While waiting for a friend at the Museum of London, in the City of London, I had a few spare minutes to indulge my creative side. I hadn’t been to the Museum for a number of years, and had initially thought I would take some photos of the surrounding modern architecture of the City.

However, sometimes something unexpected catches your eye and captures your imagination. What really caught my eye was a statue of a horse standing close to the entrance of the Museum itself.

Horses can be skittish, but also have grace, power and fluidity. Although very stationary, the statue presented a horse in a very expressive way. For me, much of the emotion was in the eyes and face.

I found the artist really captured the essence of the horse, and the eyes were the window to its soul. This is not something easily captured. Buildings can be the external expression of ideas and personality, but there is something about the eyes of an animal or a human which gives insight to the soul.

Eyes tell a lot about the state of someone. They can become dead when someone has become cut off and dead to his or her soul. However, they can dance with emotion when someone is fully alive.

The horse’s eyes drew me in; it was hard to look away. For me, the horse was in the thick of action, carrying on with some trepidation. You were hoping it would get through and to safety.

I am sure horse’s face and eyes spoke different stories to different people; art has a wonderful way of doing this, particularly good art. What I enjoyed was the emotion in the heart of the financial district where bold and grand architecture reigns supreme.

I was also taken by how monochrome the images were. The photos were taken on colour film, but the effect worked well. The monochrome texture with a hint of colour served to draw out the emotions of the horse rather than distract the viewer. 

Street photography has come under increasing pressure as western society has become more concerned about the threat of terrorism, but also cynical about the paparazzi culture surrounding celebrities. 

People are much more suspicious today about having their photo taken in public, and police have clamped down on photographers in the name of terrorism and keeping society safe. 

It was, I must admit, rather refreshing to visit the Street Photography exhibition at the Museum of London, in the City of London. The exhibition features over 200 photos from the 1860s to today and examines the relationship between photographers, London’s streets, Londoners and how the anti-terror and privacy laws have affected the place of photography today.

I started off in my early photographic career in photojournalism and street photography. It was something I really enjoyed doing, but found increasingly difficult, even before the anti-terror and stricter privacy laws came into place. 

Although I found much to photograph on London’s streets, as well as Ottawa’s, I found that people were increasingly suspicious as to my motives, and often thought I was with a mainstream newspaper or publication. Much of my photography was personal, and trying to capture the social history at a particular time. 

The death of Princess Diana had much to do with the public’s suspicion of photographers, and many, if not all, street photographers were branded paparazzi. I feel this is somewhat unjust as many photographers weren’t. 

Not surprisingly, my photography became much more architecturally based, and the street photography fell by the way-side. However, after seeing the exhibition at the London Museum, I am wondering whether to do more street photography, particularly with my film camera. The reason is I have found people often become interested in the camera you are using if it’s not digital. 

If we stop photographing ourselves, the documentation of our history will be terribly affected. 

A friend of mine, who used to work for the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM), had encouraged me to visit the Museum to see The Crystal, the new front they were building. She knew I am interested in photographing architecture, and knew that I would like taking pictures of it. .

Founded in 1912, the ROM is the largest museum in Canada for world culture and natural history. It has maintained close relations with the university throughout its history and became an independent institution in 1968.

The architecture style of the original building and eastern wing is Italianate Neo-Romanesque. Opened in 1933, the eastern wing facing Queen's Park included the Museum's elaborate art deco, Byzantine-inspired rotunda and a new main entrance.

First opened in 2007, the Crystal, the deconstructivist crystalline-form front, was designed by Daniel Libeskind and was controversial. Public opinion was divided on its merits.

I had my reservations about seeing the Crystal, the ROM’s newest extension. Not all architects are sensitive when altering or adding to buildings. When visiting Toronto after The Crystal’s opening in 2007, I was intrigued, and really liked what the Libeskind had done. Not all new architecture sits well with older styles, but this combination worked for me.

I was presented, as a photographer, with a very linear and geometric architecture that also reflected the world back to you, but allowed you to see into the Museum at the same time.

What I found interesting was the overall aim of the Crystal - to provide openness and accessibility. It seems to seek to blur the lines between the threshold between the public area of the street and the more private area of the building.

Because of the sun’s shadows and the grey and glass of the building, I felt the building lent itself to being photographed in B&W film. Initially, I was annoyed that you could see the reflections of the bustling Toronto street behind me in the windows. I was seeking something a look more calm – and wanted to see more of what was going on in the building.

However, the reflections grew on me. I showed the photos to some of my friends, who really liked reflections. They could see everyday life surrounding the building and it gave the Museum context.

It made me realise that the line between public and private wasn’t as demarcated as I had assumed, or sometimes liked. It’s often very difficult to know where the line is.

The geometric lines of The Crystal are often deceiving as it gives a sense of structure and order – where underneath it, the boundaries between private and public are much more fluid and fudged. It allowed visitors to get beneath the skin of the Museum and explore the exhibitions held within it as well as appreciating the world outside it.

The only certainty in life is change, and cities often reflect this.

A city like London shifts, changes and renews itself continually, and often organically. I have lived here long enough to start seeing this process first hand.

Needs and tastes change. The architecture of a city often reflects this. Some buildings are pulled down and replaced. Others are changed, altered and added to. Each generation making its mark from the last.

A good example of this is the British Museum in London.

The Museum, established in 1753, houses a collection showcases human history and culture in London – and holds over 7 million items.

The British Library used to be housed within the British Museum until 1997 but moved to its current St Pancras home when it needed more space.

This created the opportunity to redevelop the space left by the Library in Robert Smirke's 19th-century central quadrangle into the Queen Elizabeth II Great Court.

The Great Court presented me with a perfect opportunity to photograph the intermingling of different architectural styles. It has taken me a while to take pictures of the building. It lends itself nicely to photographs, but I wanted to do something different from photographing the obvious.

In the end, I did photograph the obvious, and there isn’t really anything wrong with that. What’s staring you in the face, no matter how many times it’s been photographed, is sometimes hard not to photograph.

What drew me to the Great Court is the roof. For me, it’s the link between the round Reading Room building in the centre to the rest of the Museum. It reflects the rainy disposition of Britain while protecting the Museum visitors.

It’s one of the very few buildings that lend itself to both black and white or colour. Very few places have this quality. I have only photographed it in colour, but plan to go back and take some black and white.

The Canadian Museum of Civilization in Hull, Quebec has always captured my artistic eye and imagination as a photographer.

Sitting on the northern side of the Ottawa River opposite Parliament Hill, the distinctive building heavily draws from the natural landscape that surrounds it.

The Museum is a very fluid building, and it has a feel of rock being worn away by years of flowing water. It reflects more how the natural world exists rather than humanity trying to dominate it.

So, why would I want to photograph it?

Douglas Cardinal, the Museum’s architect, was  greatly influenced by his Native American heritage when he designed the Museum. He felt that a building in harmony with the land would be in keeping with the cultures of Canada's native peoples.

"Aboriginal cultures evolved into a way of being in touch with the earth, and experiencing reality as being part of the earth. Our culture also lives in the dream state of vision. When I designed the Museum of Civilization, I went to the ceremonial lodge and I was given the vision of taking technology and creating something positive with it." - Douglas Cardinal

As a photographer, I appreciated the simple lines and forms of the building, and enjoyed the possibilities it presented to me. The Museum is the architectural equivalent of photographing nature itself.

I was drawn to capturing its curves, fluidity and texture. The building itself has captured mother nature in her femininity.

Photographing the building in black & white may not be the most obvious choice, but I was also drawn to the texture of the building. The texture is as important as the earthy feel of it. While it had a fluid and water feel to it, the building also had a rougher exterior – where the water hadn’t yet polished it smooth.