In 2020, during the pandemic, I discovered photography. Restricted to my local area, I woke early to photograph sunrises and stayed up late to capture sunsets near my home. The images were made on my phone and were technically poor, but they marked the realisation that I wanted to become a photographer. During a period of self-doubt, I deleted those early photographs. I blamed the location, believing I needed to leave and make work elsewhere in order to improve. I was mistaken. I regret cutting them; their absence has since become part of the story.​

​At that time, I only worked in what I believed were “ideal” conditions. If light was absent, before sunrise or after sunset, I would not make photographs. I had unknowingly limited myself.​

​This series challenges that earlier mindset. Returning to the same locations, I now work during twilight. Natural light is minimal and visibility is uncertain and I use artificial light to, somewhat forensically, uncover the landscape. Twilight exists on an edge, suspended between night and day, and that in-between state reflects my experience of lockdown: a period balanced between normality and disruption, optimism and pessimism. This ambiguity also mirrors what being a young adult is like; things lack certainty and definition.​

​Down the Lane reflects on the urge to leave and outgrow a place I once resented. By continuing to shoot close to home, I have re-established my connection to the place and purposely retained the physical limitations that shaped the beginning of my practice. ​

This everyday landscape is my subject and anchor, a constant during a continual state of change in my life. Walking these lanes in near darkness, often alone with only a flashlight became contemplative. They were rare moments of solitude within a time defined by confinement. Revisiting these spaces now carries a quiet nostalgia, but also a recognition of personal and universal change.  The familiarity is calming, allowing me to focus on observation rather than novelty. It will always be nearby, and I can return whenever an idea requires it.​

​When I began developing the project more formally in 2023, the work was harsher. I photographed dead branches, barbed wire, and infrastructure, producing images that felt tense. As life gradually returned to a sense of normality, the series shifted. More greenery and traces of natural light began to enter the frame. This transition was unconscious at first, but it now feels significant: in darkness, light persists.