I find it a real treat to be in one of London's parks in spring-time. The treat for me, apart from sitting on one of the deckchairs with a cool drink and the weekend paper, is the blooming daffodils. 

After months of grey and rain, the sprouting daffs represent spring, sunshine and the, hopefully, more warm summer months. 

I was fortunate some years ago to live in Pimlico, and often walked through St James’s Park, Green Park and Hyde Park. These rather manicured parks do have spring flowers strategically planted which bloom in the spring. 

At the time, I was discovering the delights of FujiFilm Velvia 50 film, which gives images a punchy, slightly saturated, colour. This film often works well with flowers, for obvious reasons. I sometimes don’t use a polarizer filter with Velvia 50 as the image can be too saturated - although, for some photos it can really make the images punchy. 

On one of my ventures out with my camera on a sunny, sumptuously colourful spring afternoon in Green Park, I came across a sea of yellow in front of me and which lead up to some Royal residences in St James’s. 

The formal white Georgian architecture beautifully contrasted against the yellow and green of the daffodils growing beside the buildings in the Park. It would have been obvious to make the Royal residences the prominent feature of the image with daffodils in the foreground. However, that wasn’t the image that was calling to me. 

Why not give the daffodils prominence? The buildings stood all year round, although having different characters at different times of the year and under different lighting. However, the daffodils were once a year for a fleeting few weeks. It wasn’t easy trying to line up the angles of the daffodils and the lines of the symmetrical buildings. 

I am sure under different lighting, the daffodils would give another story, but on a beautifully sunny day in early-afternoon, life was spouting. 

Playing with light and shadows is something I feel very drawn to photography, particularly in black & white. Add in a textured surface, and I can’t resist taking photos of it. 

While walking through St James’s Park in London late one summer a number of years ago, I was drawn to the trees which line The Mall. I had been photographing the fallen leaves as well as the shadows on the Georgian buildings. 

I have a fascination with trees as they often are the silent witness to the world passing by them. Like human faces, over time, tree trunks move from the smoothness of youth to the rough and wrinkly face of old age - the cracks and spaces telling the stories of bygone ages. 

The particular tree that caught my attention was outside the ICA, and the light fell on the trunk through its bear branches; highlighting the texture of the trunk. The viewer can feel the image. 

Using Ilford Pan-F 50 film adds to the contrast to the image – and, in the end, helps the photo to become a bit more tactile. When I recently looked at the photo, I realised that I initially hadn’t appreciated how simple and tactile the photo was. I had been drawn more to the light and shadow.

While not to take away from the light and shadows, the texture of the image adds to the image in a more subtle way. This is one of the main reasons why I have started using Ilford Pan-F 50 film again. With this slow film, the image I get is punchy and contrasty and the fine grain suites many of the subjects I photograph. 

Often when I go out to take photos, I have an idea of what I want to photograph. However, in some instances, like photographing the tree on The Mall, I stumble upon photographs. I enjoy the unexpected photograph that presents itself. 

Rambling has allowed me to appreciate the countryside in South East England; and gives me an opportunity not only to enjoy things at a slower pace but to take photos of nature. 

As a Londoner, I find it very easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of city life. Much of my photography reflects my urban life and the city I live in. 

On a lovely spring day yesterday, with the sun peering through the clouds, thirteen of us began an eight mile walk near the Surry, West Sussex and Hampshire borders, starting from a pub not far from Haslemere. My camera was firmly in my hand, ready to take photos.

Much of the walk was through fields, which we shared with sheep, and in forests - with the last part of it through Petworth Park, which is owned by the National Trust. There was lightness in the air and the new shoots of spring coming through. I was spoiled for shots. 

What really struck me was the peacefulness of the walk. Even with the sheep, as well as other ramblers we came across, I really had a sense of being in and with nature. 

What was very striking was the peacefulness of the nature. I had a deep sense of the natural disasters that happened in Japan recently, and of the uprisings in the Middle East. While nature can be idyllic, beautiful and peaceful, it can also be brutal and dramatic.

I tried to capture this sense of peace, as well as the shoots of new growth, in my photos. Capturing the mood isn’t always easy, and can be greatly affected by light as much as surroundings. 

I cherish the ramblers group I am a part of. It allows me to get out of London and see parts of England that I may not have otherwise have seen, or take photos of. 

Gaudí. The name is, at least in English, is synonymous with being over the top and garish. It was not until I visited Barcelona a few years ago that I not only fell in love with Gaudí’s work, but also really began to appreciate it. 

Antoni Plàcid Guillem Gaudí i Cornet was an architect who lived in Barcelona and who worked during the Modernisme (Art Nouveau) period. However, he became famous for his unique and highly individualistic designs.

Gaudí studied nature's angles and curves and incorporated them into his designs and mosaics. This is what drew me to Gaudí when I saw his work when I saw it in Barcelona. The blatant copying and incorporating of the natural world gave his work an organic feel and texture. 

I found myself drawn to taking mostly colour images of Gaudí’s work – on my trusted FujiFilm Velvia. 

The Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família, commonly known as the Sagrada Família, is probably the most famous of Gaudí’s. The large Roman Catholic Church in central Barcelona is hard to miss. It is an impressive building, even though it’s still being built. 

While the Sagrada Família a remarkable building, another building really appealed to me. The Casa Milà, better known as La Pedrera (Catalan for 'The Quarry'), is a gem of a building. Along with the Sagrada Família, the building exemplifies Gaudí’s appreciation of the natural world. 

I could hardly take my camera away from my eye. The reason? Both internally and externally, La Pedrera is a beautiful showcase of Gaudí’s work. 

The building holds a treat for the visitor – a treat that is apparent from street level. On the roof, sits its chimneys. But these chimneys are like not ordinary chimneys - not with Gaudí being the architect. 

Somehow, there couldn’t be simply one, or even two chimneys. There were more than I could count, and they weren’t all the same. Like the natural world, nothing was really exactly the same. There was variance and difference. However, this variance and difference sat comfortably with each other and gives the visitor a sense of harmony. 

The chimneys presented me with some wonderful photo opportunities. The mosaics and beige and white deco contrasted nicely with the bright blue February sky. 

Gaudí’s work demands you look at it in ways that most other artists or architects don’t. It has pushed the boundaries in ways that no had done before, or even since. It may be garish; it may be over the top; it may be decadent. But it’s earthy - it taps into something quite fundamental. 

Wapping is one of my favourite places to photograph in London. It’s an area steeped in history, but has changed considerably in the last 20-30 years.

Even with the changes, there are remnants of its past that have yet to be gentrified. A few months ago, while wandering with my camera, finding things to photography, I came across a derelict building, waiting to be redeveloped. The interesting thing about it was how nature had taken over and managed to find a foothold into the building.

I have noticed this elsewhere. It could be weeds coming through train tracks, or peaking over the tops of gutters on old buildings. It has always amazed me that nature can take hold in places you wouldn’t expect.

Being an urbanite, it is easy to thing nature has been tamed within the city limits, and the wild and rugged side of nature is confined to the rural parts of the country. But the building I found in Wapping challenged this, and showed how Mother Nature can take root in the seemingly inhospitable or built environments.

I also found it interesting to see this derelict building with sprouting weeds and trees in amongst luxury flats and buildings. In an area of regeneration and luxury, this building is a (soon to be distant?) memory of the industrial past.

Whether we like it or not, Mother Nature doesn’t listen to the boundaries that humans place on her. Her presence is closer than we may think. If we turn away, even momentarily, her shoots sprout up through the cracks of concrete and human existence. In a subtle way, we are governed by her rules, rather than the other way around.

The derelict building in Wapping provides a wonderful contrast to the ordered and now posh surrounds we humans have created. The wild heart of Mother Nature beats, even through concrete and brick.

Photographing it in black & white seemed to do the shot justice. I could have coloured in the weeds, but thought it would take away from the industrial feel of the photo, and the contrast between nature and industry.

Snow in London isn't a usual event in London, particularly at Christmas. There wasn’t much, but as a Canadian, I did feel at home with some of the white stuff on the ground.

The images we have of Christmas in the West is of holey, Christmas tree, lights, family, carols, food, drink, presents, amongst other things …. and snow. In Canada, it’s hard to miss snow at Christmas. It’s something that’s taken for granted.

But is snow really all that important at Christmas?

It depends really on what you expect and want at Christmas. Many countries never see or experience snow. Many do.

I feel rather ambivalent about snow, which may sound strange considering where I come from. Snow can be beautiful and pristine when it first falls, but can quickly turn into slush, and become dirty. After months of snow, it can becoming a bit tiresome, unless you’re into winter sports like skiing or sledging.

That said, I don't mind getting my fingers frozen and nearly frost bitten to capture the beauty of snow. It’s character is quite contradictory. It can be fluffy, and yet also have a crispness and frostiness to it.

It’s character is so dependent on the weather and how the air is at a particular time. In many ways, it reflects what the atmosphere feels like.

I can quite happily photograph snow in either black & white or in colour. Snow itself can be a bit bland so I am often finding myself trying to find some contrast. This can take shape in playing with light, or finding a leaf on the ground or in a fence.

Snow gives you a very white and blank canvas to let your imagination run riot.

The 21st December is the Winter’s Solstice this year. It is the shortest day of the year, and subsequent days slowly lengthen.

The solstice itself may have been a special time of the yearly cycle, even during neolithic times. Astronomical events, which during ancient times controlled the mating of animals, sowing of crops and metering of winter reserves between harvests, show how various cultural mythologies and traditions have arisen. This is can be shown physical remains in the layouts of late Neolithic and Bronze Age archaeological sites such as Stonehenge in the UK.

The primary axes of Stonehenge seem to have been carefully aligned on a sight-line pointing to the winter solstice sunset. As one of the most iconic, and historic, places in the UK, Stonehenge will draw many to celebrate the Winter Solstice.

I first visited Stonehenge, a prehistoric monument located in Wiltshire, South-East England, on a coach trip to Bath over 10 years ago. Unfortunately, I hadn’t had the opportunity to enter the enclosed area as we didn’t have enough time on the trip, and the day was very damp and wet. It wasn’t as large as I had imagined – but I knew I had to revisit.

I have visited the site a couple of times since, and have found the place a very spiritual one. In what felt like the middle of no-where, and with a motorway nearby, I did find the monument rather peaceful.

I also found the stones fascinating, and have wondered what the meanings were behind them. I also found myself in awe as to the stones were transported and assembled. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to actually get too close to the stones, but I was still able to photograph them.

I could have photographed the monument in b&w, but I visited on a beautiful day, and thought that colour capture the interplay of the blue sky, green grass, the lighting and the stone. While Stonehenge is used to celebrate the solstices during the year, I found that even when I visited the moment in the height of summer, lighting could still play a dramatic affect when photographing the stones.

I used Fujifilm Velvia slide film (50 ASA and 100 ASA) in this instance as I like the quality and feel of the film. I am sure on another day, particularly on a moody grey day, b&w would be quite effective.

Trying to capture Stonehenge with few people in the shot could be a bit tricky, but the photographer just needs to be a bit creative. I was happy with my results – the textures of the stones and the grass coming through with the sky and clouds giving a bit of contrast.

Water is one of the most fundamental things in life, and something that we take for granted in the West. Without water, very little, if anything, can survive. 

Art and buildings that reflect the natural world have always interested me. How the artist or architect and builder incorporates nature can reflect human ingenuity and, in some cases, an appreciation of the world that we live in, or, in other cases, a sense of dominating it. 

The relatively new ‘funky font’ at Salisbury Cathedral captured my imagination when I visited the Cathedral last year with family. It wasn’t something I was expecting, and hadn’t been there when I previously visited. The font was installed in 2008. 

Designed by William Pye, it is the first permanent font at the Cathedral for over 150 years. The font shows the contradicting nature of water - contrasting its still reflective quality with the more animated overflowing spouts at each of the four corners.

Like many artists, Pye drew inspiration from the natural world and, in particular, water. The font he created for Salisbury Cathedral made me realise a couple of things. Firstly, I have often appreciated, and photographed, the reflective and fluid quality of water.

Sometimes on my ramblers walks in the countryside, I often photograph streams and ponds we come across and manage to get the sky along with the trees and shrubs reflected in it. 

Art and architecture is not immune to the natural world. Many modern buildings are made of glass, and often find myself drawn to them in order to take reflect, and sometimes transient, photos of a bustling modern world. 

Secondly, I have always been interested in the architecture of religious buildings. Religious buildings not only reflect the spiritual and religious outlook of a community, but it can also reflect its character. 

What I found the font doing was reflecting the history, spiritual leanings and character of the Cathedral back onto itself. Like water, there is a sense of fluidity and change, but also a depth to it, even if none of these were readily apparent. 

Water can be still, appear to be still, and have varying degrees of movement. It can be translucent and show it’s innermost workings, but also reflect back at us not only ourselves, but  the world around us. 

Like so much in this world, it is full of contradictions. And without water, we probably wouldn’t be alive. 

Often as a photographer, I try to find different angles for familiar things or places.

But, sometimes, life’s oddities catch my attention. It could be something that seems out of place, however slightly; something eccentric; or even something unexpected.

So, what catches my eye?

A few years ago, I was visiting some family in Toronto, and we happened to visit High Park. It was close to where they lived, and it was a gorgeous day in autumn where the trees were beginning to change. We wanted to see the autumn colours and the zoo held within the park.

As we meandered along the park’s paths, a particular tree caught my eye. This tree had an old man’s face carved into one side. The carved face wasn’t expected, but it didn’t seem entirely out of place either. It reminded me of Jack Frost getting ready to blow in the winter winds.

It was a touch of subtle character that could have been easily missed, particularly if you were in a rush. But it also had its own presence, which made you want to look at it.

I was taking colour photos because of the autumn colours, and feel that the texture of the carving is brought out by the two colours of the tree trunk.

I find myself, not only making the ordinary eye-catching, but also increasingly on the look out for this subtle character elsewhere – pushing the boundaries of what we expect to see around us. Often, it can be missed, but sometimes isn’t.

This character challenges the need for order – and I hope to capture more of it.

I was glad to meet this carved face - possibly of Jack Frost, but possibly of a soul still wanting to say something – and hope to meet some more carved faces on my photographic journey.

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.