to produce, despite the fact that we initially created the machine to begin with; tiny imperfections quickly become giant sized hinderances and no matter how much you strived to recreate, it will never be seen in the same way as it truly began.

With this in mind, I soon realised where I was going wrong and how to direct the project in the right direction.  Looking at the series of images produced so far, much of the problem lay with the idea of far too much empty or unnecessary space. I had already noted this in a previous post, my assumption of cropping the final image in a 1x1 ratio, an improvement would immediately be found. Yet with dozens of images lying side by side, each housed in a black background with a silhouetted hand, the contents with the slide became lost and the full emphasis of this project quickly disappeared.

I called Luke Broadway at Plymouth College of Art the following morning and kindly asked if I could borrow a Macro lens for a limited time and he thankfully obliged.  Using this lens, I was able to completely remove myself from the image and focus solely on the contents of the slide. I didn't need my hand to represent the idea that I was holding onto a memory of someone lost, the Macro, along with how the slide was photographed in front of the lamp affected the picture turned the end result into a true memory within the mind. The produced photos took on a more dream-like state as subtle differences in light and shadow created a wonderful vignette around the subject matter.  What had slowly become a chore over the week, soon became a joyous exercise in bringing the past to an artistic present.

I continued to use the same Instagram styled presets in Instagram I had used during 'i am Alive', while tweaking the exposure and temperature, along with dark and light elements to achieve a look I was ultimately happy with. I decided to capture a few images direct from the camera and showcase the huge difference following various post processing alterations. 
   

The images below represent just a small selection of this final body of work. We often forget just how beautiful our family really is, that our parents and their parents actually did live their own wonderful lives before we came into this world. I still have much to find out and understand about the people in these pictures, where they were and why and what they were doing or feeling at the time. This project has been an immensely cathartic and very rewarding and these photographs go a long way in continuing to connect the dots as to why I am here and who I really am.

I rarely produce work that is on a personal level, yet the way I have conducted myself throughout this project has been very encouraging to see. At some point during the year I will add 'They Live on in Light' to my website, though for the moment this is more for family and friends to embrace in their own time. 

Admittedly this blog post did take a little longer to produce than I had hoped, though I do have a pretty good excuse.  Round two onboard the Brixham trawler Emily Rose happened last week and it has only been just a few days since I have returned back to dry (with exception of the current crazy winds and lashing rain) land.  My next post will be a wonderful insight into the lives and labours of three fishermen during January's cold winter fishing season 30 miles off the south west coast of England. And for the record, I did throw up. Considerably.

Found Photography

In May 2012, during the final term of my second year of the Foundation Degree at Plymouth College of Art, I began work on my very first personal project.  As anyone who knows anything about me, then you know I do not do these often, preferring to hide behind the camera than put myself out there for others to point at and dissect.  Yet what I had seemed to perfect not to pursue.  Neatly hidden away, having been unknown to me for so many years was a wonderful box of slides, featuring a series of negatives showcasing various family members; from my mum in her early years to when she first met my father, his time in the military, their first home together, the car they took on holiday, a little Jack Russell dog that passed away when I was only a baby, to many more incredible images of their beautiful lives together, along with dozens of photographs of other people I had no clue about.

While work continued on my final major project of the Foundation year, all students were given a choice of various topics to apply for that would essentially make up around eight weeks of this last term and labelled Complimentary Studies.  It was designed as a way of breaking up the general pattern and flow of your particular major and allow an individual to work on something entirely different for a limited time only; for instance, a fashion student may decide to take up an opportunity and study underwater photography for a few months.  Stubborn as I am, I preferred to continue my photographic journey of discovery and opted for Found Photography, considering I had only recently found this box of slides.  At the time it seemed like a very good idea, except much to my dismay after signing on to the module, I found out that Found Photography was more about defacing photographs and various imagery than actually finding photos; the purpose being to create interesting collages and unique ways in presenting an end result.  Well, you can imagine my reaction to the idea of cutting up these slides.  Not a blooming chance dear!

Thankfully the lecturer was quite accommodating to my concerns and I think she quickly realised that I had something special in front of me with this sentimental collection of family history and I was allowed to take my work along a different path; one less print-barbaric compared to the rest of the class, though I was still asked to present my final body of work in some kind of unique fashion.

Over the following weeks I quickly fell in love with my box of slides, yet I wondered how to go about creating and presenting a project out of my found photographs.  My early attempt seemed to follow a typical route in projecting the slides onto a wall and photographing the image thereafter.  Yet despite looking quite beautiful in large format, I didn't quite feel any sort of connection or closeness with the result.  Different textures and materials projected as a backdrop didn't seem to change my thoughts and feelings on the matter and whilst this module was more about fun and expressing oneself than something that would actually affect grades, I still wanted to do my level best and produce a project as fitting and important as the subject matter itself.  Late one evening, whilst holding up a slide to my bedroom ceiling light, I suddenly realised I had exactly what I wanted; my eyes had become the camera and the photo in front of me was picture perfect.

Moments later and I was holding a slide in one hand with my Nikon D60 in the other.  It was incredibly difficult at times achieving a crisp focus but after a few hours of work, I had nine images which quickly became the main body for this mini project.  I decided to represent each image with a caption as a way of narrative, though I admit looking back on this now, my choice of font was a little off.

At the time though, I truly loved what I had created and I felt this mini project was a huge success, not only in terms of the response I received from lecturers, but more so in how it made me feel inside.  There was a definite sense of cathartic pleasure resonating through my work; simply put, it was actually nice to hold my father close once again.  

Having lost such a prominent figure in my life at such a young age certainly didn't help the many years that soon followed, yet despite the negativity I contained for so long, as you get older, you realise time does heal and I try and imagine that there are positives in loss.  After all, I did get fifteen wonderful years with the greatest man I will ever know and it is him, along with the gift of photography that has shaped who I am today.  I suppose you could say this is all somewhat of a blessing, if not wrapped in the strangest of bitter disguise.

With my next venture out at sea being early January, December gave me an ideal chance to revisit this mini project.  During this festive season I have been laying the various groundwork and take the initial idea and develop this to a far great level, with additional years of photographic experience, along with superior equipment and a greater sense of purpose.  

In my next post, I will cover the changes made to the images above and how my final major study, 'i am Alive' shaped the eventual look of this new personal project of mine.  For now, I do hope you all have a lovely Christmas and a fantastic New Year and I will see you all very soon, with work from my new and revised project, 'They Live on in Light'.  

Poseidon by Graphique

I do find it strange how things tend to work out in the end.  Many times we can be faced with such a problem or dilemma that it almost seems futile and a complete an utter a waste of time and energy to continue forth; maybe it would be better just to take the fall and move onto the next trial and tribulation with a clearer mind.  Yet often, through some strange turn of events, things can and do work out for the better; the end result being something you could never have imagined at that one moment, particularly when those circumstances stop everything in their tracks.  If I ever need further proof or a gentle reminder that I'm on the right path with my photography and that there is a certain someone up there watching over me, I think this blog post goes a long way towards highlight this.

I was so excited when Norman at Kaya Gallery asked me if I wanted to exhibit at the National Marine Aquarium in Plymouth alongside a fantastic selection of Ocean City Artists this year, and it felt like such a great opportunity to test the water with my new project, particularly as 'Emily Rose' was still in the early stages of development.  The potential feedback that I hoped to receive could go a long way towards shaping the rest of my first major study post graduation.

Having taken onboard the many positives and negatives from the various exhibitions I have been involved with over this last year or so, I quickly decided to do away with the additional cost of framing and instead simply go with a series of prints pinned to a wall.  I didn't think any more about this till perhaps a month prior to the opening night, when during one of my bi-weekly chats with Norman I found out that I couldn't hang my work from the walls.  Panic set in immediately and that feeling of I can't wait to exhibit was quickly replaced with the notion that I couldn't and wouldn't be able to exhibit.  Before I made any kind of hasty decision though, I arranged to see Mark Du'chesne, the Front of House Operations manager at the National Marine Aquarium, in hope that we could find an accommodating workaround for both parties involved.

I met with Mark the following week and he took me around to view the exhibition space.  With much of the upper floor newly refurbished, I could understand why he didn't want anything hung from the walls with either nails and pins.  I suggested Command Strips, those used quite successfully during my Devonport Guildhall exhibition, though we agreed that the potential for paint being stripped during pack down was quite likely.  I wasn't sure what to do.  I honestly did think this was the end of a great opportunity to exhibit.  Yet before my head drop, I noticed along the middle of the walls and around the room was a lengthy PVC trunking wide enough to rest boards upon at a slight angle and we decided this would easily be the best route to take.  I had a good idea as to where to get a series of images produced to and from utter despair, there was definite relief replacing this emotion upon my face.  When I returned home, I called Graphique in St. Austell, the company that produced my final major project of my degree and crossed my fingers.

Within minutes of speaking to Robin Hubbard, everything was sorted and all I needed to do next was send across the images ready for print.  It seemed like only days later that everything was ready for pick up.  I couldn't wait to see the work Graphique had done.  Later in the evening I received an email asking if I could call them with regards to one of my prints.  My heart sank as my first thought was something had gone very wrong.  I had a habit during my degree of occasionally sending images to print, only to find I had supplied them with the wrong resolution or colour profile and my first thought was that I had done something similar here.  How wrong I was.

The following morning I spoke to Robin and he told me that the team was so impressed with Poseidon, my storm at sea image, that they wanted to produce a limited edition run of this print on high end aluminium.  My jaw literally hit the floor.  Not only did they want to take on the production duties of this print, it wasn't going to cost me a thing.  I could not believe the opportunity I had in front of me, particularly when weeks before I was almost about to pull out of the NMA exhibition.  Like I said, its funny how things work out.

In the past, I have had to take on all costs when it came to selling work and generally my profit margins were quite low.  Graphique were willing to take on everything from the materials and production time needed to create the piece, along with the marketing needs to display and sell this image.  In return I would receive a percentage of each sale, along with my very own framed prints; the icing on the cake was that I still retained full copyright over the image.

Poseidon by Graphique was produced on high end lacquered aluminium as a limited edition 60 image run and looked absolutely fantastic.  After getting home with my framed present, I took a snap on Instagram, yet looking at it compared to actually looking at it, this photo really doesn't do it any justice.  It is simply one of those striking images that you literally have to see in person; the way light catches the print as you side step slowly from left to right is simply exquisite, giving off an almost haunting and life-like 3D effect.  I have never been so utterly blown away by a piece of art and I can not believe that this is mine.  And not mine in the sense that I now own this print on the wall, I actually took this.  This is what I do.  The work done by Robin and the team at Graphique has shown that my photography continues to be a wonderfully fine mix of documentary and commerciality and gives me a good and positive indication that my Emily Rose series will be a huge success next year.

Poseidon by Graphique, on display in the living room

To accompany the print, I was asked to produce a write up that would be added to a plaque and presented with each copy.

Poseidon

by

Tony Fitzsimmons

Shot around 50 miles south south east off the coast of Land's End

and captured during an intense gale force 8 storm.

From the series, 'Emily Rose'

After five days at sea onboard the Brixham trawler, the 'Emily Rose', a message sounded across on the radio from the coast guard, warning of an incoming 5 to 7 gale force storm, projected to hit during the early hours of the following morning.  My initial thought was that my first week out at sea with the crew was coming to an end.  I turned to Arthur, the skipper of the vessel and asked if we were heading back to port.  He glanced back at me with an almost bemused look on his face.  "No, we're going fishing".

For the rest of the night I kept tabs on the radar as I watched various trawlers return back to the ports of Newlyn, Plymouth and Brixham, while we continued to remain out, riding the high waves against all odds.  Within hours the radar was completely devoid of any other vessel; the Emily Rose the only trawler still working the sea. 

By morning the gale was upgraded to an 8 and I was treated to some of the most powerful and incredible waves I had ever seen.

"The fisherman know that the sea is dangerous and the storm is terrible,

but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore"

Vincent Van Gogh

While my 'Emily Rose' project is still in its early stages, it really has had such a stunning beginning and there are still a few exciting developments still to mention since my NMA exhibition.  I honestly can not wait to get back out to sea in early January and capture more of the crew and vessel, along with the ever changing and powerful landscape that is the sea.  For now, if I ever need a gentle reminder as to how far I've come since graduation, I just need to walk into the living room and let Poseidon completely wash over me.   

Poseidon

Simply Cute

'Simply Cute' was taken during April 2010 as I continued to build a portfolio of work with the purpose of studying a photography degree at Plymouth College of Art.  Like many of my photographs back then, it was unfortunately shot in JPEG format, using a Nikon D60 and a 70-300mm Tamron lens.  While it can not be printed in the sizeable realms that 'Posiedon' is currently being produced though Graphique in St. Austell and Kaya Gallery in Plymouth, it has found a nice little place along side some of my other work in a different context altogether.

Simply Cute

Over the next month, I will be applying the finishing touches to my Etsy store with a variety of products, ready to go live for the start of the new year.  I've been in the planning stage for a while now and as a way of testing the water in what may or may not sell, I recently produced a series of products, one of which being a batch of fridge magnets for a local cafe. Within weeks, the majority had surprisingly sold and this image in particular quickly became one of the most popular.  They weren't short on quality either, using the same paper as I always do for my actual prints through Kaya Gallery, along with a good weighty plastic and strong magnetic strip from an online company I eventually settled with. With key rings and even Snow Globes planned (though I am hoping to find a company that also does Sand Globes to suit some of my Kenya images), the sky is the limit to the potential of my store. If only I knew this during my time at university.

At the moment I am toying around with the possibility of text across the top of some of the fridge magnet images, though more so as a limited run for particular calendar events.  The theme of love is wonderfully represented with 'Simply Cute' and with a little further editing, I believe this will work out great for Valentines.  I am also producing a run of 'Deirdre' Chicken fridge magnets with possible text of "Love My Girls" and links to BHWT, with the potential to donate a percentage of the profits to this wonderful organisation, though more on this and my Etsy store as I get closer to launch.  I really do miss her.

This last year and a half since graduation has been a real eye opener (and struggle at times) in the ways and means of being a practising documentary photography while generating an income.  I continue to persevere onwards; that is all you can do really, though these last few months have been fantastic with further business ventures and sales due to my 'Emily Rose' project.  I can't wait to get back out to sea (she is currently under maintenance for the next few weeks and with a Christmas job lined up, my next trip has been postponed now till the second week of January) and I firmly believe next year will be a stunning, rewarding and very hard working year for me.  After updating my LinkedIn profile recently, it is comforting to note how far I've come and how much I've been involved with since graduation; I expect to add a great many more opportunities to the already growing list during 2016.  

I will also make some time free during April of next year and head back to the same spot I took 'Simply Cute', situated in a lovely little place called Mount Edgecombe, only this time with my Nikon D700 and a 500mm lens.  Hopefully there will be more wonderful new borns on display, loving their introduction to life and as always, loving one another.  If there is anything this world needs right now, it is a whole lot of love.  After the awful events that have transpired recently, particularly that of Paris, I think it is important to remind ourselves that there is still a great beauty and warmth to be found in this world, despite the various evils that often overshadow the thought.  You just have to look for it, however hidden away it may seem.

It is strange how we look back at a photo and how is speaks back to us years later.  'Simply Cute' seems to translate a scene of fragility and wonderment of what life is all about.  We often strive for things that matter the least, when all we really should be searching for is the necessity to be comfortably safe.  For this is all anyone on this planet should ever want or deserve. To be forever safe, comfortable, and always loved.  Perhaps one day we all will.  

Emily Rose @ National Marine Aquarium

With my next venture out at sea with the crew of the Emily Rose just around the corner, it was wonderful to see my previous outing onboard gaining so much positive attention.  Emily Rose was fast becoming more than just another project; I honestly had a genuine interest into the lives of these fishermen and the many hardships they face on a day to day basis.  After all, they were out for weeks on end on one of the most dangerous and ever changing landscapes this world had evolved and perfectly perfected; for that reason alone I had nothing but absolute admiration, as well as a huge amount of intrigue into what lifts someone from the comfort and (almost) safety of dry land to working in such harsh, and at times, wretched conditions.

My expectation for this project had always been to honestly, and with the greatest amount of respect, portray a way life that for many (and no different to myself not so long ago), whose only association with these trawlermen was to order a fish supper from the chippy or pursuing today's catch at the local market.  This lack of understanding was not so much caused by ignorance; I simply felt that coverage of this livelihood was not hugely represented, thus leading to a severe lack of awareness.  To be fair, there was and is so much happening in the world, so many varied lifestyle and life choices, I suppose it is impossible to keep tabs on everything that goes on.  In my mind, if I could just inform even a few people, open a series of eyes and minds to a world vastly different, though one very much within and connected to their own, I was heading in the right direction.

My latest exhibition and first public display of 'Emily Rose' was held over the weekend (29.10 | 1.11.2015) at the National Marine Aquarium, in association with Norman Holmes and Kaya Gallery, featuring a stunning selection of work by Plymouth's Ocean City Artists.  It was a real privilege to be amongst the likes of David Gray, Julie Hammonds, David Chambers, Julianna Depledge, Carol Rolfe, Sophie Johnson, Jenny Evans and many many more.  My display consisted of six single image prints (21x14 inch), along with a montage piece (36x28 inch), all printed on 5mm foamex with a laminate finish.  Graphique in St. Austell, the same company that produced my 'i am Alive' image for my end of year show in London through Plymouth College of Art provided a fabulous job with the printing and left me stunned with the results.

The idea that I was the only photographer on display in this melting pot of such talented painters, glass makers and designers was fantastic, and often throughout the evening this was how I was referred to.  Wow, so you're the photographer!  Hearing that on repeat never got old.  By the end of the night I was mentally exhausted, though this was a good exhausted of course; my throat sore from constant yet welcoming conversations regarding my work, my first week at sea, the next outing and in particular, 'Poseidon'

'Poseidon' quickly became the main talking point during the night.  Comments generally begun or ended with the word phenomenal, elevating my head to a place way past cloud nine.  With a run of 64 limited edition prints on high end aluminium going into production this month following interesting from a company in the south west, as well as a recent three page spread in Fishing News (huge thanks to Dave Linkie and the team), I felt everything, touch wood, was finally coming together following a tough yet eventful first year as a practising photographer post-graduation.  With the winter fishing season now in full swing, I couldn't wait to see what images I would return with when I landed back on dry land.   

Poseidon

My recent article in Fishing News, found in WH Smiths

i am Alive

I always wondered what would have become of my final major study of my degree had I not found myself in hospital with Appendicitis.  Less than three months into the project and final year at Plymouth College of Art, plans to travel and expand on my previous body of work first started during FD2 were completely thrown up in the air as pains along my right side became far too much to bear.  I had initially put down the way I was feeling purely down to stress and simply having a lot on my plate; late nights, sometimes all night coastal walks, exploring low light exposures and hinting at astro photography all certainly took its toll, yet I never imagined I would find myself in hospital.  2013 may have not been quite been the year I had wanted in a number of ways, but to have it end it like this, I had to wonder what I had done to deserve such a fate.

I really did feel as if I had everything in place to begin my final year of my degree.  Just weeks into being back at Plymouth College of Art for the new term, it was quickly apparent that all my preparation and planning clearly amounted to very little, if nothing at all.  I had become quite disillusioned by who I was and what it was I was doing.  I had somehow generated a defeatist attitude and frame of mind that constantly battered and belittled everything I had built upon in these last few years.  A few weeks into December, seeing all of my hard work just fall away like torn up strips as I almost left the art college to take a year off and finish my studies elsewhere became heartbreaking to say the least.  At the time I prayed for some kind of divine intervention to save this flagging degree ship, yet what I seemed to get back as a response was very much a darkest comedy from the man upstairs.

The above image was not only my first but one of a few #selfies I had ever taken.  It also became the catalyst and starting point for my final body of work at Plymouth College of Art.  To this day I still do not remember taking it; fleeting images like sparks from a worn out lighter do attempt to now and again brighten up what was a once a very cloudy scene, yet it always becomes woefully clear that the Morphine had really did such a hallucinogenic number on me during that early Sunday morning.  On a side note, had my eye brows always so prominently taken up one third of my face?

The build up to my operation had been some of the scariest moments of my life. Having been rushing into hospital the night before, no wincing or whining would change the fact they were operating on me in twelve hours time.  I had generally done well in life concerning staying fit and healthy, yet here I was, really wondering if this was finally it.  I was literally terrified and hardly managed to sleep a wink during the night.  Typically, as morning broke, all I wanted to do then was sleep; the light now piercingly bright and headache inducing.  

Lying down on a bed and heading towards the operation room, head back with just the ceiling in view, it almost didn't seem real.  Overhead lights flashed by one by one and I swore I was in a movie.  Beeps from the heart monitor and various other instruments wired in and around me didn't help calm my nerves one bit.  As the oxygen mask went over my mouth and nose, I honestly thought I would never wake again.

Thankfully I did and it felt like time hadn't passed at all.  I was immediately dizzy and nauseous, and my stomach felt and looked like a giant balloon. Apparently there had been complications; key hole surgery hadn't worked and they had to make a large incision to operate.  Later the doctor had told me it had been easily the worse looking Appendix he had ever seen.  All in all I was a very lucky man.

I lost a heck of a lot of weight in hospital during the following five days as severe reactions to various antibiotics made for some pretty nasty scenes, the worst being a Linda Blair moment of extreme vomiting; a record two litres in one sitting.  Apologies for that thought.  I didn't eat for most of the week.  I just couldn't stomach the very idea and when I tried, it came back up immediately after.  Before long I was moved into confinement while additional tests where made.  Yet despite not being well, I was still taking photos. 

Tired and weak, I was finally allowed home after managing to eat half a plate of hospital fish and chips (compared to the rumours, it wasn't that bad).  It was very weird being back in my own bed.  As the light went out, there was a strange quietness that I had never experienced before.  I thought a lot of the week I had just got through, as well as a future I was glad to still have.  I find it incredible that just one moment can completely change a person's perception and understanding of everything that came before.  

This whole ordeal had such a profound impact on my photography.  It was as if I was picking up the camera for the first time; everything on offer was taken with a sense of amazing, of total freedom to explore and capture.  I also found the iPhone (or without showing too much favouritism, Smartphones in general) had a huge impact on what I was taking, and perhaps why and where.  

There was something very intimate and instantaneous about Smartphone photography.  Unlike a DSLR, you tended to have your Smartphone on you at all time.  They were less intrusive; pointing a camera at someone can be quite intimidating, where a Smartphone can be almost hidden or made to appear as if doing something else.  Being small and able to fit in the palm of a hand allowed for far more control in terms of angles and positioning that one may not truly achieve or even initially explore with a camera.  It really did feel like I was starting out again on this journey, with fresh and renewed energy and interest; my first series of photographs weeks later, the pain slowly easing as I began to get out and about a little more seemed to back up my claim.   

While my passion for photography seemed to be very much reinvigorated, I still didn't have a clue what I was going to do with my final major study.  Creatively I was feeling confident, yet academically I had little clue at this current moment in time.  Thankfully, following a discussion with my head of year, I found the spark I needed.

Throughout my degree my sketchbooks tended to be very diaristic, so when my lecturer saw page after page chronicling my operation and time in hospital, he acknowledged that this was the most interesting work I had produced in my final year.  The problem was, where could I go with this work now.  Hospital was done with and I couldn't technically go back and have Appendicitis again.  I also couldn't or likely couldn't do a documentary about the goings on in hospital or about the many wonderful and selfless doctors and nurses.  

As I sat on the bus waiting to get home, I had a lot to think about.  Yet strangely, the one thing I was focused on what the simply fact that I was alive. It was a weird moment, but one that suddenly gave me an interest angle and project.  What if I produced a documentary about my life following an operation and the selfie I had taken.  I knew I couldn't base my final year of my degree on a Smartphone alone, particularly after spending three years perfecting the practise and art of a DSLR.  What if I combined the two?  What if I used Instagram as the bridge between both mediums?  My mind was going into overdrive and it felt great.

Over the next few weeks, I began to document my life through a series of photos.  Little moments, things I probably would have missed or simply not acknowledged in the past, things that were of importance or perhaps not so much.  It was interesting to note how I was editing my work too.  I began to notice a great deal of darkness surrounding my work and while certain colours did seem somewhat vibrant, it was if there was a constant battle between light and dark. 

Taking into account how Instagram showcase profiles via the web, I produced my own version as the development stage of the major study was coming to an end.  I decided that certain images would feature larger than others, as a way of highlighting importance and story.  The font for 'i am Alive' was the same as that used on Instagram (Boomerang for those wishing to know).  As a way of showcasing memories in the digital age, I was immensely happy with how this was beginning to take shape; how big this could potential become over the next three months or so was as interest as the story it was going to tell. 

The next few months saw me expand greatly on what I had already produced. Things I had put off in the past, people, places, anything and everything that I deemed important were pulled into this project, along with the beautiful elements of an everyday mundane.  I visited my dad's grave and the town I grew up in along with the chip shop I loved, 250 miles north of where I live now. I spent a few weeks in Amsterdam with my sister and her Dutch husband. I saw new lives being born into this world and others sadly passing (pets though still just as important).  I even finally got that tattoo I had put off for so long.  I was documenting my life, in a way that later in life would be too visual to forget. Hundreds of photographs later and an event in my life soon became a story spoken through pictures.

Along with the initial selfie that began this project, I chose another six photos to be displayed larger than the rest to represent key moments and memories.  A daunting vision of a hospital corridor that symbolised life's longest journey.  An abandoned building that featured a decayed room, a broken television set with the idea that my view, perhaps now or maybe just prior to my operation, was broken.  My father, who passed away when I was fifteen, in one of a series of slides I have of his life (a side-project I am working on currently), held up to my bed light, my last and only real way of being close to him now.  The Moon, to reflect what this project could have been, having spent months capturing the night and all she had to offer.  Two quarry workers that would represent myself and my father, standing on the edge of forever, of vastness and foreboding against an area of crystal cleansing water. The way out of the hospital, as if to say this was the end, or simply just the beginning.

The small print I produced for the development phase was okay to build on Photoshop, but something this size, after months and hundreds of images later, I needed additional planning before I took it onto my computer.  My lecturers were kind enough to give me my own wall space and I set about creating the final build with page after page of small prints and an awful lot of Blu-Tack.  

I decided to place the images with chaos in mind, since I viewed life and events that followed very much like that; Images linking by colour, shadow and texture over any form of chronological order.  For the seven larger images however, I did want an element of start to finish, with the hospital selfie on the left and the final exit shot to be far right.  Like a book or even how we supposedly read a photo, we do from left to right.  As a visual story of sorts, I wanted to maintain this method.  

I also added a series of quotes that I found emphasised and acknowledged my project.  One of these was by a wonderful photographer and lecturer, Richard Koci Hernandez -

'Let's embrace photography, as it exists now.  And let's continue to find our individual voice, perspectives, stories and style, regardless of the medium'.  

I absolutely loved this quote and it completely resonated with me and my project. Too many time did a discussion regarding photography focus solely on the wrong things. There was a definite snobbery concerning the medium of what you chose to shoot with, especially now given the rise of Smartphones during the last decade.  Surely what was more important was the picture and the story it told. To argue over the merits in how it was taken seemed nothing more than a complete waste of time.  But hey, whatever floats your boat.       

The final print was produced on two Foamex boards and measured over 12 foot when they were attached together.  I swore from this day forward I would never create anything so big again, if only to spare my Macbook and what I put her through; even Photoshop gave me a series of warnings due to the pixel count and file size.  Unfortunately and somewhat unexpectedly, I had to do it all again. And very soon.  

The 12 foot print was designed solely in mind for our end of year show at the Truman Building on Brick Lane in London.  What I didn't consider was our end of year show at Plymouth College of Art.  I could not use the 12 foot print as I quickly found out I only had around 40 inches by 40 to work with.  The original print had pretty much drained me mentally and here I was having to do it again, with not a great deal of time to do it in.  Using the same wall, I decided this time to go with a square format frame; it made sense, given that each and every image stuck by a 1x1 ratio.

I found building this second print far harder than the first.  I had to be much more critical with which photos I used and which to take out.  For the larger images, I kept with the initial selfie, along with the hospital corridor, the broken television set in the decayed room, and the slide of my father.  Along with the 'i am Alive' logo, I also included the quote from Koci.     

Both the Plymouth and London show were great to be a part of and the feedback I received for both prints made me immensely proud of this project.  I was invited to exhibit 'i am Alive' in Manchester, as well as a further three months in Plymouth following my work being selected by the Council.  Plymouth College of Art even bought the London version, which is still on display a year later.     

Despite wishing to never build a print of this size again, a year on I feel somewhat different in saying this now.  Turning 40 soon and this could be a very interesting way of recording what is often considered the halfway point. Who knows, perhaps I will.  Either way, I have a good 15 months to decide.