Five years ago, I tried to wrangle with why I’m drawn to photography. 

I found it easy to express what I wanted to photograph—stunning scenes. And how I could achieve that—through planning and preparation. 

But to crystallise my why was more challenging. I wrote:

My why will stir me from a warm bed at 4:30am in the middle of winter. It will fuel my pursuit of photography for decades to come. And it’s what I'll look back on when I'm 80 and reflecting on the life I've lived.

Why do I photograph? To create and share value with others.

While the broad strokes of that purpose still hold true, I’ve noticed a shift in what underpins my work. Those words now fail to embody the full expression of my creative pursuit.

So after all that’s changed in my life since then—like moving to Melbourne, becoming a copywriter and navigating the pandemic—I wanted to reflect on the deeper drives behind my photography. To reassess and reaffirm why I do what I do.

A jack of all trades

In March 2017, when I wrote that piece, I saw my professional life full of possibilities. I was 25 and had my life ahead of me. 

I could rush into new ventures with little regard for any risks or pitfalls that awaited around the corner. So I quit my job in communications and set off on a grand adventure. 

Iceland. Uluru. Vietnam. Then New Zealand—where my Grandma joined me on waterfall hikes and pre-dawn sunrise adventures.

Reflecting on those adventures, I wrote about that spirit of possibility:

There's a lot going on this year—and it's daunting not knowing where I'll end up professionally. But it's going to be an exciting period nonetheless.

Not knowing was part of the deal. (And part of the fun.)

In terms of my photography, I said yes to every project I could. Smartphone launches. Portrait sessions. Neon car shoots. Surprise proposals. National conferences.

While landscapes remained the core of my craft, I viewed each new job as an opportunity to expand my toolkit and build my portfolio.

And, at the time, my why reflected that. I was here to add value—to friends, clients and businesses—through the images I created. 

The more diverse my creative network became, the more value I could add. (And the photography-related income I could grow.)

Growing awareness, narrowing focus

Expanding my horizons afforded me the perspective to see the broader picture—and determine what aspects of photography were important to me.

Creating value for others took a backseat. And creating value for something bigger than myself become more prominent.

Which is why I decided earlier this year to give my images away to environmental groups for free. In that piece, I touched on this perspective shift:

Something inside of me has been stirring.

Perhaps it was sparked by the 2020 lockdowns where I was prohibited from venturing out by law.

Perhaps it was sparked by the 2019 bushfires when I returned home to smoke-choked skies and haunting sunrises.

Perhaps it was sparked by the 2018 climate strikes where I saw the next generation of activists ignite a groundswell of support. 

My focus on conserving our natural world has only intensified these past two years. 

The pandemic provided me with time and space to read more than I ever have. And as a result, my taste for books—and more importantly, ideas—organically drifted towards the environment. 

I read deeply about topics that explore our relationship with (and responsibility to) the natural world. Titles like:

• Under a White Sky by Elizabeth Kolbert (2021). If Kolbert were to write a guide to watching paint dry, I’d still lap it up. But beyond her artful prose, she examines how we’ve harmed the natural world—and how we’re trying to restore it through technology. 

• The Starship and the Canoe by Kenneth Brower (1978). Astrophysicist Freeman Dyson dreams of exploring the heavens in a giant starship. While his son George lives in a remote treehouse, crafting a giant sea canoe. Brower chronicles this fascinating father-son duo and their competing visions for how to live.

• Greenwood by Michael Christie (2020). This novel stretches from 2034 back to 1908—and then forward again through the generations. At the core of each vignette, Christie explores the value we place on forests, weaving in questions of conservation, progress and family.

Reading about these themes spurred me to reconsider and remain vigilant about my impact on the natural world. (And to do something about it.)

Consolidation and conservation

Like a prospector panning river stones, after the swirl comes the settling. And when the distractions flow away, the gold nuggets remain.

After the volatility of the past two years recedes, my core values have remained.

I’ve settled into a familiar rhythm and routine. And with that, I’ve processed the more nebulous thoughts and ideas that have been whirling around inside my head.

To reaffirm how fighting the climate crisis takes top priority. To take the long view when evaluating resource use and conservation programs. To use our power imbalance for good, restoring the natural world where we can.

So I’ve taken steps to reduce my impact.

Like having fewer meat-based meals. Offsetting my car’s carbon emissions. And supporting environmental groups like The Wilderness Society and the Australian Conservation Foundation.

During Melbourne’s three-month lockdown, I wrote:

Too often we view nature as a resource to exploit, conquer or harvest. Immediate gains are the easy option—just look at the marshmallow test. Yet we ought to expand our scope over millennia, not merely quarterly profits. 

We have a moral obligation to safeguard wild spaces for future generations. What a tragedy it’d be for our grandchildren to only know animals in zoos or manicured lawns in city parks? We need to value long-term lives and experiences over short-term resources. 

Through my photography and now my writing, I have the opportunity and the responsibility to support something greater than myself. Because a thriving natural world is a worthy end in and of itself.

So why do I do what I do?

I photograph to shine a spotlight on natural wonder—so that these scenes are known, valued and conserved for eons to come.